CHAPTER XLIX.
PREPARING THE MINE.
This time the coroner was summoned. He came, examined the body ofGerald, heard Virdow's statement and concluded that he could not hold aninquest without subjecting himself to unpleasant criticism and givingcandidates for his office something to take hold of.
The funeral was very quiet. Col. Montjoy, Mrs. Montjoy and Mary came inthe old family carriage and the general on horseback.
The little group stood around the open coffin and gazed for the lasttime upon the pale, chaste face. The general could not endure more thanthe one glance. As it lay exposed to him, it was the perfect image of aface that had never dimmed in his memory. Mary's tears fell silently asshe laid her little cross of white autumn rosebuds upon the silentbreast and turned away. Edward was waiting for her; she took his arm andwent upon the portico.
"It is a sad blow to you, Mr. Morgan," she said.
"It removes the only claim upon me," was his answer. "When all is overand this trial ended, I shall very likely return to Europe for good!"They were silent for a while. "I came here full of hope," he continued;"I have met distrust, accusation, assaults upon my character and life,the loss of friends, disappointments and now am accused of murder andmust undergo a public trial. It is enough to satisfy most men with--thesouth."
"And do you count your real friends as nothing?"
"My real friends are few, but they count for much," he said, earnestly;"it will be hard to part with them--with you. But fate has laid an ironhand upon me. I must go." He found her looking at him with something ofwonder upon her face.
"You know best," she said, quietly. There was something in her mannerthat reminded him of the calm dignity of her father.
"You do not understand me," he said, earnestly, "and I cannot explain,and yet I will go this far. My parents have left me a mystery tounfathom; until I have solved it I shall not come back, I cannot comeback." He took her hand in both of his. "It is this that restrains me;you have been a true friend; it grieves me that I cannot share mytroubles with you and ask your woman's judgment, but I cannot--I cannot!I only ask that you keep me always in your memory, as you will always bethe brightest spot in mine." She was now pale and deeply affected by histone and manner.
"You cannot tell me, Mr. Morgan?"
"Not even you, the woman I love; the only woman I have ever loved. Ah,what have I said?" She had withdrawn her hand and was looking away."Forgive me; I did not know what I was saying. I, a man under indictmentfor murder, a possible felon, an unknown!"
The young girl looked at him fearlessly.
"You are right. You can rely upon friendship, but under thecircumstances nothing can justify you in speaking of love to awoman--you do not trust."
"Do not trust! You cannot mean that!" She had turned away proudly andwould have left him.
"I have seen so little of women," he said. "Let that be my excuse. Iwould trust you with my life, my honor, my happiness--but I shall notburden you with my troubles. I have everything to offer you but a name.I have feared to tell you; I have looked to see you turn away insuspicion and distrust--in horror. I could not. But anything, even that,is better than reproach and wrong judging.
"I tell you now that I love you as no woman was ever loved before; thatI have loved you since you first came into my life, and that though webe parted by half a world of space, and through all eternity, I stillshall love you. But I shall never, so help me heaven, ask the woman Ilove to share an unknown's lot! You have my reasons now; it is because Ido love you that I go away." He spoke the words passionately. And thenhe found her standing close to his side.
"And I," she said, looking up into his face through tearful but smilingeyes, "do not care anything for your name or your doubts, and I tellyou, Edward Morgan, that you shall not go away; you shall not leave me."He caught his breath and stood looking into her brave face.
"But your family--it is proud----"
"It will suffer nothing in pride. We will work out this little mysterytogether." She extended her hand and, taking it, he took her also. Shedrew back, shaking her head reproachfully.
"I did not mean that."
He was about to reply, but at that moment a scene was presented thatfilled them both with sudden shame. How true it is that in the midst oflife we are in death.
The hearse had passed the gate. Silently they entered the house.
He led her back to the side of the dead man.
"He loved you," he said slowly. "I shall speak the truth for him." Marybent above the white face and left a kiss upon the cold brow.
"He was your friend," she said, fearing to look into his eye.
He comprehended and was silent.
It was soon over. The ritual for the dead, the slow journey to the cityof silence, a few moments about the open grave, the sound of dirtfalling upon the coffin, a prayer--and Gerald, living and dead, was nolonger a part of their lives.
The Montjoys were to go home from the cemetery. Edward said farewell tothem separately and to Mary last. Strange paradox, this human life. Hecame from that new-made grave almost happy.
The time for action was approaching rapidly. He went with Dabney and thegeneral to see Slippery Dick for the last time before the trial. Therewas now but one serious doubt that suggested itself. They took the manat night to the grave of Rita and made him go over every detail of hisexperience there. Under the influence of the scene he began with theincident of the voodoo's "conjure bag" and in reply to queries showedwhere it had been inserted in the cedar. Edward took his knife and beganto work at the plug, but this action plunged Dick into such terror thatDabney cautioned Edward in a low voice to desist.
"Dick," said the young man finally, with sudden decision, "if you failus in this matter not only shall I remove that plug but I shall put youin jail and touch you with the bag." Dick was at once voluble withpromises. Edward, his memory stirred by the incident, was searching hispockets. He had carried the little charm obtained for him by Marybecause of the tender memories of the night before their journey abroad.He drew it out now and held it up. Dick had not forgotten it; he drewback, begging piteously. Dabney was greatly interested.
"That little charm has proved to be your protector, Mr. Morgan," he saidaloud for the negro's benefit. "You have not been in any danger. NeitherDick nor anyone else could have harmed you. You should have told mebefore. See how it has worked. The woman who gave you the bag came toyou in the night out on the ocean and showed you the face of this man;you knew him even in the night, although he had never before met you noryou him."
A sound like the hiss of a snake came from the negro; he had never beenable to guess why this stranger had known him so quickly. He now gazedupon his captor with mingled fear and awe.
"Befo' Gawd, boss," he said, "I ain't goin' back on you, boss!"
"Going back on him!" said Dabney, laughing. "I should think not. I didnot know that Mr. Morgan had you conjured. Let us return; Dick cannotescape that woman in this world or the next. Give me the little bag, Mr.Morgan--no, keep it yourself. As long as you have it you are safe."
Edward was a prisoner, but in name only. Barksdale had not come again,for more reasons than one, the main reason being extra precaution onaccount of the watchful and suspicious Royson. But he acted quietly uponthe public mind. The day following the interview he caused to beinserted in the morning paper an announcement of Edward's return andarrest, and the additional fact that although his business in Paris hadnot been finished, he had left upon the first steamer sailing fromHavre. At the club, he was outspoken in his denunciation of thenewspaper attacks and his confidence in the innocence of the man. Therewas no hint in any quarter that it had been suspected that Rita Morganwas really not murdered. It was generally understood that the defensewould rely upon the State's inability to make out a case.
But Edward did not suffer greatly from loneliness. The day after thefuneral Mrs. Montjoy and Mary, together with the colonel, paid a formalcall and stayed for some hours; and the general came freque
ntly withDabney and Eldridge, who had also been employed, and consulted overtheir plans for the defense. Arrangements had been made with thesolicitor for a speedy trial and the momentous day dawned.