The Weapons of Mystery Part 20

"'My wife, Miss Forrest,' he replied. 'Love cannot be greater than mine.

I love the very ground on which you walk. Be my wife and I will be your slave. Your every desire shall be granted, and I will give up that which is dear to me.'

"'And if I will not?' she said.

"'Ah, if you will not! Then--ah, I am an Eastern, and cannot give up everything. If I cannot have love, I must have vengeance.'

"'But you have made a mistake. Your friend is alive. It is absurd to think that Mr. Blake is guilty of such a deed.'

"He pointed with a trembling hand to the b.l.o.o.d.y knife.

"'I can have no stronger proof than that,' he said, 'and that blood cries out for vengeance now.'

"'Oh, I cannot,' she said, 'I cannot.'

"'You refuse me?' he said quietly.

"'I must, I must,' she cried. 'It cannot be!'

"He went to the writing-desk that stood near by, and commenced writing.

'If a poor Eastern cannot have love, he can still have vengeance,' he said.

"'What are you writing?' she cried.

"'I am writing a letter to the superintendent of the nearest police station, telling him to come with some men to Temple Hall to arrest a murderer.'

"'Have you no mercy?' she said.

"'Mercy, lady. Only the Great Spirit above knows what I had made up my mind to give up, when I told you the condition on which I would be silent. I loved my friend as Jonathan loved David, and he is dead--murdered by an enemy's hand. Vengeance is one of the sweetest thoughts to an Eastern, and I meant to be avenged. You begged for his life, and I offered it--for your love. I asked you to marry me--me, who would give up everything for you; but you refused. I grieve for you, lady; but since I cannot have love, I must have revenge.'

"He went on writing, while Miss Forrest clasped her hands as if in prayer.

"I am relating this very badly, Justin. I cannot remember many of the things that were said; I cannot call to mind all the gestures, the tones of voice, or the awful anguish which seemed to possess them both. I can only give you a sc.r.a.ppy account of what pa.s.sed."

I remembered Tom's powers of memory, however, for which he had always been remarkable at school, and I knew that the account he gave me was not far from correct, and I begged him to go on.

"At length she turned to him again," continued Tom. "'I am going to show,' she said, 'that I believe Mr. Blake innocent. You asked me for love; that I cannot give you. I do not love you, I never shall love you; but such is my belief in Mr. Blake's innocence that I promise you this: if he is not proved to be guiltless within a year, I will marry you.'

"He leapt to his feet, as if to embrace her.

"'No,' she said; 'you have not heard all my conditions. Within that year you are not to see me or communicate with me.'

"'But,' he cried, 'if Kaffar is dead, if these terrible evidences of murder are real, then in a year--say next Christmas Eve; 'twas on Christmas Eve we first met in England--then you will promise to be my wife?'

"'I promise.'

"'And your promise shall be irrevocable?'

"She turned on him with scorn. 'The promise of a lady is ever irrevocable,' she said.

"'Ah!' cried Voltaire, 'love is a stronger pa.s.sion than vengeance, and my love will win yours.'

"'Meanwhile,' she went on without noticing this rhapsody, 'if you breathe one word or utter one sound by which suspicion can fall on Mr. Blake, my promise is forfeited; if you stay here after to-morrow, or attempt to see me within this and next Christmas Eve, my promise is also forfeited.'

"'What, am I to leave you at once?'

"'At once.'

"He left the room immediately after," said Tom, "while, after saying 'Good-night' to me, she too retired to her bedroom."

To say that I was astonished at the turn things had taken would not give the slightest idea of my feelings. And yet a great joy filled my heart.

The sword of Damocles, which seemed to hang over my head, possessed no terror.

"Is that all, Tom?" I said at length.

"This morning, as I told you, he arranged for Kaffar's luggage to be sent to Egypt, while he himself is preparing to depart."

"Where is he going?"

"To London."

"And Miss Forrest?"

"She, I hope, will stay with us for some time. But, Justin, can you really give no explanation of these things? Surely you must be able to?"

"I cannot, Tom. I am hedged in on every side. I'm enslaved, and I cannot tell you how. My life is a mystery, and at times a terror."

"But do you know what has become of Kaffar?"

"No more than that dog barking in the yard. All is dark to me."

Tom left me then, while I, with my poor tired brain, tried to think what to do.

CHAPTER XIII

A MESMERIST'S SPELL

I found on entering the breakfast-room that my presence caused no surprise, neither did any of the guests regard me suspiciously. It had gone abroad that I had gone out to find Kaffar, but was unable to do so; and as Voltaire had publicly spoken of Kaffar's luggage being sent to Cairo, there was, to them, no mystery regarding him.

Several spoke of his going away as being a good riddance, and declared him to be unfit for respectable society; but I did not answer them, and after a while the subject dropped.

Voltaire, however, was not in the room; and when, after having breakfasted, I was wondering where he was, I felt the old terrible sensation come over me. I tried to resist the influence that was drawing me out of the room, but I could not. I put on my overcoat and hat, and, drawn on by an unseen power, I went away towards the fir plantation in which the summer-house was built.

As I knew I should, I found Voltaire there. He smiled on me and lifted his hat politely. "I thought I would allow you to have a good breakfast before summoning you," he said, "especially as this is the last conversation we shall have for some time."