In Strange Company: A Story of Chili and the Southern Seas

  CHAPTER VI.

  CONCLUSION.

  Three days after my meeting with Juanita in Leicester Square, I waslying propped up in bed in the hospital, feeling very weak andmiserable, when one of the nurses came to tell me that two visitors werecoming up to see me.

  "Who are they," I asked,--"men or women?"

  "Ladies," the nurse replied, as if she were speaking of a third sex."Drove up in their own carriage."

  "Ladies!" I said. "Who _can_ they be?"

  Any further wonderment was put a stop to by the entrance of the ladiesthemselves, escorted by the house surgeon. Can you guess who they were?One was a lady I had never seen before, a chaperon, I suppose. The otherwas--but there, I must leave you to imagine who alone would havesufficient pity to forget the past, and to come and comfort the sick andsorrowful? _It was Maud!_ The Maud I had treated so shamefully, to whomI had done so great a wrong. I could hardly believe my eyes! With thatexquisite grace that always characterized her movements, she floated upthe long bare ward to where I lay, bringing with her sunshine andhappiness unspeakable.

  "Jack, Jack," she began, taking my great brown paw between her daintyhands, "welcome home, ten thousand welcomes home!"

  Though the words she uttered were nothing more than ordinary, there wassomething in the way she said them that invested them with a charm noother woman could have given them.

  "How did you know I was here?" I asked, when the first embarrassment wasover, and she had taken a chair by my side.

  "Papa saw it in the paper," she said, "and we immediately madeinquiries."

  "And you were forgiving enough to come and see me. Oh, Maud, how littleI deserve it!"

  "Hush, you mustn't talk like that. Of course I could not let you liehere without coming to you. Some people might be shocked at the idea ofa young lady visiting a gentleman in a hospital. But I do what I thinkright myself. Now, the doctor tells me you are better, and will soon beable to come out. Directly you are ready, you must come to us."

  "Come to you, Maud? Your father would never allow that."

  "Papa wishes it as much as I do, so be quick and get well. I have such alot to tell you, and messages to give you, Jack, from your poor dearmother. I was with her till the last."

  "I guessed you would be. Poor mother!"

  We were both silent for a minute, then I said--

  "Maud, can you tell me one thing? How is the woman who was found in theroom with me?"

  "Dead, Jack. She died while the police were examining her this morning."

  The shock was almost too much for me. It was some time before I couldrealize it.

  "Dead? Oh, poor Juanita! Then her wish was gratified after all. She gaveher life for mine. Maud, there is the end of a tragedy. Poor Juanita!"

  "Don't think of it for the present, Jack. Wait till you are stronger. Imust go soon, or the doctor will say I'm keeping you from getting well."

  "Nonsense, your presence will do me more good than all his drugs puttogether. Forgive me one question."

  "A hundred. What is this one?"

  "Maud," I asked, almost afraid, "you are not married?"

  She shook her head a little sadly, I thought. Oh, if I could only findthe pluck to put another! I would try, at any rate.

  "Maud, have you only come here in pity, or do you--do you----"

  She must have divined what I meant, perhaps she read it in my eyes, fora great blush spread over her face, as she bent towards me andwhispered--

  "How cruel of you, Jack, to make me say it! I am here because I loveyou,--because I love you!"

  My emotion was so great that I could not speak. My eyes overflowed withtears; I could feel them coursing down my cheeks. The doctor and nursehad taken the chaperon to the other end of the ward, and as I had ascreen round my bed, we were quite alone. At last I found my voice.

  "Maud," I faltered, "I am not worthy of you, my dear, I am not worthy.You do not know what my life has been."

  What she said in reply has no business here but I know that it acted onme like a magic potion. When she went away, I only let her go on thestrict understanding that she should come again as soon as she couldspare the time. After the door had closed on her it was as though allthe sunshine had gone out of the ward; but she had left behind in myheart a greater happiness than I had ever known before, one that cannever leave me again as long as I live to feel it.

  A little later the doctor came to examine me. He was struck by theimprovement in my condition.

  "Why, man, what on earth have you been doing to yourself?" he asked."You're a hundred per cent. better than you were when I saw you last."

  "Happiness, doctor," I answered. "I have had some news which has done memore good than anything your science could prescribe for me."

  "It looks like it," he said, and went on to the next bed laughing.

  But though my heart was full of joy because I knew that Maud still lovedme, it was not unmixed with a feeling of sorrow. In the first place, Iknew in my heart of hearts that I was not worthy of my darling's love;and in the second, how was I, a pauper, to ask her to be my wife? Myfortune, if it had ever been a fortune, had been stolen from me, andeven if I returned to my old profession, the sea, I should stand but apoor chance of ever making enough to justify me in asking Sir Benjaminfor her hand. Consideration of these things was, however, postponed forthe present by the arrival of the police and a magistrate, to take mydeposition for use at the inquest on poor Juanita's body. She, bravesoul, had sacrificed herself for me, and it should go hard if anyexertion on my part should be wanting to bring her murderer to justice.In the evening I had the satisfaction of hearing that a verdict ofwilful murder had been returned against John Macklin, and that a warrantwas already out for his arrest.

  By special favour, Maud was permitted to see me every other day, until Iwas in a condition to be moved. When that happy moment arrived, sheherself came to escort me. The carriage was at the great hospital door,and in it we set out for Holland Park.

  When we reached the house, who should open the door but Sir Benjaminhimself! His welcome could not have been more cordial had I been his ownson returning after an absence of many years. On his arm I entered thehouse, tenderly watched by Maud. We passed into the drawing-room, and Iwas soon seated in a comfortable chair before the fire.

  "Sit yourself down, my dear boy," Sir Benjamin said, "and you'll justtake a glass of wine and a biscuit before you do another thing. Iprescribe it myself, and surely I ought to know. Hum, ha! Maud, my dear,God bless you."

  I never remember having seen Sir Benjamin so much affected before. Tearsstood in his eyes, and his hand trembled so violently that it was asmuch as he could do to pour out the wine for me. Dear old man, I hadalways misjudged his affection for myself, though why he should havefelt any was a thing which, personally, I could never understand.

  It was not till after lunch that I got an opportunity of a privateconversation with him. Then, as I had made up my mind I would, I toldhim my whole story, from the time of my leaving England on my lastvoyage, up to the present moment. As my yarn progressed, I was alarmedat the change in his face. From its usual rosy hue its colour passed toan extraordinary pallor, and when I reached the account of my scene withJuanita, and my attempted assassination, with the robbery of the locket,I thought he would have fainted. He gasped--

  "You say that Marmaduke, my nephew, gave you that locket containing thepiece of paper?"

  "Yes, and bound me by a promise that I would not open it till I had beena month in London."

  "Then, John, God forgive me, I have done you an awful injury. I have,unconsciously it is true, robbed you of L200,000!"

  "What!" I cried, in my turn astonished by his words. "What had you to dowith that affair?"

  "I was the custodian of it; my nephew sent it home to me from Chili tokeep for him, with the proviso that if ever he should send a messengerfor it, bearing a certain piece of paper, I should give him whateveramount, even up to the entire sum, he should ask of me."

  "And t
hat messenger?"

  "Came the same day that we heard of your accident, and brought the scrapof paper; he said my nephew was in great danger, and wanted his moneyimmediately; he took away my cheque for L200,000 and accumulatedinterest, and, as I have found out by inquiry, cashed it the samemorning. By this time he has probably left the country!"

  "What was he like, this messenger?"

  "Well, he was the most extraordinary little man I ever set eyes on. Hewas a deformed Albino."

  "The Albino! Then you've seen the murderer--the man who killed Juanita,and attempted to do the same for me."

  "Good heavens! What's to be done now?"

  "Nothing that I can see. The police are searching high and low for him.We can't recover the money, for we haven't the vestige of a right to it.You must remember it was to be the property of whosoever brought you thepaper. The Albino brought it, and he has got it. We must grin and bearour loss. You are not a bit to blame, Sir Benjamin."

  I saw that he felt he had injured me, and to try and drive the subjectfrom his mind, I spoke to him of my views regarding Maud. In a second hewas another man.

  "Jack, my boy, God bless you for that idea! My carelessness, thoughcertainly I did not know any better, has deprived you of great wealth;now I can make up for it. You love Maud. Maud has never wavered in heraffection for you. I'm not going to ask what your life has been sinceyou left us, because I trust to your honour not to ask me for my girl ifthere's anything against it. On the point of money we'll split thedifference, and on your wedding-day I'll make you a present of a chequefor L100,000. Will that suit you?"

  "No, Sir Benjamin, I cannot let you do it. If when I'm strong enoughyou'll help me to some appointment which will enable me to support Maudin a proper manner, I should be just as grateful. But I can't take yourmoney in compensation for what was not your fault."

  "It shan't be in compensation then, it shall be as a free gift. See,here is Maud; if you want to talk about it, let it be to her. I must gointo town, and find out if the police have discovered anything regardingthat Albino."

  With this excuse the old gentleman hobbled out of the room, and I wasleft alone with Maud. When I told her of her father's generosity shebecame very silent, and her dear eyes filled with tears, but you may besure they were not tears of sorrow.

  "There's one thing I want to tell you, Jack," she said. "I asked papa toundertake on your behalf the funeral of that poor woman. He did so, andnow she has a quiet resting-place in Wendthrop churchyard, under thegreat yew-tree near the lych-gate. I knew you would like to think shehad been given a proper burial. Some day we will go together, and seethe grave of the woman who sacrificed her life in such a noble way. Wemust never forget her nobility, Jack."

  "No, dear, pray God we never may! Poor Juanita, her troubled life isover! Surely all her sins have been atoned for by her last act ofself-sacrifice!"

  And so it came to pass, a month or two later, when summer was on theland, that we twain, as man and wife, went down together to the littlevillage, in the churchyard of which Juanita takes her last long sleep.It was evening, the after-glow of sunset was still upon the sky, andbats were flitting hither and thither among the tombs. In the dip belowthe churchyard the dear old river ran its silent course towards the sea;a faint chattering sounded from the rooks in the elms above us, andacross the meadows came the gentle tinkling of cattle-bells. We passedthrough God's acre to the old yew-tree, beneath whose ample shade agrave was just beginning to show signs of the care that had beenbestowed upon it.

  Hand in hand we stood beside it, thinking of the woman whose body laybeneath us. In _my_ thoughts I was far away from England. ThursdayIsland rose before my eyes; the bay dotted with shipping, clouds uponthe hill-tops, the noise of the surf upon the beach, the rustling ofpalm-trees, and Juanita's laughter ringing from the Orient Hotel.

  Before we came away we made a resolve that once every year, as long aswe two should live, we would repeat the visit. The grave will be ourconstant care. For in that way alone can we show our gratitude to thewoman whose resting-place it is.

  But to return to a more cheerful topic. My long story is fast drawing toa close, and, as I don't doubt, you will say it is about time. But thereare two more circumstances of importance to be recorded before I canwith satisfaction call a halt.

  The first is the matter of my marriage. But when I tell you that it onlyhappened a couple of months ago, you will see that I am hardly in aposition yet to describe it with the care such an important eventdemands. Suffice it then that it took place at the parish church withoutany ostentation or fuss. I'm not going to tell you how Maud looked inher wedding-dress, because I was far too nervous to find that out formyself. A tiny cousin acted as her bridesmaid, and an old sea friend wasgood enough to officiate as my best man.

  After the ceremony, which took place in the afternoon, we drove back tothe house, where Maud held a little reception; and here occurred thesecond event to which I desire to draw your attention.

  Among the guests who came to offer their congratulations were two peoplewhom I had seen before under very different circumstances. That they hadnot recognized my connection with that affair was evident. So waitingmy opportunity, I took Maud on my arm, and bidding her listen,approached the lady, saying politely--

  "I think we have met before!"

  She stared in blank surprise, grew very confused, and at last replied--

  "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, Mr. Ramsay; I don't think I have everhad the pleasure of seeing you before!"

  "And yet I think I carried you in my arms once, and for a considerabledistance!"

  "You, Mr. Ramsay? Surely you must be mistaken! Pray tell me when."

  "In Australia. You were staying at the Federation Hotel the night itcaught fire. A fireman carried you down a ladder in his arms!"

  "Good gracious! You were not that fireman?"

  "I was, though please say nothing about it. If you do, I shall be sorryI recalled the circumstance to your memory."

  "But you saved my life. Oh, where is my husband? I must tell him. Maud,do you hear what Mr. Ramsay says?"

  "Yes, I have heard about it before, and I am very proud of him," saidMaud; and that little sentence was more than sufficient praise for me.

  Next moment Major Welbourne--for he was Major now--was overwhelming mewith protestations of gratitude, and I was bitterly regretting havingsaid anything about the matter. But for all that it was a strangecoincidence, wasn't it?

  As soon as the reception was over, we bade Sir Benjamin good-bye, andstarted for Southsea, _en route_ to the Isle of Wight, where, as theguests of Mr. Sanctuary, Maud's cousin, we proposed to spend ourhoneymoon.

  It is under his hospitable roof that this account of my strangeadventures has been written, and now comes to a conclusion.

  I am loth to say "farewell," but what more can I tell you? Only theother day I discovered that Bradshaw the banker, whose embezzlement wasthe primary cause of all the trouble, had the misfortune to beextradited soon after the loss of his money, and now occupies a cell inone of her Majesty's criminal lunatic asylums. Of the ill-fated pair wholeft Valparaiso in the schooner _Island Queen_, Veneda lies buried on anisland off the Sumatra coast, Juanita in an English churchyard. So farnothing has been heard of the Albino. Despite his extraordinarypersonality, which, one would be tempted to believe, would render it themore difficult for him to escape, he has succeeded in completelybaffling the police. Whether I shall ever hear of him again is a matteroutside my power to tell, but that he will some day overreach himself,and suffer the penalty of his crimes, I am as certain as that I am oneof the happiest of men to-day. And nothing can be more certain thanthat!

  And with the assurance of that fact I bring my story to a close. Myonly hope is that I may be permitted to be the husband to Maud that shedeserves; and my only regret is that I cannot prove myself better worthyof her love. Surely a life devoted to achieving both these ends cannotbe altogether spent in vain!

  THE END.