The Legacy of Cain Page 32

it. At last fortune had befriended me. The person speaking at the moment was

  Miss Jillgall; and the person who answered her was Philip.

  "I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my sweet Euneece.

  Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, and, oh, so unselfish! I don't

  want to alarm you, but when she hears you have been deceiving Helena--"

  "Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not been deceiving

  Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging answers I got, when I went to see

  the Governor? Haven't I shown you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have

  forgotten it already?"

  "Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor Euneece was in

  your mind, all the time?"

  "You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I was hurt--I was

  offended by the cruel manner in which she had treated me. And what was the

  consequence? So far was I from deceiving Helena--she rose in my estimation by

  comparison with her sister."

  "Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in anybody's

  estimation? Ha! ha! ha!"

  "Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away the facts.

  Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard on a poor fellow who is

  half distracted. What a man finds he can do on one day, he finds he can't do on

  another. Try to understand that a change does sometimes come over one's

  feelings."

  "Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been understanding all the

  time! I know your mind as well as you know it yourself. You can't forget my

  sweet Euneece."

  "I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as a gentleman, I tried

  to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it my fault that I failed? Eunice was in

  my mind, as you said just now. Oh, my friend--for you are my friend, I am

  sure--persuade her to see me, if it's only for a minute!"

  (Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as this! First, I rise

  in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops. Then Eunice rises, and I drop.

  Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she

  spoke next.)

  "Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to persuade her, and I

  have made my darling cry. Nothing you can say will induce me to distress her

  again. Go back, you very undetermined man--go back to your Helena."

  "Too late."

  "Nonsense!"

  "I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went to stay in the

  house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is, I can't endure her; and (I

  tell you this in confidence) she has herself to thank for what has happened."

  "Is that really true?"

  "Quite true."

  "Tell me what she did.

  "Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come back again, and

  again, and again till you bring her to me."

  "Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will bring her with

  pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard Euneece's feelings as sacred.

  Take my advice; don't press her. Leave her time to think of you, and to pity

  you--and that true heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it."

  "Worthy of it? What do you mean?"

  "Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back to Helena?"

  "Go back to her? I would cut my throat if I thought myself capable of doing it!"

  "How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel with you?"

  "It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. Oh, her fulsome

  endearments! What a contrast to the charming modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I

  would make it worth the while of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of

  Helena by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, but if you

  will have the truth--"

  "Well, Mr. Philip--and what is the truth?"

  "Helena disgusts me."

  CHAPTER LVII.

  HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.

  So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, like one of his

  bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: "Helena disgusts me." And he is to

  persuade Eunice to take my place, and be his wife. Yes! if I let him do it.

  I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage burning in my

  memory, I left the place.

  On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand creature. I

  called him by his name, and patted him. He licked my hand. Something made me

  speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne to

  pieces, would you do it?" The great good-natured brute held out his paw to shake

  hands. Well! well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog.

  But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said something, I did

  not know what it was; and he produced a pocket-flask, containing some spirits, I

  suppose. Perhaps he thought I was going to faint. He little knew me. I told him

  to drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and earn his money. He

  earned it.

  On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down the dining-room,

  deep in thought. She was startled when we first confronted each other. "You look

  dreadfully ill," she said.

  I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and had over-fatigued

  myself; and then changed the subject. "Does my father seem to improve under your

  treatment?" I asked.

  "Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what Massage would do

  for him, and I find myself compelled to give it up."

  "Why?"

  "It excites him dreadfully."

  "In what way?"

  "He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain is in some

  condition which is beyond my powers of investigation. He pointed to a cabinet in

  his room, and said his past life was locked up there. I asked if I should unlock

  it. He shook with fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead

  brother-in-law. Have you any idea of what he meant?"

  The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that--and could tell her

  no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law. Another of his delusions, no

  doubt. "Did you ever hear him speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went on, "of a place

  called Low Lanes?"

  She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance of anxiety that

  surprised me. I had never heard him speak of Low Lanes.

  "Have you any particular interest in the place?" I asked.

  "None whatever."

  She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom, and opened my

  Diary. Again and again, I read that remarkable story of the intended poisoning,

  and of the manner in which it had ended. I sat thinking over this romance in

  real life till I was interrupted by the announcement of dinner.

  Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we were alone at

  the table. My appetite was gone. I made a pretense of eating, and another

  pretense of being glad to see my devoted lover. I talked to him in the prettiest

  manner. As a hypocrite, he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was

  a
musing. If baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison was the

  right place for both of us.

  Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy about my

  health. "How flushed you are!" she said. "Let me feel your pulse." I laughed,

  and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne.

  Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see if he was in the excitable

  state which Mrs. Tenbruggen had described. Yes; the effect which she had

  produced on him--how, she knows best--had not passed away yet: he was still

  talking. The attendant told me it had gone on for hours together. On my

  approaching his chair, he called out: "Which are you? Eunice or Helena?" When I

  had answered him, he beckoned me to come nearer. "I am getting stronger every

  minute," he said. "We will go traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you

  were born."

  Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he mentioned the place in

  Mrs. Tenbruggen's hearing? I asked the attendant if he had been present while

  she was in the room. Yes; he had remained at his post; he had also heard the

  allusion to the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything more

  about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's mind had wandered off to

  other things. He was wandering now. Sometimes, he was addressing his

  congregation; sometimes, he wondered what they would give him for supper;

  sometimes, he talked of the flowers in the garden. And then he looked at me, and

  frowned, and said I prevented him from thinking.

  I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read the story again.

  Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make use something

  that acted slowly, and told the doctors nothing if they looked for it after

  death?

  Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the doctor, and try to

  get a little valuable information in that way? It would be useless. He would

  make some feeble joke; he would say, girls and poisons are not fit company for

  each other.

  But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might call on the

  doctor, after he has gone out on his afternoon round of visits, and might tell

  the servant I would wait for his master's return. Nobody would be in my way; I

  might get at the medical literature in the consulting-room, and find the

  information for myself.

  A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. Mrs. Tenbruggen

  again!--still in a fidgety state of feeling on the subject of my health. "Which

  is it?" she said. "Pain of body, my dear, or pain of mind? I am anxious about

  you."

  "My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As I have told you

  already, I am over-tired--nothing more."

  She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to complain of.

  "Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself right with rest. Did you take a very long

  walk?"

  "Yes."

  "Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking a walk in the

  country, too. He doesn't say that he met you."

  These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she suggested it to me,

  I cannot pretend to have discovered. But I did certainly suspect that she had

  led Philip, while they were together downstairs, into saying to her what he had

  already said to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump my excellent

  friend, as she had been trying to pump me--a vulgar expression, but vulgar

  writing is such a convenient way of writing sometimes. My first attempt to

  entrap the Masseuse failed completely. She coolly changed the subject.

  "Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to my Diary.

  "No; I was idling over what I have written already--an extraordinary story which

  I copied from a book."

  "May I look at it?"

  I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the object of any suspicions

  which she wanted to confirm, it would be curious to see if the poisoning story

  helped her. "It's a piece of family history," I said; "I think you will agree

  with me that it is really interesting."

  She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of controlling herself

  could prevent her from turning pale. This change of color (in such a woman) a

  little alarmed me. When a girl is devoured by deadly hatred of a man, does the

  feeling show itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before the

  glass and train my face into a trustworthy state of discipline.

  "Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation. No analysis of

  character. A made-up story!"

  "Well made up, surely?" I answered.

  "I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady as usual. She asked

  suddenly if my clock was right--and declared that she should be late for an

  appointment. On taking leave she pressed my hand strongly--eyed me with

  distrustful attention and said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself,

  Helena; pray take care of yourself."

  I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her the poisoning story.

  Has it helped the wily old creature to look into my inmost thoughts?

  Impossible!

  To-day, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and spitefully

  cheerful. Although she tried to conceal it, while I was present, I could see

  that Philip had recovered his place in her favor. After what he had said to her

  behind the hedge at the farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming

  his wife, and would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice. There are

  thoughts in me which I don't set down in my book. I only say: We shall see.

  This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant was quite sorry

  for me when he answered the door. His master had just left the house for a round

  of visits. I said I would wait. The servant was afraid I should find waiting

  very tedious. I reminded him that I could go away if I found it tedious. At

  last, the polite old man left me.

  I went into the consulting-room, and read the backs of the medical books ranged

  round the walls, and found a volume that interested me. There was such curious

  information in it that I amused myself by making extracts, using the first

  sheets of paper that I could find. They had printed directions at the top, which

  showed that the doctor was accustomed to write his prescriptions on them. We had

  many, too many, of his prescriptions in our house.

  The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well founded. I got

  tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor returned.

  From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen to-day. Nor has

  any apology for her neglect of us been received, fond as she is of writing

  little notes. Has that story in my Diary driven her away? Let me see what

  to-morrow may bring forth.

  To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps away from us. It

  looks as if my Diary had something to do with the mystery of her absence.

  I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such things, which is more

  than I know by my own experience--
have been a little shaken by a horrid dream.

  The medical information, which my thirst for knowledge absorbed in the doctor's

  consulting-room, turned traitor--armed itself with the grotesque horrors of

  nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me that I was on the point of being

  foolish enough to destroy my notes. I thought better of it, and my notes are

  safe under lock and key.

  Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight from this house. He

  speaks of friends in London, whose interest will help him to find the employment

  which is the object of his ambition. "In a few days more," he said, "I shall ask

  for leave of absence."

  Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his fingers played

  restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke. I thought I would give him a

  chance, a last chance, of making the atonement that he owes to me. This shows

  shameful weakness, on my part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the

  wretch appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am positively sure

  that I hate him. Well, I am not the first girl who had been an unanswerable

  riddle to herself.

  "Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked.

  "What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had to say to him in

  plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you beginning to wish that you were a

  free man again?"

  He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, or because he is not

  quite brute enough to insult me to my face? I tried again for the third and last

  time. I almost put the words into his mouth.

  "I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have not been your

  own kinder and better self. Is this the right interpretation of the change that

  I think I see in you?"

  He answered: "I have not been very well lately."

  "And that is all?"

  "Yes--that is all."

  There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. He followed me to

  the door. After a momentary hesitation, he made the attempt to kiss me. I only

  looked at him--he drew back from me in silence. I left the new Judas, standing

  alone, while the shades of evening began to gather over the room.

  ----

  Third Period (continued).

  EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL.

  ----

  CHAPTER LVIII.

  DANGER.

  "IF anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write an account of it,

  and to send the writing to me. I will come to you at once, if I see reason to

  believe that my presence is required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to

  me, rouse my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which has

  always been one of the strong points in my character. Every suspicious

  circumstance which occurs in this house will be (so to speak) seized on by my

  pen, and will find itself (so to speak again) placed on its trial, before your

  unerring judgment! Let the wicked tremble! I mention no names.

  Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote, I have to say

  a word first on the subject of my discoveries, in regard to Philip's movements.

  The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in a newspaper, put

  the thing into my head. I provided myself with money to pay the expenses by--I

  blush while I write it--pawning my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has

  been rewarded by success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young man

  has come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion when he

  was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been followed to the farm. I have

  been staying there myself for a day or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice to

  relent. The hope has not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by

  my influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair.

  Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold on Philip I

  cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could have made the discovery just

  yet. The one thing of which I am certain is, that she looks like a fiend.

  Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. He will get away