CHAPTER XX.
A WOMAN'S HEART.
The blow dealt Robert Brierly by the sham policeman had been a severeone, and at first it had been feared that he would recover, if at all,with his fine intellect dulled if not altogether shattered. But the bestmedical skill, aided by a fine constitution, and above all, the newimpulse given his lately despondent spirits by the appearance at hisbedside of Ruth Glidden, her eyes filled with love, and pity andresolve, all had combined to bring about good results, and so, oneevening, not quite two months after that blow in the dark, he foundhimself sitting in an easy chair, very pale and much emaciated but, savefor this, and his exceeding bodily weakness, quite himself again. Indeeda more buoyant and hopeful self than he had been for many a day, andwith good reason.
At first, and for one week, his mind had been a blank, then delirium hadclaimed and swayed him, until one day the crisis came, and with it asudden clearing of mind and brain.
Through it all Ruth had been beside him, and now she called the doctoraside and spoke with the grave frankness of a woman whose all is atstake, and who knows there is no time for formalities.
"Doctor, tell me the truth. He will know me now, and he must not see meunless--unless I tell him I have come to stay. Will a shock, such ashock, render his chances more critical? The surprise and----" Sheturned away her face. "Doctor, you know!"
Then the good physician, who had nursed her through her childish ills,and closed her father's eyes in death, put a fatherly hand upon hershoulder. "There must be absolutely no emotion," he said. "But a happysurprise, just now, if it comes with gentleness, and firmness--thattender firmness to which the weak so instinctively turns--will do himgood, not harm. Only, it must be for just a moment, and he must notspeak. My dear, I believe I can trust you."
He called away the nurse and beckoned Ruth to follow him. Then he wentstraight to the bedside, where the sick man lay, so pale and deathlike,beneath his linen bandages.
"Robert," he said, slowly. "Listen, and do not speak. I bring you afriend who will not be denied; you know who it is. You must not attemptto speak, Rob, for your own sake. If I thought you would not obey me Iwould shut her out even now." And with the last word upon his lips hewas gone and Ruth stood in his place.
Involuntarily the wounded man opened his lips, but she put a soft fingerupon them, and shook her head. She was very pale, but the voice, whichwas the merest murmur, yet how distinct to his ears, was quitecontrolled.
"Robert, you are not to speak. I have promised that for us both. I havebeen near you since the first, and I am going to stay until--until I cantrust you to others. And, Rob, you must get well for my sake. You must,dear, or you'll make me wear mourning all my days for the only lover Ihave ever had. Don't fail me, my dear." She bent above him, placed hersoft, cool hand upon his own, pressed a kiss upon his brow, and the nextmoment the doctor stood in her place, and was saying, "Don't be uneasy,Rob, old man; that was a real live dream, which will come back daily, solong as you are good, and remember, sir, you have two tyrants now."
And so it proved.
When Brierly was at last fit to be removed to that safe and comfortablehaven--not too far from the doctor's watchful care--which theyfictitiously named the South, Ruth bade him good-bye one day, with atear in her eye, and a smile upon her lip.
"You will soon be a well man now," she said to him. "And when that timecomes, and the tyrant Ferrars permits it, you will come to me, ofcourse." And with the rare meaning smile he knew and loved so well, andso well understood, she left him, to bestow her cheering presence uponHilda Grant and Glenville.
And now, on a fine midsummer night, thinner than of old, and paler, witha scar across his left temple, and a languor of body which he wasbeginning to find irksome because of the revived activity of the latelyclouded and heavy brain, Brierly sat in a pleasant upper room of acertain hospitable suburban villa, the only south he had known sincethey bore him away from the Myers' home, and whirled him away from thecity on a suburban train, to stop, within the same hour, and leave him,safely guarded, in this snug retreat.
"You see," the detective was saying, "I had found this series of tinyclues, and thought all was plain sailing, until that mysterious boy paidhis visit to your brother's room and left almost as much as he tookaway. That forced me to reconstruct my theory somewhat, and set me towondering just what status Miss Grant held in the game our unknownassassin was playing. For I will do the young lady, and myself, thejustice to say that I never for a moment doubted her. That fling at hergave me, however, a key to the character of the unknown." He was silenta moment, then, "After all," he said, "it was you who gave me my firstsuggestion of the truth."
"How? when I had no conception of it?"
"By telling of that attack upon your brother the winter before hiscoming here."
"I do not recall it."
"I suppose not; but in telling me of your brother's career, before hisgoing to Glenville, you spoke of an accident which occurred to him, anaccident which was eventually the cause of his going to Glenville. Imade a note of this, and, later, questioned Mr. Myers. He told me of theattack at the mouth of an alley. How two men assailed your brother, andonly his presence of mind in shouting as he struck, and striking hardand with skilled fists, saved him from death at their hands; how hewarded off, and held, the fellow with the bludgeon, but was cut by theother's knife. I might not have been so much impressed by these details,perhaps, had I not learned that your brother was returning from a visitof charity to the sick, a visit which he had paid regularly for sometime. Then I thought I saw light upon the subject."
"Yes." Brierly bent toward the detective, a keen light in his eyes. "Ihave been very dull, Ferrars, but I have had time for much thinking oflate. I think that, at last, I begin to understand."
"And what do you understand?" A slow smile was overspreading thedetective's face.
"That my brother and I have had a common enemy. That nothing short ofboth our lives will satisfy him; that the attack upon Charley, nearly ayear ago, was the beginning--that, having taken his life, they are nowupon a still hunt for mine--and that, but for you, they would havecompleted their work that evening when, chafing, like the fool I was,under restraint, I set out alone, and met----"
"A policeman." Ferrars' lips were grave, but his eyes smiled. "It was aclose squeak, Brierly. The fellow very nearly brained you. And now"--andhe drew his chair closer, and his face at once became grave almost tosternness--"we want to end this game; there is too much risk in it foryou."
"You need not fear for me, Ferrars. From this moment I go forward, orfollow, as you will, blindly; you have only to command. What must I do?"
"Prepare to go aboard the _Lucania_ five days from date in the disguiseof what do you imagine?"
"A navvy possibly."
"No. I know the boat's captain, luckily, and I know that a party ofSalvation Army officers are to sail that day for England. We will goaboard, all of us, in the salvation uniform and doff it later, if wechoose."
"You say all of us?"
"I mean Mrs. Myers, who goes to join her husband and see London andParis; Miss Glidden, who goes because she wills to go and because shebelieves that Miss Grant can be best diverted from her sorrow, andstrengthened for her future life, by such a journey, Miss Grant, _ergo_,and our two selves." He leaned back and watched his _vis-a-vis_ narrowlyfrom underneath drooping lashes. He was giving his client's docility asevere test, and he knew it.
As for Robert, he remained so long silent that the detective, relaxinghis gaze, resumed--
"I won't ask you to take too much upon trust, Brierly. Our presentposition, briefly told, is this. We are nearing the climax, but wecannot force it. One point of the game remains still in the enemy'shands. And the scene is shifted to England--to London, to be literal.The next move must be made by the other side. It will be made overthere, and we must be at hand when the card is played. If all ends as Ihope and anticipate, your presence in London will be imperative, almost.As for the ladies, Miss Grant's
presence may be needed, as a witnessperhaps, and certainly nothing could be better for her than thecompanionship of her friend, Miss Ruth, and the motherly kindness ofMrs. Myers, just now."
Robert Brierly turned his face away, and clinched his hands indesperation. He was thinking of Ruth, and an inward battle was ragingbetween strong love and stubborn pride.
"And now," went on the other, as if all unheeding, "concerning thedisguises. I have told you of the person seen by our spies at theGlenville House, for a brief time?"
Brierly bowed assent.
"He, this man, was only described to me, but seen by Miss Grant."
"Oh!" Brierly started.
"Lately, we have received, through the good offices of Mr. Doran, apicture of this man--it's growing late and I'll give the details atanother time--I have believed this man to be one of your enemies, quitepossibly the one."
"One of them?"
"Yes. And large and muscular enough he is, to have been your assailant,and----"
"And my brother's murderer?"
"In my opinion they are not the same. But we must not go into this. Someone has kept us--that is, yourself, Miss Grant and myself, in thecharacter of her cousin--under constant watch, almost. There must havebeen tools, but this man I believe to be the chief, on this side."
"Great heavens! How many are there, then?"
"Honestly, I do not yet know. The answer to that is in Europe. But thisman--he has been shadowed since Miss Grant saw him on Clark Street--hasalready sailed for England. My man escorted him, after a modest andretiring fashion, to New York, and saw him embark. I propose that we goeast by different routes. The ladies one way, you and I by another. Theywill hardly imagine us all flitting by water, and their spies willhardly be prepared for a sea voyage, even should one of us be 'piped' tothe wharf. Of one thing I must warn you; you are not to set foot inLondon, nor to put yourself in evidence anywhere as a tourist, until youare assured that you may walk abroad in safety. To know you were inEngland would be to render your opponents desperate, indeed."
"You have only to command. I am as wax in the potter's hand henceforth.And now I ask you on the eve of this long journey why my brother andmyself are thus hunted. How we stand in the way of these enemies ofours I cannot imagine."
"That I am ready to tell you, since you ask no more. You stand betweenyour enemies and a fortune."
"Impossible!"
"I knew you would say that. But wait." Ferrars rose abruptly. "I shallnot see you again before we leave for New York," he said, taking up hishat. "Come with me across the way, I must say good-bye to the ladies;they----"
"Do they understand?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Myers and her two charges were pleasantly bestowed just across thestreet, in one of the cosy and tree-encircled cottages of thearistocratic little suburb, in which the party had found a retreat. Andall three were still upon the broad piazza when the two men appeared.
No other occupants of the house were visible, and before long RobertBrierly found that, by accident or design, the detective, Mrs. Myers,and Hilda, had withdrawn to the further end of the long veranda, andthat Ruth Glidden had crossed to his side, and now stood before him,leaning lightly against a square pillar, and so near that he could notwell rise without disturbing her charming pose.
Before he could open his lips she was speaking.
"Robert, don't get up. Please do not. There is something I must say toyou. I have seen the trouble, the anxiety in your face to-night. I knowwhat Mr. Ferrars has been saying to you; at least I can guess, and Iunderstand."
"Ruth!"
"Don't speak. Let me finish, Rob. If I didn't know you so thoroughly, ifthe whole of your big, noble heart had not been laid bare to me, asnever before, during your illness, I should not dare, would lack thecourage to say what I will say, for your sake, as well as for mine." Shecaught her breath sharply, and before he could command the words hewould have spoken, she hurried on.
"Don't think that I do not know how you look upon this journey abroad,in my company, and now----" She paused again. "This is very hard to say,Rob, and I am not saying it well, but you will not misunderstand me, Iknow that; and I can't lose your friendship, Rob, dear, and the pleasureyour company will be to me, if we can set out understanding ourselvesand each other. You have let Charlie's death and the money loss thissearch may bring you, crush out all hope, and you have been steelingyourself to give me up; to forget me. But do you think I will let you dothis? I know your pride, dear. I love you for it. But why must itseparate us utterly? You are not the only man in this world who must winhis way first, and whose wife must wait. I have waited, and I shallwait, always if need be. But it need not be. You will be the KingCophetua to my beggar maid yet. Oh, I know. I am afraid of nothing butyour horrible self doubt, your fear of being----"
"Of being called a fortune hunter, Ruth."
"Well, you shall not be called that, sir knight of the proud, proudcrest. Listen! You must be to me the Robert of old; not avoiding me, butmy friend who understands me. We are both free to go abroad, and with achaperone, as we are going, would not be _de rigueur_ otherwise; andthis subject is not to be referred to again, until the quest upon whichwe are starting--yes, I say we--is at an end.
"Who knows what may happen between our going and our home-coming? At theworst, I am still your friend, and shall never be more to any otherman." She was about to move away, but he sprang up and caught her hands.
"Ruth! You have given me new life. And you have shamed me. It is of youI have thought, when I have tried to tear myself away and leave you freeto choose another."
"Robert, for shame. Shall you 'choose another' then?"
"Never! You know that!"
"If I did not I should never have spoken as I have just now."
"But there are so many who might give you everything."
"There is only one who can give me my heart's desire."
"Ruth, my darling, if I were rich, or if you were poor, no man shouldever win you from me. But the world must never call Ruth Glidden'shusband a fortune hunter."
"It never shall. Never!"
"And so, you see----"
"I see the folly of what I have said. What do we care for dame Grundy?And why should you and I be foolish hypocrites, deceiving no one? In myheart of hearts I have been your promised wife always. I think I havethe little ring with which we were betrothed when we were ten years old.We will go abroad as lovers, Rob, and if you cannot offer me afortune--it must be a very large one to satisfy me--before we return, Ishall give all mine to the London poor, and you will have to support methe rest of my days. What folly, Robert, what wickedness, to let meremoney matters come between you and me!"