"
A deed's to be done. There is sin in the doing. Oh, see how the mother her child is pursuing! She smites him unknowing. Oh, mother, blind mother, Thy son thou hast slain--not the son of another! The deed thou hast done bodes a life-time of rueing; Thy son thou hast slaughtered, as Cain did his brother!
"
It was on Friday morning that Mrs. Belk had her fatal interview with Maxwell--fatal indeed to her son, to benefit whom that same interview had been sought for. Had she not been of such a secretive disposition she would have told Samson of the finding of the jewel and how she intended to obtain money thereon as a clue to the assassin of Sir Rupert, in which case he would doubtless have prevented her doing so.
Anxious, however, to surprise Samson with a piece of good news, she had refrained from taking him into her confidence, and thus inadvertently placed him in a situation of extreme peril. Ignorant of this, however, she left Maxwell with the fifty pounds in her purse and joy in her heart, thinking she could now give her son a chance of making money by his physical strength. Determined to see for herself what rivals he would have in the event of his entering the arena as "a strong man," on Friday night she went to Totahoop's Music Hall, where "The New Milo" was exhibiting his world renowned feats of strength. After witnessing his performance, she was satisfied that her son had nothing to fear in the way of comparison, and on Saturday night went to a rival variety entertainment to see "The Modern Hercules." This gentleman, in Mrs. Belk's opinion proved equally disappointing; so the next day, which was Sunday, she departed for Deswarth with the full conviction that her son, aided by the fifty pounds obtained from Maxwell, would only have to appear before a London audience to easily distance both the Milo and the Hercules.
She went down by the morning train, but on arriving at her cottage found that Samson had gone to a town some distance away on an errand for Sir Thomas, his new master, and would not be back again until the afternoon. Under these circumstances she was forced to curb her impatience and wait some hours before she could reveal the good news to her son.
Meanwhile, as fate was thus delaying the warning to Samson which such a revelation would have brought about, Archie Maxwell, accompanied by Mrs. Belswin and her Italian friend, had arrived at The Chequers, from whence they intended to go to Belk's cottage and demand an explanation from him as to the discovery of the scarf-pin on the terrace at Thornstream. Confronted with the landlord of The Chequers, Signor Ferrari had no difficulty in proving to Maxwell that he was in the house at ten o'clock on that fatal night, and as the doctor at the inquest had asserted that Sir Rupert had been shot shortly before eleven, Maxwell was forced to believe by this circumstantial evidence that Ferrari was innocent of the crime. Mrs. Belswin had also recalled to the young man's mind her evidence at the inquest, so he could not possibly suspect her in any way, therefore to all appearances Belk was the only person to whom suspicion pointed in any strong degree. This being the case, after the interview with the landlord of The Chequers, Mr. Maxwell and his two friends set off to Belk's cottage, where Mrs. Belk was now impatiently awaiting the arrival of her son.
It seemed to Mrs. Belswin, superstitious as she was in the highest degree, that Fortune was dead against her in every way. Firstly, she had been beaten on every point by Silas Oates; secondly, it was only by the merest chance that she had been able to conceal her identity from Maxwell, in the matter of his accusation against Ferrari, and now she was afraid of Samson Belk. Afraid, because the finding of the scarf-pin proved conclusively that he was on the terrace on that night, in which case he might have overheard her interview with Sir Rupert. If this was the case, in order to save himself he would certainly tell Archie all he knew, and she would be lost. There was no time to see and warn him as she had done Ferrari, so she walked on to the cottage with a set smile on her face and a deadly fear in her heart.
On their arrival, Mrs. Belk opened the door, and was very much surprised at such an invasion. However, she said nothing, but, standing in her doorway, waited for an explanation of their visit.
Is your son at home, Mrs. Belk, asked Maxwell, abruptly.
No, sir, replied Mrs. Belk, dropping a curtsey, "but I'm expecting him every minute."
Oh, in that case we'll wait.
Yes, sir, certainly!
Mrs. Belk moved unwillingly on one side, as she was in a state of considerable mystification as to the reason of Mr. Maxwell's unexpected arrival; and they all entered the cottage. The little woman gave them seats, and then stood waiting to hear what they had to say. Maxwell's business, however, was with Samson Belk, and not with his mother, so he preserved a masterly silence, in order to give her no opportunity of finding out his errand, and perhaps, by a look, putting her son on his guard.
I hope nothing is wrong about the money, sir, said Mrs. Belk, after a long pause.
No! that is all right.
Have you found out anything, sir?
You mean about the scarf-pin? said Maxwell, evasively.
Yes, sir.
Mr. Maxwell has found out the owner of it, interposed Mrs. Belswin, coldly.
I am the owner, said Ferrari, complacently.
You? cried Mrs. Belk, with a sudden flush on her face; "you, sir?"
Even I, signora!
Mrs. Belk felt quite taken back. She was quite sure that the owner of the scarf-pin had killed Sir Rupert, yet, here he was, calmly acknowledging that it belonged to him, which he certainly would not do if he were guilty. The little woman looked from Ferrari to Maxwell, from Maxwell to Mrs. Belswin; and saw in their eyes the same expression---a look of pity. A sudden thrill of fear shot through her heart, and she turned towards Maxwell with a cry of alarm.
Sir! Sir! she stammered, nervously, "what does this mean?--why do you come here?"
We want to see your son, Mrs. Belk.
My son, sir? Is anything wrong? Oh, tell me, sir, Samson has been doing nothing wrong?
None of the three persons present answered her, so filled were their hearts with pity for her coming agony.
Is it anything to do with the diamond, sir?
Yes.
Oh! cried Mrs. Belk, with an expression of relief on her face, "perhaps you think my son stole it?"
Your son, said Mrs. Belswin, quickly. "Did he have that scarf-pin in his possession?"
Mrs. Belk faced round fiercely.
No ma'am; he knows nothing about it.
Ebbene, murmured the Italian; "we shall see."
What do you say, sir?
I say, replied Ferrari, coolly, "that the scarf-pin was mine, and I gave it to--to--your son."
To my son, shrieked Mrs. Belk, her pale face growing yet paler; "but I found the diamond on the terrace."
Per Bacco! Who loses finds.
Mrs. Belk kept silent for a moment, overwhelmed by the thought of the perilous position in which she had placed her son, for in a single instant she saw all; then, staggering against the wall, she gave a cry which was scarcely human in its agony.
Scarcely had it died away, when hurried footsteps were heard, and the door was dashed open to admit Samson Belk, with a look of astonishment on his face.
Mother! what is the matter? Mrs. Belswin?
Yes! said Mrs. Belswin, advancing a step, "we have come----"
The mother saw the movement, and with a shriek of jealous rage, darted between them, and flung herself into her son's arms.
Yes, my son, yes! she cried, convulsively; "they have come to kill you! to hang you!"
Mother!
They say you killed the master.
It's a lie!
Samson Belk placed his mother in a chair, where she sat in a half-fainting condition, and turned fiercely towards the two men, like a lion at bay.
Now then, he said--his habitually slow voice, sharp and quick--"what's all this?"
Maxwell held out his hand, and in the palm of it lay the diamond scarf-pin.
Do you know this? he demanded, slowly.
Belk gave a mighty laugh of scorn.
Know it? Yes, I know it. 'Tis the diamond I got from yonder chap.
You acknowledge that he gave it to you, then?
Of course! Why shouldn't I?
Because I found it on the terrace, Samson, cried his mother, madly.
Well, what of that; I lost it there, mother!
When did you lose it? asked Maxwell, quickly.
Belk thought a moment, and then started as the full meaning of this interrogation flashed across his dull brain.
Eh! then you chaps say I killed Sir Rupert.
We do not say so, said Maxwell, emphatically; "we only say that this diamond scarf-pin, which you acknowledge to have had in your possession, was found near the window where the body was lying."
And that pin hangs me, sir?
Not if you can account satisfactorily for its being there.
You ain't got the police, sir.
No!
Samson! Samson! wailed his mother, clinging to him, "say it was not you killed the master!"
Quiet, mother! said her son, replacing her in the chair, "I can tell my own story."
You are innocent? asked Mrs. Belswin, impulsively.
Innocent! repeated Belk, with scorn, "if I wasn't I'd have been off to the States by this time. Sit down, gentlemen: sit down, madam, I can tell you the truth."
All resumed their seats mechanically; but Belk leaned his mighty frame against the wall and looked at them quietly. From Ferrari his eyes wandered to Maxwell, and finally rested on Mrs. Belswin with a curious expression, at which she turned pale.
My God! she murmured, clasping her hands tightly, "what is he going to say?"
Belk guessed her thoughts, and reassured her at once.
My story's only about myself, he said, abruptly looking at her again, upon which she thanked him with a silent look of gratitude, although she felt a thrill of fear at the thought that perhaps he knew her secret.
One word before you speak, said Maxwell, quietly. "As you know, I am going to marry Miss Pethram, and I promised her to find out the assassin of her father. Chance, in the person of your mother, placed in my hands a clue which led me to believe that Signor Ferrari had something to do with the crime----"
Cospetto! what honour.
Signor Ferrari, however, resumed Archie, quietly, "has proved his innocence, and in order to do so has unintentionally made out a very strong case against you, Mr. Belk. Whether you are guilty or not I do not know; but, you see, I have not informed the police about anything connected with the matter."
And why, sir?
Because the clue was placed in my hands by your mother, and I would not have it on my conscience, however guilty you may be, to take advantage of the innocent betrayal of a son by his mother.
Mrs. Belk sobbed violently at this, and Belk, with a sudden flush, held out his hand, but drew it back at once.
No, sir, he said, bluffly, "I won't give you my hand yet, till you've heard my story. I did get that diamond from the foreign gent as he says. He was trespassing, and I could have made things hot for him, but to get off he gave me the diamond."
Do you think that was right, seeing Signor Ferrari is a foreigner and ignorant of English laws? asked Maxwell.
I don't say it was right, sir, replied Belk with a queer look; "and it was not altogether the trespass. There was something else I need not tell you of that made me take his diamond."
Mrs. Belswin darted a sudden look on both men, who were eyeing her jealously, and flushed a deep red; but Maxwell was so interested in Belk's story that he did not notice her perturbation, and signed to him to continue.
Well, sir, I stuck the pin in my scarf careless like, as I was in a hurry to go up to the Hall to see Sir Rupert.
What hour was this.
About four o'clock, sir. I went up to the Hall, and Sir Rupert, sir, he was in his study; so instead of going in by the door, I went in by the window.
So you first went along the terrace?
Yes, sir! And as the pin was stuck in careless, I suppose it fell as I went into the room by the window.
Not impossible! said Maxwell, thoughtfully.
I saw Sir Rupert, took my orders, and then came home, sir, and didn't go out again that night.
Eh! cried Mrs. Belk, starting up, "no more you did, lad; I can swear to that."
And so can Mr. Gelthrip, the parson, sir, said Belk, triumphantly. "He called here in the evening, and I saw him. So you see, sir, as I didn't go near the Hall until the next morning, I didn't have nought to do with the killing."
No; certainly not.
Maxwell heaved a sigh of relief at the turn things had taken, for if both Mrs. Belk and the curate could prove that Samson had been at home on that fatal night, the young man certainly could not be guilty. Meanwhile, he wanted to get away and think the matter over; for what with the story of Ferrari and the story of Belk, he was quite bewildered.
So my Samson is innocent, cried Mrs. Belk, triumphantly.
Yes, and I'm glad to hear it, replied Maxwell, as he went out. "Good-bye, Mrs. Belk, I'm pleased on your account, but sorry on my own."
Ebbene! but who killed Il----I am talking of Seer Rupert, cried Ferrari, putting on his hat.
Belk shrugged his shoulders.
I don't know, he replied, nonchalantly; "the master had lots of enemies, I reckon."
Belk, cried Maxwell, overhearing this, "come to The Chequers to-night, I want to speak to you."
Very well, sir.
You are not coming up to town with us then, Mr. Maxwell? said Mrs. Belswin, who was lingering behind.
No! I wish to ask Belk some questions about Sir Rupert's enemies. From what he says, it appears he had some, and Belk knows them.
Maxwell and Ferrari both went down to the gate, and Mrs. Belswin was left alone with Samson, the mother still being in the house.
Don't go, she said, in a low tone.
Oh, yes, I'll go, he replied in the same tone, "I tell nothing."
What? she said, uneasily; "do you know anything?"
Belk looked at her with his languid eyes, and stroked his golden beard slowly.
I know what I know, he replied emphatically, and with this reply, which roused all her suspicions, Mrs. Belswin was forced to be content.
'Neath the shining southern cross,
News of gain and news of loss,
Silver veining hidden rocks
Changes hourly shares and stocks:
By the magic power of shares,
Paupers turn to millionaires--
Millionaires to paupers change;
Transformation swift and strange.
Genii, no, nor fairy kings
Could not do such wond'rous things
As are daily done by scores,
On Australia's golden shores.
What passed between Maxwell and Samson Belk at their interview, Mrs. Belswin could never discover; but as Archie did not in any way change his manner towards her she was satisfied that her name had not transpired during the conversation, or if it had, Belk had said nothing detrimental to her in any way. As to Belk himself, she saw him when he came up to London, but he refused to tell her whether he had overheard the conversation between herself and Sir Rupert, and she was therefore forced to remain in a constant state of uneasiness. Although Belk denied that he had been out of the house after his return from the four o'clock interview, and supported this assertion by the evidence of his mother and the curate, yet Mrs. Belswin had a kind of half suspicion that he had been on the terrace on the night in question, and had heard more than he was willing to confess. But, then, she argued to herself that, if this were the case, he would certainly use his power over her to force her into marriage with him, whereas he did nothing of the sort, but behaved as if he knew absolutely nothing.
It was now three months since the famous interview at the Belk cottage, and Samson had carried out the plan proposed by his mother. He had appeared at a first-class music hall as the "Nineteenth Century Samson," and, by his superior strength, had easily distanced his rivals, both "The New Milo" and "The Modern Hercules." They, of course, were furious at being eclipsed, but his mother was delighted with his success; the music hall manager was charmed at the crowds drawn by his new star, and perhaps the only person not thoroughly happy was the star himself. The reason of this discontent was, that in order to preserve his strength, he had to lead a very abstemious life, both as regards food and drink, so that, although he was making a large income, he was not enjoying it. Despite his discontent, however, he still led his life of an ascetic, and saved all his money, which was a marked contrast to his former extravagant ways; but then, he had a purpose in economising, and the purpose was Mrs. Belswin, whom he had made up his mind to marry, as soon as he was rich enough.
In the meantime, that lady was leading a sufficiently comfortable life, as, when she ran short of money, she always drew on Dombrain, who did not dare to refuse it to her. Kaituna still lived with her, and, as some time had elapsed since the death of her father, she had recovered nearly all her former vivacity, and was looking anxiously forward to her marriage with Archie--a marriage which was soon to take place, owing to the good news from Australia about the Pole Star Silver Mine.
Toby Clendon had duly arrived in the land of the Southern Cross, and had sent home brilliantly written letters of his travels, which satisfied the editor, and delighted the readers of The Weekly Scorpion, In addition to this excellent literary work, which, by the way, was giving him a name in journalistic circles, he had made inquiries about the Pole Star Mine, and although the information he obtained was disheartening enough at first, yet, after a time the Pole Star silver shares began to be inquired about, and in a few weeks were actually worth money.
Archie, who had benefited by his mining experiences in the colony, and, moreover, had made friends with an enterprising share broker, who was, as they say "in the know," sent to Kaituna for the scrip lying in the hands of Dombrain. After some difficulty, Archie, who acted as her agent, obtained it from the unwilling Dombrain, and sent all the scrip, to the value of two thousand shares, out to Toby, with a power of attorney authorising him to deal with them as he judged best.
Acting by the advice of his stockbroker, Toby judged it best to hold the scrip, as the shares were on the rise, and in a few days his confidence in the mine was justified. A lode was discovered in the Pole Star ground, which was said to rival the celebrated Comstock lode in California, which sent all 'Frisco mad in the old days, and the shares began to rise rapidly, so rapidly indeed, that Toby was justified in thinking that Kaituna would be a great heiress after all. They went from nothing up to twenty pounds a share; again by slow gradations they rose to fifty pounds each, and Toby wanted to sell, but his stockbroker still advised him to hold. In a month they were worth one hundred pounds each, and Toby still held on. The excitement in Melbourne was intense, and other silver mining companies began to spring round the famous Pole Star, in several of which Toby invested the salary he drew from The Weekly Scorpion. The surrounding mines were very fluctuating in the share market, but the Pole Star itself never faltered for a moment in its upward career, and at the end of three months, Toby wired to Maxwell that the shares were now worth the enormous value of two hundred pounds each.
Maxwell, in a state of great excitement, consulted Mrs. Belswin and Kaituna, and they, considering that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, decided to sell at that price. Instructions were wired out to Clendon to realise without delay, which he did carefully by selling the shares in parcels, as two thousand thrown on the market, for no apparent cause, would have caused a drop in the price. The selling took some time; but at the end of a month or so the whole two thousand were disposed of, and the amount standing to the credit of Miss Kaituna Pethram in The Bank of Australia was somewhere about four hundred thousand pounds, which was certainly a very respectable fortune for a girl formerly penniless.
Kaituna herself was wild with joy, and wanted to marry Maxwell at once; but, strange to say, he that had urged on the marriage when she was poor, now held back, lest it should be said he was marrying her for her money. Mrs. Belswin, however, promptly settled all that, and talked him over into getting married at once. Then a letter was received from Toby, saying that he also had been successful in mining speculations to the amount of some thousands, and was on his way home to Miss Valpy and matrimony.
Ultimately the two girls decided that they would be married in the same way, and Archie felt deeply grateful that things had turned out so well; while Mrs. Belswin, confident now that Kaituna's happiness was secured, both as regards income and marriage, looked upon her life's work as over.
Of course she had to reckon with Ferrari who still urged her to marry him; and as she had told Archie that she was engaged to the Italian, she did not very well see how she was going to escape this match, which was decidedly repugnant to her, as it separated her from her child, and gave her to a man for whom she cared nothing. Belk also hinted that his intentions were matrimonial as soon as he had amassed sufficient money; so Mrs. Belswin lamented the good looks which had placed her between two matrimonial fires. While she was in this unpleasant situation, Fate, in the person of Mr. Dombrain, intervened and decided the question in a highly unpleasant manner.
After his failure to convict Ferrari and Belk of the crime of murder, Archie had quite given up the idea of finding out the assassin; and Kaituna began to think that he would never be discovered. She proposed to Archie when they were married, to devote their newly gained wealth to seeking out the cowardly assassin; but Maxwell, who had grave doubts about Mrs. Belswin, Ferrari, and Belk, endeavoured to dissuade her. It will be said that if Maxwell had doubts like this, why did he permit Kaituna to remain with the companion? But the fact is, all his doubts were very undecided. He could not accuse Mrs. Belswin, as he had no evidence to go on, so he was forced to remain quiet and let things take their course.
In the acquirement of the money through the Pole Star Mine, in thinking of the double marriage soon to take place, the death of Sir Rupert was beginning to be almost forgotten, when suddenly it was brought to the minds of all interested by a terrible event.
Mrs. Belswin was arrested on a charge of having committed the murder.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth--
That, as I take it, is Bible-truth.
You have robbed me of my good name;
I will bring you to want and shame.
Both are wicked, so both shall fall--
God in His Heaven shall judge of it all.
Mrs. Belswin brought it all on herself. She would play with fire, and although a life-long experience had taught her how dangerous was that pastime, she nevertheless indulged in it, even at the risk of burning her fingers. Indeed, so many times had she rushed into danger in her fierce, impulsive way, and so many times had she emerged scatheless by sheer good luck, that she became reckless in her daring, and at last the inevitable happened--she went too far.
Everything was now progressing smoothly, both with herself and with those she loved. Kaituna had received an unexpected access of fortune, so that the difficulties of her marriage with Archie Maxwell were now removed by the power of gold; and Mrs. Belswin herself, living constantly with her darling, had now nothing left to wish for.
Yes! there was one thing she desired, and that was to see Silas Oates, in order to taunt him with the news of her good fortune. It was sheer devilry made her do this, as she cared nothing for her old lover; but some fiend having whispered in her ear that good fortune to her would be gall and wormwood to the American, she one day went straight to the Langham Hotel, in order to enjoy her triumph. Luckily for himself, Oates was absent in Paris at the time, where he had gone on a matter of business; but on his return he found Mrs. Belswin's card, and naturally enough being ignorant of her real object in paying him a visit, thought she had called for the sole purpose of getting more money out of him.
Silas Oates, in a most unjust fashion, did not blame his quondam lady-love for her persistency, knowing her real nature too well to expect anything from her; but he blamed Mr. Dombrain for not keeping his promise, and making Mrs. Belswin stop her pecuniary importunities.
The lady herself had entirely forgotten Mr. Dombrain and his threats, or if she did remember them it was with a contemptuous sneer, as she thought in her own heart that he could do nothing to harm her. But if Mrs. Belswin thus proved forgetful of the solicitor, Silas Oates did not. Mr. Oates was genuinely angry at the way Dombrain permitted Mrs. Belswin to annoy him, so, as the unfortunate lawyer had omitted to fulfil his promise of acting as watch-dog, the American determined to punish him as he had threatened for his negligence.
Silas went about the affair in a way peculiarly his own, and in a very few days Mr. Dombrain received a letter demanding an explanation of certain allegations concerning his past made against him by an American gentleman. The unfortunate man was quite stunned at the suddenness of his calamity; nor was he comforted when a spiteful note arrived from Silas, which stated that he had revealed everything about the convict Damberton to the Law Society, as a punishment for the negligence of the lawyer Dombrain. Of course the poor wretch could not defend himself, although he made a feeble attempt to do so; and the consequence of Mrs. Belswin's folly and Mr. Oates's letter was, that Alfred Dombrain of London, Solicitor, was struck off the rolls, as not fit to have his name inscribed thereon.
It was truly a terrible thing to happen to this man, who, not having saved much money, now found himself reduced from an honourable profession, which gained him a competence, to a disgraceful position and absolute beggary. The loss of his money troubled him but little, the loss of his name a great deal, for having once more regained the esteem of his fellow-men by years of exemplary life, he felt keenly the bitterness of being reduced to the same ignoble position he had occupied years before. He tried every means in his power to escape the disgrace, but the Law Society were relentless, and Dombrain, lawyer, once more became that phantom of the past--Damberton, outcast.
Neither lawyer nor outcast, however, were satisfied to accept this crushing blow without making some return thereto; and when Mr. Dombrain found that all his ideas of respectability were at an end, he turned round venomously to punish Mrs. Belswin, whom he considered to be the main cause of his unmerited disgrace. He did not write to her, he did not see her, he did not even mention her name to a soul, but he went straight to the nearest police magistrate, told his story of what had taken place at Thornstream on that fatal night, and, as a result, obtained a warrant of arrest against Mrs. Belswin for the murder of Sir Rupert Pethram. This being done, he departed, in company with two detectives, to feast his eyes on the disgrace of this woman, who had cost him his hardly earned position; and for the first time for many days he laughed--not a pleasant laugh, but a nasty, sardonic, sneering laugh, which boded ill to the liberty and peace of mind of Jezebel Manners, alias Lady Pethram, alias Mrs. Belswin. In spite of the tragic force of the whole matter, there was something positively grotesque in the situation; for Silas Oates wronged by Mrs. Belswin, had revenged himself upon Mr. Dombrain; and Mr. Dombrain wronged by Silas Oates, had revenged himself upon Mrs. Belswin. It was a three-cornered duel, to speak paradoxically, in which every one shot at every one else, but the only person of the three principals who came off scot-free was the American, and he appreciated the grim irony of the situation.
Meanwhile Mrs. Belswin, quite unaware how dearly her attempt to see Oates had cost her, was seated in company with Kaituna and Archie Maxwell at afternoon tea, and the trio were talking about the Pole Star shares, the expected arrival of Toby Clendon, and, of course, about the approaching marriages.
And you will be perfectly happy, Kaituna, said Mrs. Belswin, looking wistfully at her daughter--the daughter whom she dare not acknowledge.
Kaituna caught hold of Archie's hand, with a quick flush and a look of delight in her large black eyes.
Yes, perfectly happy, she replied, smiling. "We are going to be the Darby and Joan of romance, are we not, Archie?"
I trust so, dear; but Darby and Joan! Oh, what a prosaic comparison. No! Kaituna we will be--let me think--we will be like Lord Lovel and Lady Nancy Bell in the old ballad.
Fie, that is a worse comparison than mine! They were unhappy, and if a red rose and a briar did grow out of their respective graves, I don't know that such a miracle proves your case.
Well, you certainly ought to be happy, said Mrs. Belswin, with a quick sigh, as she realised how soon she was to lose the girl she loved. "Health, wealth, and love--what a trinity of perfections."
All of which are to be found in Kaituna. But you, Mrs. Belswin, what about Signor Ferrari?
Oh, I have not made up my mind yet to marry him, Mr. Maxwell; besides, I have another offer.
Another offer? cried Kaituna, gaily. "Oh, fortunate woman; and from whom?"
Mr. Samson Belk.
Oh! said Maxwell, smiling, "he is the other Romeo in the field. Well, he is certainly very handsome----"
And is very fond of me, interrupted Mrs. Belswin, quickly. "But all the same I am not for him."
Nor for Signor Ferrari either? laughed Kaituna, going over to her chaperon and putting her arms round her neck. "Ah, there is a third person."
I think you can pretty well guess whom that third person is, said Mrs. Belswin, kissing the girl; "but Mr. Maxwell is going to rob me of my third person."
I cannot deny the soft impeachment, replied Archie, with a gay nod. "As soon as Toby comes home we will be married."
The talk was certainly frivolous; but then, after all the trials these three people had undergone, it was a great relief to chatter idly in a desultory manner, especially when all three beheld the brightness of the future. For them the storms and trials of life had passed--so they fondly thought; and the elder woman, looking back at the dismal past, thanked God in her heart for the peaceful present, while the lovers saw before them nothing but a shining path, strewn with roses, leading to the paradise of perfect felicity.
At this moment a knock came at the door, and the servant entered with a frightened look on her face.
Oh, mum, she said, going quickly to Mrs. Belswin, "there are three gentleman to see you."
Who are they? asked Mrs. Belswin, in some surprise, never thinking for a moment of the coming storm.
Mr. Dombrain, mum, and----
Mr. Dombrain, repeated Mrs. Belswin, with a chill of fear at her heart; "what does he want?"
I want you, Jezebel Manners, said Dombrain, making his appearance at the door, with a malignant grin on his coarse red face.
The moment she heard the name Mrs. Belswin knew it was all over, and with a cry of agony held out her imploring hands to the lawyer.
Oh, not before her! not before her! she moaned piteously.
Kaituna, overcome with astonishment at this strange scene, went up to Mrs. Belswin as if to protect her, but the woman shrank from her with a moan of pain, and hid her face in her hands.
What does this mean? demanded Maxwell, as soon as he recovered his breath.
You will soon know, retorted Dombrain, savagely. "Jezebel Manners, Pethram, Belswin, or whatever name you like to call yourself, I warned you the last time we met what I would do if you played me false. You have done so, to my ruin, my shame, my disgrace, and I have come to drag you down to where you have hurled me. This is the woman, officers."
One of the detectives advanced and touched Mrs. Belswin on the shoulder.
In the Queen's name, I arrest you----
Arrest her? interrupted Kaituna, her face flaming with indignation; "but for what--for what?"
For the murder of Rupert Pethram.
Kaituna gave a shriek of horror, and seized Maxwell by the arm, while he, scarcely less thunderstruck, stared at the detective with a look of amazement on his face.
It is false! it is false! shrieked Mrs. Belswin, throwing herself on her knees before Kaituna, "I swear to you it is false. I did not kill your father."
You did, said Dombrain, in a deep voice, "I saw you do it!"
Liar!
Mrs. Belswin sprang to her feet and made a bound forward, with a fierce light flashing in her eyes, and it would have been a bad thing for Mr. Dombrain had she succeeded in reaching him. The detective, however, was on the watch, and throwing himself on the wretched woman, had the handcuffs on her wrists in a moment.
I cannot believe it! I cannot believe it! moaned Kaituna, hiding her face on Maxwell's breast.--"Mrs. Belswin, my kind good friend----"
Your friend, scoffed Dombrain, with an ugly glitter in his ferret-like eyes. "Yes, you don't know who your friend is!"
For God's sake, silence! shrieked Mrs. Belswin, pale to the lips.
No, I will not keep silence, you fiend, who have ruined me. I will tell all. Miss Pethram, do you see that wretched woman with the handcuffs on--that guilty wretch who murdered your father, that----
I see Mrs. Belswin, cried Kaituna, with sudden fire; "I see the woman who saved me from starvation, and I do not believe this base charge you make."
With noble indignation she walked across to Mrs. Belswin, and threw her arm round the poor woman's neck, while Archie, who respected and liked the companion, mutely approved of the girl's generous action.
Ah, you put your arm on her neck now, said Dombrain, with a sneer, "but you will take it away when you know----"
Dombrain! cried the wretched woman, for the last time, "spare me--spare me!"
I will spare you as you have spared me.
Be silent, with your cowardly threats, sir, said Kaituna, looking proudly at him, "and do your worst. Who is Mrs. Belswin?"
Your mother!
Kaituna gave a cry, and recoiled from her companion.
My mother! she said, hoarsely. "It cannot be! my mother is dead."
Dombrain played his trump card.
Your mother is alive! She stands there, and you can now know her for what she is--a guilty wife--a divorced woman--and the murderer of her husband.
Kaituna gazed at this gibing devil with a terrified stare in her dilated eyes, then turned slowly and looked at her miserable mother. The unhappy woman, with a grey worn face, haggard and scarred with myriad wrinkles, made a step forward, as if to embrace her child, but the girl, with a look of terror, shrank back, and fell in a faint on the floor at the feet of Maxwell, while Mrs. Belswin sank on her knees with a piteous cry, wringing her manacled hands over the unconscious form of the daughter she had found--and lost.
Who's sure of Life's game,
When Fate interferes?
For praise or for blame,
Who's sure of life's game?
A sentence--a name,
Turns joy into tears,
Who's sure of Life's game,
When Fate interferes?
This strange case--particulars of which in some mysterious way got into the daily papers--excited much curiosity in London, and when the preliminary inquiry into the affair took place, the court was crowded to suffocation. The public, of course, learned all about the matter from the newspapers, but how the reporters managed to learn so much was most extraordinary, as they gave an account of Mrs. Belswin's previous life--of her presence, under a false name, in the house of her late husband--of the murder of that husband--and of the wonderful amount of money realised by the sale of the Pole Star shares for the daughter of the murdered man, and the woman accused of the crime. All this, more or less garbled and exaggerated, appeared in the leading morning papers, and the "Pethram Paradox"--so it was called--took a prominent place among the sensations of the day. Maxwell, deeply angered at this publicity, which would make the public judge Mrs. Belswin guilty, before she had a chance of defending herself, made several attempts to find Dombrain, whom he suspected of being the author of this malignant gossip in order to damage the chance of the unfortunate woman during her trial, but Mr. Dombrain, suspecting that he would be looked for, made himself scarce, and until the day of the preliminary inquiry, nothing was seen or heard of him by those on the side of Mrs. Belswin.
Kaituna, noble-hearted girl as she was, persistently refused to believe her mother guilty; and, through Maxwell engaged the most prominent legal talent of the day for her defence; but although she sought an interview with Mrs. Belswin in jail, the unhappy woman persistently refused to see her until she was publicly proved innocent of the terrible crime laid to her charge. At this trying time Archie Maxwell proved himself worthy of the high opinion entertained of him by Kaituna, and acting as Mrs. Belswin's friend did everything in his power to assist her during the coming ordeal. Signor Ferrari too, mad with impulsive Italian wrath at the accusation made by Mr. Dombrain, offered himself as a witness; but on discovering that his evidence would be detrimental to Mrs. Belswin's defence, the lawyer declined to take advantage of his offer. As for Belk, whom Maxwell thought would be one of the first to come forward and help the unhappy woman he professed to love, he kept persistently out of the way, and neither by word nor deed showed that he took the least interest in her fate. When the day of the preliminary inquiry therefore came, Mrs. Belswin was left with only three friends who believed in her innocence--Kaituna, Maxwell, and Ferrari, who were all present in court when she was placed in the prisoner's dock.
She looked terribly pale and haggard, for Mrs. Belswin, having one of those natures which are only strong through impulse, was quite unable to bear up against the calamity which had befallen her. All her fierceness, her iron nerve, her reckless daring, which had successfully coped with so many perils, had now deserted her; for this blow, so long dreaded, having descended, she seemed unable to fight against it, and stood silently in the dock, a pale weeping woman, quite unlike the Borgia-like creature of other days. The follower of Mahomet will fight bravely as long as fortune goes with him; but when the tide turns and he believes that it is the will of Allah that evil should befall him, he says Kismet, and bows to the decree of Heaven. Mrs. Belswin behaved in exactly the same way--she had fought bravely against overwhelming odds to keep her daughter and her secret, but now that the worst had come she thought it useless to struggle against destiny, so resigned herself to the inevitable.
The counsel for the prosecution stated that this was one of the most painful cases that had ever come under his notice. It would be remembered that some months previously the public had been horrified to hear of the murder of Sir Rupert Pethram, of Thornstream, Berkshire; who had been shot while standing at the window of his study. In spite of the utmost vigilance of the police the person who had committed this dastardly crime could not be discovered; but now, by the evidence of Mr. Alfred Dombrain, the prisoner was accused of being the guilty person. The chain of circumstances which culminated in the committal of this crime were so extraordinary that he would take leave to inform the court of the whole affair, and the motive for the murder would be clearly proved against the prisoner. It appears that many years ago the deceased baronet--who at that time had not succeeded to the title--had married in New Zealand, where he was then living, the prisoner, Jezebel Manners, who was a half-caste, the daughter of a Maori mother and a European father, a woman of violent and rash temper. One child was born of the marriage, which turned out to be very unhappy; and eventually Mrs. Pethram eloped with an American, called Silas Oates. The late baronet obtained a decree absolute against her, and remained in New Zealand, where he looked after the welfare of his motherless child, while his divorced wife went to San Francisco with the co-respondent Oates. The divorced woman and her lover were together for some time; but he ultimately left her, evidently being quite unable to bear with her outrageous temper. The prisoner then went on the stage, and sang successfully in opera for many years under the name of Madame Tagni. Finally, about eight months previously, she came to England, and found that her husband, by the death of his brother, had succeeded to the title, and was living at Thornstream, in Berkshire, with his daughter Kaituna.
The prisoner, anxious to see her child again concocted a scheme by which to enter the house as a companion to Miss Pethram. Sir Rupert had gone out to New Zealand on business, and, according to his instructions, Mr. Dombrain advertised for a companion for Miss Pethram during his absence. The prisoner applied, and was engaged for the situation by Mr. Dombrain, who was quite in ignorance of her antecedents, and her connection with the late baronet. She took possession of the situation, and while Sir Rupert was absent everything went well. On his arrival, however, he had an interview with the so-called Mrs. Belswin, and, recognising his guilty wife, ordered her out of the house. This interview took place at night, about nine o'clock, in the study at Thornstream; and Mrs. Belswin left the house by the window, vowing vengeance for the course adopted by her husband. Instead, therefore, of going away she lurked outside on the terrace, and when her husband came to the window she shot him with a pistol she had in her possession. Having committed this terrible crime, she had coolly stepped across the body of the man she had murdered, and re-entering the house went to her bedroom. All the household being ignorant alike of her interview with the late baronet and her antecedents, she was never for a moment suspected, except by Mr. Dombrain. That gentleman, hearing the noise of Mrs. Belswin coming upstairs, looked out of the door of his bedroom and saw her pass him. Next morning, when the crime was known, he would have denounced her; but owing to the darkness of the night was unable to be certain of the identity of the woman who crept upstairs. The other day, however, he taxed Mrs. Belswin with the crime; and although she denied it, yet from her agitated manner he felt certain she was the criminal, upon which he at once gave information to the police. Mrs. Belswin was arrested on a warrant, and now stood charged with the murder of her late husband, Sir Rupert Pethram. The first and only witness he would call would be Mr. Alfred Dombrain, upon whose accusation the prisoner had been arrested.
This skilfully worded speech made things look very black against Mrs. Belswin; and when Dombrain stepped into the witness-box to substantiate the terrible statements made by the counsel for the prosecution, there were many who looked upon the prisoner's committal for trial as a foregone conclusion.
Mr. Dombrain, having been duly sworn, stated that he had acted as the legal adviser of the late baronet, and in pursuance of his instructions had engaged the prisoner as a companion for Miss Pethram. He was wholly ignorant of her former life, and that she was the divorced wife of the late Sir Rupert, but as she seemed a suitable person for a chaperon, he had engaged her at once, upon which she went down to Thornstream in order to take up her duties. Upon the arrival of Sir Rupert in England he had gone down to Thornstream in connection with some legal business the late baronet wished to see him about Mrs. Belswin was not at Thornstream on his arrival, as she had gone to London a few days previous about some private matter; but she arrived at Thornstream on the same afternoon as he did. She did not appear at dinner, but on leaving the study after an interview with Sir Rupert he had seen the prisoner enter. As she did not re-appear in the drawing-room, where he was sitting with Miss Pethram, he retired to bed, and he believed Miss Pethram also retired to bed, having a bad headache. Towards eleven o'clock he thought he heard the sound of a shot, but was not certain, although he sprang out of bed and went to the door of his room. It was near the staircase, and as he leaned over the banisters in the darkness, he heard the study door shut with a slight noise, after which Mrs. Belswin came hastily upstairs, and went into her own room. Next morning, when the crime was discovered, she said she had not been out of her room at that hour. He was not quite sure if it was Mrs. Belswin, as the staircase was dark. A week ago she came to his office on business, and he accused her of having committed the murder, which accusation she at first denied, but afterwards half confessed to her guilt. He at once gave information to the police, and she was arrested.
In cross-examination Mr. Dombrain said he had found out all about the prisoner's relations with the deceased from some papers in his possession, and knew Mrs. Belswin was the divorced wife from the description given of her in the handwriting of the deceased.
Counsel for the Accused.--I see that at the inquiry into the death of Sir Rupert you said you had not heard a pistol-shot.
Mr. Dombrain.--I was not certain and sooner than declare I heard, I thought it best to reply in the negative.
Counsel.--Is it not true, Mr. Dombrain, that you have a grudge against the prisoner?
Dombrain.--No, it is not true.
Counsel.--The prisoner declares that she knew you in New Zealand.
Dombrain.--It is a lie. I never was in New Zealand.
Counsel.--Not under the name of Damberton?
Dombrain.--No.
Counsel.--I understand your name has been struck off the rolls.
Dombrain.--I don't see what that has to do with the case.
Counsel.--Ah, you are rather dense; I will explain. Your real name is Alfred Damberton. You were imprisoned in New Zealand for embezzlement, and on your release you came to England. Is this not true?
Dombrain (violently).--No sir! It is false! Who accuses me? The prisoner!--and why? Because I have brought her to justice. Through her lies I have been struck off the rolls, but I can prove myself innocent, and will do so shortly!
Counsel.--I wish you every success, Mr. Dombrain, but I am afraid you will find it difficult!
When Dombrain left the witness-box, the counsel for the prosecution said he had no more witnesses to call at present, upon which the counsel for the defence made a short speech, and said that as his learned brother had set the example of brevity, he would do the same thing, and only call one witness in defence of the prisoner. The name of that witness was Samson Belk.
Mrs. Belswin looked surprised when she heard this name, not for a moment thinking that Belk's evidence could do her any good; and Kaituna also appeared to be astonished, as she knew how Belk had kept out of the way since her mother's arrest. Maxwell's face, however, wore a contented smile, and this smile was reflected in the countenance of the defending counsel, so, without doubt, these two men knew that Belk's evidence was valuable, and were prepared to abide by the result.
Samson Belk, stepping into the witness-box, made oath according to law, and gave the following remarkable evidence in favour of the prisoner:--
He had been steward to the deceased baronet, and on the night of the murder had come up to the hall to ask his master a question about the discharge of farm hands. If was nearly eleven o'clock when he arrived at the door of the hall, and he hesitated whether to disturb Sir Rupert at that hour. However, seeing the light streaming out of the window of Sir Rupert's study, he advanced along in that direction, but on hearing angry voices he had hidden himself behind a bush on the terrace, in order to see what was the matter. The voices were those of Sir Rupert and another man, whose tones he did not recognise. The other man was imploring Sir Rupert to keep some secret, but the baronet refused, and said all the world would know the truth on the morrow. The man began to threaten, and Sir Rupert thrust him out of the window on to the terrace, telling him he would ruin him by revealing everything. So strong had been the baronet's push that the man fell down upon the side of the terrace near the balustrade, and Sir Rupert, with outstretched hand, stood pointing at him. The light of the lamp within shone on the man crouching at the baronet's feet, and I saw him take out something--I did not know what--and point it at Sir Rupert, who stood in the window. There was no sound, and yet the baronet fell, and the man, with a cry of triumph, rushed away into the darkness. Witness ran forward to see what was the matter with his master, and found him dead. He (the witness) had had a quarrel with Sir Rupert on that day, and being afraid lest, if he gave the alarm, he should be accused of the murder, and could not defend himself, he went away, and said nothing about it. The crime was discovered next morning, but no suspicion was fixed upon him, as no one had known of his presence on the terrace that night.
Counsel for the Prosecution.--But could you not denounce the man who committed the crime?
Belk.--I did not know who he was--I never saw him before or since the light fell on him through the window, until----
Counsel for the Prosecution.--Until when?
Belk.--Until I saw him to-day.
There was a great sensation in court, and every one looked at one another in astonishment, while a gleam of triumph flashed from the eyes of the prisoner.
Counsel for the Prosecution.--If you saw him to-day, as you say, do you know his name?
Belk.--Yes.
Counsel for the Prosecution.--And the name of this man who killed Sir Rupert?
Belk.--The man who accuses the prisoner of the murder--the man you call Dombrain.
If there was excitement before, there was ten times more excitement now, and the crier found great difficulty in reducing all present to silence. There was a sudden pause in the noise, and the prisoner, raising her eyes to heaven, said in a solemn voice--
It is true! I am innocent of this crime. He has fallen himself into the pit he digged for another.
Yes, she was innocent, and the man who accused her guilty; but when they looked for Dombrain, in order to arrest him, he had disappeared--vanished into the depths of mighty London, when he heard his name coupled with that of murder.
What fools are they who think God ever sleeps,
Or views their follies with a careless eye.
Fortune may heap her favours on their heads.
Blithe Pleasure lull them with her jingling bells,
And life for them be one long carnival;
But in their triumph of prosperity,
When all the smiling future seems serene,
God; frowning, stretches out His mighty arm,
And lo! the hungry grave gapes at their feet.
So Mrs. Belswin was delivered from her great peril, and was taken home by Kaituna and her lover with great rejoicing. Maxwell, indeed, after hearing the story of this woman, had hesitated for a moment as to whether he ought to let her be with her daughter, seeing that she had forfeited her maternal rights by her own act, but when he hinted this to Kaituna she rebuked him with one sentence--
She is my mother.
So Maxwell held his peace, and after Mrs. Belswin had been released from her position of ignominy and shame, he had escorted both mother and daughter to their lodgings. There he left them, and at Mrs. Belswin's request, went to seek for Belk, and bring him there to receive the thanks of the woman he had saved. Having departed on his errand, Kaituna sat down beside her mother, in order to hear from her own lips the story of her sad life.
With many sobs, Mrs. Belswin told the whole pitiful story of her sin, which had brought her to such a bitter repentance, and, when she had ended, fell weeping at the feet of the daughter she feared now would despise her. Ah! she little knew the tenderness which the girl had cherished for her mother, and which she cherished for her even now, when the dead saint had changed into the living sinner. Pitifully--tenderly she raised her mother from her abject position of sorrow, and kissed away the bitter tears of shame and agony that fell down the hollow cheeks.
Mother! she said, clasping her arms round the poor woman's breast, "if you have sinned, you have also suffered. The one false step you made has brought its own punishment; but why did you not tell me all this before, and so have saved yourself this bitter agony?"
Tell you before? said her mother, sadly. "Child! child! what good would such a confession have done? You could not have helped me."
No, dearest; but I could have loved you. I could have made your life less hard. Oh, mother! poor mother, how you must have suffered when I treated you as a stranger.
I did suffer, replied Mrs. Belswin, in a low tone, "but not so much as you think, for even then you treated me more like a mother than as a companion."
And I was the little child of whom you spoke?
Yes, dear.
Oh, blind! blind! how could I have been so blind as not to guess your secret. You betrayed yourself in a hundred ways, my poor mother, but I never saw it. But now--now that I know the truth, I see how blind I have been.
Ah, Kaituna, if I had only known you would have received me like this, but I feared to tell you of my shame lest you should turn from me in scorn.
Hush! dear mother, hush!
And it was terrible to think that the little child I had borne at my breast should spurn me.
Mother!
Oh, my sin! my sin! wailed Mrs. Belswin, rocking herself to and fro, "how it has cursed my life--how it has turned the earth into a hell of repentance."
Do not say another word, mother, cried Kaituna, wiping the tears from her mother's eyes; "the past is dead, we will speak of it no more; but the future----"
Ah, my child, the future for you is bright; you will marry your lover, and have him by your side during the rest of your life, but I--Child, I must leave you.
Leave me?
Yes! you know what I am! You know my sin, my folly, my shame! I cannot look into your clear eyes, my child, for I have lost the right to be your mother. No, Kaituna, while you did not know me, and believed your mother to be a pure good woman, I stayed beside you, to love you and hear you talk of me as I once was; but now--now--ah, no! no! I dare not remain in your presence, I dare not kiss you, for my kisses would pollute your lips. I will go away--far away, and expiate my sin!
But, mother, you will not leave me?
It is for your good, child--it is for your good!
You shall not leave me! said Kaituna, winding her arms round the elder woman's neck. "You have suffered enough for your sin, and for the rest of your days I will help you to forget the past. Archie thinks the same as I do. Come, mother, you will not leave me; promise to stay beside me for ever."
I cannot promise, cried Mrs. Belswin, breaking away from the tender bonds that held her; "oh! what a paradox I am. When you did not know me I wished to stay. Now you know I am your wretched, guilty mother, I wish to fly. I must go! I must! Seek not to detain me, child. As ye sow so shall ye reap! The Bible, Kaituna! the Bible--let me go to my harvest."
Mrs. Belswin, with her savage nature maddened by the mental agonies she had undergone, had worked herself up into one of those uncontrollable fits of passion which made her so dangerous. She had found her child, and now she was going to leave her of her own free-will, because she could not bear to live with her own daughter, who knew how vile she was. With a cry of agony, unable to bear any more implorings from Kaituna, she flew to the door in order to escape; but her daughter, who was determined not to let the poor distraught creature go, perhaps to her death, sprang after her, and wrenching her away, flung herself back against the door with outstretched arms.
No! no! she cried, panting with excitement, "that way lies death. Oh, mother! mother! I know what you would do; but do not leave me. If you have any pity in your heart for the child you bore let me keep you ever at my side. Where would you go out into the darkness of London?--to the terrible stormy streets--to the river--ah! the river! is that what you think? No! no! mother! my own dear mother, you must not let me mourn your death twice."
The evening sun was shining through the windows, touching the furniture, the draperies, the mirrors, with soft gleams of light; and Kaituna, with her head thrown back, and her arms outstretched, stood against the door, while Mrs. Belswin, with a sudden cessation of her mad anguish, stared vacantly at her daughter, and round the room.
Ah! what was that gleaming in the sunlight from behind a heavy purple curtain--steel--the barrel of a pistol; and it was pointed full at Kaituna, With a shriek of rage Mrs. Belswin, guessing the truth, sprang in front of her daughter to shield her from harm, and in another moment had fallen in a heap at the feet of the child she loved. There was no sound of a report, and Kaituna in a state of horrified amazement, fell on her knees beside her mother. As she did so a man ran from behind the curtain, and wrenching open the door flung down a pistol and spoke rapidly--
I wanted to kill you! he said, with a snarl, "to punish her; but she came between you and the pistol, so let her die as she deserves to, with my curses on her."
With a shriek Kaituna recognised him. It was Dombrain, and she sprang to her feet to seize him; but eluding her grasp he ran out of the door and down the stairs into the street. Kaituna could not follow him, as her limbs tottered under her; but she managed to drag herself back to her mother--the mother, alas, who was dying.
The red blood was welling slowly from a wound in her breast, and a thick sluggish stream was stealing heavily along the polished floor. Lifting the dying woman's head on her lap the girl cried aloud for help upon which the servant came rushing in. She shrieked when she saw Mrs. Belswin lying unconscious in her blood, and ran out to call in aid--ran right into the arms of Maxwell, Belk and Ferrari, who were just entering.
Help! help! cried the servant, rushing past them, "a doctor--a doctor! She is dying."
Kaituna! exclaimed Archie with a sudden fear in his breast; and without a moment's pause the three men rushed into the room, where the girl was sitting with a look of agony on her pale face as she bent over the unconscious woman.
Kaituna!--Mrs. Belswin!
It is my mother--my poor mother, cried Kaituna, in an agony of sorrow. "Have you caught him? Have you caught him?"
Who? shouted Maxwell and Belk, while Ferrari, in a paroxysm of grief, threw himself beside the body of the woman he loved.
Dombrain!
Dombrain?
Yes! yes! he was here! he shot my mother with that pistol. He has just left the house.
God! cried Belk, starting, "he was the man we saw running down the street." And he was out of the room in pursuit without saying another word.
A doctor! a doctor! said Kaituna, imploringly, "Oh, Archie! she will die, she will die!"
Stella adora! moaned the Italian, covering the cold white hand with kisses.
A doctor will be here in a few minutes, said Maxwell, approaching the unconscious form of Mrs. Belswin; "the servant has gone for one. Ferrari, help me to place her on the sofa!"
But Ferrari could do nothing but tear his hair, and cry endearing words in Italian to the woman he loved; so Kaituna, pale as marble, but wonderfully brave, helped Archie to place Mrs. Belswin on the sofa. She was breathing heavily, and Maxwell, tearing open her dress, strove to staunch the blood with his handkerchief, while Ferrari remained on his knees, and Kaituna stood beside him with clasped hands.
Good heavens, she will bleed to death!
Just as Maxwell spoke, the doctor entered with the scared servant, and at once proceeded to examine the wound. Having done so he looked very grave, and Kaituna caught him by the arm with a cry of terror as he arose from his knees.
She will live! she will live! Say she will live!
I'm afraid not, my dear young lady, said the doctor, gravely; "the bullet has gone right through the lungs."
Do you think she will die, doctor? asked Maxwell, in a tone of horror.
Yes! I am sure of it!
Die! cried the Italian, wildly, "no! no! Lucrezia--my beautiful Lucrezia--you must not die."
Take that man away, said the doctor, sharply, "and get me some brandy."
Kaituna was the first to obey. The nerve of this girl was wonderful, and notwithstanding all the agonies she had come through, she gave no sign of fainting; and the terrible strain on her mind could only be told by the pallor of her face.
My brave girl, said Archie, as he assisted her to get what the doctor required.
How slowly the hours passed in that room, where this poor woman was dying. Yes, dying; for although the doctor did all in his power to save her life, there was no hope that she would live through the night. She was still lying on the sofa, from which she was unable to be removed; and when she recovered consciousness, after the shock she had sustained, she opened her eyes to see Kaituna kneeling fondly by her side, and Maxwell, Belk, Ferrari, and the doctor, in the background. Belk had not been able to find the assassin, who was lost among the crowds that thronged the streets, so had returned in an agony of grief to see the woman he loved die before his eyes without being able to save her.
So strange the scene was in this little drawing-room, with the couch upon which rested the dying woman standing near the piano, the glitter of mirrors and ornaments in the dim candle-light, and the silent group standing round the one who was passing away. Outside the sunlight had died out of the sky, the purple twilight deepened to night, and the melancholy light of the moon streamed in through the windows, the blinds of which no one had troubled to pull down. In the passage crouched the servant, sobbing as if her heart would break; but Kaituna could not cry, she could only kneel there with tearless eyes, and a look of anguish on her white face watching her mother die.
Kaituna, said Mrs. Belswin, faintly.
I am here, dear mother!
You are not hurt?
No! No!
Thank God, said her mother, with a tone of joy in her weak voice. "I have paid the debt."
With your life--with your life, moaned the girl, wringing her hands in despair. "Doctor, can you do nothing?"
Nothing.
I know I am dying, went on Mrs. Belswin in a stronger voice, having swallowed some restorative; "it is better so! Hush! hush! my poor child! God knows what is best. If I sinned against you in the past, He has permitted me to expiate that sin by saving you from death. Archie! take her, take my darling, and make her a good husband."
As there is a God above, I will, said Maxwell, solemnly, taking the now weeping girl in his arms.
My poor Stephano, is it you?
Ah, cara mia--cara mia, cried Ferrari, throwing himself on his knees beside the sofa. "Do not leave me--do not!"
Alas, Stephano, it is not in my power! Weep! weep, poor heart! Your tears show me how much love I have lost--love that I did not deserve.
And I? said Belk, coming forward.
You are a good man, said the dying woman, faintly, stretching out her hand. "You will find some one to love you better than I would have done."
Never! Ah, never!
Believe me, what I say is true. Ah! she cried, with a terrified look on her face. "Kaituna, my dearest!"
In a moment Kaituna was on her knees again, bending over her mother, with the hot tears falling from her eyes.
Mother! mother! would you like to see a clergyman?
No, my darling no! I have sinned--I have sinned bitterly, but perhaps God in His mercy will accept the expiation. Archie, be good to my little child. Oh, my little girl, whom I lost for so many weary, weary years, put your arms, your dear arms, round me, and let the outcast die on the bosom of her child!
The murmuring noise from the street penetrated into the room; the dim light of the candles flickered and flared in the faint breath of the wind, and there was silence among all kneeling there, save for the sobs of Kaituna and the broken mutterings of the dying woman repeating a prayer.
Our Father, which art in Heaven----Oh, my child, my child, will he forgive me--will He forgive me?
I'm sure He will, mother!
Half a savage, half civilised! Ah, if I had only been guided, I might have been a good woman; but we were both wrong, Rupert and---- Kaituna, my little child, I--I am leaving you! Oh, my baby--kiss me, my dearest--my little----
Her head fell inertly on the encircling arm of the girl, and Kaituna knew by the terribly calm look on the placid face that not all her love--not all her money--not all her prayers, had availed to save from death this mother whom she had lost and found--this mother who had sinned and repented--this mother who had given her life to save that of her child.
De Mortuis--you know the phrase, I think;
A kindly saying, such as poor humanity
Mutters at times when talking of the dead;
Therefore, I pray you, speak not any ill
Of this poor soul who suffered, sinned, and died,
Seeing her sinning brought her but to this;
Yourself when gone may need a pitying word,
When all your virtues with you are entombed, And naught remains but sins to curse your name.
So it was Dombrain, after all, who had committed this crime, and, by accusing Mrs. Belswin of the murder, placed her life in jeopardy, in order both to revenge and save himself. Had it not been for the unexpected evidence of Samson Belk, without doubt the unhappy woman would have been found guilty, and suffered in the place of the astute Mr. Dombrain. When this ex-lawyer, ex-convict, and constant blackguard heard himself accused of the crime, he slipped out of the court and vanished before he could be arrested, knowing that he could make no defence.
Part of his evidence was true, for he had been in the drawing-room, he had seen Mrs. Belswin enter the study, but here his truth ceased and his lies began. Fearing lest his name should be mentioned by the infuriated woman during the interview, which would be sure to end in the discomfiture of Mrs. Belswin the lawyer, trembling for his respectable position, went to his bedroom and took his air-pistol, so as to be prepared for emergencies. It is but fair to Mr. Dombrain to say that he had no intention of using the weapon unless everything was lost; so, creeping out of the house, he placed himself beside the open window of the study, in order to hear what Mrs. Belswin would say.
In accordance with his expectations, she did tell Sir Rupert all about him, and when Dombrain heard the declaration of the baronet that he would denounce him, he knew that all was lost, and that the sin of his early youth was going to cost him the respectable position of his middle age. When Mrs. Belswin, thrust forth by her unforgiving husband, fled out into the night, Dombrain, trembling, sick at heart at seeing all that made his life worth living vanish, crouched still beside the window, and here Sir Rupert, who had come out to make sure that his divorced wife had taken herself off, found him.
Then an interview between the lawyer and the baronet took place, in which the latter swore to reveal all the infamy of Dombrain, and have him struck off the rolls. In vain the wretched man pleaded for mercy. Coldly and inflexibly the baronet thrust him out of doors, the same way he had done his wife; and then mad with anger at the terrible future before him, Dombrain shot Sir Rupert, in the manner described by Belk in the witness-box. After committing the crime and assuring himself that his victim was dead, he coolly stepped across the body, and took refuge in his own room, from whence he did not emerge for the rest of the night. It was true, as he said, that his room was near the head of the staircase, for he saw Mrs. Belswin leave the study as he described, so it was then that the idea came into his head to secure himself by sacrificing her, and thus both save and revenge himself at one time.
On leaving the court after having been denounced by Belk, his rage against all the world for his thwarted revenge and his perilous position knew no bounds. He had no idea of escaping justice, but determined before he was seized to punish the woman who had--as he believed--dragged him down even lower than his former position. Then he had simply embezzled money, but now he had committed a crime for which he would lose his life; and thus, seeing that his doom was fixed, he determined that Mrs. Belswin should suffer for placing him in such a perilous position.
With this idea in his head, he took the air-pistol with which he had killed Sir Rupert, and went to the lodgings of the dead man's daughter and Mrs. Belswin. Skilfully managing to evade the notice of the servant, he ensconced himself behind the curtains in the drawing-room, and shot the unhappy woman as described. At first, knowing how bitter it would be to Mrs. Belswin, he had intended to kill Kaituna, but the unexpected action of the mother had saved the daughter from a terrible death. Satisfied with his work, Dombrain threw down the pistol and disappeared--disappeared into the depths of London, from whence he never emerged. What became of him nobody ever knew. Whether he took another name, and resumed his profession in provincial England; whether he left the country; whether he died in the gutter, no one ever discovered. Falling into the immense ocean of London like a drop of rain, he became obliterated, lost, unknown, but no doubt in due time he met his reward for his evil doings.
And his victim? Alas, poor soul, her troubles, her trials, her follies, were all at an end, and a simple cross marked the place where she was buried. To that humble grave, a year after the events described, came Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, in reverence for the memory of the woman--the mother who had given her life for that of her child. Maxwell had married Kaituna in due course after a decent time had elapsed from the death of Mrs. Belswin, and later on he had gone to South America, on business connected with his profession; for, in spite of Kaituna's wealth, Archie could not bring himself to live upon her income. He had gone away for a few months to Buenos Ayres, and had now returned to the side of Kaituna for ever. After much difficulty she had persuaded him to accept her view of the question, and share the proceeds of the Pole Star Mine. To this, after much hesitation, Maxwell consented, and now the husband and wife had arranged to make a tour of the world together. Before leaving England, however, they came to Kensal Green cemetery to pay a last visit to the grave of the woman who had sinned, but who also had suffered.
Poor mother! said Kaituna, as she leaned on the strong arm of her husband. "What a terribly bitter life she had, and her death was hardly less sad."
She saved you, my darling, replied Maxwell, with a fond smile; "and that, in her eyes, was recompense enough for the sudden ending of her life."
If that wretch who killed her had only been punished?
I've no doubt he is punished. It is true he escaped the hands of men, but I am certain he will not escape the punishment of God. But come, my dear Kaituna, these thoughts make you sad. Let us leave this dreary place.
Yes; but see, Archie, that withered wreath of roses! It has been placed there by Ferrari, I am sure.
But I thought he had gone to Italy.
Only three weeks ago! He came to me and talked a great deal about our poor mother, whom he loved very dearly in his own impulsive way. But now he is back in his own country, he no doubt will forget about her. Men have such short memories.
Don't say that. Remember Belk.
Oh, he will go the same way, said Kaituna, a little bitterly. "Certainly he behaved very well, for he used to bring flowers here every week, along with Ferrari. How these two men must have loved my mother!"
She deserved their love, replied Maxwell, after a pause. "She had sinned, it is true, but she was bitterly punished for her sin. Well, she lies here, and the two men who loved her have gone far away--one to Italy, the other to America."
Ah, all our friends go thus!
Not all, my dear. Remember Toby Clendon and his wife, who are living so happily at Deswarth. We must go down and see them before we leave England.
No, no! said Kaituna, with a sudden shudder. "I cannot bear to go near Thornstream after those terrible events which cost the lives of both my parents."
Come, dear one, urged Maxwell, seeing how overcome she was with emotion, "let us go away."
One moment, replied Kaituna, kneeling beside the grave. "I must say farewell to my poor mother."
And kneeling there in the long green grass, she breathed a prayer for the soul of her unhappy mother, whose natural love had cost her so dear.
Maxwell, who had removed his hat when he heard this prayer mount like incense to the throne of God, quoted a text from the Scriptures in a low voice--
She suffered much, so much shall be forgiven of her!