Dead Man's Love

  CHAPTER XIV.

  WILLIAM CAPPER COMES TO LIFE.

  Mr. George Rabbit looked me up and down with a new expression ofcountenance. I noticed, too, that some of his alertness was gone, andthat his narrow, shifty eyes avoided mine. He had no reason to thinkthat I should suspect him of the murder of my Uncle Zabdiel;nevertheless, he looked at me resentfully, as though, before even I hadspoken, he knew I was going to accuse him of it.

  "Wotjer mean by follerin' a honest man about like this 'ere?" hedemanded savagely. "If I 'ad my rights, I ought to be follerin' you, Mr.Jail-bird--seein' wot I know abaht yer." Then, as I said nothing, butlooked at him steadily, he broke out more fiercely: "W'y don't yerspeak? Wot 'ave yer got against me, eh?"

  I took him by the arm, and suddenly wrenched his hand round, so that Icould look at the palm of it; then I bent forward, and whispered to himswiftly: "There's blood on your hands!"

  He struggled faintly for a moment to get free; his face had gone to asickly green colour. "You're mad--stark, starin', ravin' mad!" heexclaimed. "Don't you say sich things against me, or I'll blab--sure asdeath!"

  "Death's the word," I retorted. "Now, George Rabbit, we've got to talkover this thing, and we may as well do it quietly. Take me to some placewhere I can say what I have to say."

  He hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to treat the matter withdefiance, or to accede to my demands; at last he shrugged his shoulders,spat emphatically on the ground, and turned to lead the way. He turnedback again a moment later, and looked at Andrew Ferkoe with a newresentment.

  "Wot's this chap got to do wiv it?" he asked. "'Ave you bin blabbin' to'im abaht it?"

  "There was no necessity to do that," I replied quietly. "He saw you doit. Now, don't stand talking here; it might be dangerous."

  He stood in an amazed silence for a moment, and then turned and walkedaway. We followed him rapidly, noticing that every now and then heturned to look back over his shoulder, as if undecided whether, afterall, he would not turn back altogether, and refuse to go further. But hewent on, nevertheless, and at last brought us to a little public housein a side street. Thrusting open a door with his shoulder, he went in,leaving us to follow; and we presently found ourselves in a little roomwith a sanded floor--a species of bar parlour. There the three of us satdown round a little beer-stained table, and after I had orderedrefreshments (with a double quantity for George Rabbit, because he tookthe first at a gulp), I began to say what was in my mind.

  "When I saw you first to-day you were looking at a house where an oldman was murdered a few days back," I began.

  "Wot of it?" he demanded. "A lot of people 'ave bin lookin' at that'ouse; they always does w'en anythink like that's 'appened."

  "You were obliged to go back to it--the man who commits a murder alwaysmust, you know. You wanted to see if any one had suspected you."

  The man glanced nervously round the room, and then thrust his facetowards mine across the table. "Wot's this 'ere talk abaht a murder?" hewhispered. "Wot's this 'ere talk abaht this chap 'aving seen me do it?Wot's this business abaht takin' away a honest man's character?"

  "When you broke into the house the other night, and came face to facewith Zabdiel Blowfield, and got the stick out of his hand and killedhim, someone was watching you," I answered steadily.

  "Watchin' me! W'y, the ole chap lived alone!" he exclaimed incautiously.Then, seeing the smile on my face, he went on hurriedly, "Leastways, soI've bin told, on'y I don't know nothink abaht it."

  "You were sent there first by Martha Leach. My uncle wanted to see you,because he thought your evidence might be useful in getting me back tomy prison," I went on remorselessly. "That gave you the idea of robbingthe old man; you didn't stick at murder when you were pushed to it. Thislad here"--I indicated Andrew Ferkoe as I spoke--"was asleep in thehouse at the time, as you would have heard, if you had been at theinquest. He got out of bed and saw you. How else do you suppose he wasable to point you out to-day as the man he saw in the house?"

  George Rabbit looked from one to the other of us narrowly; then he beganto speak almost as if to himself. "Now I comes to think of it, I did'ear a noise up above in the 'ouse. So it was you, was it?" he said,turning wrathfully on Andrew Ferkoe. "My God! it's a lucky thing for youI didn't find you; I'd 'ave put your light out!"

  "I know that," answered Andrew quietly. "That was why I didn't make anoise."

  "Well, an' wot's the little game now?" asked Rabbit impudently, as heleaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Mr. Jail-bird, let's 'earwot you've got to say. You can't bring a charge like this against ahonest man without some proof. I 'ave 'eard that no finger prints 'avebin discovered, so that you won't git much that way."

  "I can find a dozen ways of running you to earth," I replied. "On theother hand, it may not pay me to do so."

  "Yus, that's the trouble, ain't it?" he said with a sneer. "They mightask you awkward questions, or I might 'ave a word to say abaht the gentwot's takin' my character away. Then again, wot's 'is nibs 'ere binsayin' at the inquest?"

  I was bound to confess that Andrew had stated that he had slept soundlyon the night of the murder, and had heard nothing and seen nothing.George Rabbit, growing more confident with every moment, grinned andkissed his grimy finger-tips in the direction of Andrew.

  "An' now 'e'll 'ave to tell anuvver tale!" he exclaimed. "If it comes tothat, 'oo's to say 'e didn't do the job 'imself; 'e was in the 'ouse."

  It was not my purpose to bring the man to justice; it would go hard withme, as well, perhaps, with Andrew Ferkoe, if I made any attempt to slipa noose about the fellow's neck. Yet, much as I loathed the man, Irealised that the killing of my Uncle Zabdiel had not been anypremeditated affair; it had been a blow struck, brutally enough, for hisown liberty by this man who now sat before me. My purpose was to usehim, if possible, as an instrument for myself, to trade upon myknowledge of what he had done, and so bind him first to silence aboutmyself and who I was, and next to assist me in the finding of Debora andthe destruction of Bardolph Just's plans. I set about that now withoutmore ado.

  "As I have said, it would be easy enough to prove the matter," Ianswered, "and I should have the satisfaction of seeing you hang; butthat's not my plan. We are the only people who know the truth, and weshall not speak."

  I saw Andrew Ferkoe glance at me swiftly for a moment; as for Rabbit, hesat gaping at me as though he had not heard aright. "You mean it?" hegasped.

  "Of course I do; I'm a man of my word," I answered him. "But there is acondition attaching to it, and that condition must be respected. I'm notthe man to be played with, and I've got you in a tighter place than youthink. Play with me, and you'll play with fire; of that I warn you."

  "Now, look 'ere, guv'nor," answered the man in an altered tone, "am Ilikely to play any tricks, seein' 'ow I'm placed? Gents both, I give yermy solemn word I never meant to put the old gent's light out. I jistmeant to git wot I could quietly. I 'ad a sort of idea that 'e mightkeep money on the premises. As it was, I got next to nuffink, an' wot Idid git I don't dare part wiv, for fear I should be nabbed. I neverthought 'e'd wake up, but w'en 'e come out there, an' tried to 'it mewiv the stick, I jist jerked it out of 'is 'and, an' gave 'im one for'imself to keep 'im quiet. I ain't excusin' meself; I know I done it,an' that's all there is to it."

  "In the first place, you will know me, if you know me at all, always asJohn New; the other man, once a fellow-prisoner of yours, lies buried inthat prison. Am I right?" I asked the question sternly.

  "I'll take my oath of it," he asserted solemnly. "W'y, now I come tolook at yer," he added, with a grin, "you ain't no more like Norton 'Ydethan wot I am."

  "Don't overdo it," I suggested. "Now, in the second place, you remembera young lady--a ward of Dr. Just?"

  "Yus, I know 'er; wot of it?" he asked.

  "She has left the doctor's house--has run away," I answered. "Shedoesn't know where to find me, and I don't know where to find her. Shemay be wandering about London friendless and without money. Can
you helpme to find her?"

  "Do yer mean it?" he asked incredulously.

  I nodded. "Under ordinary circumstances you are the last man in theworld that I would select for such work, but I must use the tools readyto my hand," I said. "If you play tricks with me, you'll know what toexpect, because our friend here"--I indicated Andrew--"will be only tooready to speak and to tell what he knows, without bringing me into thematter at all. But I think, for your own sake, you'll play the gamefairly."

  In his eagerness he began to take all manner of strange oaths as to whathe meant to do, and as to the absolute dependence that was to be placedupon his word. I interrupted him sharply by telling him that I lookedfor deeds, and not words, and quite humbly and gratefully he promised todo all in his power. I gave him an address at which I could be found,and presently saw him go lurching away, with his head turned every nowand then to look back at me. I seemed to picture him going through lifelike that, remembering always the dead thing he had left lying oncertain stairs in a dismal old house.

  And now I come to that point in my story when my own helplessness was,for a time at least, borne in upon me more strongly than ever. I had novery great hopes that where I had failed George Rabbit would succeed,and I blamed myself for having placed any reliance on him. I wanderedabout London restlessly for a day or two, as I had done before, hopingalways that any slight girlish figure going on before me might in amoment turn its head and show me the face of Debora; but that neverhappened. What did happen was that I had an unexpected meeting withBardolph Just.

  The newspapers had, of course, given my address, as an important witnessat the inquest on Uncle Zabdiel, so that I was not altogether surprisedto find, one evening when I went back to my little lodging, tired out,and weary, and dispirited, that Bardolph Just was waiting for me. I wasaware of his presence in my room before ever I got to the house, for asI came up the street I happened to raise my eyes to the window, andthere he was, lounging half out of it, smoking a cigar and surveying me.I wondered what his visit might portend. I hoped that he might havediscovered something about Debora, and that I might get the informationfrom him.

  On opening the door of the room and going in I saw that he was notalone; Harvey Scoffold sat there, quite as though he had come, in asense, as a protector for his patron. I put my back against the closeddoor, and looked from one man to the other, and waited for what they hadto say. Harvey Scoffold smiled a little weakly, and waved a hand to me;Bardolph Just said nothing, but looked me up and down with a fine air ofcontempt. I judged that he had news for me, and that, for the moment atleast, he felt that he had triumphed. Almost I seemed to read into hismind, and to know what that news was. But though I thought I knew theman well, I was not prepared for the vindictiveness he now displayed.

  "You must excuse this intrusion," he said quietly, "but I felt sure thatyou would be anxious concerning my ward, and I thought it best to letyou know at once that she is quite safe. I did you an injustice insuggesting that she was with you; for that I apologise most humbly."

  "Where is she?" I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Is it likely that I shall tell you?" heasked. "I won't tell you where she is; for your satisfaction, however,you may understand that you have been the cause of her passing severalmiserable nights and days penniless in London----"

  "You were the cause of that!" I broke in hotly.

  "Pardon me; had you never appeared upon the scene she would have beenquite content to remain under my care," he retorted.

  "Had I never appeared upon the scene, she would before this have been inher grave," I said.

  He showed his teeth for a moment in a grin, but said nothing to that."She was discovered in almost a dying condition. I was communicated withand went to her at once," he proceeded. "She is now in a private nursinghome, and so soon as she has recovered I intend to take her abroad. Ineed not assure you that she is receiving, and will receive, everypossible attention and luxury that money can command."

  "And you came to tell me this?" I enquired bitterly.

  "Out of pure kindness," he answered with a grin. "I knew you would beanxious, and I knew that you took a deep interest in the young lady." Herose to his feet, and carefully polished his hat upon his sleeve,holding the hat in his right hand, and turning it dexterously round andround against the arm he still carried in a sling. "But I came also tosay," he went on in a sterner tone, "that with this ends your connectionwith her and with me. I am not to be trifled with again; keep out of myway."

  "One moment, Dr. Just," I interposed, keeping my place before the door."As you have been so frank with me, it is fair that I should be as frankwith you. I warn you that I shall take not the faintest notice of yourrequest, and that I shall, if possible, discover the lady. My power is agreater one than yours, because my power is from the heart. I shall beatyou yet; I shall save her yet!"

  He laughed and raised his eyebrows, and turned towards Harvey Scoffold."Did you ever see such a fellow?" he asked. "He is as full of words asever, although he knows that he can do nothing."

  I opened the door, and saw the two men pass out and go down the street.I watched them gloomily for a moment or two from the open window. I wasalmost in a mood to follow them, but I realised that they were scarcelylikely to lead me to Debora. I must be patient; I must hope for amiracle to happen to show me the way to Debora.

  After all, it was no miracle that happened, for one could scarcelyconnect a miracle with the prosaic figure of Andrew Ferkoe. As I lookedfrom my window I saw Andrew coming down the street, reading a newspaper,and reading it so intently that he was continually knocking againstpeople on the same pavement, and continually, as I could see, mutteringapologies, and then resuming his reading. I was not best pleased to seehim at that time; for although he still lodged with me until such timeas I could decide what to do with him, he spent a great part of the dayabroad in the streets. Now, however, after knocking at the door andbeing admitted, he came upstairs at a great rate, and burst into my roomwith the newspaper in his hand.

  "I've found her!" he exclaimed, excitedly waving the paper. "I've foundher!"

  I snatched the paper from him, and began to read it eagerly at the placewhere his trembling finger had pointed. The paragraph was headed,"Strange Loss of Memory," and referred to a young lady bearing the nameof Debora Matchwick, who had been found in an almost unconsciouscondition from privation, on a seat in a public park, and had beenconveyed to the Great Southern Hospital. For a time it had beenimpossible to discover who she was, as she appeared to have entirelyforgotten any of the past events of her life, or even her own name; butat last she had given the name, and enquiries had elicited the fact thatshe had a guardian living in the neighbourhood of Highgate. Thisgentleman--the famous scientist and retired physician, Dr. BardolphJust--had been communicated with, and had at once visited the younglady. So soon as she had recovered she would go abroad for rest andchange. There seemed to be no doubt that she would ultimately recovercompletely.

  I almost hugged Andrew Ferkoe in my delight. I laughed to think howeasily the discovery had been made. I laughed also at the remembrance ofhow Dr. Just had spoken of the "private nursing home," and how now Iwas, after all, to take the wind out of his sails. I rushed off at onceto the Great Southern Hospital.

  Every sort of difficulty was placed in my way. It was not an ordinaryvisiting day, and I could not be admitted. The young lady had beenplaced in a private ward, it was true, but the regulations were verystrict. More than that, it was imperative that she should not be excitedin any way.

  "I will not excite her; I am her greatest friend, and I know that shehas been longing to see me," I pleaded.

  "But she has a visitor with her now," the young doctor urged. "Thatvisitor is her guardian."

  I was now more than ever determined that I would see Debora; I pleadedagain that one extra visitor, under the circumstances, could surely makeno difference. "Besides," I added, "I know Dr. Just very well."

  So at last I had my way, and I followed the y
oung doctor through thequiet place until I came to the little private room where Debora lay--aroom formed by raising walls nearly to the ceiling in a great ward,leaving a corridor down the centre. I went in, with my heart beatingheavily; and the first person I faced was Dr. Just.

  I never saw a man so astonished in all my life; I was afraid he wasgoing to lose his presence of mind, and have me bundled out then andthere, after making something of a scene. But I will do him the justiceto say that his conduct was admirable; he accepted the inevitable, andbowed slightly in my direction as the doctor left me inside the littleroom and closed the door.

  Then, for the first time, I saw Debora, lying white-faced among herpillows. I noted with gratitude how her eyes lighted up as she turnedslightly in my direction, and held out a white hand towards me. I couldnot help it; I fell on my knees beside the bed, and put the hand to mylips as the tears sprang to my eyes.

  "Thank God!" I said, "thank God!"

  "So you don't heed warnings," said the doctor, in a sarcastic tone. "Itis only for the sake of this dear girl that I have not had you turnedout of the place; I can't understand how in the world you found outwhere she was."

  I took no notice of him. I turned to the girl, and, still holding herhands, began to speak earnestly.

  "Debora," I said, "my sweet Debora, I want you to listen to me, and notto this man. I have found you, and I do not mean to lose sight of youagain. You will soon be well and strong, and then you will go away fromthis place--with me."

  "Yes, with you," she answered, with her eyes turned to mine, and herhands gripping mine convulsively. "With you!"

  I knew that the time was short, and that at any moment the young doctoror a nurse might appear, and might cut short our interview. I saw, too,that Debora was getting excited, and I judged that Bardolph Just mighttake it upon himself to act the part of doctor as well as guardian, andhave me turned away. Therefore I said what I had to say quickly.

  "You will wait for me here, Debora; you will not let anyone take youaway without letting me know. See, I am writing my address here, andthat I will give to the doctor I saw just now--he can send for me ifnecessary. You are not to go away with anyone else."

  "I promise," she said, weakly.

  "And now listen to me," broke in the harsh voice of Bardolph Just. "Thisis a crisis in the lives of the three of us, and I am not to be setaside. When the time comes that you can be removed, Debora, you aregoing away with me!"

  "I am not! I am not!" she cried, still clinging to my hand.

  "You are going away with me, or else your friend there goes back to hisprison. Choose!" He stood looking at her, and I saw as well as she didthat now his mind was made up.

  "You wouldn't do that?" she said breathlessly.

  "I would," he said. "You go away with me, or I follow this man when heleaves this place, and I give him in charge to the first constable Imeet, as the escaped convict, Norton Hyde. And I follow that charge upuntil I see him back within his prison walls, with something more thannine years of servitude before him. If you want him to keep his liberty,send him away now."

  She began to weep despairingly, while I, on the horns of this newdilemma, did my best to comfort her. And suddenly, with all her heartset on my welfare, she announced her decision.

  "I promise that I will go with you," she said to Bardolph Just in awhisper.

  "No--no! you must not promise that!" I urged, springing to my feet, andfacing the other man. "You shall not!"

  "I must, I must, for your sake!" she answered. "My dear, it will allcome right in time, if you will be patient. We shall meet when all thisis over and done with. Good-bye!"

  I would have said more then, but at that moment the door opened, and theyoung doctor came in. One glance at the girl was sufficient; with animpatient gesture he ordered Bardolph Just and myself to go, and hastilysummoned the nurse. So we marched out, side by side, without a worduntil we reached the street.

  "Understand me," said Bardolph Just quietly, "I shall keep my word."

  "And I shall keep mine," I retorted, as I turned on my heel and lefthim.

  Brave words, as you will doubtless think; yet even as I said them Irealised how helpless I was. Debora, for my sake, would go back to thathorrible house, there to live, perhaps, in safety for a time, until thedoctor could devise some cunning death for her. And I supposed that indue course I should hear of that; and should know the truth, and yetshould be able to say nothing. Almost I was resolved to risk my own neckin saving her; almost I determined to put that old threat intoexecution, and kill the man. But I had no stomach for murder when I cameto think of the matter: I could only beat my brains in a foolish attemptto find some way out of the tangle.

  Thus nearly a week went by--a miserable week, during which I haunted theneighbourhood of the hospital and wandered the streets aimlessly,turning over scheme after scheme, only to reject each one as useless.Then, at last, one day I went to the hospital, and enquired for MissDebora Matchwick, and asked if I might see her.

  I was told that she was gone. Her guardian had called on the previousday with a carriage, and had taken her home; he had made a generousdonation to the funds of the hospital, in recognition of his gratitudefor the kindness the young lady had received. So I understood that hehad succeeded, and that I had failed.

  The man had succeeded, too, in putting the strongest possible barrierbetween the girl and myself, in invoking that bogey of my safety. I knewthat he could hold her more strongly with that than with anything else;I felt that she would refuse, for my sake, to have anything to do withme. Nevertheless, I came to the conclusion that I must make one lastdesperate effort to see her, or to see Bardolph Just. In a sense, I wassafe, because I knew I was always a standing menace to the man, and thathe feared me.

  I went straight from the hospital to the house at Highgate. I had nodefinite plan in my mind; I determined to act just as circumstancesshould suggest. I rang the bell boldly, and a servant whom I knewappeared at the door. He was in the very act of slamming it again in myface, when I thrust my way in and closed the door behind me.

  "Don't try that game again," I said sternly, "or you'll repent it.Where's your master?"

  "I have my orders, sir," he began, "and I dare not----"

  "I'll see you don't get into trouble," I broke in. "I want to see Dr.Just."

  "But he's not here, sir," said the man, and I saw that he was speakingthe truth. "Dr. Just and the young lady have gone away, sir."

  "Do you know where they've gone?" I asked; but the man only shook hishead.

  I stood there debating what to do, and wondering if by chance the doctormight have carried out his original intention of going abroad. Then adoor opened at the end of the hall, and Martha Leach came out andadvanced towards me. She stopped on seeing who the intruder was; thenwith a gesture dismissed the servant, and silently motioned to me tofollow her into another room. It was the dining-room, and when I hadgone in she shut the door, and stood waiting for me to speak. I noticedthat she seemed thinner than of old, and that there were streaks of greyin her black hair. She stood twisting her white fingers over and overwhile she watched me.

  "I came to see the doctor," I said abruptly. "Where is he?"

  "Why do you want to know?" she demanded. "You've been turned out of thisplace; you ought not to have been admitted now."

  "I do not forget the assistance you rendered in turning me out," I said."Nevertheless I am here now, and I want an answer to my question. I wantto find the girl Debora Matchwick."

  She stood for a long time, as it seemed to me, in a rigid attitude, withher fingers twining and twisting, and with her eyes bent to the floor.Then suddenly she looked up, and her manner was changed and eager.

  "I wonder if you would help me?" was her astonishing remark.

  "Try me," I said quietly.

  "I suppose you love this slip of a girl--in a fashion _you_ call love,"she flashed out at me. "I can't understand it myself--but then, mynature's a different one. You would no more understand what rage
s herewithin me"--she smote herself ruthlessly on the breast with bothhands--"than I can understand how any man can be attracted by abread-and-butter child like that. But, perhaps, you can grasp a littlewhat I suffer when I know that that man and that girl aretogether--miles away from here--and that I am here, tied here by hisorders."

  "I think I can understand," I said quietly, determined in my own mind toplay upon that mad jealousy for my own ends. "And I am sorry for you."

  "I don't want your sorrow, and I don't want your pity!" she exclaimed,fiercely brushing away tears that had gathered in her eyes. "Only Ishall go mad if this goes on much longer; I can't bear it. He insultedme to my face before her on the day they left for Green Barntogether--yesterday that was."

  "And yet you love him--you would get this girl out of his hands if youcould?"

  "I would kill her if I could," she snarled. "I would tear her limb fromlimb; I would mark her prettiness in such a fashion that no man wouldlook at her again. That's what I'd do."

  "You want me to help you," I reminded her.

  "Why don't you have some pluck?" she demanded fiercely. "Why don't youtear her out of his hands, and take her away?"

  "There are reasons why I cannot act as I would," I said. "But I'll dothis; I'll go down to Green Barn, and I'll try to persuade her to goaway with me. You've fought against that all the time, or I might havesucceeded before."

  "I know--I know!" she said. "I hoped to please him by doing that; Ihoped that some day he might get tired of her, and might look at meagain as he looked at me in the old days. But now I'm hopeless; I can donothing while she is with him. I'm sorry--sorry I fought against you,"she added, in a lower tone.

  "I'll do my best to help you--and the girl," I said. "It may happen thatyou may get your wish sooner than you anticipated; I believe thatBardolph Just means to kill her."

  "If he doesn't, I shall!" she snapped at me as I left the house.

  So far I had done no good, save in discovering where Bardolph Just andDebora had gone. It was a relief to me to know that they had not goneabroad; for then I should have been helpless indeed. I determined that Iwould go at once down into Essex; it would be some satisfaction at leastto be near her.

  I was walking rapidly away from the house when I heard someone followingme; I turned suspiciously, and saw that it was the man Capper. He cameup to me with that foolish smile hovering over his face, and spoke inthat strange, querulous whisper I had heard so often.

  "Forgive an old man speaking to you, sir," he said--"an old man allalone in the world, and with no friends. I saw you come from Dr. Just'shouse--good, kind Dr. Just!"

  I felt my suspicions of him beginning to rise in my mind again, despitethe fact that the face he turned to me was that of a simpleton. Irecalled Debora's words to me when she had wondered if this man wouldever speak.

  "What do you want?" I asked him, not ungently.

  "I want to find Dr. Just--good, kind Dr. Just," he whispered. "I havefollowed him a long time, but have been so unfortunate as to miss him. Imissed him in a crowd in a street; now I find that he is not at hishouse."

  "You are very devoted to Dr. Just," I observed. "What do you hope togain by it?"

  "To gain?" He stared at me with that curious smile on his face. "Whatshould I gain?"

  "I don't know," I answered him, "but it seems to me that you may someday gain what you want."

  "God grant I may!" The answer was given in an entirely different voice,and I looked at him in a startled way as I realised at last the truththat for some time at least he had been shamming. I dropped my hand onhis shoulder, and spoke sternly enough.

  "Come now, let this pretence be ended," I said. "You're as sane as Iam--you have all your wits about you. Your brain is clear; you remembereverything."

  We were in a quiet lane near the house, and there was no one in sight.He clasped his hands, and raised his face--a changed face, stern-set,grim and relentless--to the sky. "Dear God!" he exclaimed passionately,"I do remember! I do remember!"

  "What?" I asked.

  He looked at me for a moment intently, as if debating within himselfwhether to trust me; then at last he laid a hand tremulously on my arm,and stared up into my face.

  "I have shammed, sir," he said. "I have lied; I have plotted. I shallnot fail now; I have come out of the darkness into the light. I havecome to life!"

  His excitement, now that he had once let himself go, was tremendous; heseemed a bigger and a stronger man than I had imagined. He stood there,shaking his clenched fists above his head, and crying out that he wasalive, and almost weeping with excitement.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked him, breathlessly.

  "I am going to kill Bardolph Just, as he killed my young master, Mr.Gregory Pennington! I have tried twice; the third time I shall succeed!"he replied.