Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 128

"George is in Australia. He has a chance, I believe, of doing pretty well."

"Are the girls married?"

"No."

"Not Adelaide?"

"No."

Something like a smile curled her dark and fevered lips. "Mademoiselle Adelaide was trying after that vicomte. 'Bah!' I would say to myself as I did by Cyril, 'there's no vicomte for her; he is only playing his game.' Does he go there now?"

"Lord Hawkesley? Oh, no. All intimacy has ceased."

"They have gone down, have they not? They are very poor?"

"I fear they are poor now. Yes, they have very much gone down. May I inquire what it is you want with me?"

"You inquire soon," she answered in resentful tones. "Do you fear I should contaminate you?--as you feared for your wife on Sat.u.r.day?"

"If I can aid you in any way I shall be happy and ready to do so," was William's answer, spoken soothingly. "I think you are very ill."

"The doctor was here this afternoon. 'Ma chere,' said he, 'to-morrow will about end it. You are too weak to last longer; the inside is gone.'"

"Did he speak to you in that way?--a medical man!"

"He is aware that I know as much about my own state as he does. He might not be so plain with all his patients. Then I said to the sister, 'Get me up and make the bed, for I must see a friend.'--And I sent her for you. I told you I wanted you to do me a little service. Will you do it?"

"If it is in my power."

"It is not much. It is this," she added, drawing from beneath the _peignoir_ a small packet, sealed and stamped, looking like a thick letter. "Will you undertake to put this surely in the post after I am dead? I do not want it posted before."

"Certainly I will," he answered, taking it from her hand, and glancing at the superscription. It was addressed to Herbert Dare at Dusseldorf.

"Is he there?" asked William.

"That was his address the last I heard of him. He is now here, now there, now elsewhere; a vagabond, as I told you, on the face of the earth. He is like Cain," she vehemently continued. "Cain wandered abroad over the earth, never finding rest. So does Herbert Dare. Who wonders?

Cain killed his brother: what did _he_ do?"

William lifted his eyes to her face; as much of it as might be distinguished under the dark shade cast by the lamp. That she appeared to be in a very demonstrative state of resentment against Herbert Dare was indisputable.

"He did not kill his brother, at any rate," observed William. "I fear he is not a good man; and you may have cause to know that more conclusively than I; but he did not kill his brother. You were in Helstonleigh at the time, mademoiselle, and must remember that he was cleared," added William, falling into the style of address used by the Dares.

"Then I say he did kill him."

She spoke with slow distinctness. William could only look at her in amazement. Was her mind wandering? She sat glaring at him with her light blue eyes, so glazed, yet glistening; just the same eyes that used to puzzle old Anthony Dare.

"What did you say?" asked William.

"I say that Herbert Dare is a second Cain," she answered.

"He did not kill Anthony," repeated William. "He could not have killed him. He was in another place at the time."

"Yes. With that Puritan child in the dainty dress--fit attire only for your folles in--what you call the place?--Bedlam! I know he was in another place," she continued: and she appeared to be growing terribly excited, between pa.s.sion and natural emotion.

"Then what are you speaking of?" asked William. "It is an impossibility that Herbert could have killed his brother."

"He caused him to be killed."

William felt a nameless dread creeping over him. "What do you mean?" he breathed.

"I send that letter, which you have taken charge of, to Herbert the bad; but he moves about from place to place, and it may never reach him. So I want to tell you in substance what is written in the letter, that you may repeat it to him when you come across him. He may be going back to Helstonleigh some day; if he not die off first, with his vagabond life.

Was it not said there, once, that he was dead?"

"Only for a day or two. It was a false report."

"And when you see him--in case he has not had that packet--you will tell him this that I am now about to tell you."

"What is its nature?" asked William.

"Will you promise to tell him?"

"Not until I first hear what it may be," fearlessly replied William.

"Intrust it to me, if you will, and I will keep it sacred; but I must use my own judgment as to imparting it to Herbert Dare. It may be something that would be better left unsaid."

"I do not ask you to keep it sacred," she rejoined. "You may tell it to the world if you please; you may tell it to your wife; you may tell it to all Helstonleigh. But not until I am dead. Will you give that promise?"

"That I will readily give you."

"On your honour?"

William's truthful eyes smiled into hers. "On my honour--if that shall better satisfy you. It was not necessary."

She remained silent a few moments, and then burst forth vehemently.

"When you see him, that cochon, that vaurien----"

"I beg you to be calm," interrupted William. "This excitement must be most injurious to one in your weak state; I cannot sit and listen to it."

"Tell him," said she, leaning forward, and speaking in a somewhat calmer tone, "tell him that it was he who caused the death of his brother Anthony."

William could only look at her. Was she wandering? "_I_ killed him," she went on. "Killed him in mistake for Monsieur Herbert."

Barely had the words left her lips, when all that had been strange in that past tragedy seamed to roll away as a cloud from William's mind.

The utter mystery there had been as to the perpetrator: the almost impossibility of pointing accusation to any, seemed now accounted for: and a conviction that she was speaking the dreadful truth fell upon him.

Involuntarily he recoiled from her.

"He used me ill; yes, he used me ill, that wicked Herbert!" she continued in agitation. "He told me stories; he was false to me; he mocked at me! He had made me care for him; I cared for him--ah, I not tell you how. And then he turned round to laugh at me. He had but amused himself--pour faire pa.s.ser la temps!"

Her voice had risen to a shriek; her face and lips grew ghastly, and she began to twitch as one falling into convulsion. William grew alarmed, and hastened to her support. He could not help it, much as his spirit revolted from her.

"Y a-t-il quelque chose qu'on peut donner a madame pour la soulager?" he called out hastily to the sister in his fear.