CHAPTER XXXII.
"YOU WILL VACATE THESE PREMISES AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE."
"Well, Gerald, I must confess this is rather tough on you!" MonsieurCorrelli remarked, in a voice of undisguised astonishment, as soon asthe lawyer disappeared. "I call it downright shabby of Anna to haveleft you so in the lurch."
"It does not matter," returned the elder man, but somewhat coldly;for, despite his feeling of relief over the disposition of herproperty, he experienced a twinge of jealousy toward the morefortunate heir, whose pity was excessively galling to him under thecircumstances.
Although the two men had quarreled just before Monsieur Correlli'sdeparture for New York, all ill-feeling had been ignored in view oftheir common loss and sorrow, and each had conducted himself with acourteous bearing toward the other during the last few days.
"What in the world do you suppose possessed her to make such a will?"the young man inquired, while he searched his companion's face withkeen scrutiny. "And how strange that she should have imagined all ofa sudden that she was going to die, and so put her affairs in order!"
Mr. Goddard saw that he had no suspicion of the real state of things,and he had no intention of betraying any secrets if he could avoiddoing so.
No one--not even her own brother--should ever know that Anna had notbeen his wife. He would do what he could to shield her memory fromevery reproach, and no one should ever dream that--he could not divesthimself of the suspicion--she had died willfully.
Therefore, he replied with apparent frankness:
"I think I can explain why she did so. On the day of our return fromWyoming, Anna and I had a more serious quarrel than usual; I never sawher so angry as she was at that time; she even went so far as to tellme that she hated me; and so, I presume, in the heat of her anger, sheresolved to cut me off with the proverbial shilling to be revengedupon me."
"Well, she has done so with a vengeance," muttered his brother-in-law.
"I went to her afterward and tried to make it up," his companionresumed, "but she would have nothing to say to me. She was lookingvery ill, also; and when the next morning she sent me word that shewas not able to join me at breakfast, I went again to her door andbegged her to allow me to send for Dr. Hunt, but she would not evenadmit me."
"What was this quarrel about?"
"Oh, almost all our quarrels have been about a certain document whichhas long been a bone of contention between us, and this one was anoutgrowth from the same subject."
"Was that document a certificate of marriage?" craftily inquired EmilCorrelli.
"Yes."
"Gerald, were you ever really married to Anna?" demanded the youngman, bending toward him with an eager look.
His companion flushed hotly at the question, and yet it assured himthat he did not really know just what relations his sister hadsustained toward him.
"Isn't that a very singular question, Emil?" he inquired, with a cooldignity that was very effective. "What led you to ask it?"
"Something that Anna herself once said to me suggested the thought,"Emil replied. "I know, of course, the circumstances of your earlyattachment--that for her you left another woman whom you had taken toRome. I once asked Anna the same question, but she would not answer medirectly--she evaded it in a way to confirm my suspicions rather thanto allay them. And now this will--it seems very strange that sheshould have made it if--"
"Pray, Emil, do not distress yourself over anything so absurd," coldlyinterposed Gerald Goddard, but with almost hueless lips. "However, ifyou continue to entertain doubts upon the subject, you have but to goto the Church of the ---- the next time you visit Rome, ask to see therecords for the year 18--, and you will find the marriage of yoursister duly recorded there."
"I beg your pardon," apologized the doubter, now fully reassured bythe above shrewdly fashioned answer, "but Anna was always soinfernally jealous of you, and made herself so wretched over the fearof losing your affection, that I could think of no other reason forher foolishness. Now, about this will," he added, hastily changing thesubject and referring to the document. "I don't feel quite right tohave all Anna's fortune, in addition to my own, and no doubt the poorgirl would have repented of her rash act if she could have lived longenough to get over her anger and realize what she was doing. I don'tneed the money, and, Gerald, I am willing to make over something toyou, especially as I happen to know that you have sunk the most ofyour money in unfortunate speculations," the young man concluded, Mr.Goddard's sad, white face appealing to his generosity in spite oftheir recent difference.
"Thank you, Emil," he quietly replied; "but I cannot accept your verykind offer. Since it was Anna's wish that you should have herproperty, I prefer that the will should stand exactly as she made it.I cannot take a dollar of the money--not even what 'the law wouldallow' in view of our relations to each other."
Those last words were uttered in a tone of peculiar bitterness thatcaused Monsieur Correlli to regard him curiously.
"Pray do not take it to heart like that, old boy," he said, kindly,after a moment, "and let me persuade you to accept at least a fewthousands."
"Thank you, but I cannot. Please do not press the matter, for mydecision is unalterable."
"But how the deuce are you going to get along?" questioned the youngman.
"I shall manage very well," was the grave rejoinder. "I have a fewhundreds which will suffice for my present needs, and, if my handshave not lost their cunning, I can abundantly provide for my future bymeans of my profession. By the way, what are your own plans?--if I mayinquire," he concluded, to change the subject.
The young man paled at the question, and an angry frown settled uponhis brow.
"I am going to return immediately to New York--I am bound to find thatgirl," he said, with an air of sullen resolution.
"Then you were not successful in your search?" Mr. Goddard remarked,dropping his lids to hide the flash of satisfaction that leaped intohis eyes at the words.
"No, and yes. I found out that she arrived safely in New York, whereshe was met by a young lawyer--Royal Bryant by name--who immediatelyspirited her away to some place after dodging the policeman I had seton her track. I surmise that he has put her in the care of some of hisown friends. I went to him and demanded that he tell me where she was,but I might just as well have tried to extract information from astone as from that astute disciple of the law--blast him! He finallyintimated that my room would be better than my company, and that Imight hear from him later on."
"Ah! he has doubtless taken her case in hand--she has chosen him asher attorney," said Mr. Goddard.
"It looks like it," snapped the young man; "but he will not find it aneasy matter to free her from me; the marriage was too public and tooshrewdly managed to be successfully contested."
"It was the most shameful and dastardly piece of villainy that I everheard of," exclaimed Gerald Goddard, indignantly, "and--"
"And you evidently intend to take the girl's part against me," sneeredhis companion, his anger blazing forth hotly. "If I remember rightly,you rather admired her yourself."
"I certainly did; she was one of the purest and sweetest girls I evermet," was the dignified reply. "Emil, you have not a ghost of a chanceof supporting your claim if the matter comes to trial, and I beg thatyou will quietly relinquish it without litigation," he concluded,appealingly.
"Not if I know myself," was the defiant retort.
"But that farce was no marriage."
"All the requirements of the law were fulfilled, and I fancy that anyone who attempts to prove to the contrary will find himself in deeperwater than will be comfortable, in spite of your assertion that I'have not a ghost of a chance.'"
"Possibly, but I doubt it. All the same, I warn you, here and now,Correlli, that I shall use what influence I have toward freeing thatbeautiful girl from your power," Mr. Goddard affirmed, with an air ofdetermination not to be mistaken.
"Do you mean it--you will publicly appear against me if the mattergoes into court?"
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"I do."
The young man appeared to be in a white rage for a moment; then,snapping his fingers defiantly in his companion's face, he cried:
"Do your worst! I do not fear you; you can prove nothing."
"No, I have no absolute proof, but I can at least give the court thebenefit of my suspicions and opinion."
"What! and compromise your dead wife before a scandal-loving public?"
"Emil, if Anna could speak at this moment, I believe she would tellthe truth herself, and save that innocent and lovely child from a fatewhich to her must seem worse than death," Mr. Goddard solemnlyasserted.
"Thank you--you are, to say the least, not very flattering to me inyour comparisons," angrily retorted Monsieur Correlli, as he sprangfrom his chair and moved toward the door.
He stopped as he laid his hand upon the silver knob and turned awhite, vindictive face upon the other.
"Well, then," he said, between his white, set teeth, "since you havedetermined to take this stand against me, it will not be agreeable forus to meet as heretofore, and I feel compelled to ask you to vacatethese premises at your earliest convenience."
"Very well! I shall, of course, immediately comply with your request.A few hours will suffice me to make the move you suggest," frigidlyresponded Gerald Goddard; but he had grown ghastly white with woundedpride and anger at being thus ignominiously turned out of the housewhere for so many years he had reigned supreme.
Emil Correlli bowed as he concluded, and left the room without a wordin reply.
As the door closed after him Mr. Goddard sank back in his chair with aheavy sigh, as he realized fully, for the first time, how entirelyalone in the world he was, and what a desolate future lay before him,shorn, as he was, of home and friends and all the wealth which for solong had paved a shining way for him through the world.
His head sank heavily upon his breast, and he sat thus for severalminutes absorbed in painful reflections.
He was finally aroused by the shutting of the street door, when,looking up, he saw the new master of the house pass the window, and heknew that henceforth he would be his bitter enemy.
He glanced wistfully around the beautiful room--the dearest in thehouse to him; at the elegant cases of valuable books, every one ofwhich he himself had chosen and caused to be uniformly bound; at thechoice paintings in their costly frames upon the walls, and many ofwhich had been painted by his own hands; at the numerous pieces ofstatuary and rare curios which he knew would never assume theirfamiliar aspect in any other place.
How could he ever make up his mind to dismantle that home-like spotand bury his treasures in a close and gloomy storage warehouse?
"Homeless, penniless, and alone?" he murmured, crushing back into hisbreast a sob that arose to his throat.
Then suddenly his glance fell upon the table beside him and restedupon the letter that Mr. Clayton had given to him, and which, in theexciting occurrences of the last hour, he had entirely forgotten.
He took it up and sighed heavily again as the faint odor of Anna'sfavorite perfume was wafted to his nostrils.
"How changed is everything since she wrote this!--what a completerevolution in one's life a few hours can make!" he mused.
He broke the seal with some curiosity, but with something of awe aswell, for it seemed to him almost like a message from the other world,and drew forth two sheets of closely-written paper.
The missive was not addressed to any one; the writer had simply begunwhat she had to say and told her story through to the end, and thensigned her name in full in a clear, bold hand.
The man had not read half the first page before his manner betrayedthat its contents were of the most vital importance.
On and on he read, his face expressing various emotions until by thetime he reached the end there was an eagerness in his manner, a gleamof animation in his eyes which told that the communication had been ofa nature to entirely change the current of his thoughts and distractthem from everything of an unpleasant character regarding himself.
He folded and returned the letter to its envelope with tremblinghands.
"Oh, Anna! Anna!" he murmured, "why could you not have been alwaysgoverned by your better impulses, instead of yielding so weakly to theevil in your nature? This makes my way plain at least--now I am readyto bid farewell to this home and all that is behind me, and try tofathom what the future holds for me."
He carefully put the letter away into an inner pocket, then sat downto his desk and began to look over his private papers.
When that task was completed he ordered the butler to have some boxesand packing cases, that were stored in the cellar, brought up to thelibrary, when he carefully packed away such books, pictures and otherthings as he wished to take away with him.
It was not an easy task, and he could almost as readily have committedthem to the flames as to have despoiled that beautiful home of what,for so long, had made it so dear and attractive to him.
When his work was completed he went out, slipped over into Boylstonstreet, where he knew there were plenty of rooms to be rented, andwhere he soon engaged a _suite_ that would answer his purpose for thepresent.
This done, he secured a man and team to move his possessions, andbefore the shades of night had fallen he had stored everything heowned away in his new quarters and bidden farewell forever to thearistocratic dwelling on Commonwealth avenue, where he had lived soluxuriously and entertained so elaborately the _creme de la creme_ ofBoston society.
Three days later he had disappeared from the city--"gone abroad" thepapers said, "for a change of scene and to recuperate from theeffects of the shock caused by his wife's sudden death."