A Secret Inheritance. Volume 3 of 3. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he came back with his wife, and has not yet taken up his residence."

      "His wife! Do you mean Doctor Louis's daughter?"

      "Yes.

      "Ah, they're married, then?"

      "Yes, they are married. You seem to know names, though you are a stranger."

      "Yes, I know names well enough. If Gabriel Carew is not here, where is he?"

      "It would be more respectful to say Mr. Carew," said the servant, resenting this familiar utterance of her master's name.

      "Mr. Carew, then. I'm not particular. Where is he?"

      "You will find him in the village."

      "That's a wide address."

      "He is stopping at Doctor Louis's house. Anybody will tell you where that is."

      "Thank you; I will go there." He was about to depart, but turned and said, "Where is the gardener, Martin Hartog?"

      "He left months ago."

      "Left, has he? Where for?"

      "I can't tell you."

      "Because you won't?"

      "Because I can't. You are a saucy fellow."

      "No, mistress, you're mistaken. It's my manner, that's all; I was brought up rough. And where I've come from, a man might as well be out of the world as in it." He accompanied this remark with a dare-devil shake of his head.

      "You're so free at asking questions," said the woman, "that there can be no harm in my asking where have you come from-being, as you say, a stranger in these parts?"

      "Ah, mistress," said the man, "questions are easily asked. It's a different thing answering them. Where I've come from is nothing to anybody who's not been there. To them it means a lot. Thank you for your information."

      He swung off without another word towards the village. He had no difficulty in finding Doctor Louis's house, and observing that something unusual was taking place, held his purpose in and took mental notes. He followed the procession to the churchyard, and was witness to the sympathy and sorrow shown for the lady whose body was taken to its last resting-place. He did not know at the time whether it was man or woman, and he took no pains to ascertain till the religious ceremony was over. Then he addressed himself to a little girl.

      "Who is dead?"

      "Our Angel Mother," replied the girl.

      "She had a name, little one." His voice was not unkindly. The answer to his question-"Angel Mother" – had touched him. He once had a mother, the memory of whom still remained with him as a softening if not a purifying influence. It is the one word in all the languages which ranks nearest to God. "What was hers?"

      "Don't you know? Everybody knows. Doctor Louis's wife."

      "Doctor Louis's wife!" he muttered. "And I had a message for her!" Then he said aloud, "Dead, eh?"

      "Dead," said the little girl mournfully.

      "And you are sorry?"

      "Everybody is sorry."

      "Ah," thought the man, "it bears out what he said." Again, aloud: "That gentleman yonder, is he Doctor Louis?"

      "Yes."

      "The priest-his name is Father Daniel, isn't it?"

      "Yes."

      "The young lady by Doctor Louis's side, is she his daughter?"

      "Yes."

      "Is her husband there-Gabriel Carew?"

      "Yes; there he is." And the girl pointed him out.

      The man nodded, and moved apart. But he did not remain so; he mingled with the throng, and coming close to the persons he had asked about, gazed at them, as though in the endeavour to fix their faces in his memory. Especially did he gaze, long and earnestly, at Gabriel Carew. None noticed him; they were too deeply preoccupied in their special sorrow. When the principal mourners moved away, he followed them at a little distance, and saw them enter Doctor Louis's house. Being gone from his sight, he waited patiently. Patience was required, because for three or four hours none who entered the house emerged from it. Nature, however, is a stern mistress, and in her exactions is not to be denied. The man took from his pocket some bread and cheese, which he cut with a stout clasp knife, and devoured. At four o'clock in the afternoon Father Daniel came out of the house. The man accosted him.

      "You are Father Daniel?"

      "I am." And the priest, with his earnest eyes upon the stranger, said, "I do not know you."

      "No," replied the man, "I have never seen you before to-day. We are strangers to each other. But I have heard much of you."

      "From whom?"

      "From Emilius," said the man.

      "Emilius!" cried Father Daniel, and signs of agitation were visible on his face. "Are you acquainted with him? Have you seen him lately?

      "I am acquainted with him. I saw him three days ago."

      Father Daniel fell back with a sudden impulse of revulsion, and with as sudden an impulse of contrition said humbly, "Forgive me-forgive me!"

      "It is I who should ask that," said the man, with a curious and not discreditable assumption of manliness, in the humbleness of which a certain remorseful abasement was conspicuous. He bowed his head. "Bless me, Father!"

      "Do you deserve it?"

      "I need it," said the man; and the good priest blessed him.

      "It is, up to now," said the man presently, raising his head, "as Emilius told me. But he could not lie."

      "You are his friend?" said Father Daniel.

      "I am not worthy to be called so," said the man. "I am a sinner. He is a martyr."

      "Ah," said Father Daniel, "give me your hand. Nay, I will have it. We are brothers. No temptation has been mine. I have not sinned because sin has not presented itself to me in alluring colours. I have never known want. My parents were good, and set me a good example. They taught me what is right; they taught me to pray. And you?"

      "And I, Father?" said the man in softened accents. "I! Great God, what am I?" It was as though a revelation had fallen upon him. It held him fast for a few moments, and then he recovered his natural self. "I have never been as yourself, Father. My lot was otherwise. I don't complain. But it was not my fault that I was born of thieves-though, mind you, Father, I loved my mother."

      "My son," said Father Daniel, bowing his head, "give me your blessing."

      "Father!"

      "Give me your blessing!"

      Awed and compelled, the man raised his trembling hands above Father Daniel's head. When the priest looked again at the man he saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

      "You come from Emilius."

      "Yes, СКАЧАТЬ