Authors: Anna Katharine Green
The next letter was dated some months later. It is to Philemon:
DEAR PHILEMON:
The gloves are too small; besides, I never wear gloves. I hate
their restraint and do not feel there is any good reason for
hiding my hands, in this little country town where everyone knows
me. Why not give them to Hattie Weller? She likes such things,
while I have had my fill of finery. A girl whose one duty is to
care for a dying father has no room left in her heart for
vanities.
DEAR PHILEMON:
It is impossible. I have had my day of love and my heart is quite
dead. Show your magnanimity by ceasing to urge me any longer to
forget the past. It is all you can do for
AGATHA.
DEAR PHILEMON:
You WILL have my hand though I have told you that my heart does
not go with it. It is hard to understand such persistence, but if
you are satisfied to take a woman of my strength against her will,
then God have mercy upon you, for I will be your wife.
But do not ask me to go to Sutherlandtown. I will live here. And
do not expect to keep up your intimacy with the Zabels. There is
no tie of affection remaining between James and myself, but if I
am to shed that half-light over your home which is all I can
promise and all that you can hope to receive, then keep me from
all influence but your own. That this in time may grow sweet and
dear to me is my earnest prayer to-day, for you are worthy of a
true wife.
AGATHA.
DEAR JOHN:
I am going to be married. My father exacts it and there is no good
reason why I should not give him this final satisfaction. At least
I do not think there is; but if you or your brother differ from
me—
Say good-bye to James from me. I pray that his life may be
peaceful. I know that it will be honest.
AGATHA.
DEAR PHILEMON:
My father is worse. He fears that if we wait till Tuesday he will
not be able to see us married. Decide, then, what our duty is; I
am ready to abide by your pleasure.
AGATHA.
The following is from John Zabel to his brother James, and is
dated one day after the above:
DEAR JAMES:
When you read this I will be far away, never to look in your face
again, unless you bid me. Brother, brother, I meant it for the
best, but God was not with me and I have made four hearts
miserable without giving help to anyone.
When I read Agatha's letter—the last for more reasons than one
that I shall ever receive from her—I seemed to feel as never
before what I had done to blast your two lives. For the first time
I realised to the full that but for me she might have been happy
and you the respected husband of the one grand woman to be found
in Portchester. That I had loved her so fiercely myself came back
to me in reproach, and the thought that she perhaps suspected that
the blame had fallen where it was not deserved roused me to such a
pitch that I took the sudden and desperate resolution of telling
her the truth before she gave her hand to Philemon. Why the daily
sight of your misery should not have driven me before to this act,
I cannot tell. Some remnants of the old jealousy may have been
still festering in my heart; or the sense of the great distance
between your self-sacrificing spirit and the selfishness of my
weaker nature risen like a barrier between me and the only noble
act left for a man in my position. Whatever the cause, it was not
till to-day the full determination came to brave the obloquy of a
full confession; but when it did come I did not pause till I
reached Mr. Gilchrist's house and was ushered into his presence.
He was lying on the sitting-room lounge, looking very weak and
exhausted, while on one side of him stood Agatha and on the other
Philemon, both contemplating him with ill-concealed anxiety. I had
not expected to find Philemon there, and for a moment I suffered
the extreme agony of a man who has not measured the depth of the
plunge he is about to take; but the sight of Agatha trembling
under the shock of my unexpected presence restored me to myself
and gave me firmness to proceed. Advancing with a bow, I spoke
quickly the one word I had come there to say.
"Agatha, I have done you a great wrong and I am here to undo it.
For months I have felt driven to confession, but not till to-day
have I possessed the necessary courage. NOW, nothing shall hinder
me."
I said this because I saw in both Mr. Gilchrist and Philemon a
disposition to stop me where I was. Indeed Mr. Gilchrist had risen
on his elbow and Philemon was making that pleading gesture of his
which we know so well.
Agatha alone looked eager. "What is it?" she cried. "I have a
right to know." I went to the door, shut it, and stood with my
back against it, a figure of shame and despair; suddenly the
confession burst from me. "Agatha," said I, "why did you break
with my brother James? Because you thought him guilty of theft;
because you believed he took the five thousand dollars out of the
sum entrusted to him by Mr. Orr for your father. Agatha, it was
not James who did this it was I; and James knew it, and bore the
blame of my misdoing because he was always a loyal soul and took
account of my weakness and knew, alas! too well, that open shame
would kill me."
It was a weak plea and merited no reply. But the silence was so
dreadful and lasted so long that I felt first crushed and then
terrified. Raising my head, for I had not dared to look any of
them in the face, I cast one glance at the group before me and
dropped my head again, startled. Only one of the three was looking
at me, and that was Agatha. The others had their heads turned
aside, and I thought, or rather the passing fancy took me, that
they shrank from meeting her gaze with something of the same shame
and dread I myself felt. But she! Can I ever hope to make you
realise her look, or comprehend the pang of utter self-abasement
with which I succumbed before it? It was so terrible that I seemed
to hear her utter words, though I am sure she did not speak; and
with some wild idea of stemming the torrent of her reproaches, I
made an effort at explanation, and impetuously cried: "It was not
for my own good, Agatha, not for self altogether, I did this. I
too loved you, madly, despairingly, and, good brother as I seemed,
I was jealous of James and hoped to take his place in your regard
if I could show a greater prosperity and get for you those things
his limited prospects denied him. You enjoy money, beauty, ease; I
could see that by your letters, and if James could not give them
to you and I could—Oh, do not look at me like that! I see now
that millions could not have bought you."
"Despicable!" was all that came from her lips. At which I
shuddered and groped about for the handle of the door. But she
would not let me go. Subduing with an unexpected grand self-
restraint the emotions which had hitherto swelled too high in her
breast for either speech or action, she thrust out one arm to stay
me and said in short, commanding tones: "How was this thing done?
You say you took the money, yet it was James who was sent to
collect it—or so my father says." Here she tore her looks from me
and cast one glance at her father. What she saw I cannot say, but
her manner changed and henceforth she glanced his way as much as
mine and with nearly as much emotion. "I am waiting to hear what
you have to say," she exclaimed, laying her hand on the door over
my head so as to leave me no opportunity for escape. I bowed and
attempted an explanation.
"Agatha," said I, "the commission was given to James and he rode
to Sutherlandtown to perform it. But it was on the day when he was
accustomed to write to you, and he was not easy in his mind, for
he feared he would miss sending you his usual letter. When,
therefore, he came to the hotel and saw me in Philemon's room—I
was often there in those days, often without Philemon's knowing
it—he saw, or thought he did, a way out of his difficulties.
Entering where I was, he explained to me his errand, and we being
then—though never, alas! since—one in everything but the secret
hopes he enjoyed, he asked me if I would go in his stead to Mr.
Orr's room, present my credentials, and obtain the money while he
wrote the letter with which his mind was full. Though my jealousy
was aroused and I hated the letter he was about to write, I did
not see how I could refuse him; so after receiving such
credentials as he himself carried, and getting full instructions
how to proceed, I left him writing at Philemon's table and
hastened down the hall to the door he had pointed out. If
Providence had been on the side of guilt, the circumstances could
not have been more favourable for the deception I afterwards
played. No one was in the hall, no one was with Mr. Orr to note
that it was I instead of James who executed Mr. Gilchrist's
commission. But I was thinking of no deception then. I proceeded
quite innocently on my errand, and when the feeble voice of the
invalid bade me enter, I experienced nothing but a feeling of
compassion for a man dying in this desolate way, alone. Of course
Mr. Orr was surprised to see a stranger, but after reading Mr.
Gilchrist's letter which I handed him, he seemed quite satisfied
and himself drew out the wallet at the head of his bed and handed
it over. 'You will find,' said he, 'a memorandum inside of the
full amount, $7758.67. I should like to have returned Mr.
Gilchrist the full ten thousand which I owe him, but this is all I
possess, barring a hundred dollars which I have kept for my final
expenses.' 'Mr. Gilchrist will be satisfied,' I assured him.
'Shall I make you out a receipt?' He shook his head with a sad
smile. 'I shall be dead in twenty-four hours. What good will a
receipt do me?' But it seemed unbusinesslike not to give it, so I
went over to the table, where I saw a pen and paper, and
recognising the necessity of counting the money before writing a
receipt, I ran my eye over the bills, which were large, and found
the wallet contained just the amount he had named. Then I glanced
at the memorandum. It had evidently been made out by him at some
previous time, for the body of the writing was in firm characters
and the ink blue, while the figures were faintly inscribed in
muddy black. The 7 especially was little more than a straight
line, and as I looked at it the devil that is in every man's
nature whispered at first carelessly, then with deeper and deeper
insistence: 'How easy it would be to change that 7 to a 2! Only a
little mark at the top and the least additional stroke at the
bottom and these figures would stand for five thousand less. It
might be a temptation to some men.' It presently became a
temptation to me; for, glancing furtively up, I discovered that
Mr. Orr had fallen either into a sleep or into a condition of
insensibility which made him oblivious to my movements. Five
thousand dollars! just the sum of the ten five-hundred-dollar
bills that made the bulk of the amount I had counted. In this
village and at my age this sum would raise me at once to
comparative independence. The temptation was too strong for
resistance. I succumbed to it, and seizing the pen before me, I
made the fatal marks. When I went back to James the wallet was in
my hand, and the ten five-hundred-dollar bills in my breast
pocket."
Agatha had begun to shudder. She shook so she rattled the door
against which I leaned.
"And when you found that Providence was not so much upon your side
as you thought, when you saw that the fraud was known and that
your brother was suspected of it—"
"Don't!" I pleaded, "don't make me recall that hour!"
But she was inexorable. "Recall that and every hour," she
commanded. "Tell me why he sacrificed himself, why he sacrificed
me, to a cur—"
She feared her own tongue, she feared her own anger, and stopped.
"Speak," she whispered, and it was the most ghastly whisper that
ever left mortal lips. I was but a foot from her and she held me
as by a strong enchantment. I could not help obeying her.
"To make it all clear," I pursued, "I must go back to the time I
rejoined James in Philemon's room. He had finished his letter when
I entered and was standing with it, sealed, in his hand. I may
have cast it a disdainful glance. I may have shown that I was no
longer the same man I had been when I left him a half-hour before,
for he looked curiously at me for a moment previous to saying:
"'Is that the wallet you have there? Was Mr. Orr conscious, and
did he give it to you himself?' 'Mr. Orr was conscious,' I
returned,—and I didn't like the sound of my own voice, careful as
I was to speak naturally,—' but he fainted just before I came
out, and I think you had better ask the clerk as you go down to
send someone up to him.'
"James was weighing the pocket-book in his hand. 'How much do you
think there is in here? The debt was ten thousand.' I had turned
carelessly away and was looking out of the window. 'The memorandum
inside gives the figures as two thousand,' I declared. 'He
apologises for not sending the full amount. He hasn't it.' Again I
felt James looking at me. Why? Could he see that guilty wad of
bills lying on my breast? 'How came you to read the memorandum?'
he asked. 'Mr. Orr wished me to. I looked at it to please him.'
This was a lie—the first I had ever uttered. James's eyes had not
moved. 'John,' said he, 'this little bit of business seems to have
disturbed you. I ought to have attended to it myself. I am quite
sure I ought to have attended to it myself.' 'The man is dying,' I
muttered. 'You escaped a sad sight. Be satisfied that you have got
the money. Shall I post that letter for you?' He put it jealously
in his pocket, and again I saw him look at me, but he said nothing
more except that he repeated that same phrase, 'I ought to have
attended to it myself. Agatha might better have waited.' Then he
went out; but I remained till Philemon came home. My brother and
myself were no longer companions; a crime divided us,—a crime he
could not suspect, yet which made itself felt in both our hearts
and prepared him for the revelation made to him by Mr. Gilchrist
some weeks after. That night he came to Sutherlandtown, where I
was, and entered my bedroom—not in the fraternal way of the old
days, but as an elder enters the presence of a younger. 'John,' he
said, without any preamble or preparation, 'where are the five
thousand dollars you kept back from Mr. Gilchrist? The memorandum
said seven and you delivered to me only two.' There are death-
knells sounded in every life; those words sounded mine, or would
have if he had not immediately added: 'There! I knew you had no
stamina. I have taken your crime on myself, who am really to blame
for it, since I delegated my duty to another, and you will only
have to bear the disgrace of having James Zabel for a brother. In
exchange, give me the money; it shall be returned to-morrow. You
cannot have disposed of it already. After which, you, or rather I,
will be in the eyes of the world only a thief in intent, not in
fact.' Had he only stopped there!—but he went on: 'Agatha is lost
to me, John. In return, be to me the brother I always thought you
up to the unhappy day the sin of Achan came between us.'