CHAPTER XI.
MISERY.
It is to be hoped that the well-dressed lady of uncertain age who was tobe seen late that afternoon in a remote corner of the hotel piazza atBelleville had not chosen a tale requiring great concentration of mind,for her eyes (rather fine ones in their way, showing both keenness andgood nature) seemed to find more to interest them in the scene beforeher than in the pages she so industriously turned over.
The scene was one calculated to interest an idle mind, no doubt. First,there was the sea, a wide expanse of blue, dotted by numerous sails;then the beach, enlivened by groups of young people dressed likepopinjays in every color; then the village street, and, lastly, a lawnover which there now and then strayed young couples with tennis racketsin their hands or golf sticks under their arms. Children, too--butchildren did not seem to interest this amiable spinster. (There could beno doubt about her being a spinster.) She scarcely glanced at themtwice, while a young married pair, or even an old gentleman, if he wereonly tall and imperious-looking, invariably caused her eyes to wanderfrom her book, which, by the way, she held too near for seeing, or suchmight have been the criticism of a wary observer.
This criticism, if criticism it would be called, could not have beenmade of the spruce, but rather feeble octogenarian at the other end ofthe piazza. He was evidently absorbed in the novel he held soconspicuously open, and which, from the smiles now and then disturbingthe usual placidity of his benevolent features, we can take for grantedwas sufficiently amusing. Yet right in the midst of it, and certainlybefore he had finished his chapter, he closed his book and took out anewspaper, which he opened to its full width before sitting down toperuse its columns. At the same moment the lady at the other end of thepiazza could be seen looking over her spectacles at two gentlemen whojust at that moment issued from the great door opening between her andthe elderly person just alluded to. Did she know them, or was it onlyher curiosity that was aroused? From the way she banged together herbook and rose, it looked as if she had detected old acquaintances in thedistinguished-looking pair who were now advancing slowly toward her. Butif so, she could not have been overjoyed to see them, for after thefirst hint of their approach in her direction she turned, with an aspectof some embarrassment, and made her way out upon the lawn, where shestood with her back to these people, caressing a small dog in a way thatbetrayed her total lack of sympathy with these animals, which wereevidently her terror when she was sufficiently herself to be swayed byher natural impulses.
The two gentlemen, on the contrary, with an air of total indifference toher proximity, continued their walk until they reached the end of thepiazza, and then turned and proceeded mechanically to retrace theirsteps.
Their faces now being brought within view of the elderly person who wasso absorbed in his newspaper, the latter shifted that sheet the meresttrifle, possibly because the sun struck his eyes too directly, possiblybecause he wished to catch sight of two very remarkable men. If so, theopportunity was good, as they stopped within a few feet of his chair.One of them was elderly, as old as, if not older than, the man watchinghim; but he was of that famous Scotch stock whose members are tough andhale at eighty. This toughness he showed not only in his figure, whichwas both upright and graceful, but in the glance of his calm, cold eye,which fell upon everybody and everything unmoved, while that of hisyoung, but equally stalwart companion seemed to shrink with the mostacute sensitiveness from every person he met, save the very mild oldreader of news near whom they now paused for a half-dozen words ofconversation.
"I don't think it does me any good," was the young man's gloomy remark."I am wretched when with her, and doubly wretched when I try to forgetmyself for a moment out of her sight. I think we had better go back. Ihad rather sit where she can see me than have her wonder--Oh, I will becareful; but you must remember how unnerving is the very silence I amobliged to keep about what is destroying us all. I am nearly as ill asshe."
Here they drew off, and their apparently disinterested hearer turned thepage of his paper. It was five minutes before they came back. This timeit was the old gentleman who was speaking, and as he was more discreetthan his companion or less under the influence of his feelings, hisvoice was lower and his words less easy to be distinguished.
"Escape? South coast--she will forget to watch you for--a clingingnature--impetuous, but foolishly affectionate--you know that--nodanger--found out--time--a cheerful home--courage--happiness--allforgotten."
A gesture from the young man as he moved away showed that he did notshare these hopes. Meanwhile Miss Butterworth--you surely haverecognized Miss Butterworth--had her opportunities too. She was stillstooping over the dog, which wriggled under her hand, yet did not offerto run away, fascinated perhaps by that hesitating touch which he may ormay not have known had never inflicted itself upon a dog before. But herears, and attention, were turned toward two girls chatting on a benchnear her as freely as if they were quite alone on the lawn. They weregossiping about a fellow-inmate of the big hotel, and Miss Butterworthlistened intently after hearing them mention the name Adams. These aresome of the words she caught:
"But she is! I tell you she is sick enough to have a nurse and a doctor.I caught a glimpse of her as I was going by her room yesterday, and Inever saw two such big eyes or such pale cheeks. Then, look at him! Hemust just adore her, for he won't speak to another woman, and just movesabout in that small, hot room all day. I wonder if they are bride andgroom? They are young enough, and if you have noticed her clothes----"
"Oh, don't talk about clothes. I saw her the first day she came, and wasthe victim of despair until she suddenly got sick and so couldn't wearthose wonderful waists and jackets. I felt like a dowdy when I saw thatpale blue----"
"Oh, well, blue becomes blondes. You would look like a fright in it. Ididn't care about her clothes, but I did feel that it was all up with usif she chose to talk, or even to smile, upon the few men that are goodenough to stay out a week in this place. Yet she isn't a beauty; she hasnot a good nose, nor a handsome eye, nor even an irreproachablecomplexion. It must be her mouth, which is lovely, or her walk--did younotice her walk? It was just as if she were floating; that is, beforeshe fell down in that faint. I wonder why she fainted. Nobody was doinganything, not even her husband. But perhaps that was what troubled her.I noticed that for some cause he was looking very serious--and when shehad tried to attract his attention two or three times and failed, shejust fell from her chair to the floor. That roused him. He has hardlyleft her since."
"I don't think they look very happy, do you, for so rich and handsome acouple?"
"Perhaps he is dissipated. I have noticed that the old gentleman neverleaves them."
"Well, well, he may be dissipated; handsome men are very apt to be. ButI wouldn't care if----"
Here the dog gave a yelp and bolted. Miss Butterworth had unconsciouslypinched him, in her indignation, possibly, at the turn theserattle-pated young ladies' conversation was taking. This made adiversion, and the young girls moved off, leaving Miss Butterworthwithout occupation. But a young man who at that moment crossed her pathgave her enough to think about.
"You recognize them? There is no mistake?" he whispered.
"None; the one this way is the young man I saw leave Mr. Adams's house,and the other is the old gentleman who came in afterward."
"Mr. Gryce advises you to return home. He is going to arrest the youngman." And Sweetwater passed on.
Miss Butterworth strolled to a seat and sat down. She felt weak; sheseemed to see that young wife, sick, overwhelmed, struggling with hergreat fear, sink under this crushing blow, with no woman near hercapable of affording the least sympathy. The father did not impress heras being the man to hold up her fainting head or ease her bruised heart.He had an icy look under his polished exterior which repelled thiskeen-eyed spinster, and as she remembered the coldness of his ways, shefelt herself seized by an irresistible impulse to be near this youngcreature when the blow fell, if only to ease the tension of her ownheartstr
ings, which at that moment ached keenly over the part she hadfelt herself obliged to play in this matter.
But when she rose to look for Mr. Gryce, she found him gone; and uponsearching the piazza for the other two gentlemen, she saw them justvanishing round the corner in the direction of a small smoking-room. Asshe could not follow them, she went upstairs, and, meeting a maid in theupper hall, asked for Mrs. Adams. She was told that Mrs. Adams was sick,but was shown the door of her room, which was at the end of a long hall.As all the halls terminated in a window under which a sofa was to befound, she felt that circumstances were in her favor, and took her seatupon the sofa before her in a state of great complacency. Instantly asweet voice was heard through the open transom of the door behind whichher thoughts were already concentrated.
"Where is Tom? Oh, where is Tom? Why does he leave me? I'm afraid ofwhat he may be tempted to do or say down on those great piazzas alone."
"Mr. Poindexter is with him," answered a voice, measured, but kind. "Mr.Adams was getting very tired, and your father persuaded him to go downand have a smoke."
"I must get up; indeed I must get up. Oh! the camphor--the----"
There was a bustle; this poor young wife had evidently fainted again.
Miss Butterworth cast very miserable glances at the door.
Meanwhile in that small and retired smoking-room a terrible scene was inprogress. The two gentlemen had lit their cigars and were sitting incertain forced attitudes that evinced their non-enjoyment of the weedeach had taken out of complaisance to the other, when an old man,strangely serious, strangely at home, yet as strangely a guest of thehouse like themselves, came in, and shut the door behind him.
"Gentlemen," he at once announced, "I am Detective Gryce of the New Yorkpolice, and I am here--but I see that one of you at least knows why I amhere."
One? Both of them! This was evident in a moment. No denial, nosubterfuge was possible. At the first word uttered in the strange,authoritative tone which old detectives acquire after years of suchexperiences, the young man sank down in sudden collapse, while hiscompanion, without yielding so entirely to his emotions, showed that hewas not insensible to the blow which, in one moment, had broughtdestruction to all their hopes.
When Mr. Gryce saw himself so completely understood, he no longerhesitated over his duty. Directing his full attention to Mr. Adams, hesaid, this time with some feeling, for the misery of this young man hadimpressed him:
"You are wanted in New York by Coroner D----, whose business it is tohold an inquest over the remains of Mr. Felix Adams, of whoseastonishing death you are undoubtedly informed. As you and your wifewere seen leaving that gentleman's house a few minutes before heexpired, you are naturally regarded as valuable witnesses in determiningwhether his death was one of suicide or murder."
It was an accusation, or so nearly one, that Mr. Gryce was not at allsurprised to behold the dark flush of shame displace the livid terrorwhich but an instant before had made the man before him look like one ofthose lost spirits we sometimes imagine as flitting across the openmouth of hell. But he said nothing, seemingly had no power to do so, andhis father-in-law was about to make some effort to turn aside this blowwhen a voice in the hall outside was heard inquiring for Mr. Adams,saying that his wife had fainted again and required his help.
The young husband started, cast a look full of despair at Mr.Poindexter, and thrusting his hand against the door as if to hold itshut, sank on his knees before Mr. Gryce, saying:
"She knows! She suspects! Her nature is so sensitive."
This he managed to utter in gasps as the detective bent compassionatelyover him. "Don't, don't disturb her! She is an angel, a saint fromheaven. Let me bear the blame--he was my brother--let me go with you,but leave her in ignorance----"
Mr. Gryce, with a vivid sense of justice, laid his hand on the youngman's arm.
"Say nothing," he enjoined. "My memory is good, and I would rather hearnothing from your lips. As for your wife, my warrant does in no wayinclude her; and if you promise to come with me quietly, I will even letyou bid her adieu, so that you do it in my presence."
The change which passed over the young man's face at these significantwords was of a nature to surprise Mr. Gryce. Rising slowly, he took hisstand by Mr. Poindexter, who, true to his inflexible nature, hadscarcely moved in limb and feature since Mr. Gryce came in.
"What have you against me?" he demanded. And there was a surprising ringto his voice, as if courage had come with the necessity of the moment."Of what am I accused? I want you to tell me. I had rather you wouldtell me in so many words. I cannot leave in peace until you do."
Mr. Poindexter made a movement at this, and cast a half-suspicious,half-warning glance at his son-in-law. But the young man took no noticeof his interference. He kept his eye on the detective, who quietly tookout his warrant.
At this instant the door shook.
"Lock it!" was the hoarse command of the accused man. "Don't let any onepass that door, even if it is to bring the tidings of my wife's death."
Mr. Gryce reached out his hand, and turned the key in the lock. YoungAdams opened the paper which he had taken from the detective's hand, andwhile his blood-shot eyes vainly sought to master the few lines therewritten, Mr. Poindexter attracted the attention of Mr. Gryce, and,fixing him with his eye, formed his lips with three soundless words:
"For murder? Him?"
The detective's bow and a very long-drawn sigh from his son-in-lawanswered him simultaneously. With a curious lift of his upper lip, whichshowed his teeth somewhat unpleasantly for a moment, he drew back astep, and sank into his previous immobility.
"I am indebted to you," declared the young man. "Now I know where Istand. I am quite ready to go with you and stand trial, if such bedeemed necessary by the officials in New York. You," he cried, turningwith almost an air of command to the old gentleman beside him, "willwatch over Eva. Not like a father, sir, but like a mother. You will beat her side when she wakes, and, if possible, leave her only when shesleeps. Do not let her suffer--not too much. No newspapers, no gossipingwomen. Watch! watch! as I would watch, and when I come back--for I willcome back, will I not?" he appealed to Mr. Gryce, "my prayers will blessyou and----" A sob stuck in his throat, and he turned for a minuteaside; then he took the detective's arm quite calmly and remarked:
"I do not want to say good-by to my wife. I cannot bear it. I had rathergo straight from here without another glance at her unconscious face.When I have told my story, for I shall tell it to the first man who asksme, I may find courage to write her. Meanwhile, get me away as quicklyas you can. Time enough for the world to know my shame to-morrow."
Mr. Gryce tapped on the window overlooking the piazza. A young manstepped in.
"Here is a gentleman," he cried, "who finds himself forced to return ingreat haste to New York. See that he gets to the train in time, withoutfuss and without raising the least comment. I will follow with hisportmanteau. Mr. Poindexter, you are now at liberty to attend yoursuffering daughter." And with a turn of the key, he unlocked the door,and one of the most painful scenes of his long life was over.