The Law and the Lady

  CHAPTER XL. NEMESIS AT LAST.

  THE gardener opened the gate to us on this occasion. He had evidentlyreceived his orders in anticipation of my arrival.

  "Mrs. Valeria?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And friend?"

  "And friend."

  "Please to step upstairs. You know the house."

  Crossing the hall, I stopped for a moment, and looked at a favoritewalking-cane which Benjamin still kept in his hand.

  "Your cane will only be in your way," I said. "Had you not better leaveit here?"

  "My cane may be useful upstairs," retorted Benjamin, gruffly. "_I_haven't forgotten what happened in the library."

  It was no time to contend with him. I led the way up the stairs.

  Arriving at the upper flight of steps, I was startled by hearing asudden cry from the room above. It was like the cry of a person in pain;and it was twice repeated before we entered the circular antechamber.I was the first to approach the inner room, and to see the many-sidedMiserrimus Dexter in another new aspect of his character.

  The unfortunate Ariel was standing before a table, with a dish oflittle cakes placed in front of her. Round each of her wrists was tied astring, the free ends of which (at a distance of a few yards) were heldin Miserrimus Dexter's hands. "Try again, my beauty!" I heard him say,as I stopped on the threshold of the door. "Take a cake." At the word ofcommand, Ariel submissively stretched out one arm toward the dish. Justas she touched a cake with the tips of her fingers her hand was jerkedaway by a pull at the string, so savagely cruel in the nimble anddevilish violence of it that I felt inclined to snatch Benjamin'scane out of his hand and break it over Miserrimus Dexter's back. Arielsuffered the pain this time in Spartan silence. The position in whichshe stood enabled her to be the first to see me at the door. She haddiscovered me. Her teeth were set; her face was flushed under thestruggle to restrain herself. Not even a sigh escaped her in mypresence.

  "Drop the string!" I called out, indignantly "Release her, Mr. Dexter,or I shall leave the house."

  At the sound of my voice he burst out with a shrill cry of welcome. Hiseyes fastened on me with a fierce, devouring delight.

  "Come in! come in!" he cried. "See what I am reduced to in the maddeningsuspense of waiting for you. See how I kill the time when the time partsus. Come in! come in! I am in one of my malicious humors this morning,caused entirely, Mrs. Valeria, by my anxiety to see you. When I am inmy malicious humors I must tease something. I am teasing Ariel. Lookat her! She has had nothing to eat all day, and she hasn't been quickenough to snatch a morsel of cake yet. You needn't pity her. Ariel hasno nerves--I don't hurt her."

  "Ariel has no nerves," echoed the poor creature, frowning at me forinterfering between her master and herself. "He doesn't hurt me."

  I heard Benjamin beginning to swing his cane behind him.

  "Drop the string!" I reiterated, more vehemently than ever. "Drop it, orI shall instantly leave you."

  Miserrimus Dexter's delicate nerves shuddered at my violence. "What aglorious voice!" he exclaimed--and dropped the string. "Take the cakes,"he added, addressing Ariel in his most imperial manner.

  She passed me, with the strings hanging from her swollen wrists, and thedish of cakes in her hand. She nodded her head at me defiantly.

  "Ariel has got no nerves," she repeated, proudly. "He doesn't hurt me."

  "You see," said Miserrimus Dexter, "there is no harm done--and I droppedthe strings when you told me. Don't _begin_ by being hard on me, Mrs.Valeria, after your long absence." He paused. Benjamin, standing silentin the doorway, attracted his attention for the first time. "Who isthis?" he asked, and wheeled his chair suspiciously nearer to the door."I know!" he cried, before I could answer. "This is the benevolentgentleman who looked like the refuge of the afflicted when I saw himlast.--You have altered for the worse since then, sir. You have steppedinto quite a new character--you personify Retributive Justice now.--Yournew protector, Mrs. Valeria--I understand!" He bowed low to Benjamin,with ferocious irony. "Your humble servant, Mr. Retributive Justice! Ihave deserved you--and I submit to you. Walk in, sir! I will take carethat your new office shall be a sinecure. This lady is the Light ofmy Life. Catch me failing in respect to her if you can!" He backed hischair before Benjamin (who listened to him in contemptuous silence)until he reached the part of the room in which I was standing. "Yourhand, Light of my Life!" he murmured in his gentlest tones. "Yourhand--only to show that you have forgiven me!" I gave him my hand."One?" he whispered, entreatingly. "Only one?" He kissed my hand once,respectfully--and dropped it with a heavy sigh. "Ah, poor Dexter!" hesaid, pitying himself with the whole sincerity of his egotism. "A warmheart--wasted in solitude, mocked by deformity. Sad! sad! Ah, poorDexter!" He looked round again at Benjamin, with another flash of hisferocious irony. "A beauteous day, sir," he said, with mock-conventionalcourtesy. "Seasonable weather indeed after the late long-continuedrains. Can I offer you any refreshment? Won't you sit down? RetributiveJustice, when it is no taller than you are, looks best in a chair."

  "And a monkey looks best in a cage," rejoined Benjamin, enraged at thesatirical reference to his shortness of stature. "I was waiting, sir, tosee you get into your swing."

  The retort produced no effect on Miserrimus Dexter: it appeared to havepassed by him unheard. He had changed again; he was thoughtful, he wassubdued; his eyes were fixed on me with a sad and rapt attention. Itook the nearest arm-chair, first casting a glance at Benjamin, whichhe immediately understood. He placed himself behind Dexter, at an anglewhich commanded a view of my chair. Ariel, silently devouring her cakes,crouched on a stool at "the Master's" feet, and looked up at him like afaithful dog. There was an interval of quiet and repose. I was able toobserve Miserrimus Dexter uninterruptedly for the first time since I hadentered the room.

  I was not surprised--I was nothing less than alarmed by the change forthe worse in him since we had last met. Mr. Playmore's letter had notprepared me for the serious deterioration in him which I could nowdiscern.

  His features were pinched and worn; the whole face seemed to have wastedstrangely in substance and size since I had last seen it. The softnessin his eyes was gone. Blood-red veins were intertwined all over themnow: they were set in a piteous and vacant stare. His once firm handslooked withered; they trembled as they lay on the coverlet. The palenessof his face (exaggerated, perhaps, by the black velvet jacket thathe wore) had a sodden and sickly look--the fine outline was gone. Themultitudinous little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened.His head sank into his shoulders when he leaned forward in his chair.Years appeared to have passed over him, instead of months, while Ihad been absent from England. Remembering the medical report whichMr. Playmore had given me to read--recalling the doctor's positivelydeclared opinion that the preservation of Dexter's sanity depended onthe healthy condition of his nerves--I could not but feel that I haddone wisely (if I might still hope for success) in hastening my returnfrom Spain. Knowing what I knew, fearing what I feared, I believed thathis time was near. I felt, when our eyes met by accident, that I waslooking at a doomed man.

  I pitied him.

  Yes, yes! I know that compassion for him was utterly inconsistent withthe motive which had taken me to his house--utterly inconsistent withthe doubt, still present to my mind, whether Mr. Playmore had reallywronged him in believing that his was the guilt which had compassedthe first Mrs. Eustace's death. I felt this: I knew him to be cruel; Ibelieved him to be false. And yet I pitied him! Is there a common fundof wickedness in us all? Is the suppression or the development of thatwickedness a mere question of training and temptation? And is theresomething in our deeper sympathies which mutely acknowledges this whenwe feel for the wicked; when we crowd to a criminal trial; when we shakehands at parting (if we happen to be present officially) with the vilestmonster that ever swung on a gallows? It is not for me to decide. I canonly say that I pitied Miserrimus Dexter--and that he found it out.

  "Thank you," he said, suddenly. "You see
I am ill, and you feel for me.Dear and good Valeria!"

  "This lady's name, sir, is Mrs. Eustace Macallan," interposed Benjamin,speaking sternly behind him. "The next time you address her, remember,if you please, that you have no business with her Christian name."

  Benjamin's rebuke passed, like Benjamin's retort, unheeded and unheard.To all appearance, Miserrimus Dexter had completely forgotten that therewas such a person in the room.

  "You have delighted me with the sight of you," he went on. "Add to thepleasure by letting me hear your voice. Talk to me of yourself. Tell mewhat you have been doing since you left England."

  It was necessary to my object to set the conversation afloat; and thiswas as good a way of doing it as any other. I told him plainly how I hadbeen employed during my absence.

  "So you are still fond of Eustace?" he said, bitterly.

  "I love him more dearly than ever."

  He lifted his hands, and hid his face. After waiting a while, he wenton, speaking in an odd, muffled manner, still under cover of his hands.

  "And you leave Eustace in Spain," he said; "and you return to England byyourself! What made you do that?"

  "What made me first come here and ask you to help me, Mr. Dexter?"

  He dropped his hands, and looked at me. I saw in his eyes, not amazementonly, but alarm.

  "Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you won't let that miserablematter rest even yet? Are you still determined to penetrate the mysteryat Gleninch?"

  "I am still determined, Mr. Dexter; and I still hope that you may beable to help me."

  The old distrust that I remembered so well darkened again over his facethe moment I said those words.

  "How can I help you?" he asked. "Can I alter facts?" He stopped. Hisface brightened again, as if some sudden sense of relief had come tohim. "I did try to help you," he went on. "I told you that Mrs. Beauly'sabsence was a device to screen herself from suspicion; I told you thatthe poison might have been given by Mrs. Beauly's maid. Has reflectionconvinced you? Do you see something in the idea?"

  This return to Mrs. Beauly gave me my first chance of leading the talkto the right topic.

  "I see nothing in the idea," I answered. "I see no motive. Had the maidany reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace?"

  "Nobody had any reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace!" hebroke out, loudly and vehemently. "She was all goodness, all kindness;she never injured any human creature in thought or deed. She was a saintupon earth. Respect her memory! Let the martyr rest in her grave!" Hecovered his face again with his hands, and shook and shuddered under theparoxysm of emotion that I had roused in him.

  Ariel suddenly and softly left her stool, and approached me.

  "Do you see my ten claws?" she whispered, holding out her hands. "Vexthe Master again, and you will feel my ten claws on your throat!"

  Benjamin rose from his seat: he had seen the action, without hearing thewords. I signed to him to keep his place. Ariel returned to her stool,and looked up again at her master.

  "Don't cry," she said. "Come on. Here are the strings. Tease me again.Make me screech with the smart of it."

  He never answered, and never moved.

  Ariel bent her slow mind to meet the difficulty of attracting hisattention. I saw it in her frowning brows, in her colorless eyes lookingat me vacantly. On a sudden, she joyfully struck the open palm of one ofher hands with the fist of the other. She had triumphed. She had got anidea.

  "Master!" she cried. "Master! You haven't told me a story for ever solong. Puzzle my thick head. Make my flesh creep. Come on. A good longstory. All blood and crimes."

  Had she accidentally hit on the right suggestion to strike his waywardfancy? I knew his high opinion of his own skill in "dramatic narrative."I knew that one of his favorite amusements was to puzzle Ariel bytelling her stories that she could not understand. Would he wander awayinto the regions of wild romance? Or would he remember that my obstinacystill threatened him with reopening the inquiry into the tragedy atGleninch? and would he set his cunning at work to mislead me by some newstratagem? This latter course was the course which my past experience ofhim suggested that he would take. But, to my surprise and alarm, I foundmy past experience at fault. Ariel succeeded in diverting his mind fromthe subject which had been in full possession of it the moment beforeshe spoke! He showed his face again. It was overspread by a broad smileof gratified self-esteem. He was weak enough now to let even Ariel findher way to his vanity. I saw it with a sense of misgiving, with a doubtwhether I had not delayed my visit until too late, which turned me coldfrom head to foot.

  Miserrimus Dexter spoke--to Ariel, not to me.

  "Poor devil!" he said, patting her head complacently. "You don'tunderstand a word of my stories, do you? And yet I can make the fleshcreep on your great clumsy body--and yet I can hold your muddled mind,and make you like it. Poor devil!" He leaned back serenely in his chair,and looked my way again. Would the sight of me remind him of thewords that had passed between us not a minute since? No! There was thepleasantly tickled self-conceit smiling at me exactly as it had smiledat Ariel. "I excel in dramatic narrative, Mrs. Valeria," he said. "Andthis creature here on the stool is a remarkable proof of it. She isquite a psychological study when I tell her one of my stories. It isreally amusing to see the half-witted wretch's desperate efforts tounderstand me. You shall have a specimen. I have been out of spiritswhile you were away--I haven't told her a story for weeks past; I willtell her one now. Don't suppose it's any effort to me! My invention isinexhaustible. You are sure to be amused--you are naturally serious--butyou are sure to be amused. I am naturally serious too; and I alwayslaugh at her."

  Ariel clapped her great shapeless hands. "He always laughs at me!" shesaid, with a proud look of superiority directed straight at me.

  I was at a loss, seriously at a loss, what to do.

  The outbreak which I had provoked in leading him to speak of the lateMrs. Eustace warned me to be careful, and to wait for my opportunitybefore I reverted to _that_ subject. How else could I turn theconversation so as to lead him, little by little, toward the betrayal ofthe secrets which he was keeping from me? In this uncertainty, one thingonly seemed to be plain. To let him tell his story would be simply tolet him waste the precious minutes. With a vivid remembrance of Ariel's"ten claws," I decided, nevertheless on discouraging Dexter's new whimat every possible opportunity and by every means in my power.

  "Now, Mrs. Valeria," he began, loudly and loftily, "listen. Now, Ariel,bring your brains to a focus. I improvise poetry; I improvise fiction.We will begin with the good old formula of the fairy stories. Once upona time--"

  I was waiting for my opportunity to interrupt him when he interruptedhimself. He stopped, with a bewildered look. He put his hand to hishead, and passed it backward and forward over his forehead. He laughedfeebly.

  "I seem to want rousing," he said

  Was his mind gone? There had been no signs of it until I had unhappilystirred his memory of the dead mistress of Gleninch. Was the weaknesswhich I had already noticed, was the bewilderment which I now saw,attributable to the influence of a passing disturbance only? In otherwords, had I witnessed nothing more serious than a first warning to himand to us? Would he soon recover himself, if we were patient, and gavehim time? Even Benjamin was interested at last; I saw him trying to lookat Dexter around the corner of the chair. Even Ariel was surprised anduneasy. She had no dark glances to cast at me now.

  We all waited to see what he would do, to hear what he would say, next.

  "My harp!" he cried. "Music will rouse me."

  Ariel brought him his harp.

  "Master," she said, wonderingly, "what's come to you?"

  He waved his hand, commanding her to be silent.

  "Ode to Invention," he announced, loftily, addressing himself to me."Poetry and music improvised by Dexter. Silence! Attention!"

  His fingers wandered feebly over the harpstrings, awakening no melody,suggesting no words. In a little while his hand
dropped; his head sankforward gently, and rested on the frame of the harp. I started to myfeet, and approached him. Was it a sleep? or was it a swoon?

  I touched his arm, and called to him by his name.

  Ariel instantly stepped between us, with a threatening look at me. Atthe same moment Miserrimus Dexter raised his head. My voice had reachedhim. He looked at me with a curious contemplative quietness in his eyeswhich I had never seen in them before.

  "Take away the harp," he said to Ariel, speaking in languid tones, likea man who was very weary.

  The mischievous, half-witted creature--in sheer stupidity or indownright malice, I am not sure which--irritated him once more.

  "Why, Master?" she asked, staring at him with the harp hugged in herarms. "What's come to you? where is the story?"

  "We don't want the story," I interposed. "I have many things to say toMr. Dexter which I have not said yet."

  Ariel lifted her heavy hand. "You will have it!" she said, and advancedtoward me. At the same moment the Master's voice stopped her.

  "Put away the harp, you fool!" he repeated, sternly. "And wait for thestory until I choose to tell it."

  She took the harp submissively back to its place at the end of the room.Miserrimus Dexter moved his chair a little closer to mine. "I know whatwill rouse me," he said, confidentially. "Exercise will do it. I havehad no exercise lately. Wait a little, and you will see."

  He put his hands on the machinery of the chair, and started on hiscustomary course down the room. Here again the ominous change in himshowed itself under a new form. The pace at which he traveled was notthe furious pace that I remembered; the chair no longer rushed under himon rumbling and whistling wheels. It went, but it went slowly. Up theroom and down the room he painfully urged it--and then he stopped forwant of breath.

  We followed him. Ariel was first, and Benjamin was by my side. Hemotioned impatiently to both of them to stand back, and to let meapproach him alone.

  "I'm out of practice," he said, faintly. "I hadn't the heart to make thewheels roar and the floor tremble while you were away."

  Who would not have pitied him? Who would have remembered his misdeedsat that moment? Even Ariel felt it. I heard her beginning to whineand whimper behind me. The magician who alone could rouse the dormantsensibilities in her nature had awakened them now by his neglect. Herfatal cry was heard again, in mournful, moaning tones--

  "What's come to you, Master? Where's the story?"

  "Never mind her," I whispered to him. "You want the fresh air. Send forthe gardener. Let us take a drive in your pony-chaise."

  It was useless. Ariel would be noticed. The mournful cry came oncemore--

  "Where's the story? where's the story?"

  The sinking spirit leaped up in Dexter again.

  "You wretch! you fiend!" he cried, whirling his chair around, and facingher. "The story is coming. I _can_ tell it! I _will_ tell it! Wine! Youwhimpering idiot, get me the wine. Why didn't I think of it before? Thekingly Burgundy! that's what I want, Valeria, to set my invention alightand flaming in my head. Glasses for everybody! Honor to the King of theVintages--the Royal Clos Vougeot!"

  Ariel opened the cupboard in the alcove, and produced the wine and thehigh Venetian glasses. Dexter drained his gobletful of Burgundy at adraught; he forced us to drink (or at least to pretend to drink) withhim. Even Ariel had her share this time, and emptied her glass inrivalry with her master. The powerful wine mounted almost instantly toher weak head. She began to sing hoarsely a song of her own devising,in imitation of Dexter. It was nothing but the repetition, the endlessmechanical repetition, of her demand for the story--"Tell us the story.Master! master! tell us the story!" Absorbed over his wine, the Mastersilently filled his goblet for the second time. Benjamin whispered tome while his eye was off us, "Take my advice, Valeria, for once; let usgo."

  "One last effort," I whispered back. "Only one!"

  Ariel went drowsily on with her song--

  "Tell us the story. Master! master! tell us the story."

  Miserrimus Dexter looked up from his glass. The generous stimulant wasbeginning to do its work. I saw the color rising in his face. I sawthe bright intelligence flashing again in his eyes. The Burgundy _had_roused him! The good wine stood my friend, and offered me a last chance!

  "No story," I said. "I want to talk to you, Mr. Dexter. I am not in thehumor for a story."

  "Not in the humor?" he repeated, with a gleam of the old impish ironyshowing itself again in his face. "That's an excuse. I see what it is!You think my invention is gone--and you are not frank enough to confessit. I'll show you you're wrong. I'll show you that Dexter is himselfagain. Silence, you Ariel, or you shall leave the room! I have got it,Mrs. Valeria, all laid out here, with scenes and characters complete."He touched his forehead, and looked at me with a furtive and smilingcunning before he added his next words. "It's the very thing to interestyou, my fair friend. It's the story of a Mistress and a Maid. Come backto the fire and hear it."

  The Story of a Mistress and a Maid? If that meant anything, it meant thestory of Mrs. Beauly and her maid, told in disguise.

  The title, and the look which had escaped him when he announced it,revived the hope that was well-nigh dead in me. He had rallied at last.He was again in possession of his natural foresight and his naturalcunning. Under pretense of telling Ariel her story, he was evidentlyabout to make the attempt to mislead me for the second time. Theconclusion was irresistible. To use his own words--Dexter was himselfagain.

  I took Benjamin's arm as we followed him back to the fire-place in themiddle of the room.

  "There is a chance for me yet," I whispered. "Don't forget the signals."

  We returned to the places which we had already occupied. Ariel castanother threatening look at me. She had just sense enough left, afteremptying her goblet of wine, to be on the watch for a new interruptionon my part. I took care, of course, that nothing of the sort shouldhappen. I was now as eager as Ariel to hear the story. The subject wasfull of snares for the narrator. At any moment, in the excitement ofspeaking, Dexter's memory of the true events might show itself reflectedin the circumstances of the fiction. At any moment he might betrayhimself.

  He looked around him, and began.

  "My public, are you seated? My public, are you ready?" he asked,gayly. "Your face a little more this way," he added, in his softestand tenderest tones, motioning to me to turn my full face toward him."Surely I am not asking too much? You look at the meanest creature thatcrawls--look at Me. Let me find my inspiration in your eyes. Let me feedmy hungry admiration on your form. Come, have one little pitying smileleft for the man whose happiness you have wrecked. Thank you, Light ofmy Life, thank you!" He kissed his hand to me, and threw himself backluxuriously in his chair. "The story," he resumed. "The story at last!In what form shall I cast it? In the dramatic form--the oldest way, thetruest way, the shortest way of telling a story! Title first. Ashort title, a taking title: 'Mistress and Maid.' Scene, the land ofromance--Italy. Time, the age of romance--the fifteenth century. Ha!look at Ariel. She knows no more about the fifteenth century than thecat in the kitchen, and yet she is interested already. Happy Ariel!"

  Ariel looked at me again, in the double intoxication of the wine and thetriumph.

  "I know no more than the cat in the kitchen," she repeated, with a broadgrin of gratified vanity. "I am 'happy Ariel!' What are you?"

  Miserrimus Dexter laughed uproariously.

  "Didn't I tell you?" he said. "Isn't she fun?--Persons of the Drama."he resumed: "three in number. Women only. Angelica, a noble lady; noblealike in spirit and in birth. Cunegonda, a beautiful devil in woman'sform. Damoride, her unfortunate maid. First scene: a dark vaultedchamber in a castle. Time, evening. The owls are hooting in the wood;the frogs are croaking in the marsh.--Look at Ariel! Her flesh creeps;she shudders audibly. Admirable Ariel!"

  My rival in the Master's favor eyed me defiantly. "Admirable Ariel!"she repeated, in drowsy accents. Miserrimus Dexter paused to take uphis
goblet of Burgundy--placed close at hand on a little sliding tableattached to his chair. I watched him narrowly as he sipped the wine. Theflush was still mounting in his face; the light was still brighteningin his eyes. He set down his glass again, with a jovial smack of hislips--and went on:

  "Persons present in the vaulted chamber: Cunegonda and Damoride.Cunegonda speaks. 'Damoride!' 'Madam?' 'Who lies ill in the chamberabove us?' 'Madam, the noble lady Angelica.' (A pause. Cunegonda speaksagain.) 'Damoride!' 'Madam?' 'How does Angelica like you?' 'Madam, thenoble lady, sweet and good to all who approach her, is sweet and good tome.' 'Have you attended on her, Damoride?' 'Sometimes, madam, when thenurse was weary.' 'Has she taken her healing medicine from your hand.''Once or twice, madam, when I happened to be by.' 'Damoride, take thiskey and open the casket on the table there.' (Damoride obeys.) 'Doyou see a green vial in the casket?' 'I see it, madam.' 'Take it out.'(Damoride obeys.) 'Do you see a liquid in the green vial? can youguess what it is?' 'No, madam.' 'Shall I tell you?' (Damoride bowsrespectfully ) 'Poison is in the vial.' (Damoride starts; she shrinksfrom the poison; she would fain put it aside. Her mistress signs to herto keep it in her hand; her mistress speaks.) 'Damoride, I have told youone of my secrets; shall I tell you another?' (Damoride waits, fearingwhat is to come. Her mistress speaks.) 'I hate the Lady Angelica. Herlife stands between me and the joy of my heart. You hold her life inyour hand.' (Damoride drops on her knees; she is a devout person;she crosses herself, and then she speaks.) 'Mistress, you terrify me.Mistress, what do I hear?' (Cunegonda advances, stands over her, looksdown on her with terrible eyes, whispers the next words.) 'Damoride! theLady Angelica must die--and I must not be suspected. The Lady Angelicamust die--and by your hand.'"

  He paused again. To sip the wine once more? No; to drink a deep draughtof it this time.

  Was the stimulant beginning to fail him already?

  I looked at him attentively as he laid himself back again in his chairto consider for a moment before he went on.

  The flush on his face was as deep as ever; but the brightness in hiseyes was beginning to fade already. I had noticed that he spoke more andmore slowly as he advanced to the later dialogue of the scene. Was hefeeling the effort of invention already? Had the time come when the winehad done all that the wine could do for him?

  We waited. Ariel sat watching him with vacantly staring eyes andvacantly open mouth. Ben jamin, impenetrably expecting the signal, kepthis open note-book on his knee, covered by his hand. Miserrimus Dexterwent on:

  "Damoride hears those terrible words; Damoride clasps her hands inentreaty. 'Oh, madam! madam! how can I kill the dear and noble lady?What motive have I for harming her?' Cunegonda answers, 'You have themotive of obeying Me.' (Damoride falls with her face on the floor ather mistress's feet.) 'Madam, I cannot do it! Madam, I dare not doit!' Cunegonda answers, 'You run no risk: I have my plan for divertingdiscovery from myself, and my plan for diverting discovery from you.'Damoride repeats, 'I cannot do it! I dare not do it!' Cunegonda's eyesflash lightnings of rage. She takes from its place of concealment in herbosom--"

  He stopped in the middle of the sentence, and put his hand to hishead--not like a man in pain, but like a man who had lost his idea.

  Would it be well if I tried to help him to recover his idea? or would itbe wiser (if I could only do it) to keep silence?

  I could see the drift of his story plainly enough. His object, underthe thin disguise of the Italian romance, was to meet my unanswerableobjection to suspecting Mrs. Beauly's maid--the objection that the womanhad no motive for committing herself to an act of murder. If he couldpractically contradict this, by discovering a motive which I should beobliged to admit, his end would be gained. Those inquiries which I hadpledged myself to pursue--those inquiries which might, at any moment,take a turn that directly concerned him--would, in that case, besuccessfully diverted from the right to the wrong person. The innocentmaid would set my strictest scrutiny at defiance; and Dexter would besafely shielded behind her.

  I determined to give him time. Not a word passed my lips.

  The minutes followed each other. I waited in the deepest anxiety. It wasa trying and a critical moment. If he succeeded in inventing a probablemotive, and in shaping it neatly to suit the purpose of his story, hewould prove, by that act alone, that there were reserves of mentalpower still left in him which the practiced eye of the Scotch doctor hadfailed to see. But the question was--would he do it?

  He did it! Not in a new way; not in a convincing way; not without apainfully evident effort. Still, well done or ill done, he found amotive for the maid.

  "Cunegonda," he resumed, "takes from its place of concealment inher bosom a written paper, and unfolds it. 'Look at this,' she says.Damoride looks at the paper, and sinks again at her mistress's feet in aparoxysm of horror and despair. Cunegonda is in possession of a shamefulsecret in the maid's past life. Cunegonda can say to her, 'Chooseyour alternative. Either submit to an exposure which disgraces youand--disgraces your parents forever--or make up your mind to obey Me.'Damoride might submit to the disgrace if it only affected herself. Buther parents are honest people; she cannot disgrace her parents. She isdriven to her last refuge--there is no hope of melting the hard heart ofCunegonda. Her only resource is to raise difficulties; she tries to showthat there are obstacles between her and the crime. 'Madam! madam!' shecries; 'how can I do it, when the nurse is there to see me?' Cunegondaanswers, 'Sometimes the nurse sleeps; sometimes the nurse is away.'Damoride still persists. 'Madam! madam! the door is kept locked, and thenurse has got the key.'"

  The key! I instantly thought of the missing key at Gleninch. Had hethought of it too? He certainly checked himself as the word escaped him.I resolved to make the signal. I rested my elbow on the arm of my chair,and played with my earring. Benjamin took out his pencil and arrangedhis note-book so that Ariel could not see what he was about if shehappened to look his way.

  We waited until it pleased Miserrimus Dexter to proceed. The intervalwas a long one. His hand went up again to his forehead. A duller andduller look was palpably stealing over his eyes. When he did speak, itwas not to go on with the narrative, but to put a question.

  "Where did I leave off?" he asked.

  My hopes sank again as rapidly as they had risen. I managed to answerhim, however, without showing any change in my manner.

  "You left off," I said, "where Damoride was speaking to Cunegonda--"

  "Yes, yes!" he interposed. "And what did she say?"

  "She said, 'The door is kept locked, and the nurse has got the key.'"

  He instantly leaned forward in his chair.

  "No!" he answered, vehemently. "You're wrong. 'Key?' Nonsense! I neversaid 'Key.'"

  "I thought you did, Mr. Dexter."

  "I never did! I said something else, and you have forgotten it."

  I refrained from disputing with him, in fear of what might follow. Wewaited again. Benjamin, sullenly submitting to my caprices, had takendown the questions and answers that had passed between Dexter andmyself. He still mechanically kept his page open, and still held hispencil in readiness to go on. Ariel, quietly submitting to the drowsyinfluence of the wine while Dexter's voice was in her ears, feltuneasily the change to silence. She glanced round her restlessly; shelifted her eyes to "the Master."

  There he sat, silent, with his hand to his head, still struggling tomarshal his wandering thoughts, still trying to see light through thedarkness that was closing round him.

  "Master!" cried Ariel, piteously. "What's become of the story?"

  He started as if she had awakened him out of a sleep; he shook hishead impatiently, as though he wanted to throw off some oppression thatweighed upon it.

  "Patience, patience," he said. "The story is going on again."

  He dashed at it desperately; he picked up the first lost thread thatfell in his way, reckless whether it were the right thread or the wrongone:

  "Damoride fell on her knees. She burst into tears. She said--"

  He stopped, a
nd looked about him with vacant eyes.

  "What name did I give the other woman?" he asked, not putting thequestion to me, or to either of my companions: asking it of himself, orasking it of the empty air.

  "You called the other woman Cunegonda," I said.

  At the sound of my voice his eyes turned slowly--turned on me, and yetfailed to look at me. Dull and absent, still and changeless, they wereeyes that seemed to be fixed on something far away. Even his voicewas altered when he spoke next. It had dropped to a quiet, vacant,monotonous tone. I had heard something like it while I was watching bymy husband's bedside, at the time of his delirium--when Eustace's mindappeared to be too weary to follow his speech. Was the end so near asthis?

  "I called her Cunegonda," he repeated. "And I called the other--"

  He stopped once more.

  "And you called the other Damoride," I said.

  Ariel looked up at him with a broad stare of bewilderment. She pulledimpatiently at the sleeve of his jacket to attract his notice.

  "Is this the story, Master?" she asked.

  He answered without looking at her, his changeless eyes still fixed, asit seemed, on something far away.

  "This is the story," he said, absently. "But why Cunegonda? whyDamoride? Why not Mistress and Maid? It's easier to remember Mistressand Maid--"

  He hesitated; he shivered as he tried to raise himself in his chair.Then he seemed to rally "What did the Maid say to the Mistress?" hemuttered. "What? what? what?" He hesitated again. Then something seemedto dawn upon him unexpectedly. Was it some new thought that had struckhim? or some lost thought that he had recovered? Impossible to say.

  He went on, suddenly and rapidly went on, in these strange words:

  "'The letter,' the Maid said; 'the letter. Oh my heart. Every worda dagger. A dagger in my heart. Oh, you letter. Horrible, horrible,horrible letter.'"

  What, in God's name, was he talking about? What did those words mean?

  Was he unconsciously pursuing his faint and fragmentary recollectionsof a past time at Gleninch, under the delusion that he was going on withthe story? In the wreck of the other faculties, was memory the last tosink? Was the truth, the dreadful truth, glimmering on me dimly throughthe awful shadow cast before it by the advancing, eclipse of the brain?My breath failed me; a nameless horror crept through my whole being.

  Benjamin, with his pencil in his hand, cast one warning look at me.Ariel was quiet and satisfied. "Go on, Master," was all she said. "Ilike it! I like it! Go on with the story."

  He went on--like a man sleeping with his eyes open, and talking in hissleep.

  "The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to the Maid. TheMistress said, 'Show him the letter. Must, must, must do it.' The Maidsaid, 'No. Mustn't do it. Shan't show it. Stuff. Nonsense. Let himsuffer. We can get him off. Show it? No. Let the worst come to theworst. Show it, then.' The Mistress said--" He paused, and waved hishand rapidly to and fro before his eyes, as if he were brushing awaysome visionary confusion or entanglement. "Which was it last?" hesaid--"Mistress or Maid? Mistress? No. Maid speaks, of course. Loud.Positive. 'You scoundrels. Keep away from that table. The Diary's there.Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You shan't have the Diary. Asecret in your ear. The Diary will hang, him. I won't have him hanged.How dare you touch my chair? My chair is Me! How dare you touch Me?'"

  The last words burst on me like a gleam of light! I had read them inthe Report of the Trial--in the evidence of the sheriff's officer.Miserrimus Dexter had spoken in those very terms when he had triedvainly to prevent the men from seizing my husband's papers, and when themen had pushed his chair out of the room. There was no doubt now of whathis memory was busy with. The mystery at Gleninch! His last backwardflight of thought circled feebly and more feebly nearer and nearer tothe mystery at Gleninch!

  Ariel aroused him again. She had no mercy on him; she insisted onhearing the whole story.

  "Why do you stop, Master? Get along with it! get along with it! Tell usquick--what did the Missus say to the Maid?"

  He laughed feebly, and tried to imitate her.

  "'What did the Missus say to the Maid?'" he repeated. His laugh diedaway. He went on speaking, more and more vacantly, more and morerapidly. "The Mistress said to the Maid. We've got him off. What aboutthe letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. No matches in the box.House topsy-turvy. Servants all gone. Tear it up. Shake it up in thebasket. Along with the rest. Shake it up. Waste paper. Throw it away.Gone forever. Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara! Gone forever.'"

  Ariel clapped her hands, and mimicked him in her turn.

  "'Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara!'" she repeated. "'Gone forever.' That's prime,Master! Tell us--who was Sara?"

  His lips moved, but his voice sank so low that I could barely hear him.He began again, with the old melancholy refrain:

  "The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to the Maid--"He stopped abruptly, and raised himself erect in the chair; he threwup both his hands above his head, and burst into a frightful screaminglaugh. "Aha-ha-ha-ha! How funny! Why don't you laugh? Funny, funny,funny, funny. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha--"

  He fell back in the chair. The shrill and dreadful laugh died away intoa low sob. Then there was one long, deep, wearily drawn breath. Thennothing but a mute, vacant face turned up to the ceiling, with eyesthat looked blindly, with lips parted in a senseless, changeless grin.Nemesis at last! The foretold doom had fallen on him. The night hadcome.

  But one feeling animated me when the first shock was over. Even thehorror of that fearful sight seemed only to increase the pity that Ifelt for the stricken wretch. I started impulsively to my feet. Seeingnothing, thinking of nothing but the helpless figure in the chair, Isprang forward to raise him, to revive him, to recall him (if such athing might still be possible) to himself. At the first step that Itook, I felt hands on me--I was violently drawn back. "Are you blind?"cried Benjamin, dragging me nearer and nearer to the door. "Look there!"

  He pointed; and I looked.

  Ariel had been beforehand with me. She had raised her master in thechair; she had got one arm around him. In her free hand she brandishedan Indian club, torn from a "trophy" of Oriental weapons that ornamentedthe wall over the fire-place. The creature was transfigured! Her dulleyes glared like the eyes of a wild animal. She gnashed her teeth inthe frenzy that possessed her. "You have done this!" she shouted to me,waving the club furiously around and around over her head. "Come nearhim, and I'll dash your brains out! I'll mash you till there's not awhole bone left in your skin!" Benjamin, still holding me with one handopened the door with the other. I let him do with me as he would; Arielfascinated me; I could look at nothing but Ariel. Her frenzy vanished asshe saw us retreating. She dropped the club; she threw both arms aroundhim, and nestled her head on his bosom, and sobbed and wept over him."Master! master! They shan't vex you any more. Look up again. Laughat me as you used to do. Say, 'Ariel, you're a fool.' Be like yourselfagain!" I was forced into the next room. I heard a long, low, wailingcry of misery from the poor creature who loved him with a dog's fidelityand a woman's devotion. The heavy door was closed between us. I was inthe quiet antechamber, crying over that piteous sight; clinging to mykind old friend as helpless and as useless as a child.

  Benjamin turned the key in the lock.

  "There's no use in crying about it," he said, quietly. "It would be moreto the purpose, Valeria, if you thanked God that you have got out ofthat room safe and sound. Come with me."

  He took the key out of the lock, and led me downstairs into the hall.After a little consideration, he opened the front door of the house. Thegardener was still quietly at work in the grounds.

  "Your master is taken ill," Benjamin said; "and the woman who attendsupon him has lost her head--if she ever had a head to lose. Where doesthe nearest doctor live?"

  The man's devotion to Dexter showed itself as the woman's devotion hadshown itself--in the man's rough way. He threw down his spade with anoath.

  "The Master taken bad?" he said. "I'll fetch the
doctor. I shall findhim sooner than you will."

  "Tell the doctor to bring a man with him," Benjamin added. "He may wanthelp."

  The gardener turned around sternly.

  "_I'm_ the man," he said. "Nobody shall help but me."

  He left us. I sat down on one of the chairs in the hall, and did my bestto compose myself. Benjamin walked to and fro, deep in thought. "Both ofthem fond of him," I heard my old friend say to himself. "Half monkey,half man--and both of them fond of him. _That_ beats me."

  The gardener returned with the doctor--a quiet, dark, resolute man.Benjamin advanced to meet them. "I have got the key," he said. "Shall Igo upstairs with you?"

  Without answering, the doctor drew Benjamin aside into a corner of thehall. The two talked together in low voices. At the end of it the doctorsaid, "Give me the key. You can be of no use; you will only irritateher."

  With those words he beckoned to the gardener. He was about to lead theway up the stairs when I ventured to stop him.

  "May I stay in the hall, sir?" I said. "I am very anxious to hear how itends."

  He looked at me for a moment before he replied.

  "You had better go home, madam," he said. "Is the gardener acquaintedwith your address?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well. I will let you know how it ends by means of the gardener.Take my advice. Go home."

  Benjamin placed my arm in his. I looked back, and saw the doctor andthe gardener ascending the stairs together on their way to the locked-uproom.

  "Never mind the doctor," I whispered. "Let's wait in the garden."

  Benjamin would not hear of deceiving the doctor. "I mean to take youhome," he said. I looked at him in amazement. My old friend, who was allmeekness and submission so long as there was no emergency to try him,now showed the dormant reserve of manly spirit and decision in hisnature as he had never (in my experience) shown it yet. He led me intothe garden. We had kept our cab: it was waiting for us at the gate.

  On our way home Benjamin produced his note-book.

  "What's to be done, my dear, with the gibberish that I have writtenhere?" he said.

  "Have you written it all down?" I asked, in surprise.

  "When I undertake a duty, I do it," he answered. "You never gave me thesignal to leave off--you never moved your chair. I have written everyword of it. What shall I do? Throw it out of the cab window?"

  "Give it to me."

  "What are you going to do with it?"

  "I don't know yet. I will ask Mr. Playmore."