The Diamond Coterie Part 19

Constance watched the two as they walked away together, the handsome lithe form of the younger man in such marked contrast with the shambling gait of the detective. Only for a moment, however, then she went swiftly through the halls, out at a rear entrance, and down the path toward the rear gardens.

Here she found the tramp detective busy, or pretending to busy himself with a small pruning knife.

"If you want to follow him, you must make haste," she said, breathlessly; "he is walking townward with Mr. Lamotte; intends to loiter about the town and take some evening train."

"Pray don't appear so much excited," said the tramp detective, dropping his pruning knife, and picking it up again with great deliberation.

"There is a man coming up from the river, he must be getting pretty near us. No, don't look now."

"Dear me!" began Constance.

"Listen," he went on, without regarding her e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. "I am going to leave here in two minutes; you can say that you have discharged me. I may not see you again for months. I may return at any time. I may as well warn you here, not to _confide_ anything to Mr. Belknap; at another time you will learn why. Another thing, it is just possible that you may need my services at some future time. I was about to give you an address that will reach me at any time, but we may be observed by that fellow who is coming. I will send you by mail a card containing the address. Pray call upon me if you need my aid. I hope Belknap will find your robbers, but you were wise not to tell him that you had saved your diamonds. Keep your counsel on that subject always, Miss Wardour, it will save you trouble. And now you had better move on. I intend to follow and overtake your two departing guests."

He turned carelessly away as he spoke, and Constance, after a pretense of examining the shrubbery, faced about and walked a few paces down the path, then lifting her eyes carelessly, they fell upon the intruder.

Uttering a low e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of surprise, she hastened toward him.

"Evan! why Evan!" she cried, anxiously. "You look ghostly, and you must be in trouble."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Why, Evan, you look ghostly!"]

"Or I would not be here," said Evan Lamotte, bitterly. "Evan, the ne'er-do-well, does not seek his friends when the sun s.h.i.+nes. Eh, Conny?

Don't go in," laying one hand upon her arm, as she was about to turn toward the house, "I--I came to talk with you."

"But you will come in, Evan?"

"No, I should fall out with your old cat--I beg pardon, Con., I mean your old aunt, directly."

"Aunt Honor shut herself in her own room an hour ago, child; she has been worn out with too much excitement. We have had a detective here all the morning, not to mention Frank, who has made a wonderful discovery."

"I dare say," muttered the young fellow, dryly, "Frank will make another wonderful discovery soon. Conny," clutching at her arm again, "_have you heard_?"

"Have I heard what, Evan?"

"About Sybil--my sister," his voice broke, ending in a sob.

"Yes, Evan," she replied, very gently, "I have heard."

It was noticeable, the difference between her treatment of this younger brother of Sybil Lamotte and the one who had just gone.

With Francis she had preserved, even while her heart was full of sympathy and pity for his trouble, a certain dignity even in her kindness, an arm's length repellant stateliness, that galled and tormented the ardent, impulsive, and too eager young man. With Evan she was all pity, all sympathy, full of familiar sisterly kindness and patience.

Women are strange creatures; we may be as handsome as the Apollo, and they will steel their hearts against us. If we would have the confidence, the caresses, the tenderest love of a pitying woman, we must be mentally, or morally, or physically maimed, or halt, or blind.

Evan Lamotte was one of the world's unfortunates, and the pitying heart of the fair heiress had no scorn for such as he. A black sheep, so they called Evan Lamotte, not yet of age, with a slender physique, a pale, handsome face, handsome in spite of his dissipations. He seemed possessed of an evil spirit, that cried incessantly, "drink, drink, drink." Every means had been tried to win him from his dissipation; tears, entreaties, threats, bribes, were alike unavailing. In spite of himself, against himself, Evan Lamotte seemed driven downward by a relentless, unseen enemy.

"Reckless, worthless, hopeless." These were the adjectives commonly coupled with his name, and yet his sister had deemed him worth her loving; his mother had deemed him worth her tears, and Constance Wardour had deemed him worth her pitying kindness.

"Constance," he choked back the sobs that arose in his throat; "don't think that I have been drinking; when a fellow like me is grieved almost to madness, you call him maudlin, but I never cry in my cups, Con. And I have been perfectly sober since Sat.u.r.day night, or if you like, yesterday morning. I drank hard all that day after they told me, Con., but not one drop since; not one. Con., tell me what have you heard?"

"About all that is known, I think, Evan. Oh! Evan, do you know, can you guess why she has done this--this terrible thing? Come down this walk, Evan; let us sit under that tree, on that bench."

She moved toward the spot indicated, he following mechanically, and seating himself beside her, in obedience to her gesture.

"Do I know the reason?" he repeated. "Do I guess it? Oh, if I could guess it; it has haunted me every moment; that strong desire to know what drove my sister to this fate? It is the question I came here to ask. Con., help me to think; she must have said something; must have given you some hint."

"Alas. But she never did."

"And you can not guess; you have no clue to help us unravel this mystery?"

Constance shook her head.

"Con., oh, Con., _you_ don't think--you can't think that she loved that--that beast?"

"No, Evan, I can't think that."

"Then," excitedly; "you must think as I do; that there is a mystery; that there has been foul play. Con., I don't care for anything on earth, except Sybil; I _must_ know what has driven her to this; I must help her; I can help her; I can take her from that brute."

His face was livid, and his eyes glowed with the fierce light that we have seen in the eyes of his elder brother. Constance saw the growing excitement, and sought to soothe it.

"Evan, let us not antic.i.p.ate," she said, gently. "All that we can do for Sybil shall be done, but it must be with her consent. When does your father come?"

"I don't know," sullenly; "I telegraphed him Sat.u.r.day; he will come to-day, no doubt. But he will come too late."

"Alas, yes; I regret so much that it was for my sake he was absent from home at such a time, and Frank, too."

"Frank? bah! What could he do? What could any one do?"

She turned, and scanned his face keenly.

"Evan, you suspect, or you know something."

"I have a thought," he replied. "I hardly dare call it a suspicion. If I could know it to be the truth," he hissed, between set, white teeth, "I should know what to do, then."

"Don't look like that, Evan; you look wicked."

"I feel wicked," he cried, fiercely. "You can never guess how wicked.

When I think of that brute, that beast, that viper; of the power he must hold over _her_, I am mad, crazed. But he will come back, and then--then I will murder him, and set her free."

With his gleaming eyes, his clenched hands, his white, uplifted face, he looked like a beautiful evil demon. Constance shuddered as she gazed, and then her hand closed firmly upon his arm, as she said:

"Evan, listen: Do you think it would lighten Sybil's burden to hear you rave thus? Do you want to make her lot still harder to bear? Sybil loves you. Would it make her heart lighter to have you embroil yourself for her sake? You know your faults. If you let this hideous idea take place in your mind now, it will break out some day when the demon possesses you. If Sybil Lamotte returns, and hears you utter such threats, she will have an added torture to bear; she will have two curses instead of one. You can not help Sybil by committing an act that would cut you off from her forever. You have caused her heart-aches enough already. See, now, if you can not lighten her burden in some different, better way.

But all this is superfluous, perhaps. I wonder if Sybil will come back, at all?"

Lower and lower sank his head, as he listened, and then something that she had said seemed to chain and hold his thoughts.

Slowly the evil light faded from his eyes, and into his face crept a strange, fixed look. Forgetful of time, or of his companion's presence, his thoughts followed this new course, his hands clenching and unclenching themselves, his teeth burying themselves from time to time in his thin under lip. So long he sat thus, that Constance herself, from watching and wondering at his strange mood, wandered off into a sad reverie, the subject of which she could hardly have told, it was such a vague mixture of Sybil's sorrows and her own unrest.

After a time he stirred as if arousing himself with difficulty from a nightmare; and Constance, recalled to herself, in turn, looked up to encounter his gaze, and to be astonished at the new, purposeful self-restraint upon his face, and the inscrutable intentness of his eye.