The House of the White Shadows. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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      "No."

      "I will trust you. There are lawyers I would not, though every word they uttered was framed in gold."

      "So, you have been thinking of the reason that made so fair a lady marry an icicle?"

      "Yes."

      "The icicle is celebrated."

      "That is of no account."

      "He is rich."

      "That is good."

      "He is much older than she. He may die, and leave her a young widow."

      "That is better."

      "Then she may marry again-a younger man."

      "That is best Master Lamont, you have a head."

      "And your own love-affair, Fritz, is that flourishing, eh? Have the pretty red lips kissed a 'Yes' yet?"

      "The pretty red lips have not been asked. I bide my time. My peach is not as ripe as the icicle's. I'll go and look after it, Master Lamont. It needs careful watching; there are poachers about."

      Fritz departed to look after his peach, and Pierre Lamont was carried into his study, where he sat until late in the night, surrounded by books and papers.

      The Advocate was also in his study until two hours past midnight, searching newspaper after newspaper for particulars and details of the murder of the unfortunate girl whose body had been found in the wildly rushing Rhone. And while he pondered and mused, and ofttimes paced the room with thoughtful face, his wife lay sleeping in her holiday home, with smiles on her lips, and joy in her heart, for she was dreaming of one far away. And her dream was of love.

      And Dionetta, the pretty maid, also slept, with her hands clasped at the back of her head; and her lady was saying to her: "Really and truly, Dionetta, you have not a lover? Women are made for love. It is the only thing in life worth living for." And a blush, even in her sleep, stole over her fair face and bosom. For her dream was of love.

      And Pierre Lamont lived over again the days of his youth, and smirked and languished, and made fine speeches, and moved amidst a paradise of fair faces, all of which bore the likeness of one whom he had but just seen for the first time. And, old as he was, his dream was of love.

      And Fritz the Fool tossed in his bed, and muttered:

      "Too fair! too fair! If I were rich she might tempt me to be false to one, and make me vow I would lay down my life for her. It is a good thing for me that I am a fool."

      And Gautran in his prison cell writhed upon his hard bed in the midst of the darkness; for by his side lay the phantom of the murdered girl, and his despair was deep and awful.

      And in the mountains, two hundred miles distant from the House of White Shadows, roamed Christian Almer in the moonlight, struggling with all his mental might with a terror which possessed him. The spot he had flown to was ten thousand feet above the level of the sea, and his sleeping-room was in the hut of a peasant, mountain-born and mountain-reared, who lived a life of dull contentment with his goats, and wife, and children. Far away in the heights immense forests of fir-trees were grouped in dark, solemn masses. Not a branch stirred; a profound repose reigned within their depths, while the sleepless waterfalls in the lower heights, leaping, and creeping, and dashing over chasm and precipice, proclaimed the eternal wakefulness of Nature. The solitary man gazed upon these majestic signs in awe and despair.

      "There is no such thing as oblivion," he muttered; "there is no such thing as forgetfulness. These solitudes, upon which no living creature but myself is to be seen, are full of accusing voices. My God! to die and be blotted out for ever and ever were better than this agony! I strive and strive, and cannot rid myself of the sin. I will conquer it-I will-I will-I will!"

      But even as he spoke there gleamed upon him from a laughing cascade the vision of a face so beautiful as to force a groan from his lips. He turned from the vision, and it shone upon him with a tender wooing in every waterfall that met his sight. Trembling with the force of a passion he found it impossible to resist, he walked to his mountain home, and threw himself upon his couch. He was exhausted with sleepless nights, and in a short time he fell into a deep slumber. And a calm stole over his troubled soul, for his dreams were of love!

      CHAPTER VIII

      THE INTERVIEW IN THE PRISON

      "Arise, Gautran."

      At this command Gautran rose slowly from the floor of his prison-cell, upon which he had been lying at full length, and shaking himself like a dog, stood before the gaoler.

      "Can't you let me alone?" he asked, in a coarse, savage voice.

      "Scum of the gutter!" replied the gaoler. "Speak civilly while you have the power, and be thankful your tongue is not dragged out by the roots."

      "You would do it if you dared."

      "Ay-and a thousand honest men would rejoice to help me."

      "Is it to tell me this you disturbed me?"

      "No, murderer!"

      "What do you want of me?"

      The gaoler laughed at him in mockery. "You look more like beast than man."

      "That's how I've been treated," growled Gautran.

      "Better than you deserve. So, you have influential friends, it seems."

      "Have I?" with a venomous flash at the taunt.

      "One will be here to see you directly."

      "Let him keep from me. I care to see no one."

      "That may be, but the choice is not yours. This gentleman is not to be denied."

      "A gentleman, eh?" exclaimed Gautran, with some slight show of interest.

      "Yes, a gentleman."

      "Who is he, and what is his business with me?"

      "He is a great lawyer, who has sent murderers to their doom-"

      "Ah!" and Gautran drew a long vindictive breath through closed teeth.

      "And has set some free, I've heard."

      "Is he going to do that for me?" asked Gautran, and a light of fierce hope shone in his eyes.

      "He will earn Heaven's curse if he does, and man's as well. Here he is. Silence."

      The door was opened, and the Advocate entered the cell.

      "This is Gautran?" he asked of the gaoler.

      "This is he," replied the gaoler.

      "Leave me alone with him."

      "It is against my orders, sir."

      "Here is your authority."

      He handed to the gaoler a paper, which gave him permission to hold free and uninterrupted converse with Gautran, accused of the murder of Madeline the flower-girl. The interview not to last longer than an hour.

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