Loe raamatut: «The Mystery of M. Felix», lehekülg 15

"I'm a new man. How about Emilia? Have you seen her? Can I go to her?" He dressed rapidly as he spoke.

"I am sorry to say," continued Leonard, "that I can obtain no news of her. Wait yet a little while; I will go out again and endeavor to find her."

"I cannot wait I will go with you."

"I forbid it, Gerald. You will spoil all if you don't mind. I should not be here now, but I was getting alarmed about you. I will return in an hour."

He hastened away before Gerald could reply. "What am I to do now?" he thought. "If Gerald makes inquiries himself he will be certain to learn where she is. I have twelve hundred pounds in my pocket. If the devil would range himself on my side I would give him half of it with pleasure."

He little knew how near he was to the accomplishment of his wishes. At that moment Mrs. Seaton was making her way to the house of the maiden sisters. He himself was wending his course toward the house, moodily debating how he could drive Emilia from it, and from the town forever. He knew all about Mrs. Seaton and her animosity against Emilia; the woman had been pointed out to him early in the day, and her face was familiar to him. He walked slowly, she quickly; thus she overtook and passed him, but he had seen and recognized her. He quickened his steps, and paused as she paused, before the house of the maiden sisters. With unerring intuition he guessed her errand.

"Are you going to see the ladies who live here, madam?" he asked in his most respectful tone.

"I am, sir," she replied with asperity. "Who are you, may I inquire?"

"I am a stranger in the town, madam," he said, speaking with the greatest deference. "Is it not to this place that the young person was taken who was found in Mr. Gerald Paget's house last night?"

"It is, and my business is to expose her. Have you any objections?"

"Not the slightest, madam. I think you are performing a Christian duty."

"I am not obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Seaton, haughtily. "I am in the habit of doing my duty without being prompted. The creature who is harbored there shall be turned adrift before many hours are over. She is a disgrace to the neighborhood, and I will see that she is hunted out of it."

"Madam," said Leonard, "the whole town will be in your debt if you rid it of the person in question, and I myself shall be deeply grateful to you."

He raised his hat and walked away, thinking, with a blithe laugh, "The devil is on my side and I have the twelve hundred pounds safe in my pocket." After this agreeable reflection he idled an hour, singing little snatches of song to himself, and then returned to the hotel with a plausible tale which he had invented to put Gerald off the scent till the following day, by which time he hoped that Emilia would be gone and all traces of her lost. He was a keen judge of human nature, and knew what effect Mrs. Seaton's calumnies would have upon a young and sensitive girl. Her first impulse would be to fly from a spot where she was known-to hide her face anywhere so long as it was among strangers. With a strong, determined woman it would be different; she would brazen it out, and, give back scorn for scorn, and although she could not hope for victory she would have the satisfaction of saying bitter things to her revilers. Emilia was not this kind of woman; Gerald's descriptions of her had enabled Leonard to gauge her correctly, and to forecast how she would act in the face of an accusation so vile and degrading. Believing firmly in the judgments he formed of matters in which he was personally concerned, he had, therefore, reason to congratulate himself upon the course which events had taken, and he skipped up the steps of the hotel with a mind at ease. Its balance, however, was disturbed when he was informed that Gerald was gone.

"Did he say where he was going?" he asked.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"Nor when he would return?"

"No, sir."

"But he left a message for me?"

"No, sir."

"Can you tell me which direction he took?"

"No, sir."

These unsatisfactory iterations produced no outward effect upon Leonard; he was a man who never showed his hand. With a pleasant smile he left the hotel thinking, "Now where the devil has the young fool gone? To make inquiries for his goddess, no doubt. Does that indicate impatience merely, or that he cannot trust me? I must no lose my hold on him. If it is necessary to humor him, humored he shall be. There is more than one way out of a wood." As a measure of precaution he walked in the direction of the house of the maiden sisters, and reaching it, walked slowly back toward the hotel. This was done with the intention of intercepting Gerald, and learning whether the young man had discovered Emilia's refuge-in which event he was prepared to disclose that he himself had at length discovered it, and was hurrying to his dear brother to communicate the welcome intelligence. "By the Lord Harry," he muttered, as he stood at the corner of the street, "here comes the young fool! It is lucky I am prepared." He strode rapidly toward Gerald, and almost upset him in his haste.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE FALSE FRIEND

"Hallo, Gerald!" he cried. "I meet you by the most fortunate chance. I have been hunting for you everywhere."

"I could not wait for you at the hotel," said Gerald, "and had to go out and make inquiries for myself. What is the name of this street?"

"Never mind the name of the street," said Leonard, jumping at the safe conclusion. "The house is the important thing, and I have discovered it."

"Where my Emilia is?"

"Yes, where your Emilia is."

"I also have been told where she was taken to, and I was hurrying to her. Have you seen her, Len, have you seen her?"

"I have not, and have not attempted to do so. You see, Gerald, it is night, and I am a stranger to her and to the people who have taken care of her. It will be best, after all, for you to go first, especially as you are no longer the scarecrow you were, and will not alarm her by your haggard appearance."

"I am quite fresh now. Are we going to the house?"

"Yes, I am taking you there. Oh, Gerald, how I have hunted for your Emilia! If I had been in love with her myself, if she were my sweetheart instead of yours, I could not have worked harder to find her."

"I am sure you could not. You are a true friend. Forgive me for leaving the hotel; I could not bear the suspense."

"You acted naturally, Gerald-as I should have done in your place. I am something more than a friend, I am your loving brother, dear boy, ready to go through fire and water to serve you."

"God bless you, Len! Are we near the house?"

"There it is, Gerald, on the opposite side, just beyond the lamp-post."

"Come, then, come!"

They had scarcely started to cross the road when the street-door was opened, and the maiden sisters appeared on the threshold, peering up and down the street.

"Which is Emilia?" asked Leonard, grasping Gerald's arm, detaining him a moment.

"Neither. Let us go to them."

"It is hard to say to so devoted a lover," said Leonard, "but be a little prudent. Any appearance of violent haste might cause them to shut the door in our faces."

Thus advised Gerald curbed his impatience, and crossed the road in a more leisurely manner. The maiden sisters started back as the two gentlemen halted before them.

"I beg your pardon," said Leonard, raising his hat; Gerald was so agitated that he could scarcely speak; "but we have been directed here to see a young lady who was rescued from the fire last night, and who found a refuge in your hospitable house."

"We brought Miss Braham home with us," said the elder lady, "and are now in great distress about her. I presume you are friends of hers."

"We are her most devoted friends," said Leonard, "and have been searching for her the whole of the day. My name is Leonard Paget; this is my brother Gerald."

The sisters were standing hand in hand, and at the mention of these names their fingers fluttered, then tightened in their clasp. Gerald found his voice.

"Is she ill?" he exclaimed. "Do not hide anything from me, I beg!"

The sisters looked nervously at each other; the elder was first to speak.

"Are you aware that we have received a visit from a lady well known in the town?"

"No," said Gerald. "Who is the lady and what has her visit to do with Miss Braham?"

There was a ring of genuine honesty in his voice, and it made its impression. The elder lady touched his arm gently.

"Tell me," she said, "In what special manner are you interested in Miss Braham?"

"Madam," replied Gerald, "I hope very soon to have the happiness of calling her my wife."

The sisters gave each other a bright look, and the younger lady said, "It is cold standing here, and my sister is not strong. Will you not walk into the house?"

They accepted the invitation, Gerald gladly, Leonard with curiosity as to what the sisters meant when they said they were in great distress about Emilia.

"Excuse my impatience," said Gerald, "but I implore you to allow me to see Miss Braham at once."

Their pity for him would not admit of Emilia's departure being immediately communicated to him; it must be led up to gently. But Gerald's indignation would not be restrained; before the conclusion of Mrs. Seaton's visit was recounted he interrupted the maiden sisters with the truthful version of Emilia's misfortunes and of the unhappy circumstances which compelled him to take her to his house a few hours before the fire. He blamed himself bitterly for the indiscretion, but asked them what else he could have done; and they, completely won over by his indignation and by the manifest honesty of his professions, threw aside for once all reserve and hesitation, and boldly declared that he could not have acted otherwise.

"Sister," said the elder to the younger, "the sweet young lady deserves our deepest pity, and is worthy of our love. Mr. Paget" – turning to Gerald-"Miss Braham will find a home here, and if she will consent, shall be married from our house."

"You are angels of goodness," said the young man, "but do not keep her from me any longer. If you do not think right that I should see her alone, let me see her in your presence."

"Alas!" said the elder lady; "she must first be found."

"Found!" echoed Gerald, in bewilderment.

"Do not alarm yourself. The dear child cannot have gone far. We have not finished what we have to tell you. Listen patiently to the end."

When all was related Gerald stood stupefied for a few moments, holding in his hands the pathetic vindication of her innocence which Emilia had left behind her. Leonard was secretly exultant. Emilia was gone, and if he assisted in the search for her she should never be found. He was confident that she had flown from the neighborhood, and that her one desire would be to hide herself and her shame among strangers. It was not in his nature to believe in womanly purity, and it was not likely that he would make an exception in Emilia's favor. She was his enemy; she stood in his path; she barred his way to affluence; let her sink into the obscurity she was seeking.

These sentiments were not expressed in his eyes, which were full of sympathy.

"Come, Gerald," he said, passing his arm around the young man's neck, "be a man. As these good ladies say, it will not be difficult to find Emilia. Let us seek her; in an hour or two all your troubles will be over."

"Your brother is right," said the elderly lady, "no time should be lost, for the poor child must be suffering. We rejoice that you have so true a friend to assist you. Do not desert him, sir; he is not fit to be left alone."

"Desert Gerald!" cried Leonard. "Desert my dear brother in the hour of his distress! No, indeed. He will find me true to the last."

The ladies pressed his hands, and gazed at him approvingly and admiringly. His face beamed with earnestness and enthusiasm. He had in him a touch of the actor's art; he was playing a part in a fine comedy of manners and intrigue, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, and commended himself for his masterly performance.

The maiden sisters saw the brothers to the street door, and impressed upon them that Emilia should be brought to their house at the earliest opportunity, and that her room would be ready for her.

Then commenced Gerald's search for Emilia, a search not only without a clue to guide him, but with a cunning man at his elbow, suggesting that they should go here and there, where he was certain there was chance of finding her. There were times, however, when Gerald himself said he would go to such and such a house and make inquiries, and Leonard never opposed him. It was his one wish to keep Gerald in the town, and he breathed no hint of his conviction that Emilia had flown from it. Everything was against Gerald; it was late when the search commenced, and at an hour past midnight he and Leonard stood in the quiet streets, gazing at each other, Gerald helplessly, Leonard inquiringly.

"Where now, Gerald?"

"God knows! I think I am losing my mind."

"May I make a suggestion, dear boy?"

"Yes, Len."

"You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a little common-sense into our sad position?"

"How can I blame you, Len-you, the truest friend that a man ever had? Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life-to find Emilia. I can think of nothing but her."

"Then I may make my suggestion?"

"Yes."

"Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests."

"I do, Len."

"Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed-"

"Len!"

"There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable."

"I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia."

"All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall we turn?"

Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of pathetic weariness.

"You are tired, Len."

Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy! Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow. Let's be moving."

"No, Len, I don't see much use in it."

"It is not I who say that, Gerald."

"No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?"

Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the bells.

"Two o'clock, Gerald."

"What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to his companion.

"She is asleep, I should say."

"No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me, as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear brother; have you ever been in love?"

"Yes, Gerald," replied Leonard, quietly.

"And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it end?"

"Do not ask me, Gerald."

"Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?"

Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated,

"She is dead? I am sorry, very sorry."

"You need not be. She lives."

"How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure."

"For heaven's sake, Gerald, do not force me to answer you. Let us talk of something else."

"I open my heart to you," said Gerald, with sad insistence, "and you close yours to me."

"You cut me to the quick. Yes, I was true to her, but she was not true to me. There is the tragedy or the comedy-which you like, Gerald-related in less than a dozen words. It is a story which all men live to tell-all men, I mean, with the exception of yourself."

"I am a selfish brute, to compel you to expose your wounds. Poor Len! If she had been like my Emilia you would not have had to tell the tale. We can do nothing more to-night."

"Nothing that I can see."

"I am so full of my own grief that I forget to sympathize with yours, but I am truly sorry for you. At this moment Emilia is thinking of me; there is a spiritual whisper in the air which assures me of this. Would it be really best to go back to the hotel?"

"It would be wisest, both for your sake and for Emilia's. Early in the morning we can commence again. Gerald, to stop out any longer would be folly. You would not dare to knock at the door of any house at this hour and inquire for Emilia; it would be the ruin of her. You have her honor to guard, as well as your own happiness to look after."

"I am blind, and utterly, utterly selfish. Heaven has sent you to guide and counsel me. Yes, we will go."

They returned to the hotel, and Gerald gave directions that he should be called early in the morning. He and Leonard wished each other good-night, and retired to their separate rooms. As Leonard undressed he chuckled at the successful progress he had made. Everything had worked in his favor, and would so work to the end. He had no doubt of that, with his hand on the wheel. So he closed his eyes, and went to sleep contented and happy.

Gerald stood by the window and thought of Emilia. To-morrow they would be together; to-morrow all would be well. He threw the window open and looked out. Could his sight have reached the distance he would have seen a pitiful figure staggering on through country roads, stopping ever and anon to recover her breath, then starting feverishly on again, with panting bosom and streaming eyes, mournfully grateful for the darkness that encompassed her, and dreading the coming day. Slander's foul work was being accomplished. Dark as it was, Emilia saw the malignant eyes; silent as it was, she heard the hard voices. On and on she stumbled, praying for rest. Gerald was false; she did not care to live.

CHAPTER XXIX.
ON THE TRACK

As early, as practicable in the morning Gerald was astir, continuing his inquiries for the missing girl. Leonard, of course, accompanied him, with the pretence of being very busy and as anxious as Gerald for the success of the search, but inwardly fuming at his step-brother's activity. His spirits rose as hour after hour passed fruitlessly by; his hopeful anticipations were being realized; Emilia was gone, never to return again.

At three o'clock in the afternoon Gerald came to a standstill. The tortures he was suffering were reflected in his face.

"Poor boy, poor boy!" said Leonard, in his gentlest tone. "I can truly sympathize with you, Gerald."

"I know, Len, I know," said Gerald. "Let me think quietly; don't speak to me. Something must be done; something shall be done. It weighs like a sin upon my soul that I have driven my dear girl to misery. What must she think of me?"

All at once an inspiration fell upon him; his face lighted up; he spoke with hope and animation.

"Fool that I am," he cried, "to trust myself. I am going to my lawyers; if you care to come with me, Len-"

"Of course I care to come with you," interrupted Leonard. "But why to your lawyers? They cannot assist you."

"They can," said Gerald, in a decided tone; and they proceeded to the office arm-in-arm.

In a private interview with the head of the firm, at which Leonard was present, Gerald explained what he wanted. The firm was to set all their machinery to work at once to discover where Emilia had flown to; everything was to be done very quietly, and no expense was to be spared. When the young girl was found she was not to be informed that a search had been made for her, but she was to be carefully and secretly watched, and Gerald was to be immediately communicated with. That done, and Gerald conducted to the house in which Emilia had sought refuge, the business entrusted to the lawyers was concluded. Gerald left with the head of the firm a check for a large amount, in proof that he was thoroughly in earnest; and it was arranged that he or Leonard, or both of them, should return to their hotel and wait for news.

"If it is in the middle of the night," said Gerald, "let me know. Not a moment must be lost."

Then the step-brothers left the office and walked to their hotel. Leonard inwardly gave Gerald credit for being much more practical than he had imagined, but still hoped that his good luck would follow him, and that the business would fail. To Gerald the misery of entrusting the task to other hands lay in the necessity of his remaining inactive himself; but although he would not leave the hotel for fear that a messenger from the lawyers might arrive in his absence, he could not endure to remain idle. He sent a note to the kind maiden ladies who had sheltered Emilia, and received one in reply, to the effect that they had heard nothing of the lost girl; and at least once in every hour he despatched a communication to the lawyers, to which the invariable answer was that the inquiry was proceeding, but no clue had yet been discovered. Gerald did not undress that night; he slept fitfully in an arm-chair. Leonard prepared for any sacrifice in the furtherance of his own interests, took off his coat and waistcoat, and made himself as comfortable as he could with wraps and rugs on a sofa in the same room in which Gerald passed the night. Gerald urged him to go to bed, but he would not.

"It is not right," said the unhappy young man, "that you should share my fatigue and troubles. Go and have a good night's rest."

"I distinctly decline," replied Leonard, in an affectionate tone. "Your troubles are my troubles, and I feel them almost as deeply as yourself. My name is Thorough."

"There is no other man like you, I believe," said Gerald. "I will try and repay you one day."

"You shall repay me one day," thought Leonard, "and whatever I get will be richly earned."

Aloud, he said, "The only repayment I ask, my dear boy, is to see you happy with your Emilia. There, let us say no more about it. If you want me in the night you have only to call me, you will find me ready for anything."

Gerald woke a dozen times before daylight, and moved gently about so that he should not disturb his noble friend. He stole down to the night porter.

"No one has come for me?"

"No one, sir."

"If anyone calls send him to me instantly."

"Yes, sir."

It was a fortunate night for the porter, the tips he received from the distracted young man making a very handsome total. Gerald was grateful when morning broke. It would not be long before Emilia was in his arms. He made an effort to repair the disorder in his clothes and appearance, and long before the door of the lawyers' office was open one of his messengers was waiting for tidings. Still the same answer, always the same answer; no traces of Emilia had been found. He paced the room with the restlessness of a wild animal.

Once he stopped, and leaning heavily on Leonard's shoulder, whispered, "If she should be dead! Good God, if she should be dead!"

"So much the better for everybody," thought Leonard, as he passed his arm round Gerald's waist and endeavored to soothe him.

At noon the lawyer paid Gerald a visit.

"You have brought me news?" cried Gerald.

"None of a satisfactory nature," replied the lawyer. "We have ascertained for certain that the young lady is not in the town."

"But when she left the house in which she was sheltered," said Leonard, for Gerald was too overpowered to speak, "someone must have seen her."

"If so," said the lawyer, "we have not discovered the person, who has a good reason for coming forward, as we have offered handsome rewards for definite information of any kind concerning her. However, we have now taken other steps, and it is for the purpose of making Mr. Paget acquainted with them that I have paid this visit."

He paused, and Gerald motioned to him to continue.

"Being convinced that Miss Braham has left the town, we have despatched agents in every direction to track her down. These agents understand that they are to pursue their mission in the most delicate manner, and they are instructed to keep in regular telegraphic communication with us. My errand here is to communicate these proceedings to you, and to advise patience and" – with a significant look at Gerald-"peace of mind."

"I shall not know peace," said Gerald, "till she is found."

"All that is humanly possible is being done; we can do no more."

It was poor comfort, and it did not diminish the young man's distress. The lawyer remained for a few minutes longer, and then took his departure. The day waned, and the night, without any tidings, and on the following morning despair seemed to have reached its height in Gerald's mind.

"Upon my soul," thought Leonard, "I think he is going mad. Well, that would not be a bad ending to this insane hunt. I should be his guardian, and should know how to take care of him-and his money. His? No, mine, by the laws of nature."

During this day copies of telegrams received by the lawyers were sent to Gerald, but not one of them satisfactory.

"She is lost to me forever," groaned Gerald.

"Amen!" thought Leonard.

Early the next morning, however, a telegram was handed in with these words, "On the track." The lawyer hastened to Gerald.

"It is from one of our best men," he said. "Something will be known in the course of the day."

But it was not till another night had passed that Gerald learned where Emilia was.