XL. DESOLATE
The struggle was fierce but momentary. Oswald with his weakenedpowers could not long withstand the steady exertion of Orlando's giantstrength, and ere long sank away from the contest into Mr. Challoner'sarms.
"You should not have summoned the shade of our mother to your aid,"observed the other with a smile, in which the irony was lost in terriblepresage. "I was always her favourite."
Oswald shuddered. Orlando had spoken truly; she had always been blindly,arrogantly trustful of her eldest son. No fault could she see in him;and now--
Impetuously Oswald struggled with his weakness, raised himself in Mr.Challoner's arms and cried in loud revolt:
"But God is just. He will not let you escape. If He does, I will not.I will hound you to the ends of this earth and, if necessary, into theeternities. Not with the threat of my arm--you are my master there, butwith the curse of a brother who believed you innocent of his darling'sblood and would have believed you so in face of everything but your ownword."
"Peace!" adjured Orlando. "There is no account I am not ready to settle.I have robbed you of the woman you love, but I have despoiled myself.I stand desolate in the world, who but an hour ago could have chosen myseat among the best and greatest. What can your curses do after that?"
"Nothing." The word came slowly like a drop wrung from a nearly spentheart. "Nothing; nothing. Oh, Orlando, I wish we were both dead andburied and that there were no further life for either of us."
The softened tone, the wistful prayer which would blot out animmortality of joy for the one, that it might save the other froman immortality of retribution, touched some long unsounded chord inOrlando's extraordinary nature.
Advancing a step, he held out his hand--the left one. "We'll leave thefuture to itself, Oswald, and do what we can with the present," said he."I've made a mess of my life and spoiled a career which might have madeus both kings. Forgive me, Oswald. I ask for nothing else from God orman. I should like that. It would strengthen me for to-morrow."
But Oswald, ever kindly, generous and more ready to think of others thanof himself, had yet some of Orlando's tenacity. He gazed at that handand a flush swept up over his cheek which instantly became ghastlyagain.
"I cannot," said he--"not even the left one. May God forgive me!"
Orlando, struck silent for a moment, dropped his hand and slowly turnedaway. Mr. Challoner felt Oswald stiffen in his arms, and break suddenlyaway, only to stop short before he had taken one of the half dozen stepsbetween himself and his departing brother.
"Where are you going?" he demanded in tones which made Orlando turn.
"I might say, To the devil," was the sarcastic reply. "But I doubt ifhe would receive me. No," he added, in more ordinary tones as the othershivered and again started forward, "you will have no trouble in findingme in my own room to-night. I have letters to write and--other things.A man like me cannot drop out without a ripple. You may go to bed andsleep. I will keep awake for two."
"Orlando!" Visions were passing before Oswald's eyes, soul-crushingvisions such as in his blameless life he never thought could enter intohis consciousness or blast his tranquil outlook upon life. "Orlando!"he again appealed, covering his eyes in a frenzied attempt to shut outthese horrors, "I cannot let you go like this. To-morrow--"
"To-morrow, in every niche and corner of this world, wherever EdithChalloner's name has gone, wherever my name has gone, it will be knownthat the discoverer of a practical air-ship, is a man whom they can nolonger honour. Do you think that is not hell enough for me; or that I donot realise the hell it will be for you? I've never wearied you or anyman with my affection; but I'm not all demon. I would gladly have sparedyou this additional anguish; but that was impossible. You are my brotherand must suffer from the connection whether we would have it so ornot. If it promises too much misery--and I know no misery like that ofshame--come with me where I go to-morrow. There will be room for two."
Oswald, swaying with weakness, but maddened by the sight of an overthrowwhich carried with it the stifled affections and the admiration of hiswhole life, gave a bound forward, opened his arms and--fell.
Orlando stopped short. Gazing down on his prostrate brother, he stoodfor a moment with a gleam of something like human tenderness showingthrough the flare of dying passions and perishing hopes; then he swungopen the door and passed quietly out, and Mr. Challoner could hear thelaughing remark with which he met and dismissed the half-dozen men andwomen who had been drawn to this end of the hall by what had sounded tothem like a fracas between angry men.