CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE DARK.
WITH such a man as Miserrimus Dexter, and with such a purpose as I hadin view, no half-confidences were possible. I must either risk the mostunreserved acknowledgment of the interests that I really had at stake,or I must make the best excuse that occurred to me for abandoning mycontemplated experiment at the last moment. In my present criticalsituation, no such refuge as a middle course lay before me--even if Ihad been inclined to take it. As things were, I ran risks, and plungedheadlong into my own affairs at starting.
"Thus far, you know little or nothing about me, Mr. Dexter," I said."You are, as I believe, quite unaware that my husband and I are notliving together at the present time."
"Is it necessary to mention your husband?" he asked, coldly, withoutlooking up from his embroidery, and without pausing in his work.
"It is absolutely necessary," I answered. "I can explain myself to youin no other way."
He bent his head, and sighed resignedly.
"You and your husband are not living together at the present time," heresumed. "Does that mean that Eustace has left you?"
"He has left me, and has gone abroad."
"Without any necessity for it?"
"Without the least necessity."
"Has he appointed no time for his return to you?"
"If he persevere in his present resolution, Mr. Dexter, Eustace willnever return to me."
For the first time he raised his head from his embroidery--with a suddenappearance of interest.
"Is the quarrel so serious as that?" he asked. "Are you free of eachother, pretty Mrs. Valeria, by common consent of both parties?"
The tone in which he put the question was not at all to my liking. Thelook he fixed on me was a look which unpleasantly suggested that I hadtrusted myself alone with him, and that he might end in taking advantageof it. I reminded him quietly, by my manner more than by my words, ofthe respect which he owed to me.
"You are entirely mistaken," I said. "There is no anger--there is noteven a misunderstanding between us. Our parting has cost bitter sorrow,Mr. Dexter, to him and to me."
He submitted to be set right with ironical resignation. "I am allattention," he said, threading his needle. "Pray go on; I won'tinterrupt you again." Acting on this invitation, I told him the truthabout my husband and myself quite unreservedly, taking care, however,at the same time, to put Eustace's motives in the best light that theywould bear. Miserrimus Dexter dropped his embroidery on his lap, andlaughed softly to himself, with an impish enjoyment of my poor littlenarrative, which set every nerve in me on edge as I looked at him.
"I see nothing to laugh at," I said, sharply.
His beautiful blue eyes rested on me with a look of innocent surprise.
"Nothing to laugh at," he repeated, "in such an exhibition of humanfolly as you have just described?" His expression suddenly changed hisface darkened and hardened very strangely. "Stop!" he cried, before Icould answer him. "There can be only one reason for you're taking it asseriously as you do. Mrs. Valeria! you are fond of your husband."
"Fond of him isn't strong enough to express it," I retorted. "I love himwith my whole heart."
Miserrimus Dexter stroked his magnificent beard, and contemplativelyrepeated my words. "You love him with your whole heart? Do you knowwhy?"
"Because I can't help it," I answered, doggedly.
He smiled satirically, and went on with his embroidery. "Curious!" hesaid to himself; "Eustace's first wife loved him too. There are some menwhom the women all like, and there are other men whom the women nevercare for. Without the least reason for it in either case. The one man isjust as good as the other; just as handsome, as agreeable, as honorable,and as high in rank as the other. And yet for Number One they will gothrough fire and water, and for Number Two they won't so much as turntheir heads to look at him. Why? They don't know themselves--as Mrs.Valeria has just said! Is there a physical reason for it? Is theresome potent magnetic emanation from Number One which Number Two doesn'tpossess? I must investigate this when I have the time, and when I findmyself in the humor." Having so far settled the question to his ownentire satisfaction, he looked up at me again. "I am still in the darkabout you and your motives," he said. "I am still as far as ever fromunderstanding what your interest is in investigating that hideoustragedy at Gleninch. Clever Mrs. Valeria, please take me by the hand,and lead me into the light. You're not offended with me are you? Make itup; and I will give you this pretty piece of embroidery when I have doneit. I am only a poor, solitary, deformed wretch, with a quaint turn ofmind; I mean no harm. Forgive me! indulge me! enlighten me!"
He resumed his childish ways; he recover, his innocent smile, with theodd little puckers and wrinkles accompanying it at the corners of hiseyes. I began to doubt whether I might not have been unreasonablyhard on him. I penitently resolved to be more considerate toward hisinfirmities of mind and body during the remainder of my visit.
"Let me go back for a moment, Mr. Dexter, to past times at Gleninch," Isaid. "You agree with me in believing Eustace to be absolutely innocentof the crime for which he was tried. Your evidence at the Trial tells methat."
He paused over his work, and looked at me with a grave and sternattention which presented his face in quite a new light.
"That is _our_ opinion," I resumed. "But it was not the opinion of theJury. Their verdict, you remember, was Not Proven. In plain English, theJury who tried my husband declined to express their opinion, positivelyand publicly, that he was innocent. Am I right?"
Instead of answering, he suddenly put his embroidery back in the basket,and moved the machinery of his chair, so as to bring it close by mine.
"Who told you this?" he asked.
"I found it for myself in a book."
Thus far his face had expressed steady attention--and no more. Now, forthe first time, I thought I saw something darkly passing over him whichbetrayed itself to my mind as rising distrust.
"Ladies are not generally in the habit of troubling their heads aboutdry questions of law," he said. "Mrs. Eustace Macallan the Second, youmust have some very powerful motive for turning your studies that way."
"I have a very powerful motive, Mr. Dexter My husband is resigned to theScotch Verdict His mother is resigned to it. His friends (so far as Iknow) are resigned to it--"
"Well?"
"Well! I don't agree with my husband, or his mother, or his friends. Irefuse to submit to the Scotch Verdict."
The instant I said those words, the madness in him which I had hithertodenied, seemed to break out. He suddenly stretched himself over hischair: he pounced on me, with a hand on each of my shoulders; his wildeyes questioned me fiercely, frantically, within a few inches of myface.
"What do you mean?" he shouted, at the utmost pitch of his ringing andresonant voice.
A deadly fear of him shook me. I did my best to hide the outwardbetrayal of it. By look and word, I showed him, as firmly as I could,that I resented the liberty he had taken with me.
"Remove your hands, sir," I said, "and retire to your proper place."
He obeyed me mechanically. He apologized to me mechanically. His wholemind was evidently still filled with the words that I had spoken to him,and still bent on discovering what those words meant.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I humbly beg your pardon. The subjectexcites me, frightens me, maddens me. You don't know what a difficultyI have in controlling myself. Never mind. Don't take me seriously. Don'tbe frightened at me. I am so ashamed of myself--I feel so small and somiserable at having offended you. Make me suffer for it. Take a stickand beat me. Tie me down in my chair. Call up Ariel, who is as strongas a horse, and tell her to hold me. Dear Mrs. Valeria! Injured Mrs.Valeria! I'll endure anything in the way of punishment, if you willonly tell me what you mean by not submitting to the Scotch Verdict." Hebacked his chair penitently as he made that entreaty. "Am I far enoughaway yet?" he asked, with a rueful look. "Do I still frighten you? I'lldrop out of sight, if you prefer it, in the bottom o
f the chair."
He lifted the sea-green coverlet. In another moment he would havedisappeared like a puppet in a show if I had not stopped him.
"Say nothing more, and do nothing more; I accept your apologies," Isaid. "When I tell you that I refuse to submit to the opinion of theScotch Jury, I mean exactly what my words express. That verdict hasleft a stain on my husband's character. He feels the stain bitterly. Howbitterly no one knows so well as I do. His sense of his degradation isthe sense that has parted him from me. It is not enough for _him_ thatI am persuaded of his innocence. Nothing will bring him back tome--nothing will persuade Eustace that I think him worthy to be theguide and companion of my life--but the proof of his innocence, setbefore the Jury which doubts it, and the public which doubts it, to thisday. He and his friends and his lawyers all despair of ever finding thatproof now. But I am his wife; and none of you love him as I love him.I alone refuse to despair; I alone refuse to listen to reason. IfGod spare me, Mr. Dexter, I dedicate my life to the vindication of myhusband's innocence. You are his old friend--I am here to ask you tohelp me."
It appeared to be now my turn to frighten _him._ The color left hisface. He passed his hand restlessly over his forehead, as if he weretrying to brush some delusion out of his brain.
"Is this one of my dreams?" he asked, faintly. "Are you a Vision of thenight?"
"I am only a friendless woman," I said, "who has lost all that she lovedand prized, and who is trying to win it back again."
He began to move his chair nearer to me once more. I lifted my hand.He stopped the chair directly. There was a moment of silence. We satwatching one another. I saw his hands tremble as he laid them on thecoverlet; I saw his face grow paler and paler, and his under lip drop.What dead and buried remembrances had I brought to life in him, in alltheir olden horror?
He was the first to speak again.
"So this is your interest," he said, "in clearing up the mystery of Mrs.Eustace Macallan's death?"
"Yes."
"And you believe that I can help you?"
"I do."
He slowly lifted one of his hands, and pointed at me with his longforefinger.
"You suspect somebody," he said.
The tone in which he spoke was low and threatening; it warned me to becareful. At the same time, if I now shut him out of my confidence, Ishould lose the reward that might yet be to come, for all that I hadsuffered and risked at that perilous interview.
"You suspect somebody," he repeated.
"Perhaps!" was all that I said in return.
"Is the person within your reach?"
"Not yet."
"Do you know where the person is?"
"No."
He laid his head languidly on the back of his chair, with a tremblinglong-drawn sigh. Was he disappointed? Or was he relieved? Or was hesimply exhausted in mind and body alike? Who could fathom him? Who couldsay?
"Will you give me five minutes?" he asked, feebly and wearily, withoutraising his head. "You know already how any reference to events atGleninch excites and shakes me. I shall be fit for it again, if youwill kindly give me a few minutes to myself. There are books in the nextroom. Please excuse me."
I at once retired to the circular antechamber. He followed me in hischair, and closed the door between us.