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Witness to the Deed, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 53. Jules Is From Home |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. JULES IS FROM HOME "And that is the woman who told me she loved me!" said Stratton as he drew back behind the rocks and walked slowly away. There was a strangely mingled feeling in his breast; one moment it was horror, the next disgust, that they two should join hands: she so young and beautiful, he prematurely aged and little better than an idiot. Then it was misery--then despair, which swept over his soul to join forces and harrow him so that he felt that he could bear no more. It was the thought of Brettison that saved him just as the blood was rushing to his head and a stroke was imminent. He had left his friend apparently dying, and had rushed off to save Myra. "While I was wanted there," he muttered in a weak, piteous way. "Ah, it has all been a dream, and now I am awake. Poor Brettison, my best friend after all." For a few moments the blood flushed to his temples in his resentment against Myra, and then against Guest; for, after all that he had said to him on the past night, how could he entirely accept the position he occupied and remain tacit and content there with that man in his company? "Another slave to a woman's charms!" he said, with a bitter laugh. "Poor old Percy! how can I blame him after what I have done myself for a weak, contemptible woman's sake?" He stopped short, grinding his teeth together in resentment against himself; for Myra's sadly wasted face rose before him with her eyes full of reproach. "It is not true," he cried; "it is not true. She could not help herself. They have driven her to it, or else--No, no, I cannot think." He moved on toward the cottage, threading his way more by instinct than sight among the rocks, but only to stop short again, horrified by the thought that now assailed him. That man--Barron or Dale--it was not safe that he should be trusted with Myra. It was madness after what had taken place. He thrust his fingers into his ears as if to shut out the voice that seemed to urge these things upon him; but the voice was within, and he hastened on more rapidly till he reached the cottage, where the fisherman's wife was bathing Brettison's forehead, and she gave him a frightened look as he entered. His old friend's eyes were opened, and he looked wildly at Stratton as he entered, and feebly raised one hand. "Dale!" he whispered as he clung to Stratton. "Hush! don't talk." "I--must," he said feebly. "Mind that he does not leave the place. To-night you must get help and take him away." "I am right, then--he did attack you?" "Yes, not long after you had gone. I was asleep, when I was awakened with a start, thinking you had returned, but I was borne back directly. He had me by the throat. Malcolm, lad, I thought it was all over. I struggled, but he was too strong. I remember thinking of your words, and then all was blank till I saw a light in the room, and found these people attending me. I had awakened them with my groans. They do not grasp the truth. Don't tell them. Let them think it is an affection of the throat, but we must never trust him again." "There will be no need," said Stratton bitterly. "What do you mean?" "He has gone." "You have let him escape? No; you have handed him over to the police. Oh, my dear boy, you shouldn't have done that. The man is mad." "I told you I should not do so," said Stratton coldly. "You are wrong." "But you stand there. Good Heavens, man! Those two may meet. Don't mind me. I am better now. Go at once." "No, I shall not leave you till you are fit to move." "It is not an illness, but an injury, which will soon pass off. Go at once. Man, do you not see that he may find her, after all." "He has found her," said Stratton slowly, and speaking in a strangely mechanical way. "What!" "Or they have found him." And he told the old man all he had seen. Brettison heard him to the end, and then faintly, but with conviction in his tones, he cried: "Impossible! It cannot be true." Stratton looked at him wistfully, and shook his head. "No," he said, drawing a deep breath; "it cannot be true." Brettison, whose breathing was painful, lay back watching his companion with dilated eyes, and then turned to the woman who had drawn back from the bed and waited while her visitor talked to his friend. "Madame," he said in French, "Monsieur Cousin?" She turned from the window where she had been watching. "Out on the sands, monsieur," she said in a startled way. "My good man says he is sitting with the new company who have come since yesterday to the house above." "Where is your husband?" "Out, sir. He--he was obliged to go to the _ville_." "And still it is impossible," said Stratton slowly as he looked appealingly in the old man's eyes. "It cannot be true. Brettison, tell me that my mind is wandering; all this is more than I can bear." "Shall I wait, monsieur?" asked the woman, who was trembling visibly. "No, I am better now," said Brettison. "Leave me with my friend,"--and as soon as they were alone--"I shall not want a doctor now. There is some mystery here, Malcolm, lad, far more than we know." "Thank God!" said Stratton, sinking into a chair and covering his face with his hands. "Stratton," cried the old man fiercely, "is it a time to give up weakly like that?" The stricken man started to his feet, and threw back his head as if his friend's words had suddenly galvanised him into life and action. "That man is not to be trusted for an hour. You know it, and yet you stand there leaving her in his hands. Even if it were possible that her father has condoned the past, he does not know what is familiar to us. But he has not. Boy, I tell you there is some mistake." "What shall I do?" said Stratton hoarsely. "Go to them at once. Tell them of his attack upon me." "They have forgotten the past, and will say it is the invention of a jealous enemy." "Then I will go myself," cried the old man; and, feeble though he was, he insisted upon dressing for his self-imposed task. "They will believe me," he said; "and though I can hardly think there is danger to anyone but us, whom Barron seems instinctively to associate with his injury, Sir Mark must know the facts." "Yes," said Stratton gravely; "he must know. I will go with you now. He cannot doubt you." The old man tottered a little, but his strong will supplied the strength, and, taking his stick, they moved toward the door. "We have done wrong, Stratton," he said; "the man should have been denounced. I ought to have acted more wisely, but at first my only thought was to save you from the consequences of your misfortune, and keep all I knew from ever reaching Myra's ears. Our sin has found us out, and there is nothing for it but to make a clean breast now." Stratton hesitated for a few moments. "You are too feeble," he said. "Oh, yes," cried the woman, who came forward. "Monsieur is too ill to go out. It is horrible that he should be so bad at our poor house." "You say your husband is out?" "Oh, yes, monsieur. I begged him not to go, but he said that he must go." "Not to fetch a doctor?" "N-no, monsieur," faltered the woman hysterically. "It is not my fault, monsieur; I begged him not to go--and--_O Ciel_! that it should have happened." "No one blames you, my good woman," said Stratton as she burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing, while Brettison looked at her strangely. "If he had been here he could have helped my friend down to the sands." "And monsieur will forgive us," sobbed the woman; "we are poor, honest people, and it is so terrible for your good friend to be like that." "Quick!" said Brettison. "I am strong enough. Let's get it over before something happens." He clung to Stratton's arm, and, supporting himself with his stick, he made a brave effort, and, gaining strength out in the soft sea air, he walked slowly but pretty firmly along by the foot of the cliff. "If Jules would only return," sobbed the woman hysterically. "Oh, that such a misfortune should come upon our home! Poor gentleman! and he bears it like a lamb." _ |
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