The Trail of 98 (47 page)

"I hear."

"I laid my plans. For three months I've tried to conquer her, to win her
love, to take her from you. She was truer to you than I had bargained for; I
must give her credit for that. She made a good fight, but I think I have
triumphed. To-night she came to my room at my invitation."

"Well?"

"Well. You got a note.
Now, I wrote that note.
I planned this scene,
this discovery. I planned it so that your eyes would be opened, so that you
would see what she was, so that you would cast her from youunfaithful, a
wanton, a"

"Hold on there," I broke in; "brother of mine or no, I won't hear you call
her those names; no, not if she were ten times as unfaithful. You won't, I say.
I'll choke the words in your throat. I'll kill
you, if you utter a word against her. Oh, what have
you done?"

"What have I done! Try to be calm, man. What have I done? Well, this is what
I've done, and it's the lucky day for you I've done it. I've saved you from
shame; I've freed you from sin; I've shown you the baseness of this girl."

He rose to his feet.

"Oh, my brother, I've stolen from you your mistress; that's what I've
done."

"Oh, no, you haven't," I groaned. "God forgive you, Garry; God forgive you!
She's not mynot what you think. She's my
wife
!"

I thought that he would faint. His face went white as paper and he shrank
back. He gazed at me with wild, straining eyes.

"God forgive me! Oh, why didn't you tell me, boy? Why didn't you tell
me?"

In his voice there was a note more poignant than a sob.

"You should have trusted me," he went on. "You should have told me. When were
you married?"

"Just a month ago. I was keeping it as a surprise for you. I was waiting till
you said you liked and thought well of her. Oh, I thought you would be pleased
and glad, and I was treasuring it up to tell you."

"This is terrible, terrible!"

His voice was choked with agony. On her chair, Berna drooped wearily. Her
wide, staring eyes were fixed on the floor in pitiful perplexity.

"Yes, it's terrible enough. We were so happy. We lived so joyously together.
Everything was perfect, a heaven for us both. And then you came, you with your
charm that would lure an angel from high heaven. You tried your power on my poor
little girl, the girl that never loved but me. And I trusted you, I tried to
make you and her friends. I
left you together. In my blind innocence I aided you in every
waya simple, loving fool. Oh, now I see!"

"Yes, yes, I know. Your words stab me. It's all true, true."

"You came like a serpent, a foul, crawling thing, to steal her from me, to
wrong me. She was loving, faithful, pure. You would have dragged her in the
mire. You"

"Stop, brother, stop, for Heaven's sake! You wrong me."

He held out his hand commandingly. A wonderful change had come over him. His
face had regained its calm. It was proud, stern.

"You must not think I would have been guilty of that," he said quietly. "I've
played a part I never thought to play; I've done a thing I never thought to have
dirtied my hands in the doing, and I'm sorry and ashamed for it. But I tell you,
Atholthat's all. As God's my witness, I've done you no wrong. Surely you don't
think me as low as that? Surely you don't believe that of me? I did what I did
for my very love for you, for your honour's sake. I asked her here that you
might see what she wasbut that's all, I swear it. She's been as safe as if in a
cage of steel."

"I know it," I said; "I know it. You don't need to tell me that. You brought
her here to expose her, to show me what a fool I was. It didn't matter how much
it hurt me, the more the better, anything to save the name. You would have
broken
my heart,
sacrificed me on the altar of your accursed pride. Oh, I can see plainly now!
There's a thousand years of prejudice and bigotry concentrated in you. Thank
God, I have a human heart!"

"I thought I was acting for the best!" he cried.

I laughed scornfully.

"I know itaccording to your lights. You asked her here that I might see what
she was. You tell me you have gained her love; you say she came here at your
bidding; you swear she would have been unfaithful to me. Well, I tell you,
brother of mine, in your teeth I tell you
I don't believe you!
"

Suddenly the little, drooping figure on the chair had raised itself; the
white, woe-begone face with the wide, staring eyes was turned towards me; the
pitiful look had gone, and in its stead was one of wild, unspeakable joy.

"It's all right, Berna," I said; "I don't believe him, and if a million
others were to say the same, if they were to thunder it in my ears down all
eternity, I would tell them they lied, they lied!"

A heaven-lit radiance was in the grey eyes. She made as if to come to me, but
she swayed, and I caught her in my arms.

"Don't be frightened, little girl. Give me your hand. See! I'll kiss it,
dear. Now, don't cry; don't, honey."

Her arms were around me. She clung to me ever so tightly.

"Garry," I said, "this is my wife. When I have
lost my belief in all else, I will believe in her.
You have made us both suffer. As for what you've saidyou're mistaken. She's a
good, good girl. I will not believe that by thought, word or deed she has been
untrue to me. She will explain everything. Now, good-bye. Come, Berna."

Suddenly she stopped me. Her hand was on my arm, and she turned towards
Garry. She held herself as proudly as a queen.

"I want to explain now," she said, "before you both."

She pulled from her bosom a little crumpled note, and handed it to me. Then,
as I read it, a great light burst on me. Here it was:

"I got it two days ago," she said. "Oh, I've been distracted with fear. I did
not like to show it to you. I've brought you nothing but trouble, and I've never
spoken of him, never once. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, little girl, I understand."

"I wanted to save you, no matter at what cost.
To-night I tried to prevent you going out there, for
I feared you might meet him. I knew he was very near. Then, when you had gone,
my fear grew and grew. There I sat, thinking over everything. Oh, if I only had
a friend, I thought; some one to help me. Then, as I sat, dazed, distracted, the
'phone rang. It was your brother."

"Yes, go on, dear."

"He told me he wanted to see me; he begged me to come at once. I thought of
you, of your danger, of some terrible mishap. I was terrified. I went."

She paused a moment, as if the recital was infinitely painful to her, then
she went on.

"I found my way to his room. My mind was full of you, of that man, of how to
save you. I did not think of myself, of my position. At first I was too agitated
to speak. He bade me sit down, compose myself. His manner was quiet, grave.
Again I feared for you. He asked me to excuse him for a moment, and left the
room. He seemed to be gone an age, while I sat there, trying to fight down my
terror. The suspense was killing me. Then he came back. He closed and locked the
door. All at once I heard a step outside, a knock. 'Hush! go in there,' he said.
He opened the door. I heard him speaking to some one. I waited, then you burst
in on me. You know the rest."

"Yes, yes."

"As for your brother, I've tried, oh, so hard, to be nice to him for your
sake. I liked him; I wanted
to be to him as a sister, but never an unfaithful thought has
entered my head, never a wrong feeling sullied my heart. I've been true to you.
You told me once of a love that gives all and asks for nothing; a love that
would turn its back on friends and kindred for the sake of its beloved. You
said: 'His smile will be your rapture, his frown your anguish. For him will you
dare all, bear all. To him will you cling in sorrow, suffering and poverty.
Living, you would follow him round the world; dying, you would desire but
him.'Well, I think I love you like that."

"Oh, my dear, my dear!"

"I want to bring you happiness, but I only bring you trouble, sorrow.
Sometimes, for your sake, I wish we had never met."

She turned to Garry.

"As for you, you've done me a great wrong. I can never forget it. Will you go
now, and leave us in peace?"

His head was bent, so that I could not see his face.

"Can you not forgive?" he groaned.

She shook her head sadly. "No, I am afraid I can never forgive."

"Can I do nothing to atone?"

"No, I'm afraid your punishment must bethat you can do nothing."

He said never a word. She turned to me:

"Come, my husband, we will go."

I was opening the door to leave him forever. Suddenly
I heard a step coming up the stairs, a
heavy, hurried tread. I looked down a moment, then I pushed her back into the
room.

"Be prepared, Berna," I said quietly; "here comes Locasto."

There we waited, Garry and I, and between us Berna. We heard that heavy tread
come up, up the creaking stairway, stumble a moment, then pause on the landing.
There was something ominous, something pregnant in that pause. The steps halted,
wavered a little, then, inflexible as doom, on they came towards us. The next
instant the door was thrown open, and Locasto stood in the entrance.

Even in that brief moment I was struck by the change in him. He seemed to
have aged by twenty years. He was gaunt and lank as a starved timber wolf; his
face was hollow almost as a death's head; his hair was long and matted, and his
eyes burned with a strange, unnatural fire. In that dark, aquiline face the
Indian was never more strongly revealed. He limped, and I noticed his left hand
was gloved.

From under his bristling brows he glared at us. As he swayed there he minded
me of an evil beast, a savage creature, a mad, desperate thing. He reeled in the
doorway, and to steady himself put out his gloved hand. Then with a malignant
laugh, the fleering laugh of a fiend, he stepped into the room.

"So! Seems as if I'd lighted on a pretty nest of love-birds. Ho! ho! my
sweet! You're not satisfied with one lover, you must have two. Well, you
are going to be satisfied
with one from now on, and that's Jack Locasto. I've stood enough from you, you
white-faced jade. You've haunted me, you've put some kind of a spell on me.
You've lured me back to this land, and now I'm going to have you or die! You've
played with me long enough. The jig's up. Stand out from between those two.
Stand out, I say! March out of that door."

She only shrank back the farther.

"You won't come, curse you; you won't come, you milk-faced witch, with your
great eyes that bore holes in me, that turn my heart to fire, that make me mad.
You won't come. Stand back there, you two, and let the girl come."

We shielded her.

"Ha! that's ityou defy me. You won't let me get her. Well, it'll be all the
worse for her. I'll make her life a hell. I'll beat her. You won't stand back.
You, the dark onedon't I know you; haven't I hated you more than the devil
hates a saint; hated you worse than bitter poison? These three black years
you've balked me, you've kept her from me. Oh, I've itched to kill you times
without number, and I've spared you. But now it's my call. Stand back there,
stand back I say. Your time's come. Here's where I shoot."

His hand leapt up and I saw it gripped a revolver. He had me covered. His
face was contorted with devilish triumph, and I knew he meant to kill. At last,
at last my time had come. I saw his fingers twitching on the trigger, I gazed
into
the hollow horror
of that barrel. My heart turned to ice. I could not breathe. Oh, for a respite,
a momentUgh!... he pulled the trigger, and,
at the same instant, Garry
sprang at him
!

What had happened? The shot rang in my ears. I was still standing there. I
felt no wound. I felt no pain. Then, as I stared at my enemy, I heard a heavy
fall. Oh, God! there at my feet lay Garry, lay in a huddled, quivering heap, lay
on his face, and in his fair hair I saw a dark stain start and spread. Then, in
a moment, I realised what my brother had done.

I fell on my knees beside him.

"Garry, Garry!" I moaned. I heard Berna scream, and I saw that Locasto was
coming for me. He was a man no longer. He had killed. He was a brute, a fury, a
devil, mad with the lust of slaughter. With a snarl he dashed at me. Again I
thought he was going to shoot, but no! He raised the heavy revolver and brought
it crashing down on my head. I felt the blow fall, and with it my strength
seemed to shoot out of me. My legs were paralysed. I could not move. And, as I
lay there in a misty daze, he advanced on Berna.

There she stood at bay, a horror-stricken thing, weak, panting, desperate. I
saw him corner her. His hands were stretched out to clutch her; a moment more
and he would have her in his arms, a momentah! With a suddenness that was like
a flash she had raised the heavy reading-lamp and dashed it in his face.

I heard his shriek
of fear; I saw him fall as the thing crashed between his eyes; I saw the flames
spurt and leap. High in the air he rose, awful in his agony. He was in a shroud
of fire; he was in a pool of flame. He howled like a dog and fell over on the
bed.

Then suddenly the oil-soaked bedding caught. The curtains seemed to leap and
change into flame. As he rolled and roared in his agony, the blaze ran up the
walls, and caught the roof. Help, help! the room was afire, was burning up.
Fire! Fire!