CHAPTER VII.
GUILTY!
As to protecting Natalie Brande from her brother and the fanatics withwhom he associated, it was now plain that I was powerless. And whatguarantee had I that she herself was unaware of his nefarious purpose;that she did not sympathise with it? This last thought flashed upon meone day, and the sting of pain that followed it was so intolerable, Idetermined instantly to prove its falsity or truth.
I telegraphed to Brande that I was running down to spend a day or twowith him, and followed my message without waiting for a reply. I havestill a very distinct recollection of that journey, notwithstanding muchthat might well have blotted it from my memory. Every mile sped overseemed to mark one more barrier passed on my way to some strange fate;every moment which brought me nearer this incomprehensible girl withher magical eyes was an epoch of impossibility against my evervoluntarily turning back. And now that it is all over, I am glad that Iwent on steadfastly to the end.
Brande received me with the easy affability of a man to whom goodbreeding had ceased to be a habit, and had become an instinct. Only oncedid anything pass between us bearing on the extraordinary relationshipwhich he had established with me--the relation of victor and victim, Iconsidered it. We had been left together for a few moments, and I saidas soon as the others were out of hearing distance:
"I got your message."
"I know you did," he replied. That was all. There was an awkward pause.It must be broken somehow. Any way out of the difficulty was better thanto continue in it.
"Have you seen this?" I asked, handing Brande a copy of a novel which Ihad picked up at a railway bookstall. When I say that it was new andpopular, it will be understood that it was indecent.
He looked at the title, and said indifferently: "Yes, I have seen it,and in order to appreciate this class of fiction fairly, I have eventried to read it. Why do you ask?"
"Because I thought it would be in your line. It is very advanced." Isaid this to gain time.
"Advanced--advanced? I am afraid I do not comprehend. What do you meanby 'advanced'? And how could it be in my line. I presume you mean bythat, on my plane of thought?"
"By 'advanced,' I mean up-to-date. What do you mean by it?"
"If I used the word at all, I should mean educated, evolved. Is thisevolved? Is it even educated? It is not always grammatical. It has nostyle. In motive, it ante-dates Boccaccio."
"You disapprove of it."
"Certainly not."
"Then you approve it, notwithstanding your immediate condemnation?"
"By no means. I neither approve nor disapprove. It only represents aphase of humanity--the deliberate purpose of securing money or notorietyto the individual, regardless of the welfare of the community. There isnothing to admire in that. It would be invidious to blame it when thewhole social scheme is equally wrong and contemptible. By the way, whatinterest do you think the wares of any literary pander, of either sex,could possess for me, a student--even if a mistaken one--of science?"
"I did not think the book would possess the slightest interest for you,and I suppose you are already aware of that?"
"Ah no! My telepathic power is reserved for more serious purposes. Itsexercise costs me too much to expend it on trifles. In consequence I donot know why you mentioned the book."
To this I answered candidly, "I mentioned it in order to get myself outof a conversational difficulty--without much success."
Natalie was reserved with me at first. She devoted herself unnecessarilyto a boy named Halley who was staying with them. Grey had gone toLondon. His place was taken by a Mr. Rockingham, whom I did not like.There was something sinister in his expression, and he rarely spoke saveto say something cynical, and in consequence disagreeable. He had "seenlife," that is, everything deleterious to and destructive of it. Hisconnection with Brande was clearly a rebound, the rebound of disgust.There was nothing creditable to him in that. My first impression of himwas thus unfavourable. My last recollection of him is a fitting item inthe nightmare which contains it.
The youth Halley would have interested me under ordinary circumstances.His face was as handsome and refined as that of a pretty girl. Hisfigure, too, was slight and his voice effeminate. But there my ownadvantage, as I deemed it, over him ceased. Intellectually, he was apupil of Brande's who did his master credit. Having made this discoveryI did not pursue it. My mind was fixed too fast upon a definite issue tobe more than temporarily interested in the epigrams of a peachy-cheekedman of science.
The afternoon was well advanced before I had an opportunity of speakingto Natalie. When it came, I did not stop to puzzle over a choice ofphrases.
"I wish to speak to you alone on a subject of extreme importance to me,"I said hurriedly. "Will you come with me to the sea-shore? Your time, Iknow, is fully occupied. I would not ask this if my happiness did notdepend upon it."
The philosopher looked on me with grave, kind eyes. But the woman'sheart within her sent the red blood flaming to her cheeks. It was thengiven to me to fathom the lowest depth of boorish stupidity I had eversounded.
"I don't mean that," I cried, "I would not dare--"
The blush on her cheek burnt deeper as she tossed her head proudly back,and said straight out, without any show of fence or shadow ofconcealment:
"It was my mistake. I am glad to know that I did you an injustice. Youare my friend, are you not?"
"I believe I have the right to claim that title," I answered.
"Then what you ask is granted. Come." She put her hand boldly into mine.I grasped the slender fingers, saying:
"Yes, Natalie, some day I will prove to you that I am your friend."
"The proof is unnecessary," she replied, in a low sad voice.
We started for the sea. Not a word was spoken on the way. Nor did oureyes meet. We were in a strange position. It was this: the man who hadvowed he was the woman's friend--who did not intend to shirk the proofof his promise, and never did gainsay it--meant to ask the woman,before the day was over, to clear herself of knowingly associating witha gang of scientific murderers. The woman had vaguely divined hispurpose, and could not clear herself.
When we arrived at the shore we occupied ourselves inconsequently. Wehunted little fishes until Natalie's dainty boots were dripping. Weexamined quaint denizens of the shallow water until her gloves werespoilt. We sprang from rock to rock and evaded the onrush of the foamingwaves. We made aqueducts for inter-communication between deep pools. Webasked in the sunshine, and listened to the deep moan of the soundingsea, and the solemn murmur of the shells. We drank in the deep breath ofthe ocean, and for a brief space we were like happy children.
The end came soon to this ephemeral happiness. It was only one of thosebright coins snatched from the niggard hand of Time which must always bepaid back with usurious charges. We paid with cruel interest.
Standing on a flat rock side by side, I nerved myself to ask this girlthe same question I had asked her friend, Edith Metford, how much sheknew of the extraordinary and preposterous Society--as I still tried toconsider it--which Herbert Brande had founded. She looked so frank, sorefined, so kind, I hardly dared to put my brutal question to aninnocent girl, whom I had seen wince at the suffering of a maimed bird,and pale to the lips at the death-cry of a rabbit. This time there wasno possibility of untoward consequence in the question save tomyself--for surely the girl was safe from her own brother. And I myselfpreferred to risk the consequences rather than endure longer the thoughtthat she belonged voluntarily to a vile murder club. Yet the questionwould not come. A simple thing brought it out. Natalie, after lookingseaward silently for some minutes, said simply:
"How long are we to stand here, I wonder?"
"Until you answer this question. How much do you know about yourbrother's Society, which I have joined to my own intense regret?"
"I am sorry you regret having joined," she replied gravely.
"You would not be sorry," said I, "if you knew as much about it as Ido," forgetting that I had still no a
nswer to my question, and that theextent of her knowledge was unknown to me.
"I believe I do know as much as you." There was a tremor in her voiceand an anxious pleading look in her eyes. This look maddened me. Whyshould she plead to me unless she was guilty? I stamped my foot upon therock without noticing that in so doing I kicked our whole collection ofshells into the water.
There was something more to ask, but I stood silent and sullen. Thewoods above the beach were choral with bird-voices. They were hateful tome. The sea song of the tumbling waves was hideous. I cursed the yellowsunset light glaring on their snowy crests. A tiny hand was laid upon myarm. I writhed under its deadly if delicious touch. But I could not putit away, nor keep from turning to the sweet face beside me, to mark oncemore its mute appeal--now more than mere appeal; it was supplicationthat was in her eyes. Her red lips were parted as though they voiced anunspoken prayer. At last a prayer did pass from them to me.
"Do not judge me until you know me better. Do not hate me without cause.I am not wicked, as you think. I--I--I am trying to do what I think isright. At least, I am not selfish or cruel. Trust me yet a littlewhile."
I looked at her one moment, and then with a sob I clasped her in myarms, and cried aloud:
"My God! to name murder and that angel face in one breath! Child, youhave been befooled. You know nothing."
For a second she lingered in my embrace. Then she gently put away myarms, and looking up at me, said fearlessly but sorrowfully:
"I cannot lie--even for your love. I know _all_."