XI.
So numerous had been the concourse of people, and so engrossed werethey in their demonstrations of sorrow and affection for theirdeparted friend, that the presence of a stranger among them had notbeen observed. He was a man whose appearance would not have won theirfavour. Apart from the fact that he was unknown--which in itself,because of late events, would have predisposed them against him--hisface and clothes would not have recommended him. He had the air of onewho was familiar with prisons; he was common and coarse-looking; hisclothes were a conglomeration of patches and odds and ends; he gazedabout him furtively, as though seeking for some particular person orfor some special information, and at the same time wishful, forprivate and not creditable reasons, not to draw upon himself a tooclose observation. Had he done so, it would have been noted that heentered the village early in the day, and, addressing himself tochildren--his evident desire being to avoid intercourse with men andwomen--learnt from them the direction of Gabriel Carew's house.Thither he wended his way, and loitered about the house, looking up atthe windows and watching the doors for the appearance of some personfrom whom he could elicit further information. There was only oneservant in the house, the other domestics having gone to the funeral,and this servant, an elderly woman, was at length attracted by thesight of a stranger strolling this way and that, without any definitepurpose--and, therefore, for a bad one. She stood in the doorway,gazing at him. He approached and addressed her.
"I am looking for Gabriel Carew's house," he said.
"This is it," the servant replied.
"So I was directed, but was not sure, being a stranger in these parts.Is the master at home?"
"No."
"He lives here, doesn't he?"
"He will presently; but it is only lately he came back with his wife,and has not yet taken up his residence."
"His wife! Do you mean Doctor Louis's daughter?"
"Yes.
"Ah, they're married, then?"
"Yes, they are married. You seem to know names, though you are astranger."
"Yes, I know names well enough. If Gabriel Carew is not here, where ishe?"
"It would be more respectful to say Mr. Carew," said the servant,resenting this familiar utterance of her master's name.
"Mr. Carew, then. I'm not particular. Where is he?"
"You will find him in the village."
"That's a wide address."
"He is stopping at Doctor Louis's house. Anybody will tell you wherethat is."
"Thank you; I will go there." He was about to depart, but turned andsaid, "Where is the gardener, Martin Hartog?"
"He left months ago."
"Left, has he? Where for?"
"I can't tell you."
"Because you won't?"
"Because I can't. You are a saucy fellow."
"No, mistress, you're mistaken. It's my manner, that's all; I wasbrought up rough. And where I've come from, a man might as well be outof the world as in it." He accompanied this remark with a dare-devilshake of his head.
"You're so free at asking questions," said the woman, "that there canbe no harm in my asking where _have_ you come from--being, as you say,a stranger in these parts?"
"Ah, mistress," said the man, "questions are easily asked. It's adifferent thing answering them. Where I've come from is nothing toanybody who's not been there. To them it means a lot. Thank you foryour information."
He swung off without another word towards the village. He had nodifficulty in finding Doctor Louis's house, and observing thatsomething unusual was taking place, held his purpose in and tookmental notes. He followed the procession to the churchyard, and waswitness to the sympathy and sorrow shown for the lady whose body wastaken to its last resting-place. He did not know at the time whetherit was man or woman, and he took no pains to ascertain till thereligious ceremony was over. Then he addressed himself to a littlegirl.
"Who is dead?"
"Our Angel Mother," replied the girl.
"She had a name, little one." His voice was not unkindly. The answerto his question--"Angel Mother"--had touched him. He once had amother, the memory of whom still remained with him as a softening ifnot a purifying influence. It is the one word in all the languageswhich ranks nearest to God. "What was hers?"
"Don't you know? Everybody knows. Doctor Louis's wife."
"Doctor Louis's wife!" he muttered. "And I had a message for her!"Then he said aloud, "Dead, eh?"
"Dead," said the little girl mournfully.
"And you are sorry?"
"Everybody is sorry."
"Ah," thought the man, "it bears out what _he_ said." Again, aloud:"That gentleman yonder, is he Doctor Louis?"
"Yes."
"The priest--his name is Father Daniel, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"The young lady by Doctor Louis's side, is she his daughter?"
"Yes."
"Is her husband there--Gabriel Carew?"
"Yes; there he is." And the girl pointed him out.
The man nodded, and moved apart. But he did not remain so; he mingledwith the throng, and coming close to the persons he had asked about,gazed at them, as though in the endeavour to fix their faces in hismemory. Especially did he gaze, long and earnestly, at Gabriel Carew.None noticed him; they were too deeply preoccupied in their specialsorrow. When the principal mourners moved away, he followed them at alittle distance, and saw them enter Doctor Louis's house. Being gonefrom his sight, he waited patiently. Patience was required, becausefor three or four hours none who entered the house emerged from it.Nature, however, is a stern mistress, and in her exactions is not tobe denied. The man took from his pocket some bread and cheese, whichhe cut with a stout clasp knife, and devoured. At four o'clock in theafternoon Father Daniel came out of the house. The man accosted him.
"You are Father Daniel?"
"I am." And the priest, with his earnest eyes upon the stranger, said,"I do not know you."
"No," replied the man, "I have never seen you before to-day. We arestrangers to each other. But I have heard much of you."
"From whom?"
"From Emilius," said the man.
"Emilius!" cried Father Daniel, and signs of agitation were visible onhis face. "Are you acquainted with him? Have you seen him lately?
"I am acquainted with him. I saw him three days ago."
Father Daniel fell back with a sudden impulse of revulsion, and withas sudden an impulse of contrition said humbly, "Forgive me--forgiveme!"
"It is I who should ask that," said the man, with a curious and notdiscreditable assumption of manliness, in the humbleness of which acertain remorseful abasement was conspicuous. He bowed his head."Bless me, Father!"
"Do you deserve it?"
"I need it," said the man; and the good priest blessed him.
"It is, up to now," said the man presently, raising his head, "asEmilius told me. But he could not lie."
"You are his friend?" said Father Daniel.
"I am not worthy to be called so," said the man. "I am a sinner. He isa martyr."
"Ah," said Father Daniel, "give me your hand. Nay, I will have it. Weare brothers. No temptation has been mine. I have not sinned becausesin has not presented itself to me in alluring colours. I have neverknown want. My parents were good, and set me a good example. Theytaught me what is right; they taught me to pray. And you?"
"And I, Father?" said the man in softened accents. "I! Great God, whatam I?" It was as though a revelation had fallen upon him. It held himfast for a few moments, and then he recovered his natural self. "Ihave never been as yourself, Father. My lot was otherwise. I don'tcomplain. But it was not my fault that I was born of thieves--though,mind you, Father, I loved my mother."
"My son," said Father Daniel, bowing his head, "give _me_ yourblessing."
"Father!"
"Give _me_ your blessing!"
Awed and compelled, the man raised his trembling hands above FatherDaniel's head. When the priest looked again at
the man he saw that hiseyes were filled with tears.
"You come from Emilius."
"Yes, with messages which I promised to deliver. I have been in prisonfor fifteen years. Emilius joined us; we hardened ones were at firstsurprised, afterwards we were shocked. It was not long before we grewto love him. Father, is there justice in the world?"
"Yes," said Father Daniel, with a false sternness in his voice. "Thatit sometimes errs is human. Your messages! To whom?"
"To one who is dead--a good woman." He lowered his head a moment. "Iwill keep it here," touching his breast; "it will do me no harm. Toyou."
"Deliver it."
"Emilius desired me to seek you out, and to tell you he is innocent."
"I know it."
"That is the second. The third is but one word to a man youknow--Gabriel Carew."
"He is here," said Father Daniel.
With head bowed down to his breast, Gabriel Carew came from DoctorLouis's house. His face was very pale. The loss which had fallen uponhim and Lauretta had deeply affected him. Never had he felt so humble,so purified, so animated by sincere desire to live a worthy life.
"This man has a message to deliver to you," said Father Daniel to him.
Gabriel Carew looked at the man.
"I come from Emilius," said the man, "and am just released fromprison. I promised him to deliver to you a message of a single word inthe presence of Father Daniel."
In a cold voice and with a stern look Gabriel Carew said, "All isprepared. What is your message?"
"Understand that it is Emilius, not I, who is speaking."
"I understand."
"Murderer!"