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Witness to the Deed, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 49. A Place Of Rest |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY NINE. A PLACE OF REST "Well, if ever two strange gentlemen did live in inns it's Mr Stratton and Mr Brettison," said Mrs Brade as she reluctantly went back to her lodge. "Nice state their rooms must be in; and him, once so civil and polite, as awkward and gruff as you please." She had some cause for complaint, Brettison having dismissed her with a request not to talk quite so much. In spite of the woman's declaration of Stratton's absence, the old man felt that he must be there; and after knocking twice, each time with his heart sinking more and more with dread, he applied his lips to the letter-box after forcing open the spring flap. "Stratton, if you are there, for Heaven's sake open at once!" he whispered loudly. There was a rustling sound directly, the bolt was shot back, and Stratton admitted him, afterward taking a letter from the box, glancing at it, and thrusting it into his pocket. "That woman said you had gone out," said Brettison eagerly. "I was alarmed. I thought--how is he?" Stratton pointed to the chair where the man lay as if asleep. "Why, how haggard you look," said Brettison excitedly. "Has there been anything the matter?" "Nothing much; only I have had a struggle with a madman who tried to murder me." "My dear boy!" "It is a fact," said Stratton. "I found him with that piece of rock in his hand, and about to strike me down." He pointed to the massive stone lying on the table, and then said, smiling: "I was just in time to save myself." "Good Heavens! Was he dangerous for long?" "For long enough. We had a short struggle, and he went down with a crash. One moment he was tremendously strong; the next helpless as a child, and he has been like that ever since. Our plans must be altered." "No, not now," said Brettison decisively. "The man has been over-excited to-day. Your presence seems to have roused up feelings that have been asleep. I ought not to have left you alone with him. Come, it is getting late. We have very few minutes to spare." "Then you mean to go?" "Yes, I mean to go. You shall see us to the station. I have no fear of him; he will be calm enough with me." "Very well," said Stratton, "anything to get him away from here. If he keeps on turning violent he must be placed under restraint." Stratton opened the door, placed his travelling bag outside, and came back. "What does that mean?" said Brettison, pointing to the bag. "Mine. You do not suppose I shall let you go alone." "You cannot go now. I have managed him so long, and I can manage him still." "We shall miss the train," said Stratton quietly; and taking the man's arm he drew it quietly through his, and after pausing to secure the door, walked with him down to the cab, Brettison following with the little valise. They reached the station within five minutes of the time, and soon after were rattling down to Southampton, Stratton throwing himself back in a corner to draw a deep breath of relief as they left the busy town behind, and taking out his letter, but only to glance at the handwriting, and thrust it back. Their prisoner sank back to sleep heavily, and he was still in a drowsy state as they went on board, lying down quietly enough in his berth, where they left him and went on deck as soon as they were well out of the dock. "Safe!" said Stratton exultingly. "Now, Brettison, that man must never see England again." They reached Jersey in due time, and next morning were in Saint Malo, where they stayed two days, making inquiries which resulted in their taking boat and being landed twenty miles along the coast at a picturesque, old-world fishing village--Saint Garven's--where, lodgings being found, they both drew breath more freely, feeling at ease now-- their companion having settled down into a calm, apathetic state, apparently oblivious of all that went on around him. It was hard to believe that the dull, vacant-looking man was the same being as the one with whom Stratton had had his late terrible encounter; for in spite of the light, indifferent way in which he had treated it to his friend, none knew better than he that he had been within an inch of losing his life. It was hard even to Stratton, and as the days glided by in the peaceful calm of the tiny bay, with its groups of fishermen and women on the soft white sands, or wading into the clear blue water to reach their boats, the surroundings made the place a pleasant oasis in the desert of his life. The rest was sweet and languorous, and he passed his time now strolling out on the dry, warm sands, thinking, now high up on the grassy top of the cliff, where he could look down on people enjoying their seaside life. At times he would go out with some of the fishermen, who readily welcomed the English stranger, and talked to him in a formal, grave way, and in French that he found it hard to follow. Meanwhile Brettison had hunted out a brawny pleasant-faced fisherman's wife, who had been pointed out to him as an able nurse, and placed their charge in her care--the ex-convict obeying her lightest sign and giving little trouble, suffering himself to be led to some nook or other at the foot of the high cliffs, where he would sit down, watched by his attendant--the Breton woman--while Brettison busied himself on the cliffs collecting. There was no trouble; the man grew more apathetic day by day, and Brettison took care that his companion should not come in contact with him, for fear of reviving some memory of the past and causing a scene. "And he is so good and patient, m'sieu," the nurse would say, looking up from the knitting over which she was busy; "and he is growing well and strong, oh, so fast. It is our beautiful bay, monsieur. Yes, everyone grows strong and well here." She nodded as if there was no contradicting this, and Brettison went in search of Stratton with a bunch of plants in his hand, and a curiously puzzled look in his eyes. "Suppose he does get well and strong," he thought to himself. "I ought to be glad, but am not." He found Stratton sitting back, with his shoulders against the cliff, dreaming of the past, and then of the future, more at rest than he had been for months, and as Brettison drew near he brightened a little, and smiled. For the nurse's words applied to his friend as well, and he was certainly growing stronger and better. A healthy brown was coming into his face, and in spite of the dreamy reverie into which he plunged, a more even balance was coming to his mind. "One must reckon one against the other," Brettison said to himself. As the days glided by, and they gained confidence from their charge's dull, dreamy condition, Brettison proposed, and Stratton readily agreed, to make little excursions with him inland, or along the coast to some of the quaint villages, or antique--so-called Druidical--remains; and after each trip they returned to find nurse and patient just as they had left them. The confidence increased, and it became evident that Stratton had only to keep away for their charge to go on in his old vacant manner from day to day. His habits were simple and full of self-indulgence, if there could be any enjoyment to a mind so blank. He rose late, and went to bed soon after sundown, and the evenings were looked forward to by Stratton and Brettison for their quiet dinner at the little inn where Stratton stayed. Here, as they sat over their wine and had cigars, watching the evening skies and the glorious star-gemmed sea, a feeling of restfulness came over them, and they leaned back with the feeling of convalescents whose wounds were healing fast after they had been very nearly to the gates of death. It was a marvel to Stratton as he recalled the past, and, as he sat gazing from the open window or strolled out upon the dusky sands, he wondered that he could feel so well. In fact a sensation of annoyance attacked him, for he felt guilty and faithless, a traitor to the past, and strove to resume his old cloak of sadness, but it would not come. "Malcolm, my lad," said Brettison one evening as he leaned forward and laid his hand upon the young man's arm, "we are going to have rest and peace again. Thank Heaven, you are growing like your old self." "Rest and peace with that man yonder," said Stratton bitterly. "Hah! That will not do. Now you've gone back to the old style. Let that be, and wait for the future to unroll itself. The man does not trouble us, and seems hardly likely to, and we have the satisfaction of knowing that we are working for someone else's peace of mind. You must not destroy what it is that has given you the rest you enjoy." Stratton was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing out to sea, where the lanterns of the passing boat and yacht slowly rose and fell on the gently heaving sea. "And who could help feeling restful in such a place as this? Even I, old and worn-out as I am, enjoy the calm, languorous, peaceful sensation which steals over me. Very disloyal, my dear boy--un-English to a degree--but there is something in these places that one cannot get at home." "Yes, I own to it," said Stratton after a pause; "one feels safe ashore after the perils of a mental wreck; but there are moments, old fellow, when I shrink and shiver, for it is as if a wave were noiselessly approaching to curl over and sweep one back into the dark waters." "Stuff! that's all past," said Brettison, lighting a fresh cigar. "Here we are in a lovely place, and with only one care--which we depute to a nurse. Let's eat and drink our fill of the peace that has come to us." "But it cannot go on, Brettison," said Stratton solemnly. "It must have an end." "Yes; an end comes to all things, boy. I shall die before long, but why should I sit and brood upon that? Let's thankfully accept the good with the ill--no, not the ill," he said solemnly: "death is not an evil. It is only made so by man." "But we cannot go on staying here," said Stratton with energy. "Why not?" "Oh, there are a dozen reasons. My work, for one." "Nonsense! Sink your pride and grow strong and well. I have plenty for both of us, my boy." "And do you think I shall settle down to such a life as that, Brettison? No; you know me better." The old man was silent for a few minutes. "Yes," he said at last; "I expected you to speak like that, but it is only absurd pride." "I have not much left me in life," said Stratton quietly as he rose from the seat he had occupied. "Let me enjoy that." Brettison made no reply. He was pained and yet pleased as he sat back and saw through the smoke of his cigar the dim figure of his companion pass and go down toward the sea, gradually growing more indistinct, till the darkness swallowed him. _ |
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