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Les diagrammes suivants illu.?trent la mdthode. ; t 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 i ^^-iy ^-^y , 2-^l.rJ ' y/d ^ yo{^ 9 En ^ / r^ / y *-*^<.C.:^ A HOUSE OF TEARS BY EDMUND DOWNEY, Author o/ •• In Onb Town," Etch Etc' Emterio according to Act of the Parliament of Canada In the year Metbmnuid eiRht hundred and eighty-seven, by Wilmam Bsyci, ia tK ^SMlrflkS Minister of Agriculture. • ^fmum «■ tmm n WILLIAM BRYCBe \ .1 1 ii s< o • n I is ni P al ai a al •q > i * ••' '-^^ A HOUSE OF TEARS. CHAPTER I. Twelve years ago I bought a practice anc r€.-.:eci a • o :sc in a London suburb. I was then in my thirtieth year : con- sequently I am now forty-two. Most men, especially met -of my profession, are young at thirty years of age, but I was never a young man. At forty-two, not a very ad'^ancecl age, I am quite an old man. My face is haggard and m/ h•'<; • n cl.in<;ci»»iis f;i.-(i nation for one who ii.is m;n.k: a bi-.-^iness of' the hralin;^ ;irt. ,. I nicjitifin thcriC frets in ordof th;if if m.ty !)0 st r-n l am nol a practical man. In tin- acv-Dt'.nt I iivicnd ti">i.yi\c of Ralph Hrahazon's case I do not mean to deal with it as If Mr. Hrabazon were merely i'n intcrestin;; .Taf/fct t. 1 intci'i'l to treat of it rather as a student — no doubt a morbid siudciit — of human nature, than as a cut and dried incdico. Thouj^h it would perhaps be better I should in the course of my narrative keep in the ba( kj^round the record of my own thoughts, sensations, hopesand fears, of the struggles which unnerved irie, of everythiUj^ whicli concerns mySelf alone, still, 1 cannot resist the temptation of layin;^ bare the workaigs of my mind. At the same time I will endeavour to enter minutely into nothing which has not in some war ciircct or indirect bearing on the strange story of R.^lph Brabazon. Of the causes which led to my becoming an o;u ......: n spirit while I was a young man in years litt!o P'.M.'d be :i:::d. It will be sufficient for me to state that in n^y y^jtii I ii^
y one to be cither deceitful, weak, or plainly anxious to cut themsni ve;> idrift from A HOUSE OJ*' TJAA'S. cmc more quickly than the- had atlaciicd iheinsdvos to inc ; and by the time I was ti\ e-and-twenty I h;id inadr- up my .aiiind that 1 had better walk throu^jh life alone. No doubt 1 was chiefly to blame : strangers could not be expected to sympatliise with me. 1 was moody, reHective, .and — I suppose J must admit it — extremely slow. It did not then occur to me that it was myself and not the world who ■was to blame. My mind was of the passive order which .abhors me^^.tal strugj^le. Soon after I had shut my heart against the world the doors were rudoly thrown open, and with a mad passion 1 loved — ;»nd was spurned. Beyond this brief record of my early life there is nothing 4o be told which concerns the story I intend to relate. Nor -do,es what 1 have told actually concern it, but it will account ;fo3r the utter Joneliness of my life at the time when uiy Story begins. ;% iff [^■■■I CHAi TLK li. y.V home v.as a comfortable one. It was luXich ton Kr';r'r«r for btiucious, well -furnished rooms ; and not bcinjj dfiponclcnt ii^oii lay profcission for an income, I . as enabled to gr.itify my taste in this regard. The ho-ise had been occupied for many years by my predecessor, who had spent a lar^^camoimt of money upon it previous to transporting himself to the West Knd. Ordinary folk would have unhesitatingly called the situation cheerful. It was one of a dozen similar build- ings on a terrace facing the principal road irt a T.ondon suburb. The road was broad and had a bold'crescciit-hkr curve towards each end. At regular inler\als on tiie roiid were planted chestnut trees, clothed in waxen blos;,onis during the early summer. Kven the splendour of these treca^ itk bloom had no soothing effect upon mc. though I was- ordinarily an admirer of all that is beautifvil in nature. I always saw the chestnuts as 1 had first seen them in the flimter when I settled dgwa in my new house, standing with .4 ;/:/,";•/• MA r/;AA'S. S l^aunt b;ire bou;^hs, raindrops tricklinjj from tlic bnmchcs in dark slimy drops. Thus, from the hc;^nnnin'^% my house and its surroundinjjs had, unaccountably, a depressing; effect upon me. I was an utter stranger in the suburb, and I felt powerless to make new friends. The only dwellers in my liouse besides myself were my ancient Vousekceper and gook, Mrs. Chilcomb, and a housemaid — tie boy who at- tended the surgery bell and went errands for me did not sleep on the premises , It will be readily believed that with such a temperament as mine, my business— if I may employ such an unprofes- sional term— did not prosper. When I bought the practice from Doctor Stoker, an old friend of my father, it was worth about £ 1 ,000 a yean !t was not worth half that sum when ] had been a couple years in Doctor Stoker's house. Children seemed to like me, and I know I liked them ; but fathers f Londnn. 1 learned its area was about fiNe hi'iidied acres. This i^ark, from tny first occuiiaiion of l)r. Stoker's house, liaJ .'ilways possessed a stran,cce fascination for me. It was a \%eiid and desolate stretch of <;roimd, planted here and there with trees of .i^iant growth -ha;^,L';:ard-Ioolcin,'" she returned. She vviis about to leave llie rcvuv. vlren I ym-\] en bev, . "Just H moineiu, .Mrs. Ch.lcoinb,"' 1 '..nid. '" Yo;: ::vi-;- tioned when you came into tb.e !(H)]n thr-l Mr. llr.ib'.'"p. •)';,,, I returned to Redijost Ib.tise. lioo. did y«»u hear ilial.' Aly housekeeper's coinlenanre was .-a onee r: in-..bi!-.y .1 from a moody, uncomfui table pircJcr inif> a brcM'.i i (in- ;fidential suiiJe, 1 fell thai I ba/d .dl alon^.; ]!os.es..'.'d a v^.w : ;% ;a peripatetic ])udL;ei ((f ;jo: sip, in Mis. C'ir\'(anb. "Web, sir," sbic rcjiiied, "as yoii are i; H i en." • ' i .vo ask me— not th^Ci you cibcn do the Tk;;. ^r"l ;.';''■. - "t marketing just 4i whde bru'h, ;ind 1 sa\; .\ • leai 1 'h ; ■; .v.. a lumberinL;' along' the ioati. J coidu ;(.a.e<> ne' c'\c a.'- c •>, sir, when I^au ii -^top at ihc lodge gaie "i ! iv,] o:i\l ..•':.: e. Ab, sir, my poor o'd beaitwc v Ijad-' («> ui.e ii.;. 'i.. ;.- ,' s-my unfortunate son tool; it ir.to bis be.iu lo 'i,s: iuv ;•. s< That was before \(>v:\ Vw.v I.; re. sir." " Yes," 1 murnu:...;. *' W ell : " If.'.! had '; I ;r: ! Cbilcc^mb's iMigue, aad ll\ii i,i wo, id go n;i \\;";','v; she had torluicc^ me will'. ;i Icaig pe;.i-'. j) la;;, y *• ;;> .y "■ Well, S'r. {\'\c ci>a.( a :; li.i:; :i'e, 1 v' .1 • 1/ ; . •scat wai;. iU s a i^ii.ij".' t: •(■v iv .:r.a vs ;,.i'. :<...;•■.. ■.. :.: T2 A fri)rsr. or Tr..:/^S: What could Mrs. Ciiilcoiul) k.mw a!)out tlu; !<> Ic .' I: \onuircd to reflect. Kvideutly the good lady xi.c .sc.i \v!:;;t iii) thouj^hts were. ''And who should know ih:it lock better than my o\v;i &:T^ i\\Al spent nis^h on twenty years in the l()d;.^c in ti\e oid> squire's time.'' IJefore your time, sir,"' slic apolo;^cticaIiy added. At last I was roused into curiosity. ""Thciv you were Mr. P^rabazon's lodge-keeper ? ** I said. " That I was, sir, and a strange time I had of it. Dut t^Lat's neither here nor there now, sii". Well, I went over to the man — such a nice-looking, white-haired old gentleman, he might have been a retired officer almost — and I told him who J was, or rather who I had been long ag(),.bcfore your time, sir, and I offered to help him with the key, and after staring at me for a bit he allowed me to try m)' hand at the rusty lock. I opened it after a while, and a tough. job I had of it, sir ; but who should know that lock better than me ? " "And was Mr. Brabazon in the coach ?" I inquired. " I asked that question myself, sir ; but the old gentleman,. or footman or whatever he was, told me it was no bubinebs of mine. A testy old fellow, I'll be bound. But it must be him- self, the son I mean," she added after a pause, " for that light" — I shuddered as I thought of it— "came from the old squire's room, and I make bold to say that no one bat the son himself would dare to take liberties in that room." A HOUSF. OF TEAkS. 13 "What sort of a person was this old Mr. Ihabazon ? He is dead, I suppose ? " "Yes, sir. Died soon after he left Kn,:;land ; that will be thirty years come ne\t Christmas. As you ask me — not that you often do the like, sir- -I can tell you the old "Squire was a regular bad lot ; not that I ought to say the like, having eaten his bread for many a year." " Bad ! How do you mean ? Bad is such an elastic word, Mrs. Chilcomb," I said with a poor attempt — I knew it was a poor one — at a smile. " No words, elastic as you says or not, could tell how bad. They said," she went on, bending her head towards me and sinking her voice into a whisper," that he killed his poor wife ; and some even went farther — ^ " Farther ! " I cried in amazement. " " " Yes, sir, farther. I says it. He was in league with the devil himself, it is my own private belief." I laughed at Mrs. Chilcomb's impressiveness as she delivered herself of this absurd charge against the late Mr. Brabazon ; but I own, foolish as it may seem, her statement sent an uneasy shudder through my frame, and the influence of that strange yellow eye seemed for a while to reassert itself over my spirit. " I suppose you have often, met the present Mr. Brabazon ; when he was a boy, I mean?" I asked. " Never once," replied my housekeeper with emphasis. " Neither I nor any one that I know ever laid eyes on the young squire." u A rjOUSE OF TF.ARS. Ill "That is strange," I remarked. *' Did he not live at Red- post House?" , ^ " He did live there. At least, so I believe, sir : but never a one about the place except the old squire, to the best of my belief, eVer saw the present Mr. Bra.bazon so long as the family resided in the house." " That is an unlikely story, Mrs. Chilcomb. Think ncnv. Are you not forgetting ? " " Perhaps I am, perhaps I am," she murmured, folding her arms and leaning her head on one side in an attitude o^ thought. " No one, we used to say, but a young man, a kind of steward on the estate. And I believe," she added, lifting her head, " a gentleman like yourself — a doctor, I mean — a great friend of the dead Mr. Brabazon, used to be constantly in the house, and it was said he could tell a queer tale of the young one — of the whole ftimily, father and son, for the mother, poor young woman, died in childbirth." " You said a while ago she had been killed." *^ So I did, sb I did ; and so maybe it was. They brought it out childbirth, sir. Ah, there were dark deeds done in that house," continued the old lady, shaking her forcfini;cr in the direction of the window. " Dark deeds, dark deeds !" "You are somewhat vague," I observed. "What sort of dark deeds do you mean ? " " Oh, Doctor," she cried, " you must not ask me any more,. and indeed it is little I know only from hearsay, and hearsay isn't of much value, particularly after half a lifetime." w4 HOUSE OF TEARS. 15 It of pore» [irsay 1 was obliged to confess that I had been interesting myself in a good deal of foolish gossip ; and although Mrs. Chil- comb's rambling, incoherent account of the Brabazon family suddenly began to lose all interest for me, yet, strange a,i it may seem, every word of the conversation 1 had with her, and every sensation I experienced that Sunday evening ha4 photographed itself on my brain. •,V' y. CHAPTER IV. Vw For many months I tried to banish from my mind all thoughts of Redpost House. The light had never again appeared in the window facing my study. Often I had fear- fully looked for it across the dim shadows of the park, but it was never there. Strange rumours, brought to me chiefly by Mrs. Chilcomb, reached my ears occasionally about the owner of the house. He had, it was said, but two servants in that great, black dwelling — the man who had driven the coach the evening of Mr. Brabazon's return, and the elderly man whom Mrs. Chilcomb had aided in unlocking the lodge gate. The younger man did any shopping necessary. He was taciturn and gruff, but occasionally in a paroxysm of jealous temper he would inveigh against his fellow servant. The elderly man had it all his own way, said the younger man •, lorded it over the house as if it were his own, and waited ex- clusively on his master. The strangest part of the younger Setvant's story was that he had seldom seen his master's A HO USE. or TEARS. I? mb, use. ack of Irs. iThc kvas ous he iin ; ex- er r'9 face, and never once heard his \()ioe, and that Mr. Brabnzon remained in bed, or at all events was K>cked in his bedrn(.;,i, ■ all day. He was in the habit, the servant stated, of wandci- ing through the park alone at ni-^du, and sometimes did not return to the house until ds- n ; out the servant had ne\ er the courac^c to follow Mr. Brabazon ill his wanderings tlirt)u;^h the grounds. The general impression created in the neighbourhoml about tTie strange trio in Redpost House was that they were all more or less mad, and that Mr. Brabazon was a danger- ous lunatic in the charge of an imbecile keeper — the elderly servant. After I had heard that it was Mr. Brabazon's habit to induJge -in nightly rambles through the park, I often, through the soft summer nights, sat at my open study window- — the black paling surrounding the park formed the boundary of my -garden— endeavouring to catch a glimpse, however faint, of my mysterious neighbour; but I never saw anything resembling a human figure in the grounds. At last I concluded that the stories I had heard were idle gossip ; but sometimes the impression seized me that a dark figure was crouched behind the paling, waiting for an opportunity to pounce upon and destroy me. Then, trembling in every limb, T would hurriedly close my window and betake myself to one of the rooms in the front of the house ; and in a little while I would find myself laughing at my foolish fears, and comforting, my self with the thought that if Mr. lVrabaz wow.Icl a\ia! t' ';* neit',hb()iirh()()c! of the lena* o in \\!",iili in\ house ^loucl, I'le only portion of bis fn-or.niN l)v)i(iC!i(i !n tlvv(*Iliri;.; Ian:: vS. No doul)t my fears and the li'.eans !)y which I so'i'^ht iv> allav them were sillv in the e-itreme ; bu* I cannot toa stron<;iy iinpresb upon the sympathetic reader — if I e\er (jml a sympathetic reader- the dangerously morbid con litit)n into which the "odd Doctor," as I had grown to be called in the fteighbourhood, had, almost without a struggle, allowed his- mental faculties to drift. CHAPTER V. About a twelvemonth after Mr. Brabazon's arrival at Redpost House I was compounding some prescriptions in my surgery one evening when the surgery bell was rung loudly. In a few moments I was informed that a man desired to see me. He gave no name. I told my boy, who announced the stranger, to show him in. I was in the habit of devoting two hours each evening — from seven until nine o'clock — to poor patients who paid what they could, or did not pay at all — ^just as they chose. The man who entered my surgery I judged at once to be a gentleman's servant. He had that peculiar air and gait, half arrogant, half servile, which belongs only to the better class domestic. Almost mechanically 1 was about to feel his pulse and examine his tongue, when he hastily, and in a gruff, unpleasant voice, exclaimed : " My master, Mr. Brabazon, wishes to see you at once." I started at the words, but man.iged to recover my composure immediately. C 2 Ill' ' w I 3a A ffor.^:-: or 7v a::x .III ' l''c!l, 1 I iv;!ic\\.:," replied M;, !>;•.. '» i/' I'-t '•'•\.:'r * ;• * f no di)!il>i now li,' -a:!.-) lIu; \o,in^ ui.in ol" w liihu 0.!. ;.. C.w.^ » .»j Ii.kI spijken ; ";in<.l ini',n\;.l iiis k-.i," " J'.rokc it, do \-()'.i inLM'.i?" I iiri'iiic'l. " Suppt^sc so. Don't Unow," um:.> the ;4ru'Viv*;> round at once. There was no coachliousc attaclicd to i\iy dwelling, and I kept my carriage in a nci;^'hboii!in_,' v.Kui. " We'd be at the house by the time your carriir^o w.ll be at the door," interposed Mr. lirabazon's servant. ■ " I was aware of this. A quarter of an hour I j'.ul^cd woi.l;!- take me on foot to Redpost House ; but I did ru>t like *'io idea of walking at night alone, or in company with Mr. Brabazon's servant, through that gloomy park. I s.iu t.ic man was inclined to exhibit further traces of impatience, so I instructed my messenger to tell my coachman to follow nic to the house ; and Mr. Brabazon's servant and I started o:i foot at once for Redpost House. In five minutes we had passed 'hrough the lodge gateway, and I was then for the first time inside the black palin.'; which bordered Redpost Park. I now experienced a sjusa- tion which, had I l)een asked by a patient to account for, I i^hould have attributed either to champagne or - })roba!;ly much to the annoyance of the patient — acidity oftlie stomach. My head swam ; my gait was unsteady. . I could see, though the night was dark, that the approach // /h '■:•(ist lldiisc w.i'.or at !t,a-t liail l»<<;n i>\rv,.i lno.ul winclinj^ caniaj^c \\a\. 1 he road \\a-< n w (ixctj^mowii w itli short j^rass, and ii was n\\]y the abscir-e of trees aiv.l sliiiMS that marked it as n toadwav. I be.2[an to speculate on the cause of my },'iddy sensations, and ere we had reached the house 1 made up my mind that they were produced by tlic mahiria-hke vapour which hovered over the park. VJipour of that kind always produces on me a simihir effect— a giddiness at once pleasant and painful ; but I had never been affected so strongly as upon this occasion. I seemed to be inhaling a strange, subtle, poisonous atmosphere. I mention this matter of my sensa- tions as I proceeded in silence (my companion was apparently .wrapped up in his gloomy self, and walked slightly in front of me with his hands clasped behind his back) through the park, because it afterwards appeared to myself not a little odd that I did not question my guide about his master, and endeavour to discover for myself if I were really on the eve of a visit to a lunatic — as Mr. Brabazon by common consent was adjudged in my neighbourhood. Turning a sharp angle of the road I stumbled over a rotten branch which lay across my path, and as I steadied myself I lifted my head and saw that I was now within a stone's throw of the house, and that no other light was visible except the yellow glare in one of the upper windows — that glare which had affected me so strangely about a twelvemonth previously. Quickening my steps I caught up with my guide 22 /J /rorsr- or r-iyiRS — coin}:;ini()n I could scarce!)' call liim — and asked him wi-.en h icl tlic accicicnt ciccuncd to Mr. ijiaba/on. A gruff " don't ' kiiow" was tlie only reply I ;^ot. Deforc I had time to put any further questions we were at the foot of the steps leaduig , |o the hall door. Together we mounted them, and Mr. l>ra- ,ba2on's servant, taking a key from his pocket, opened the ponderous door of Redpost House. The hall was in utter darkness, and I had almost begun to fear that I had been (di^cGyed into the housf for some occult purpose, when tlie servant struck a match, and lighting a lamp which lay on tlic hall table, beckoned me to follow him upstairs. Up six flights of broad stone stairs we toiled, and at la&t we reached a landing upon which three black panelled doors opened out. Knocking at one of these doors a quiet " Come in " reached my ears. The servant then stepped backward, and addressing me, said, " Go in, please," The room 1 entered had but one window, covered wii^^^ a pale yellow blind. This window was lozenge-shaped, an(t the lowermost part of it was not more than a couple of feet from the floor. l< was a sombre apartment. The furniture a^d draperies were all black. The floor was, of polished oak, and gleamed like a sheet of dark glass. A lamp was on the table near the window. These dt-tails rny eyes took in at a swift glance, and then I saw in a c(;nicr of the room an elderly white-haired man, whose bat k was towards me, leaning over a couch. He turned as .1 clused the door behind me, and in a gentle voice said. ;i A HOUSE or- TE.lh'S. n & a and of riie s of A ray ex of used " Doctor Emanuel, I presume ? " ' "Yes," I replied. " Where i:-; my patient ?" " Here," said the old man, pointin;,' to a couch on w'lich a figure was strapped down. Instantly I concluded that the surmises about Mr. Braba- xon's state of mind were correct. He was, then, not only mad, but dangerously mad. The old man perhaps guessed my thoughts, and, a trace of a smile overspreading his features, he observed, , " Mr. Brabazon is suffering from nothing but the result of his accident. He would insist on ignoring the fact that he can't walk, and he wanted to walk. He is very obstinate, so I was obliged to have resort to strong measures." I was about to speak when a voice from the couch — a thick, guttural voice, which seemed to have nothing human in it, tightened my already highly strung nerves. • '^ Ashcroft is quite right, Doctor. He always is quite right. See to my ankle, please. It bums like the pains 6f hell." I knelt down by the couch. As I did so Mr. Brabazon's eyes looked straight into mine with a hideous yellow glitter. In some unaccountable way they brought back to me the fearful creepy sensations I had experienced the first night I had seen the light staring into my study window. So un- nerved was I that my hands trembled violently as I en- deavoured to undo «the bandages which had been placed round my patient's ankle. A tremulous movement pervaded ■■■■! mmtm. 24. A //or/:;/: of tf.irs. Mr. r»riiiKizon's franio. lU- iniu-it, ot coui^e, have observed mj' a*;itation, and was cvidftiitl)' ciiuckirn;:;-. " Don't be afraid, iJ<)c1:oi ; 1 won't, in fact J can't, bile you." Mr. Ashcroft was now stondin^ at the head of the couch. A deep shadow crossed his face as Mr. Brabazon spoke. Then turning hici eyes tov/ards me he said in a cahn, soothing voice, " Please pay no attention to him. Doctor, the pain has upset him very much." " Ashcroft is right. He always is right. Don't mind me, Doctor,^ said Mr. Brabazon. Then I observed that my patient stretched out his hand, and Ashcroft knelt down beside the couch and stroked the palm tenderly. No bones ucre broken, I found; but the ankle had got an ugly twist. As there was no abr:asion of the skin I applied a strong liniment and bandaged afresh the injured foot. Then I caught my patient's outstretched har J, which Mr. Ashcroft gave I'.p to me as if he were relinquishing some sacred trust, and felt his pulse. Turning to Mr. Ashcroft \ said, " I will give Mr. Brabazon an opiate.'* At first the old man shook his head — in fact, he seemed to act the part of another physician, and a more accomplished one than myself. Then, after a pause, he said, " Very well, Doctor, if you think it best ; but let it be a \txy small dose. I know Mr. Brabazon's constitution. I \ J //v;r "/' or t/:.'^':s. ■w ill uliiilnistev the cl ose to liiiVi niN If whoii \'>)u ;i'"C 'j'ti: He is s(>ine\v!i;it nervous when stran n "ii' might rebel at my pr_c5 presence." Ml' I drauuht Yes," said the voice from the couch. on hi <« ^ cl. :n m xw.ir oft i.i ri' l.t. He always is right/' and the hand was ai;ain sirctclicd f(.rth in search of the old nian's hand. • " I'll call again intle morning," Isaid, rising to my feet. "Mr. Brabazon seems a little feverish, but the sprain is nothing to be alarmed about." J " It is only the pain," said Mr. Ashcroft confidently. " that makes him a little uneasy. You must nqt call in the moining, Do:tor. Call to-morrow evening at the same hour." " liut " I interposed. ■ , " Please don't ask me questions, Doctor," intcrrujjted the old man — his tone was such that I could not dream of taking •offence. "It must be to-morrow night, not to-morrow morning ; and thank you \'cry much for your proinjAnei^s and your kindnc.is." I found time now to make a swift examination of tny strange pat'ent and his compnnion. ic mo.it rtana: .caij'e tarn, about i*'lr. Ui-aliazon was tht expression o f tho se eves w liad nrst ;\cn me sue horrible sliock of repulsion. .As 1 gax.ccl at him row ihe -dark pupil.; wore for a moment illumined w'ih a laml.;ent :ir«\ and their expression was one of m'ngled su!,ering and -gratitude -gratitude, I suppose, for the ser\-ccs 1 had ff, .'? //f'CS/: rr T'- .:a\^'. i i ("( ;u'rn;d h',\n. It «tr;-'-'- iiuj laeiv ,\uh .-iiiiu: i; ./^ «,/ ;" r iinitnal in the expression of the ^^yc:, -so',vu.t').'.ii ;• ;;tM:-c 1 .'.t; • i'le wistful, grateful g^.ze of a dog than Vvu of a ]•,■■,•. ;.!.i being. lUit at the san\e time, tliere was nothing !x\;f:;i! a ihciv cxi)ression. The horrible ghirc and ghttcr ■\\h!cl) 'm I greeted me at mv first si'.^ht of him had vanished coniDlcte^v. Nor was there atight of madness in those weird w!ndo>.'.s of the soul : on the contrary, their himianity — I can find no better word — was, as he found my gaze fixed uj)on h'in. striking. To sum up, there were three distinct sets of e\- pressions in the eyes : the cat-like, serpent-like glitter, t'le dumb thankful dog-like stare, and the extraordinary inte'- lectual fire which lit them up, as in a soft voice he murmurr I somewhat indistinctly, " Thank you very much, Doctor ; wc"!I be better friends, I hope." For the rest, Mr. liraljazon -- whom I judged to be about my own age — was stran ,i'ly black; I can use no other word in describing him. His plentiful hair was jet black, his eyes black, his lips, cheeks,, and chin covered with a soft, black down which looked more like floss than hair. He was dressed in a tightly-fitting suit of black, and wore a black silk shirt and black silk stocking^i. It was with difficulty that I could get a glimpse of Mr. Ashcroft's countenance, but in moving across the room, as 1 was drawing on my gloves, the light from the lamp came fi 11 upon his face. If he was a servant in the ordinary sense (^f the word, he was a servant of a unique kind ; and at once i dismissed from my mind the notion that Mr. Ashcroft occu- A HOUSE OF TEARS. tr pied the position assig'ncd to him by idle goibip, th;u of h:i'f menial, half keeper. His features were refined wmX inui'.i- gent, and there was an impress of sad resignation on thenif as if he had lived his life in the companionhliip of one who sullered and was weak and whom he fondh' loved. It strucl. me at the time that the expression I noted was caused,, not by his enduring mental or physical trouble of his own,, but by his enduring it for the sake of some one else. The impression, hastily formed as it was, that sympathy lay at the root of Mr. Ashcroft's careworn expression was after years^ confirmed. His hair was of silvery whiteness,, and, hke Mr. Brabazon, he dressed in black, but there was not, as in Mr. Brabazon's case, any obtrusiveness in the sombre colour of his garments. His face was clean shaven, and on each cheek two small livid spots were visible. These spots looked in the light like cicatrices, and though they were of ■course a disfigurement, they did not distort his features nor detract from their natural serenity.. As I was about tO' leave the room — Mr. Ashcroft had his hand on the handle of the door— Mr. Brabazon, in that half indistinct voice of his, cried with startling eagerness, "Ashcroft ! what's that.? What noise is that outside ?" Mr. Ashcroft walked quickly across the room to the w indow. and putting one hand behind his ear stood for a moment ia a listening attitude. " Wheels " he said quietly. " Carriage wheels." A groan from the couch sent a thrill through me. Hi r.-:^ .■1 iforsr n!' ■;■ a:^^. \ i. ^ i.i , : ■u «>rclji-o;l my :':i-vi to i">'i.)w mo,' 1 !;:u hC'^i' .1 in tv... ; nuuijlc dT wheels. "You arc iiirc, Docior?" catn;:; in a ]>'.m)1'',o wa.i I: iK.) '•Quite su;-e no-.v," I answered, pjiMr.) ..-Vn ■ t'-2 \-.'v; ' w. " I recognise tlij rattle of my brou^,l;am ; it is; a soj:;. .:..:t rickety affi:iir." A sigh of intense relief burst from I\Ir. H:;^!););:on. I whispered to ? i v. Ashca)ft that he ou;^]il: to adr.'.'n'r-tcr l!iO opiate without further delay. With a reassuring; rmie !;.':; advanced to the door and opened it for me. Ou \])q ''aiul.r;;- I found tlie gruff creature who had summoned me to vAr. Brabazon, lamp in hand. He follo\\ ed me down the g" o tt stone stairs holding a lamp high over his h.ead. In a few moments 1 was seated in a corner of m\- brou^'Ii :m. CHAPTER VI. Barren of exciting incident as my first visit to Mr. Brabazon had been, every trifle connected with my short stay in the sombre room impressed itself vividly upon me, and through the long- nip-ht I lay awake pondering the words and actions of Mr. Brabazon and Mr. Ashcroft. I endeavoured fruitlessly to shut out the obtrusive vision of Mr. Brabazon's dark figure, of his changeful eyes sometimes hideously repellant, sometimes strangely fascinating, and to close my ears aga-nst his guttural indistinct utterances, his cry of alarm at the sound of the carriage wheels — the sound which had reached his ears long before it reached mine — and the sigh of intense relief as he learned the sound was caused by my rickety bro-jgham. Next evening and for many subsequent evenings I visited Rcdpost House. My patient still lay upon the couch, but the straps had been removed. Mr. Ashcroft was always there, .and we had many quiet, pleasant chats. I found Mr. Braba- zon and his companion were both men of l&rgQ and broad mm 30 r1 i( 'I: ' '/ /'.' i/:s. iiU':\r.;(n( :-. 'llii'v srcir.'Nl to !)e nv:-\ of the world who had r.aveiiecl n"n:r'!i, ic.i:l Tir.ic!!, :.ccn much, and observed closely. Tlic\ po >;c.si5cd sin;.';ulai"I\- few prejud'ccs, and Mr. Brabazon uas peculiarly intcresicd in what interested me most — the theory of medicine. In tlie dark mysteries of toxicolos;y he was quite an adept, and often astonished me with new and remarknl)le views of his own on poisons and their antidotes. " 1 hate your surgeons who slash and cut," he once said, with a visible shudder convulsing his long lithe frame, *' but the healing art has always been a pet study of mine." 1 observed once or twice that a gloomy shade fell across Mr. Ashcroft's face as Mr. Brabazon and I fought out some knotty problem in poisoning, and I also noticed he did not take any part in the conversation when medicine was the topic of the hour. One evening the conversation turning, as it often had before, on subtle poisons, Mr. Brabazon, with unusual energy and excitement in his voice and manner, said, "Tell me. Doctor, have you ever given miuh attention to snake bite ?" Arising as it did out of our previous converj^a- tion, the question was quite a natural one, and 1 Avoukl have replied with perfect ease had net 1 caught -si^^hi of the expression on Mr. Ashcroft's face —an expression of dismay and pain. I feared my good friend was suffering from .some acute spasm, and before r^'plying to Mr. Brabazon I turned to the elder man and asked if he was ailing. A quiet smile, but still a smile in which a latent fear lurked, stole into his lace^ and he said. A Housi-: or T/:.1/?:-. 3t "It is nothing. ]iut, Dr. IC.'.ianucl, I sDactinics iecl a kind of horror possess me when I hear such i.!catlly .subjects discussed in a cold, niattcr-of-fact ntanncr.' *' In that case, then," I observed, "let us dismiss the nhealthy subject." I turned to Mr. IJrabazon, but the eagerness and e.xcitement id not left him, and he said, " Oh ! Mr. Ashcroft is only a little nervous ; but we shall t harm him, Doctor, sliall we ? You were about to answer about snake poison. Mr. Ashcroft will not mind, I am The old man nodded to me as if he wished me to pay no attention to him, but to do as his master desired ; still I felt unwilling to answer Mr. Brabazon even then. The latter observing my hesitation, said, " Do humour me, Doctor ; it is a subject which interests me immensely. Have } ou had any practical experience in the matter of snake bite ? I mean, have you ever treated a person who has been bitten.?" Strangely enough I could answer this question in the affirmative. I had once treated a man who had been severely bitten by a most venomous reptile. Such accidents are most uncommon in England, I need scarcely say, and the case had naturally interested me very much at the time. So I replied to Mr. Brabazon's question : " Yes, oddly enough, I have helped to drag a fellow being -k to life who had been bitten by a cobra." 32 .■4 HOU-!: I' i t .. t RS. "Wlicre?" :vik-(l ni ■ \mv:A. " Ir !:ii;;i:iml ?" "Yes. At (ImJ limo 1 was .I'f.wlv'.l im ;» ;,'i-c':;i ]i(is]);t;il iti the ICast Mntl. .\ man was I.iroa.';!',!. in on:: day who harl been bitten at a phice in the nei-hljourhno',] wliere ihe\- ileal itv serpents." "And does such a phice exist slill?" ashed Mr. Brabn/()i-\ eaeerlv. " Yes. They traffic in cverylhinj,^ four-footed, tun-fooied, and no-footed — from an elephaat to an adder." "But your case, Doctor. Tell me what the symptoms were." "The mar. had been bitten in the arm. When I saw him first he was excessively restless and j'iddv and C(»r.ld Mot stand steadily, but moved about as if he were drunk. Mis pulse was slow, feeble and irregular, and he breathed like i)ne suffering from a distressing asthma. 1 remember the case well, for it was a most unusual one." " - "Well, what did you do for him?" "While I was being informed of the cause of the wound he became convulsive. I did not hesitate, but sucked ilie venom from the wound, cautcris-cd it, and tied a li.''at;i'e about it. Then I injected ammonia into his arm litcre is no need to trouble you with details as to tlie qviasiMt) or quality — and he was able to tell me almost imnic:l:;!t:;]y that he felt relief. 1 continued injecting hirge (juaatities of ammonia at intervals until 1 liatl reduced tlie con\;.l 'ons to a gentle spasm. Eventually he went av.\i\ cured. iJiit t'.r I'Alt A H' USt: OF Tf ? V.9. It was fortunate; he 1im! been. br();i,:;!u to i!;r 1m p'',;! ^^ qui(.kly. Not more ih;in a t(":;(ilei" of ;iri ho-T had v.\>'.\. I from tlie time ho received liic bite uiibl 1 haJ c(Jii;.,-,Gn:.. X to treat him." "Then is ammonia injection the reco^;^is:";l tve:itrv:''^i t;r snake bite ?" " It is, perhaps, the best treatment known, but I slionld Pot like to answer for its cflicacy in every c;ise. !'ermang-an:!to ^f potash has been rccommientled, l)ut I liave little faith in It. In fact 1 should not liko to ariswer for the efficacy of aiy antidt)te in a bad case and with, a weakly constitution. .M v patient happened to be of singularly powerful build, and 1 saw him very soon after his accident. I learned afrcrwiirc^s that one of his companions lK.d sucked the W' und almo.-i immediately after he hiul been bitten, and l::ul pcrforr.icd .i rough kind of cauterisation by inserting a hot needle info each of the punctures, so that I could not altogether take tre credit of ha\i ng cured him. But I am confident he would have died had a physician not scon ];:'i\ for there is no question some of ti. ; poison had ]XMnica;;;i his sy^tcjn." Mr. ])rabazon seemed to be jocatly ;ni(j-e;tcd \\\ \:V.a\ I had told him and he (pi-^stioncd ir.c Mill v.v>:q c"o: :'}• abo;;t the SNiiipioms of my patient and ti':c ].)(v;sib;!;t\' ff r:i':'n;M!r.;;- some ccrta'n anti^'ote for the sir;;t.'c po'cnn (»{ a. \ :. i''-. ous snake. 1 cmild not gi\e h.ini much inf;.; r.vi'on on file -'iut ]X)int, knowing, as I did, the componcni ]:.;;is of f-r.a c vliio;;! were still a maiter for depute an:! 1- .c .".n n(. I !> yt n )' sr or rv.irs. until the e.:.ict niitmi.' dTiIic poison ci» I'.d hj ;rs o.t.i lul t' :r tlisc()\cr\ of a [>e;fe('t am ilotJ rould iiui he ma'K'. lie :,ii:- prifcC'd \uv a liule b\- a.s .inj.; if 1 ha;l eser heard of irn.ci;! ,. c-i for snake b'te. 1 had hcaid of it, liut was r.l u,"r im l.i'el la doubt the oiVica' y of inoeiilation. " besides,'' 1 a:-t : " I mean \'.lu'n I bay like ordinary men that yon were \er) clexer"- -1 shook my head sadly — " and did not ;^Mve yourself fair i)Iay, and that you had no intimate friends. Is t!iat the case, Doctor?" he asked, not offensi\ely, but still with an ri 'is c':')'yv (■■;^ .he ii^ani ;::>iC(;c. iinti U-niv)!;; h s chcciv ri;;rnst li's ha-id, ii\".jrtcd his iiead. 'i" :.;c \\n:; sJjiice in C^v ri):<;n for a icw ;v ( Mil eijts, and then ?^i^. ihabazon, l;!s liands chispcd bS,\'.A 1 liis head, a.'.a'ai renewed the attack " Do you know," he said, " I have spoken as a friend to no man except Ashcroft for ever so many years. lie (ha not wait for an exclamation of surprise which vva i trcml)] n;4' on iay Hps, but went on, " And yet," with unutter;ibie sadness, *" i am fond of companions. There are times wlien I long lo go into the great world to be courted, feted, idohsed— i airi. immensely wealthy — and yet I cannot go." ' ; Mr. Ashcroft was visibly uneasy. He shifted his position, and, turning round, placed his left elbow on the mantelpiece. his left hand supporting his head, his right arm danglinj; by his side. " I can make no friends. I am a pariah. I had heard about you, Doctor, and I conceived for you a sudden liking. My impulses are quick, and often unaccoiiiu- •able. I have watched you many a night as you sat in the dark at your study window." " ^^ atched me," I interrupted in amazement. "From here?" " I protest, Mr. Brabazon. Emphatically I protest against this," cried Ashcroft with sudden energy. " Ashcroft, old fellow," said the master of the house, " you are always right, I know ; but can I have no otliev friend ? You will leave me one day." A HOUSE OF T/iAnS. •51 " Never," said the old nvxn, " till I d'.e." And then, bursting into tears, he knelt by the couch and clasped Mr. Brabazon's hand. "It is but natural I should c:,"o before him ; but I never thought of thai-— never once — till now. But not now, Doctor — not now. In pity's sake leavp me, leave U3 both. You v/ould thank me if you only knew — thank me from the bottom of your heart — for turning you away. But do not come here— pray do not come here again until/ land for you." To say that I was affected by the wild words of the silver- haired old man would be saying but little. A choking sensation in my throat prevented me from declaring how grieved I was to part with two people, comparative strangers though they were, who had in some mysterious manner wound themselves round my lonely heart. Stooping down I pressed Mr. Brabazon's hand, and then I pressed the hand of the elder man, and in silence I left the room. ,/ i It ' I'm ' CMAPPER VII. My intercourse with the dwellers in Redpost Koiise had effected a change in my mental condition. I was no longer so wrapped in myself and in moody introspection. The companionship of the two men had made me feel that it was absurd and inexcusable that I should without just cause allow myself to drift slowly but surely into a condition of helpless and hopeless misanthropy. My patients, sadly reduced in number as they were, soon discovered I was a little more cheerful, and that my disposition was not so morose . they had been inclined to believe. They accused themselves, wrongfully, of course, of having misjudged me, and by degrees I found my practice bcg;in to increase. This would not have affected me in any degree some months previously, but now that I was earnestly striving' to conquer my old self it did affect me, and made me re- double my energy in the attempt to shake off the iDurden of self-imposed despair which had lain so heavily upon my spirit for many years. A HOUSE 01- TEARS. 39 To lose the companionshi]) of Mr liiMbazoa ;ind Mr, Ash- croft I was unfeij.;ucclly sorry. For the former I had iDcgun to cherish a feehiii;" of real ajicclion, min^^lcd with pity, and not a Httle coloured bv a nivsterious kind of awe. Though he had, previous to the night he exhibited so much excite- ment, neither said nor done anythim/ ii\ my presence that would single him out from the ordinary run of men, still I had a conviction that there was some mystery, some strange, indefinable weirdness enveloping him ; a conviction which his own words had strengthened. For Mr. Ashcroft I enter- tained an affection of a less pronounced but no less decided kind. About him, too, there was something of weirdness, but it vvas a reflected weirdness. Without Mr. Brabazon he would, I judged, have been a benevolent, kind-hearted eld man of the most ordinary type. Even the intellectual fire within him would probably have grown cold — Mr. Brabazon always seemed to me to be the steel and Mr. Ashcroft the flint — had it not been for the companionship of his master. The use of the word " master " reminds me that I ought to have stated I was unable ever to discover what relations the two men held towards each other. That Mr. Ashcroft was Mr. Brabazon's equal from a social point of view I could not believe ; and yet the younger man deferred to the elder ahnost in everything. For ^ieveral months I received no communication from Red post House, except one short note from Mr. Ashcroft "dating about a week after the night on which I had been so 40 A HOV-E OF Tf'ARS. . abruptly dismissed. He ;n:rcly staled ihat Mr, Brabazon was once n\oxc, aiDle to \v;vk about his room as usual, and that the writer felt more stronyly than ever the unwisdom of mv renewing; mv visits to the house. Mr. Asbcroft's letter concluded with warm exprcssionsofo^ratitudc for the pleasure Doctor Emanuel's company liad given himself and Mr. Brabazon. September had come round, and the trees in Redpost Park were shedding their few withered leaves. The weather was cold for the month of September, but it was neither wet nor foggy. The air was clear and sharp, and had a bracing effect. For many years a terrible depression used ta seize hold of me with the fall of the leaf, but this September I enjoyed a greater buoyancy of spirits than I had known since my student days. One evening — it was about eight o'clock— I was sitting in my study, poring over a ponderous ledger, when a visitor was announced — a lady. She had neither given her name nor sent in her card. She said I was not acquainted with her, and she did not call upon me professionally. I desired my maid to show her into the stud\'. She was tall, and though she wore a long, loosely-fitting cloak, I could see that her figure was an uncommon!)' good one. Her veil was down as she entered the room. I lose and placed a chair for her. She sat down and lif;j]~je fixed her gaze upon me. That woman would do anything, dare anything, I thought. In a moment came a sudden change— a winning smile overspread her features, and a soft, pleasant light stole into lier eyes. That woman could twist most men round her finger was my hasty reflection. She read my thoughts easily. " Dr. Emanuel," she said, in a low, full voice of remark- . able sweetness ; " we shall be friends, I know ! " I bowed and said I hoped we should — lip homage, for I feared the woman, and felt quite ill at ease in her presence. " I have not given you my name, for you would not recog- nise it ; but it will be better, I suppose, that I should tell you who I am — necessary, in fact," she added with a smile. 1 bowed again and was silent. " My name is Madeline Viacava. I am a friend — or, per- haps, I should say, I was a friend, a very dear 1 lend -of Mr. Brabazon." "A friend of Mr. Brabaznn ! " I exclaimed in surprise. "Yes. Does it not seem strange ?" There was a slight trace of a foreign accent in her ^■oice. I had noticed it before, " You too arc a triend of Mr. Brabazon .?" /; /;..'.'?;/' rv 7" '.v.'^. " -.h ;.i" [:;:i :itancj w.l.i h ni i3 vc;ys;_, : I ^■l; '111 h;i\ f nor seen h'ni To:' i •I !n:h;: It IS a wondc'lLU t.i ax lo Ido a trxcnJ mI M;-. !>•'.:■•.'/ )'.i. It is a wonderful tiiin,^" cvca to have s!Joken to li' ,i/' s >;; obscrxccl. " I)c vou know that?" " Ves,he mentioned on one occasion that he liad no fiicnl ■-scarcely an acquaintance— but," 1 added hastily, "I do not think 1 am justified in discussing Mr. Brabazon witli a stranger." She laughed. * " You are wise ; it is well to be cautious ; but," with a dis- dainful curl of her lip, "you need not fear to discuss Mr. Brabazon with me. J. know his secret." " I know nothing of his secrets, if he has any," I inter- rupted. " Pray believe that," " Secret, I said." She spoke with sudden encn^y, ** There; is but one secret. But what a secret ! It is mar\ciious, stupendous, horrible," she went on, tapping her foot on the carpet. " If it were known, England would not hold him ; Europe would not hold him ; the world would not hold hir.-i. I hate him, I loathe him — and yet I have never spoken to him." The woman was mad. A moment ago she had stated she was a friend of Mr. Brabazon; now she declared she had never even spoken to him. "You are utterly mistaken," she went on more calmly, reading my thoughts. " I am as sane as you are, doctor ; A iiors/-: <)/■ /•/■■jaw. 45 though the thought of what 1 know, of wliat 1 roald Lcli> might fairly turn a mind less well-balanced lli.m iniuc. Voa have never been in Mr. Brabazon's presence alone?" ijhe asked ; "a Mr. Ashcroft was always with him^ was ho not?" " He was," I answered. It w:.s almost against my will I spoke, but I felt 1 was being carried along by this mysteriouB mad woman. ' • ^^ "You may thank heaven for that." Then laughing she continued, " I am, perhaps, too impetuous ; it is stupid of me ; I did not come here to say what I have just said. I want to ask a few questions, Doctor ; you will answer me I know." " How can I tell ? " " You will," she said with a ravishing smile. " Forget my wild words, Doctor." She rose and laid her hand on my arm. Her touch thrilled me ; I felt I was in the power of this woman ; utterly in her power. " You know more of Mr. Brabazon than any one else in the neighbourhood — in England, for the matter of that." " I told you I know little or nothing of him." " You know sufficient for me, I hope. Does he indulge in nightly prowls in the park ? " " I do not know ; my visits to him were paid at night time, and I have seen him in his room only. You have heard some gossip in the neighbourhood ? " " Gossip ! " she said, curling her lips ; " 1 have not been in the neighbourhood twenty-four hours. I want to see jVrr. 4-t A /-^^ f*.-»^ ,'\*' '^* -> r* .-• Tj;-ab:i7on. \ ;r:n not e-t. -:-!l:'»n;v.!v n^rvo-ri. !; :! I c 1;: 0U':l if I \m:''o ii'niC'l f.a Vv oc:h, i:' . 1., •■} n'onc in t'le [)ark. ! uov.l'i ■••rt;;)ei' i.'.e ;';'^ d':\- ! ■ hirli liacl iK-.m cn:t\c\v\\ tu nic hrl-ve my visitor t()-ni'.i,in h.-vil ntniiriiu' 1 tl.i- irrtli of -i>rli runio-.ir-,, now filled my excited min'l, anfl a blacl: iind Ii'dcour^ sroct re seemed to rise from the .sluidows in the [xiik, laintin;^ the air with noxious odours. Shuddering, I lifted my hand to draw dou n tlie window. Before my hand had grasped the frame the soimd of a pistol-shot resounded through the cool night air, and then a terrible cry burst on my listening ears and froze my very blood. ^ For an instant I was stupefied with horror, but a reaction set in quickly, and my blood began to course like liquid fire through my veins. I raised the window higher, drew myself to the outer sill, and dropped into the garden. In mad haste I ran down the garden, and climbed over the black paling of Redpost Park. I dropped safely at the other side of the high wooden fence, and stood still for a few moments panting from the recent and unusual exertion. I tried to catch some sound which would guide me to the spot where that terrible cry had come from : I could here nothing save the hoarse croaking of some frogs in a neighbouring pool. I could not remain long inactive. I judged that a bend in the carriage way could be soon reached by turning slightly to the left. Without further hesitation I ran swiftly forward in the direction of the carriage way, crashing through the rotten branches which at every step encumbered the moist £ li ihi ' I < 50 /f ///^<::vyv" (). ■> '," 7•.•:.^•^,^.^•. '/round. Tw'cc I L-l! hca.lloi-; ,•■, l.r.i pii I c. iLCli ;'i'.>. or ( y.w At la^t, afrer travcr in..'^ a di.:' hundred yard:, I reached the carr;a'-> \'.;!.\-, "n I .;.; ! .•!;";,'',- ! to take brcaih I tried to make up my uiip.d v/h^re my biepj should neM. ake nie to. Sliould i wander ;h!-o.r_,a t'.ie jxirk,, Eoarch e\ery spot, until I discovered — somethin^^.? Siioukl I go to the lodge, or should I fly forward to tlic lvou:se avcl. rouse the dwellers there ? As I stood- thus, undecided which way to turn, I thou^^ht 1' heard a groan to the right. Horror-stricken, I ran along- the- carriage way for some half a dozen yards, and turned a sudden curve in the roadway. In front of me, in the centre of the grass-grown road, lay the body of a woman — Madeline, my Madeline ! With a cry of anguish I rushed to her, and fell on my knees beside her. Blood was gushing from her moutli, and horrible convulsions were distorting her frame. Her eyes, glassy and restlecs, were dimly visible as I held my face cio^e to hers, but there was no speculation in the eyes. Hastily, and with a supreme effort to calm myself, I en- deavoured to discover the locality of the wound. She had, I surmised, fallen a victim to some mysterious vengeance : the pistol-shot had been the death-knell of her body, and - my delirium of love was upon me — of my soul. She lay on her right side as I reached her, but in her con- vulsive struggles she had twisted her body from my gr.isp- A HOl'SK OF TE.IRS. 5t and turned herself over on her left side. As I tried tu lii't her from the ground I .saw that blood was l; ichiin.: ;,'t)-,viy from her left wrist. Laying her body .'.^ gently ;is [.C';-.sir/;e on the ground, and endeavouring to check her struggles, I seized the wrist. I examined i.t closely with the liiilc light that the heavens afforded, and saw that some foreign snlj stance, which at the first glance looked like a white splinter, was imbedded in a small punctured wound. C:iutiou-,K I drew this splinter from the wound, and hokling it clobc to my eyes, I knew that my fingers grasped a viper's fan; ■ T JE 2, CHAPTER IX. t THREW myself on the ground beside' the strugglin;^ body of Madeline Viacava, and in a frenzy I toremy handkcrch.ef in half with my teeth and bound the strips tightly about her wrist above and below the wound. Then, with the energy of love and despair, I tried to suck the venom fvnn licr wrist, though the condition of Madeline's body showed me that such rough-and-ready treatment was of little awi'l. - I would willingly have given my life to save her ; but 1 saw p'ainly, excited as I was, that I was only losing time. The bite had been, judging by its effects, of su'ch a deadly nature that I feared no skill on earth could snatch her out of the jaws of deaih. Sti'l, what man could da I would do. I rose to my feet, hei writhing body clasped in my arms. The quickest way to reach my surgery would be to retrace my steps through the unspeakably hideous park. Tlie thought involuntarily rushed through, my burning brain that deadly danger to myself lay in the path I had recently fravcrsed, tha.t beneath those rotting branches writhing A HOUSE OF 7'EARS. S3 snakes crawled along- the ground ; but this thought I dismissed as quickly as it came. My progress through the park was necessarily slow, tor- turingly slow. It seemed as if I should never reach the dark paling which fringed my garden. But at last, panting and exhausted, I ^\as at the paling, my burden still in my arms, struggling, as it were, to fling itself from my embrace. I shouted loudly for help, and my cries brought the servants out. -r Then consciousness partly left me : I did not faint, but my limbs were leaden, and neither sounds nor sights appealed to my senses. And yet, as I was afterwards told, I carried Madeline's body myself into the surgery. When I laid her down the physical relief of parting from the dead weight of her body recalled my wandering senses. Gazing round the surgery as if the well-known room were some strange spot of earth, some haven of refuge which tempest-tossed I had suddenly and unexpectedly sighted, I tottered towards a chair and sank down upon it. Mrs. Chilcomb was at my side in a moment, holding a bottle of brandy in her hand. She poured out a strong dose into a tumbler, and as I swallowed tlie fiery liquor I felt that I could nerve myself to attend to my patient until some more trustworthy skill than ruine could be offered tc her. I sent at once for a neigh- bouring physician. Dr. Hallworthy, and then I approached Madeline's body. ^I wiped the blood from her face, and inade a fresh examination of the wound. i( I' 54 /I j/ousE OF 7-j:.irs. It w;-;;; 1i)oy'ir,(l (ivcsr'on a sn;ikc l/ic, and a bite of so deadly a nri(-;ie :]-:it I cvrAcX wcjX ■!-.:n:;'nc v. liat variety of ophidia could ha\ c aiiackcd Jicr. I had ir.et with so much success ill ni\- foi'i-ici- licalircnt of sr;;'j:c bite tliat I decided to pursue a siuiihir course oi irc-.i'.riient in Madeline's case. At the same time, I niu.st confess, I e: perienced scarcely a ray of hope. 1 had liule failh in tljc el'Iicacy of ammonia solution, especially in a case of such an extraordinarily aggravated k'nd. The blood had by this time ceased to flow from her mouth. From the nature of the flow, I surmised it had been caused by the rupture of some internal blood vessels, and the mysterious effect of the snake poison had either dried up the sources from which the blood had come or had radically altered the condition of the blood. A profuse salivation had set in ; she was frothing at the mouth, and the convulsions were every moment gaining strength. 1 had by this time cauterised the wound and injected the ammonia, and I was anxiously watching for some alteration in Madeline's symptoms, but my anxious eyes could not detect any change for tlie better. Dr. Hallworthy was not long in making his appearance. He was an old-fashioned gentleman with strong proclivities for surgical operation. He had been an army doctor, and had seen some service. Nothing afforded him more pure and sincere pleasure than a difflcult operation. He was brusque m his manner, and he wagged a caustic tongue, but w? J HJCrs/-: {)■'■■ Ti£AKS. 55 he was at heart the kiri!.'_:-,l ar.d Wivsl ;;..rMCi(v.;s i.C men. Yet he was a pcriecL Nero a\ 3i:n';crv ; li'.s ;in!"o:;.;jii\i (.kni;^,liL at the prospect of eritlinrj a'.v'iy a tumour or SiLA'ii;.; o\i a le^; was somcthini^ ti,^- sec — and iur;;et. When he ejUC'cd the suirevy iio must l)a\o Jec.ned aie mad — I looked wik'lv insane, I have no doubt -but when I told him what ihe |iaticat was suffering from he evidently considered me niore mad tlian ever. But there was no denying the unim.pcac>»able testimony of the fang, and with eager curiosity he turned his attention at once to the writhing woman. I told him what I had done, and he said he could not suggest any other treatment. In fact, he confessed the case was one altogether outside his ken. However, he thought it could be no harm, considering the short time that had 'Hpsed since the poison had entered the wound, to try what effect the cutting away of the part surrounding the wound would have. The poison, he argued, could not have travelled far, the ligatures had been applied so shortly after the accident had occurred. The folly of his suggestion was quite patent to me, for such symptoms as Madeline Viacava exhibited could only be produced by the permeation of the poison through her whole system. While I was deliberating with myself what way I could put my yiews before Dr. Hallworthy without causing him gross offence I saw the flash of a knife. I could not for the life of me stay his hand or move my tongue. 5^ A HOUSE OF rJCARS. With a slowly uttered imjiressive "Steady" to me I saw the knife imbedded in her wrist. She uttered a shriek, a conscious shriek — the first conscious sound which had escaped fron. her lips since I had found her lying in Redpost Park. ^ Dr. Hallworthy suddenly desisted from the operation, and turning to me said in a quiet tone, • " It is too late. It is all over/' CHAPTER X. A GOOD deal of what this chapter relates is written fn n hearsay, and on that account may not be regarded by somo as evidence worthy of credence However, I will relate only what I believe to be true ; and I jin ~.elf consider the follow- ing portion of my narrative to be as tiii'^tworthy as if it were the rclciiion of my personal experience and observation. I do not intend lo give any minute re^ ord of my impressions-^ strong as some of them were, and deeply as one bit into my soul — which the various e\'cnls made u|:on me at the time. For many days af'",er M;id;?i;ne Viacava's death I lay in a kind of stupor from wlvch iioihing could rouse me. These •days are a perfect bum!, in my existence. A post mortem was beUl on her body, and there was no longer any doubt that she had actually died of tic bite of a "venomous, a deadly venomous, reptile. That a reptile possessed of such terrible powers could exist in Rcdpcst Park was - scarcely credited, but the incontestable f".<:t ^remained that Madeline had been bitten to death by one cP 'J'pc .:i'i-;;..J! was ;''i'ovrii::a !(<;■ my c\ .(..luicc. ./i\ ;:licr ;i « i'oi\n' ;'i; , \»"ij;i ! '■.■:is .vo!c !•> s.t i;;* a,'i:.l c.ni\\:i;iw, pr. ti;i.i- N^uiiii} i-iL'L-.cLa It wouici t;i:;i.' a lon^^ iiii;c' to rci^tovc ino i'> health, and fcarin;.;' e.\ciicir,cnt vn';.;;it rar.'.-c ;i relap'-X' .hc ccrtilied th:ii lor an 'iHlcriniic •od it wouUl be usclc'is to CNpect my i)iesence at the inquest. Thu/eforc iny deposi- tions were taken. I could, of course, shed no new hght on the tragedy. I could only repeat what the reader has already been told. The pistol shot was easily accounted for. The dead woman had no doubt seen the reptile before it attacked her, and had fired at it. The pistol was found near the spot where I liad found her in her last agonies. It was an old-fashioned pistol of foreign manufacture, and had " A. V." engraved upon it. Documents which were found in her pocket established the fact that the pistol belonged to her husband, who seemed to lead a wandering life on tne Continent. * The authorities deemed it necessary to have Mr. Brabazon examined, but he was certified to be incapable of making even a deposition. Dr. Hallworthy and another physician gave this certificate, and though they were satisfied he was unable to leave his bed — they found him confined to bed — they could not discover what ailed him. The owner of Red- post House lay in a torpor all day — a stupor like that which 1 had experienced after Madeline's death. Thrice had the doctors entered Redpost House, armed with official authority, and thrice had they left the chamber of Mr, ,•/ IDl'^n c>/'' y /.v-.' 59 Red- ivhich Id the icial Mr. Brabazon bufficd in llu;ii tr.d', ii. oir. ." <.J ■'. wA- ;..'.Li.;j of his aihnCiit. - Dr. Haliv.oriliy :;r:er\v;u\ls iiif. ^rmcJi w-.c ;I.:i(. ir.c ;::.;, :;; illa- tion was a siijjcriical one. A';. i>i. .':,■■ 7.. n www \ak s!.,i.;i:,i ;:/;;•, of that the)' wc.o <:()v•.\'^\L■cl^ : Lut ll.o}- h;;.l u.!;Ln .Mr. Aslicroft's word for ;'. ^^o-icl dc:i!. Mr. Ashcroft \\;i:- ihen sub-) i:r.iieci to the ■n';'.'cr.t, \y\\'A \\ bad been twice adjourned ; but li's evidenex' \\;\s <.V\'hi;.'d char. e. • i le had occasional inierxals of soinuii'^cv.s, bi.t lolr.jsi hc.i'iii iic had never cnjo}"ed. In one of clie^ii travelling abroad, and i)ad vnei will; iho hni i;\.l of lie uci c\e in the e\;s;<.;;.c .f ■. (:iM.anv.s rej,>tiles in Rec.;-•..^^l Pajk, \y\\ r\!i. l.;aia. -ta. hew:.;. .-;.:. c, N^'OUid be ;,'l<\d if .he auJn.v.i .cs \'.o;.d(.; i. :...'-• ;..'j .;,...:.(.;;' :'. o their hanvlj, anv -jCC.Uiai li K'[:i. .e Th.s was ihj g..;^ dl • "V ' .• shcvoh";-' !C-.'. aniinaiion and Oii.»i.:n-i ■... i^ na-;''n h'c v. a:; :■: !.:j'.cieLi to j.;..' 1 was loid, a du^j i. h ct K\\.ou i;hu, a"c he .<.!is-.t;cd, t; c quesiion- V).\ n» h.::. i^. a ','..:..\..j. \.i. ^h c.JL.l'e;; a ^/hnI v.^al r.o I of sviv.]):i:'i>' lov 1'.' 11 :i'-i(l for {]\v p;'.''( nl wIk.: '• 'Tc !^■!(l liC-en',' !t now ;i])pc;u-ccl, ;ilui«)st \.\\\ \\nhvi\V'cn rliain of Ijoel'') unsoundness. The ne\vsi)ai;crs wei'C fjllcrl witli accit'.ints of ilic c ;tra- ordinary tnv^cdy, and the history of !\(\l]>ost T'ark for ha'f a century was by dej^rccs laid bare to the public. I cannot offer here the various dishes of horrors which were from tii-.ir to time set before a pubHc which ever craves for horrible diet in print, and seems by feeding to grow more hungry, Mrs. Chilcomb was in great request at this time, and many other " oldest inhabitants " found themselves the subject of Unviable, or unenviable, notoriety. • The late owner of Redposu Park, by all accounts, had been a monster of iniquity. Time may mellow a marrs faults, but the mellowing process ceases when it becomes for some reason the fashion to rake up the dead bones of some forgotten scandal, A reaction then sets in. If Archibald Brabazon were all that rumour alleged him to have been, if he had committed, if he had even contemjilated, half tlie diabolical deeds which memories going back for half a century placed to his credit the only mystery to me was that the in- fernal spirits had not envied his powers, and carried him to Avernus in delirious wonder, ere the hands of the common iKingman had pinioned him. Of course the various stories which some of the newspapers gave to the world were laughed at by sensible folk ; but there is seldom smoke without fire, and it was ascertained beyond A /h'TSIC or r/iAA'S. <^i question that in many of ihc cliari,^cs la'd :iv;ainst the dead and j^onc owner of Kcdpost FarU tlicro \\.:s a ;-,ub:itraiiini (jf tnilh. Hiij elder brother had dis;j])pc-a!ed in ;in unaceountahic manner ; and Archibald had been arrcsttul on a charj^e ot' having murdered his wife,, but there had been no straight- forward evidence against him in either of thes'^ cases. It was also true that at one period of his career he had out of pure devilry let loose in the park a number of repnles, and the authorities being made aware of the fact had been obliged to seize upon the park and rid it of this horrible pestilence. But again, Archibald Brabazon had had the laugh against his accusers, for it was ascertained that every reptile had been harmless, its venom glands having been extracted. Then came stories of the mad, drunken doctor, who had been the constant and only male companion of Archibald Braba- zon, and who had, it appeared, hanged himself from one of the trees in the park. The ridiculous charges which were made against the pair of miscreants — miscreants they un- ,cloul)tedly were — Archibald Brabazon and Dr. Anthony Blet- soe, could only cause me to smile, though an uneasy shudder attended that smile. There is no occasion — it would help my narrative nothing to record here the various tales, one more horrible than the other, which were told of those two men long since sum- moned to the final tribunal. ' Some of them dwell vividly in my memory still, and some I have succeeded in banishing to the realms of oblivion. But though I have endeavoured to 62 A HOUSE Or ti:ars close upon these tlie doors of foi-.r 'Mlness, the doors will now and then open for iin instant, :in;l ;i feelid breiuli wiii rir: in the air until I sla;;ger as if T'C'i the .^ti•<•!.i of an iron hand. The fanij which I had extiactcd from Madeline Viacava's wound was the subject of much hc.ilcd controxersy. It wns beyond doubt a vipeinc fang, but no authoritative voire could decide what c' e naa'e of ' /^ c-i^inal owner was. All were agreed that the serpenLnnii. have been an uncomn'only large one, but the fat [; belonged to ro kr.own order of serpent. It was finally decided, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that a compromise \va^ arrived at — that the fang was one of abnormal growth and formation, some natural eccentricity. . Redpost Park was £Cou:cd from end to end, but nothing more venomous than a colony of toads was dis- covered. The surmises as to the whereabouts of the reptile which had bitten Madelin ' j .■) savagely were various. The general opinion wn? that it had escaped from the park after the tragedy. This idea naturally caused a good deal of uneasiness, and nervous folk in my suburb avoided the- lonely lanes and the few open spaces which still cxistevl in the neighbouihood. In the sc..:c]i for the reptile in Rcd]3ost Park onf^ dis^^overy was made which for a v.'hile diverted peoples mind-. fro!ii the mystery of Madeline Viacava's drat!). The skeleton (if a full- ^ rrousE OF tears. grown man was dim- ,„) .in, . ^ 7 ^ ' himself. There were nn '"' ^''^'^ '^''^"^ed .;-..-.,«.,z::-::: ;::;-■ '•.•--. almost cleft in twain .. f . "'' '" '^''^^^ '^ccn 'ha. Of Ralph B.aba^on 11 T ""' '"'"='°" -» A-hibaM,a„d .ha. h '.ttlS^ T" "^ "^ ^'^''olica. at length accounted fo "' "'^"PPearance had be« I ill m CHAPTER XI 1. 1 ■ ■ 'iA-.i About the middle of October I was able to leave the house, but I was still feeble and unfit for work. Dr. Hall- worthy advised me to go to some quiet south coast watering place and take a long holiday. I selected Broadstairs, and thither I went. The weather was now mild and bright. The months of September and October seemed to have changed pi.ices. There were no harsh winds, and no rain fell during the first fortnight of my stay at Broadstairs. I took apartments in the terrace facing the sea, and the freshness of the sea air, the brightnces of the atmosphere, the quiet of the sleepy little town — the whole change from the mad unrest of that awful night when I dragged her body through the park — revived me bodily and mentally. Whetlier the torpor in which I had so long lain had affected mc f)r not I am unair)le to deternnne satisfactorily, but I know that since my recovery from it a change had come over iny mental con- dition. Perhaps it was not so mrch a change as a distinct A inn^.[\ uh 'fj'.AnS. •^5 the [re, hni dy |KM- lot ice |)i\- ict .and emphasised continuation of the slate of mind isv.o which i had gradually.-dj.ift.cd since r.iy incctin:,;" \\\i\\ Mr. Brabazon. • . • I have mentioned the fact that 1 had succeeded in w (-rkin*^ myself otit of the slough oi dcs}X)ndency in wiiicl' I had grovelled— I caniaot say lived, when I look back upon it now — for many years. My miml had been growing daily more clear, and my distorted n^ntal xision had been imp'oving before the tragedy in Redpost Park had disturbed me ; Ijut -there was a lurking dimness ever present, an imcasy dread that I might at any moment totter/ into an abys^^ of despair from which nothing could rescue rnc. Now I seemed to see everything with an c) e as clear and healthy as man could desire ; there were no lurking sijadxjws in my path. This delightful change was all the mo.e wxniderful to me when I reflected how madly 1 had for one brief hour 1o\cd that strange woman, how the life went out oY my body wlu^n I heard that she was no more. I had loved her passionately ; I cherished her memory still ; but the loss did not make me hate mankind. I did not allow myself to brood too much over her tragic fate. She never, I now knew, could ha\e been anything but a memory to mc. I found some small grain of comfort in that reflection. I tried to banish from any mind the charges with which Mr. Ashcroft h.id attempted to blacken the character of the dead woman. I cannot say that I succeeded altou^eihcr in tlxis endeavour, for Mr. Ashcroft was a ma^i in whc:* i m ; 66 .4 irorsr or rr.iRS. countenance truili was r!carl_\- indoxc:!. I CDiilfionly p.cc 'U ff)r his statcniciu !>> supjioiin.;" lie h;i(l in sjn l^ecl M..ii.lc'.i;,f, that lie had Ijocn purj^tscly dcceixcd a'noiit licr coud .ct >\\' ,Mr. flraba/.on. It must be that .Mr. Braha/.on had \'.r()n;.',cd her husband crnelh and had endeavoured t(» sli'ft the bh.ine to other iihouldcrs. 1 hated hi)n when this thc)ii;iit cuic uppermost. And yet at tuK^s I could not dismiss from my memory the cold glitter, ahnosi cruel in its coldness, wlrch I had seen in her eyes when first she disclosed her face to me in the study. One afternoon dyring the third week of my stay in Piroad- stairs I went for a walk over the cliffs to Ramsgate. Return; nt^- to Broadstairs I felt a little tired, and when about a mile from the outskirts of the town I sat down on a grassy slope near the edge of the cliffs. The wind was blowing in from the sea, and the salt-laden air soothed and refreshed me. I felt a glow of health and contentment coursing through my veins as I sat and gazed at the heaving waters. I had been sitting in blissful peace for about half an hour when I observed that I was not alone. A shadow seemed to overhang me, and looking over my shoulder I saw a man seating himself on the slope behind me, a few yards distant 1 moved my body slowly until I almost faced the man. The motion had been almost involuntary : 1 could not tell wir.- I had mo\ed. Apparently the stranger was not taking anv notice of me. He sat with his head slightly averted as if he were looking for the approach of some one from Broad- A HOUSE OF TLA/^S. f? stairs. He was a dark-haiiecl, i:i()\\ci fully-built umii; wiilY a nose lon<^ and sharp in profile. He had a tirck, bia< '.; , moustache, and a cliin which receded \':sib!y but was la' remarkable sciuarcness. He was dressed in tiirhtly fitting:, well-made clothes, and he wore a soft brown hat slouched over his brows. A cigar was between his lips. There was omething of the foreigner in his appearance, but I judged him to be an Englishman who had travelled much. Suddenly he turned and looked straight at me. His eyes, dark and luminous eves, caught mine as I glanced swiftly a him, and, w-ith a spasmodic motion of the lips which disclosed a glistening set of white, even teeth, he said in a low, soft voice, " I think I am addressing Dr. Emanuel. Is it not so V^ Had a thunderbol fallen from the violet sky above I could not have been more astonished and alarmed. What could he know of me? W t could he want with me? I was not acquainted with any one in Broadstairs, and certainly this man was an utter stranger to me. Jlowevcr, I saw no reason why I should not answer his question. ^ "Yes, I am Ur. Emanuel," I said quietly, "You have the advantage of me ; I do not recognise you." " No," he said, blowing a whiff of smoke seaward, " v\e have never met until this evening." His nonchalance irritated me. Though there was nothing offensive m his 'vords there was a swaggering offence in his F 2 63 A f''.)( s":' or- /v;../a; '. o.fc and mar.ner. 1 rojld not liidc r,>\; iviM:;i 0:1, b<> 1 <'\-- ' ihvinieU IiiiiiHy and shai ply, " ^ j 'C: i:riif f om liare ^^ .:.« lii n;^ to sa>- to ire. ff t]..it is the c>i-:e, }oii had )j6ii«.i > <\ ii. v,i, cIn.v.. for 1 am about fcj retire '")r ikt cxeiv.nj^/' " Not so fa':t," he munnr.iecl. " Kvi iio fet, ('t\.r l^c eii r. Your presr;mption is tiu.^e eoiicet. i /lavf i5«i;icthii.h; to say- to you." J was not in the least alarmed now. I hadkarncr'';i lef.son " in the art of" commanding myself. My old ncr\<)r.; ncss, if it- did still exist, was dormant, but I was annoyed at tlie im- pudently aj(g»essive swagger of the man. *' Say it, please — at once." I uttered tfere words with distinct emphasis^ " I am in no hurr}-, I assure you. The niglit is very youn;.';^ scarcely born, in fact ; and I think slowly, Doctor ; theiefote my speech is slow. My nrviie is - at least,'' with a grin and another spasmodic movement of liis mouth-"* the name I am known by is Amoiuo- V'iacava. Signor Viacava, if you like that better."' 1 felt my heart palpitating wildly. I tried to speak, bat my tongue clave to my palate, her husband ! " I see," with a shrug of his shoulders, " that you are suri- prised, struck all-of-a-heap, as you would sa}?. Yes, Antonio' "Viacava is my name — at least my adopted name. I pass for an Italian— somewhat like your Mr. Weller.my knowledge of Italy and of Italians is extensive and peculiar— and yet I am an Englishman. You see," with anotl../ shrug of his. A irorsE OF t^:ars. ^ shoulders and .1 gesture of the liancls, " I ;i:w ciiivJ'd wi*!) you, Doctor. cn>arniin;^ly Canclid."' "So I perceive, liut," my xoicc was thick and unsteady, "** with what object, pray, do you seek me out ? " ''That will appear presently. There is no hurry. Doctor. I do not like to carry on conversations of a private nature in a room, or I should have done myself the honour of calling upon you to-day. You have an old proverb : * Stone wa'ls have ears^' there are no ears here but our own." • ' His words brought that unpleasant fact home to me suddenly. The cliffs were quite deserted. I did not offer to speak. I had nothing to say, and I knew Signer Viacava would detain me until he had explained himself. He went on in the same cold, measured tone, " Of course I sought you out* When one wishes to speak to a friend — permit me to call you a friend — he naturally seeks him out. I called at your house in the great city. You were not there. You were in Broadstairs, a good lady in- formed me — your housekeeper, no doubt. Therefore I am in Broadstairs. It is simple, is it not.?" He paused as if in expectation of a reply, so I answered him, " Quite simple from your point of view, no doubt. But why do you seek me out ? Do you wish to consult me professionally?" ' " In one sense, yes, and in one sense, no. I am, I trast, in per/ect health bodily, but, like Macbeth, I want you \9 :^ A I[(>''SIC OF TEARS. minisici lv> a min.! -pc!-luips I, should say a purse — diseased. No, no ; not ni u"lne;5S," iic went on, with a laugh, if that spasmodic action of the nioutli could be called a laugh ; *' I am as sane as yourself." An echo of ?^Iadeline V'iacava'^s words ! " I am troubled,"' he continued, '' about many things ; money for one, as I have already hinted, delicately hinted, I hope." I drew my purse promptly from my pocket. • Signer Viacava threw himself back and burst into loud laughter. . "Oh, dear no," he cried; "your little purse, Doctor^ cannot cure my ills. All the same I thank you very much. The impulse was generous — noble ; but my needs require the assistance of a modern Fortunatus. Thousands, my dear sir ; thousands, my dear sir ! " " Thousands !" I echoed in. surprise. " Yes ; but not of yours, Doctor." " Why, then, mention the fact that you needed money ? '*" ** Because through you I mean to obtain it." " Through me.''" "Yes; through you. Listen to me, Doctor. You need not be alarmed. I am not a professional mendicant. 1 am simply a gentleman slightly out at elbows. Metaphorically, of course," he added, with a laugh, caressing the sleeve of hi:> well-fitting coat. " I require a sum of money. Let us say ten or twenty thousand pounds. A friend of yours is A irocsi-: Oh /7:,i/:s. 7% ?'" rich. He must pay the suivi I bhall deckle upon demand inc^." - - " I do not see the loii^ical infeiciice." "No. Presently yon will. Be patient, dear Do-.tor." He flung' away his cic^'ar and proceeded to light another. He had by this moveJ — },dided would perhaps be a ridiculous word to apply to such a mass of flesh — along the cliff until he was close beside me. So imperceptible had been this movemen' on the part of Signor Viacava — at no time had I been able to convince myself that he was actually approaching more closely to me, or I should have instantly risen to my feet — that I felt powerless to protest agains his actions. There would be no object served now in exhibiting any traces, assumed or otherwisCj of fear ; and, after all, I had no reason to be alarmed, nor was I in reality alarmed. There was indeed no menace in his unimpas.sioned face * or in his somewhat languid gestures. 1 could only say that I did not like the man ; fear I did not experience. He could scarcely mean harm. It could not possibly serve any object of his, so far as I could imagine, to injure me. Was he not contemplating that I should assist him in some demand for money ? My assistance he ot course should not have if his demand was not just. I had not the slightest intention of converting myself into an agent for the levying of black mail. Had I been sitting in a room with Viacava, or in a place where people were moving to and fro, no question of alarm would have disturbed me. But the edge of the clifif A if )rsK or t:,a^:s. was iiist;i;i' oiil)- ;i fc-'.v \Mrd/. ; ;itv:i \\\.' were alone. And the si;;Iit of 111 Miis to ill dc;.\ls ii">i,;.it have some inllncnco over th(! .!> lions (>r \\\\ conipanioa. When I Vwk back now upon tl.i dioa:4":ils whicii coui-;.cd throu_^-h my brain as I found Si-'nor V'iacava siuin;; so uncoinforiably chise to mc, I fancy I was more anxious tlian I should like to have ad- mitted to myself to leain something" about the connection between his dead wife and Mr. Brabazoii ; and, as a corollarv, to obtain a chie to that mvsterv of Redpost Park. When Signor Viacava's cigar was alight he said, " Mr. IJrabazon is rich — enormously wealthy. I am temporarily poor — deucedly poor. I have a legitimate claim against him ; therefore there should be no need on his part for hesitation.'' " The inference assumes a more logical aspect now; but why tell me all this.-* Why not go to Mr. Braba/on and lay your claim before him. Why not write to him .»*" " It would be useless for me to endeavour to see Mr. Brabazon. I am not in a position to storm his fortress. He sees no one. He is a recluse of the most pronounced type." His glistening teeth again showed themsehes under the black moustache. " Yt>u arc the onh privileged being beyond his Mentor, Ashcroft. To write to him would be useless. The san\e Mentor examines his correspondence and would not perniit him to read my letters. Perhaps you now see wh)- 1 select you as my ambassador. Do you not } " The cool enVontery of the man was amazing ; but thcr*? A J/Ol S7: i)F '//.-./AW. 7.^ He ipe." lack his rrhe not iiy 1 icre "vvas an echo i)i his words i)f his wife's words whic h ^oftcncil my anijer, Pavryinj;- his question I said, " Suit-I) \ou could contrive to see Mr. Ci.dKi/.on without my aid ?" " What if 1 did not wish to sec him ? What if I should not care to stand in his presence c\cn, for thousands of pounds?" There was more encr<;y in his tone than he had previously allowed to creep into it. "You amaze me. lie is an ordinary human bein.i; amciiahlo to reikson," I said. " He is not a ravenous wolf secUin;,' w honi he may devour." " He is worse—he is somethin;,' more terrible I " said Signor Viacava, with that horrible opening' of tlie mouth followed by a short, quick snap of his »vhite teeth. I could only stare at him in he ildcnicnt. llis face was as impassive as e\er, but there was a ;,'leam in his dark eyes which made me feel distinctly uncomf(>rta))le, anrl I deter- mined to tr)^ and humour Si^^nor Viacava a little. " Might I ask how I am to ascertain if the claim you wi h to press upon Mr. Brabazon is a just one ? " "You may ask, of course,'" he replied politely, " !;ut I 'h dl require a moment's deliberation with myself h('f')re I firr.idc to answer your question."' He pulied at his cij/ar for a few momcn's, and with a movement which brought his body a little ( fo-.c-r to mine, he said : " I will ask yoji ?. que-tion. ! will put a case to \oij. Suppose a man were lo murder yo;ir wife. ou;^ht not that man to consider be was makin:^ a gcod bar;.'a'' -f 'h. ucrcavcd widow er consented tc take t surn of iiioiscy and b-j silcni. II- 1 H A II ou^ !•: OF r/:.\^^'^ W'oumI nol the Inii'.al of a Iiiin.'^nKin's i-(i;>e be dii chc.iij'i.U twenty tlioi'sand pouiuli lt> Mi". Draba/on ?" '• in (Ind's nanic wliai coniKctioii is tlicre between ban;,j- mcn":5 roi)cs aiul Mv. lliabazon ? "' *' A close connection, ii 1 choose to speak ! " • *' Vt)ii arc talking utter nonsense. Do you know what y<»i>r wife died of?'* " I know what killed my wife — who murdered my wife.' We were close to one another now. His hot breath was like a furnace blast. " Have you read the account o*" he inquest?** " I have read the account of the inquest.'* " And you talk of murder ? '* " And I talk of murder." " Are you aware that it was I — / — who found your wife in Redpost Park; I who discovered the viper's fang in her wrist ; I who tried with all my power to snatch her from the jaws of death ? " He laughed a coarse brutal laugh and said, " Yes — I am aware of it all. Your hypodermic injections of ammonia and the rest. You might as w ell have been injecting soapsuds. Look here, doctor, we must not mince matters any ' onger. Let my wife be. Will you do my will ? Will you place in Brabazon's hands a letter from me ?" ♦• I do r.'^t -mow. What if I decline ? " " This, by God ! " he yelled ; and the point of a glistening knife was placed against my breast, and one arm of Signor Viacava was wound tightly round my struj^iing body. CHAPTER XII. , I WAS almost paralysed with terror, not so much th»(.iip:h fear of the glistening knife, as from the suddenness of ilie « attack. However, 1 recovered myself in an incredibly short space of time, and looked fixedly into Signor Viacava's un- speculative eyes. Neither of us spoke. He held me, - hugged me — with his left arm, while his right hand clasped the knife which was pointed at my heart, ^o percepiiUle motion disturbed our bodies. His face had quickly resumed its impassive expression, and with a supreme effort to ron- trol myself I pondered what I should say or do. 1 felt I v-r^s dealing with a swaggerer and a coward, but I was no match physically for the man. However, I could lose nothing by delay. Every moment that went by travelled in mv favour, for there was a possibility that a stranger might arrive on the scene and disturb the plans of Signor Viacava. Possibly the same notion occurred to him as soon as it nccurred to me, for, scarcely opening his teeth, he hissed through them, " Quick, my friend. Your answer ? " - llMt .!::: iM'shcd n":yf3oir. '«.••'• •• "You fire Cool., 'p )ii "ny sr:..!." s lid \'';Ii -1\-.i. u'tli ,^ 'lo-i, rasping Jau^fh. "' I cIa! ''r>t i'.'N.* you cr'.:(l:t f^r '.o ii);:i'. . ■n,]- tiess. Bui volt aie tooli^ih," ho .ulclctl tjuickly. " i{" yci !l;j,'.- I am not in earnest you ixw. wocuily in'.rt.tl.^a. Nwni answer ? " "" "What if it is no?" " f have told \i>a. See," he cried, noddiii;^ tc. You are wrong. I am not a man to be despised ; but you are bra\e, 'pon my soul." A series of short quick laughs shook his big frame. '* Now that we are reconciled to each other 1 shall take the liberty of placing my letter in your care."^^ I rose to my feet, and with a visible tremor in my voice I observed : "We had best continue our conversation on foot. We can arrange the little that is to be arranged as we walk back to Broadstairs." I still felt a trifle giddy — an uncomfortable feeling, as if the cliffs palpitated, as if a slight shock of earthquake was disturbing them, was upon me ; but by the time Viacava had risen to his feet I had conquered in a great measure the unsteadiness in my gait, and I walked inland somewhat briskly. " I am not a rapid walker," said Viacava, as he quickly overtool: me. " A little more slowly, if you please. You are a wonderful man. Nerves ! Well, I'll back ' the odd Doctor' for nerves agamst the sturdiest old caimpaigner living." ' • ., ... It horrified me to reflect that I was treating the matter so coolly ; but I knew that my life hung upon my self-posses- sion. It is said that a nervous, timid being can in a moment of deadly peril often succeed in commanding a greater A flOi'S/-: OF TEARS. 79 .hat measure of self- possess! on than one \v!io is accustomed to clanger, and is naturally bra\'e. I fell the truth of that state- ment as T walked rapidly alonj,rside Signor Viacava. Another sensation 1 experienced was an intense desire to flinj^^ myself on the dastardly ruffian and tear his heart from his body, and had I been a stronger xTian physically, the impulse might have miastered me, and my hands might have been dyed with hk blood. Perhaps this is a strange statement to make. It may seem incredible that, roused as were my slumbering passions, I could restrain myself simply through fear of danger to my own body, I who had been so indifferent to danger but a few minutes previously. But I think I can account for the seem- ing incongruity. I believe my temperament to be on the surface a quiet one, but deep beneath that quiet surface there is a fire — sometimes slumbering, sometimes turbulent— which an extraordinary disturbance may bring to the surface. I take it that the average man who has been trained to live in peace with his fellow-man is made up — even that nations are made up — of similar materials. Sometimes the fire bursts through the veneer-like surface, and changes irretriev- ably the whole nature of the man, just as a tremendous eruption of the crust of mother earth changes the face of nature, swallows up great tracts of land, and raises new con- tinents where land had not been known previously. Some- times the crust is hard and the quickening fire fails to burst through, and rumbles along underneath, disturbing the sur- So A Hors/-: OF TK.:'"'^ face for a r.iDinenl, and thcii all i^ qit'ei .ind serene once more, and noLhin^i;' remains l)ut an unc;irf\ niemorj- of ihe dang'er. Sonictinies a safet)' valve exists a;id the (ire lind:-: a quiet 'ind easy outlet ; and though tb.c surface i^j not aliered out of recognition, there is an evei-prescni danger., the know- ledge that another volcano of de\ouring. uncontroUnljlc « flame is nigh at hand. Thus, to ni}- mind, are we like portions of the earth we inhabit, subject to the sai''iy in- fluences living as the dust into which we shall return when life is no longer with us. To some, as to favoured spois of earth, the fire never makes itself known. With some it lies so deep that they live their lives, if not in ignorance, at least in doubt of its existence. I judge myself to be possessed of that class of mental or- ganism — not by any means the most ordinary class,although at first thought it might seem to be so — which m times of unusual disturbance finds a safety valve in passion almost uncontroll- able. It would, perhaps, in a more youthful mind, and with similar disturbing forces, be wholly uncontrollaljle, but long- standing habii.s and the exercise of powerful restraints somci . /•- succeod in putting a break on nature herself. To a ceitain, and, of course, a limited extent I h-.d-i'rc!'>'d.iT in temperinp, the force of that fire whicii on occasuMsr:, rue occasions ,it m'; t be admiLLcd, sought to overv/hcisv. <.'.\c\ consume :ii': 'aust of passivity, forming, under oixliuary circumstances, rnv mental surface. I The last iutrospecli', e vision which had been vo;;chs;h'.;d A //('USE OF yViARS. Si or- h at isual iroll- A'ith nts self. to me — the first peep I had been tjrantccl of tiio skimbcring fires within me — was when my eyes liad first Hghted on a corpse in the dissecting-room. 1 had instantaneously ex- perienced a savage glow of satisfaction as 1 beheld the knife cutting through the dead, yellow flesh ; and this sensation had so overwhelmed me, so wrought upon my ner\ous or- ganisation, that had ,{ not fainted I would have sei^ced the first lethal weapon at hand and hacked the body mercilessly. When I had reco>'ered from my fainting fit there was nothing remaining of that savage desire but a vague and awful memory. When the first great sorrow and despair, which had cast a shadow over a part of my life, come to me, in my anger I could scarcely restrain myself from wreakmg vengeance on the man who had basely come between me and the woman who, for his sake, had spurned me ; and with horror I can still recollect the plans and plots 1 had brooded over and revelled in while the wild passion of revenge held sway in my heart ; and then as the fever-fit of revenge vanished what agony had been mine at the memory of my thoughts and desires ! For years had I been haunted by that memory ; and the dread of myself, the fierce effort to keep my slum- bering passions under control, had left its mark upon me, made me the morbid creature that I had been until my inter- course with Mr. Brabazon had lifted a corner of the shadow from me — until 1 had felt assurer^ that the fires were dead within me, that I liad been foolishly weak in supposing I should again lose control over myseif. G \ 82' ri //ors/: OF jw.'/as. ' rii:i\'e .11 i'cad\entlc:i\<>urccl to dcsfr'lDc the C'.t (.':-> \\]. cV. iwr iniliai et'iort to <:!(vse the (Umm's on tlic v\K;nioi-K;s of the \..- i. had uiM)U inc. I'ciliaps it «.•.al"ln(^t truly be eal'i'jd ;ui t.t".o;i, i'.^v ill first 1 had no fixed hitcntion of rc^iunin;^- in'-Cict'i;i;.e i>t :1..,-. ordinary kind with my fchow man ; but \vl;cn i liii.ii'y : ;;\.- that my presence was welcome in Kcdpo^t Taik, the d{ 'ci- mination had seized me tnnal timidity i would have had but a poor chance \\\\\\ Signor X'iacava. It was my coolness which had saved m;' life. He had been cowed by it. If I had bee.i wumIv and faltering I should have been hurled over the clift" with !i a knife in my breast. The man, I judged, was one of tho;fe abnormal beings who delight in murder for murder's sake, but who are more easily cowed than the most cowardly of beasts. If you run from a snarling mongrel it bites ; if you stand firmly it slinks away. Signor Viacava, finding I was hot now itt a mood for con- versation, kept his peace for awhile and puffed vigorously at his cigar. While the silence lasted I was speculating on tlic untoward chain of circumstances which had sent this man across my path, and I was trying to account to myself for the existence of such a nature as his. I am a strong believer in the effect of hereditary tendencies : of course 1 am not singular in this respect, but I have a belief that heredity has a more marked influence over mental and physical conditions than is ordinarily accredited to it. If I am specially in- terested in a patient's ills I make minute inquiries into the habits and diseases, so far as infonnation of an accurate character can be obtained, of his parents. My experience, limited though it has been, has convinced J t/Oi'SIC OF TEAh'S. Iced nte that too much reliance is placed upon the accepted theory that hereditary tendencies are transmitted more markedly from the maternal than from the paternal side. ILspccially in the case of disease ; which aftcct the intellect I Inve found that such diseases are inore readily transmitted from father to son than from mother to son. The same rule I would apply to idiosyncrasies which can scarcely be dignified with the term disease, and I have observed that there is often a tendency in the son to exaggerate the peculiarities of the mental or physical constitution of his father, Hysteria plays a part so important in the comedy or tragedy of woman's hfe that I have never been able to satisfy myself thoroughly where the effects of heredity in woman stop and where hysteria steps in. Quite suddenly I felt I could account for most of what was strange and hitherto unaccountable in the character of Viacava. He was the product of at least two generations of men who had held human life— not their own miserable life, for he who is reckless of the lives of others is usually pos- sessed of the instinct of self-preservation in an accentuated degree — in contempt, I suppose it will be deemed absurd that I should hastily arrive at important conclusions respecting the character and antecedents of Signor Viacava. I knew but little of the man. My acquaintance with him was scarcely an hour old : still my mind was made up. Had a stethoscope telegraphed the physical condition of his heart I could not, as a fairly 8'i A iiovsi: oi' 77' ' V "^' / i ^ • • • I • ' coni[)Ctcnt physician, doubt \.\\ al):l;ty ti» red aric^ht the ', message telegraphed to me : 1 dd niu c'ouljr i;iy ability to ' read the message which had been mysieiioush telegraphed to me while his arm had held me in its close ciit!)!ace on the cliffs. More than once in moments of extreme nervous tension had I endeavoured to project my spirit into the mental organism of another. The effort had always been a supreme one, ahd \^hen the momentary excitement had died away I had invariably fottnd myself in a weak and tremulous con- dition of body ''and 'rnind ; but the conviction had always remained that my effort had been at least partially successful. With a mind of stronger fibre than my own I could, I knew, have little or no chance of success ; but Signor Viacava was, 1 doubted not, mentally as wedk as he was physically strong, and therefore the convictidn now remained with riie that I had been successful in attempting to read aright; th^ message mysteriously transmitted from hih"! to nle. , The silence was growing irksome. My companion was, however, the first to speak. ' "I have been deceived in you, Doctor," he said. "Quite deceived. And for that reason I think it would be better that we should come to a clear understanding about many things. I do not like to be deceived in mv estimate of a man." '*'{■■ " You have my woi d about your letter. What more do y3u want ? Do > ou doubt me ? " A fiorsi: OF tj: \r>\ * was. re do " Not in ihc It •vst, my l;(>o(1 ;.-t. Not in tlic Ira^t. A'///."* he emphasised the woid, '• 1 wi-h lo tell xou more of my. .(.if than you already know/' ' **' "I l^ave no uibh to hear .inuhin'.^ eon( ernini^ \oa." Although I could not help sayin,Li" this ^''d'Mva's patronisiii;.^ manner irritated me to an unreasonable extent yet in m/ heart I could not repress a desire to ascertain if my estimate of his character would be confirmed by his own admissions. " Probably not, but I desire to impart the information. It will convince you— if there does exist in your mind any lingering doubt as to the earnestness of my purpose, and the dangers which would hourly lie in your path if you decided hereafter to thwart my purooses — it will convince you that \ am a very ugly customer to trifle with." ' " You do not impress me, signor ; but if you are anxious to convince me of your diabolical prowess my ears are open to hear your tale." " Flippant, Doctor. Flippant ; but charming. Your coolness amazes me. I am interested in you — I may go farther and say I admire you. We should work well in double harness." ■ " Bah ! " I exclaimed with unrestrained disgust. " If you have nothing better than this to tell me it were wiser to hold ^ your ^ongue." " Patience, Doctor. My thoughts come slowly. Have I • not told you so ? But to business." With a sudden show of energy he flung his cigar away, and buried his hands deep in •' W( 88 A //,)a^/: ()/' 'J7-:ars. the pockets of his coat. *' I t«)lcl on my name was an as- bumcd name. I shall tell wliy 1 chanj^ed it. M\ father committed an act- or rather, it was committed for him — which covered with shame a name that had nevqr smelt over-sweetly in the nostrils of good people. He was found one day darigling from a tree, with a rope round his neck. The statement sent a spasm of horror through me. Again I felt that f was growing faint and sick ; but fortunately I succeeded in controlling my emotions before V'iacava had time to observe me. He had stopped abruptly as he told me pithily this horrible story, and for a few minutes neither of us showed any inclination to resume our walk or conversation. V " An unpleasant reminiscence, Doctor," he said cheerily. It was now too dark to observe the facial gestures which * accompanied his words, but I knew his white teeth were; grinning at me. " Very unpleasant," I observed. " But let us resume our walk. It is growing late." Again we went forward, and there was silence for some minutes. ' " My father," he said abruptly, " was found to have com- mitted suicide. Twelve intelligent jurymen decided he was temporarily insane. He did not commit suicide. He was not temporarily insane. He was murdered.'* s " How do you know ? On the face of it, it seems probable that when a man is found hanging from a t^ee he has com- A //ors/. or 7v;.:.v.v. ^^'9 milled h,uicide. AurirJ;jfci- u>.ii!l\- tl In the first place It would be -^ \ cry d the part of the imiidcrcr — "', w >: i\\:\ : .]•-. V \;\ ;er i; i [ht'X'.v; n .y or " V ou arc excite;!, \~)*y(. u r, inte;"!' I'^'f" '\' i."u''M ;voii IVtit listen a little JciT'.cr to inc. ,v i\ IS IM! :!,i ordinary man : his m\r 1 > rer \va ■. n.>i aa < :\V lVll-\' '.)) i/e scene of the han'rin.jf derer was a little err;if \va.s not an oi •.^.v p'.u'c : ihi; !n;:r- 1 ', n his \-ic.vs <.)[ iiiiinan iN i" \\.!S mv father, for a matter c.f that -so ani I. r.i, Wry i.r ;!iat. The murderer was eccentric, I have sail, ilf hid ;i; put into practice a very ord:n;ir\' ;ind cl'.ira ■>• Ui( tlfd ( posing of a person who stood in !iis \v; a tacr, r. spot where m}' f;ither wai^ lian red h'^' li ad on the head with a ha'.chcl and ex. !l,s .( !' bur.Ci.; Ii m. Good God ! " I c::cla'tned. \{>a arc re :n' ]iietsoe and Archibald 11 rab;i/oa (( I am, I )oct or. X )\\" we a\e ro the our )me tom- 1 was not [able lom- Emanuel, ha\e we. So— so. Archibald I>rabazon pv o!,ablv ib 1 ;r. i.iclsoc v/as :a ll.iil !;)•: tainlv ha.n'xcl I can not •■(? ou will ic •J w her, KM" w.ia v(r. ,! )rror .\'<" It wouici not suil vaj. to to ine. iHirv yo_\Y t)[)Cl 1 ras' Co aa i n aM I, tell me ;c .. w OV U; I. l.caci. \- Oi .11 I. 1 \, ■ ti:-i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V .;;! n." A triumpban* 'ccr w;;. in lii'^ Hvic as I -tood brfoic hii>^ in j|-iyai;ony, '' i'i-h, I)i.( ior ! " he baitl. " \ u;i '-s/: ():• 7/:v/A'.:^ Si rope round his neck lias jnniiML'd from llie j;.i!!.:v.", a cry of fiendish exultation bursting from him, pa rai\^:nj4 ilu: -cclirm^^f multitude a.ssembled to witnei^s his death agonies. Not only had I lost all my dread of \iacava, but 1 burned with the desire to be once more in his presence, to watch the spasmodic working of his mouth, to gaze into h's unim- passioned eyes, to behold his glistening teeth, thegeiitures of nis hands, as he doled out to me sonic dainty scraps uf horror, In this mood 1 went quickly out of doors, and in this mood I reached the jetty. Viacava was seated there — we had the jetty to ourselves. I approached him with quickening steps and sat beside him. "You are better, Doctor," he said. "Your face glows. Cool no longer— better, much better. Your blood is quick. It is well. Mir^e is sluggish. We shall get on splendidly together." Curiosity burned within me to hear something further of the man who had been found dangling from th« tree in Red- post Park, of the man who had hanged him, of the experiments and plots which had occupied the pair before death stepped in, of the dark man in the black room, of the bewitching woman who had died in my surgery, of Viacava himself, who seemed to me the embodiment of all evil. When I reflect now on my condition of mind that momiiig I can only regard myself as one who had temporarily lost the better half of reason, and had allowed the worser half to reign supreme t>ver his understanding. 96 A HOUSE OF TEA\'S. " You have told me," 1 said, " of the manner in which yoi-r father came by his death " "Ah!" sighed Viacava, before I could proceed further. " My father ! " A smile let up his face. " He was a y^reat man. Had he but lived to proceed with some of the stupendous ex- periments he was engaged upon, the whole world would have crawled before him in fear and trembling. The secrets which nature so selfishly hides from us would have been dragged into the light. He eventually would have created a new race of men." " Monsters ! " I interrupted with eagerness. " MonsterSj if you like it better ; but time was not given him. His first great efifort — a comparative failure— the dim precursor of what was to follow — was doomed to be his last. And everything died with him. He was a devil in the flesh," he added, turning his eyes slowly until they had fas- cinated my gaze. " He is a devil in the spirit, and his spirit lives around and about and within me." " What a curious combination," I could not help saying. " You and your wife must hai^ made — devil and angel ! " " Angel I " he cried, with a contemptuous scowl at me. "She was a fiend, a delightful, ravishing fiend, Dttrtor. She bewitched you, did she.'' Do not hide your bluslit s She was beautiful. Ah!" with an exhibition of his (ccili. " I shajl be even yet with her murderer, bclie\ c me ! " " Her murderer I You have already sijokcn of nuirdcr. \\ hy not call things by their rij^ht niunes? There v. a.- no mi'.s/.cr/' A HOUSE OF TEARS. 97 "Was there not? You thi'ik so. Rut u-hy should yon not think so. You do not know wliat I know." •'What is that?" " It is my secret — a secret I intend to live upon. A secret we may both live upon if you have courage and are wise." " Tell it to me. I a'l naturally secretive. You will find I am to be tiustcd.' " Not now, 1)(- • ; not now Some day you will be en- lightened. It ipay b . ih?i you would have been enlightened without my interven'on. But let us to business. You will deliver my ledc'/ c.t ll , earliest opportunity ?" I nodded. "You will ^ ;e that it is i^LO Mr. Brabazon's own hands the letter goes. That hib own eyes read it. That no eyes but his own see it." *** There is a d'.iiculty there. In fact, the whole matter is more diTScidt than at first I imagined. Mr. Ashcroft is ever present. There is the initial difficulty of getting inside the house uninvited." " You must surmount these obstacles. Stratagem must be brought into play. Let me think. Let me think. So. You arc the only one who can pass the threshold. The servant who keeps watch and guard over the house will admit you. I know the man, bux he daren't admit me, and, moreover, 1 do not desire to see my deai* friend Brabazon. Vou know your way up the staircAsp. You know Mr. Bra- bazon's room. You are therA An excuse can be offered 9^ ri ntH'M- OF '/'/: ucs for yciur intrusion - ;.;iy. tlic biirnin;^ A'tijcioty to s.-e yourdoiir friends once more. Mr. .\shcroft is IjiVi mortal. lie cm be laken otf his :^m curl, and induced tr, .i'etch s<)mctliinncs df the man. The fierce fire of curiosity was burning itself out slowly. " You are dull once more, Doctor," he said. " I had many things to say to you, but I fear you are 'oaifng interest in my utterances." " No, I assure you I am not," I murmured in a voice that was but a feeble echo of my earlier earnestness " Pray go on ; you spoke of a future — I do not 'mean the immediate future— when we shall be more intimately associated. What do yon mean by that ?" " This : one day — it may not be far distant — Ashcroft will die. 1 shall not be sorry when he does die." "Why?" "Because he thwarts purposes of mine. Is not that sufRcient cause ? " " You speak in riddles." " You vriil find the answer soon, ^^^^-r-he emphasised the wotd ^lightly—" you survive the old man " A nous/-: OF rr.AK'^, "Why should I not?" I »;ncnuptod. '' \^ ihcij ay reason in your mind ?" "None," he answered with a laugh. "But f:ite pl.ivs strange pranks occasionally. If you survive him, Mr. I»i;»- bazon will require a new companion. He will select you if you play your cards properly." " It may not suit me to step into Mr. Ashcroft's shoes," I said angrily. " You dispose of me as if I were your indi- vidual property." " You are angry, Doctor. Well, it will be best you should not thwart me. You know me now. I care not a snap of the finger for your life, nor for any man's. Ashcroft has dared me. He knows me too, but he has the courage of the devil himself. He has lived in danger ; it has hardened him to the very verge of recklessness, but he may dare me once too often. You must not — you shall not defy me. All will go well if you assist me ; but all will go wrong if you decline. Do you realize the position ? " I was dumbstricken. I felt I was wholly in the power of this man. I was not terrified at the thought, but my senses were numbed. I was a mere automaton. I had no power to move, or I should have fled from the spot, fled from the man whom again I loathed. My former curiosity had dis- appeared. Before meeting with Viacava that morning I had vaguely determined to unbosom myself to him, to worm from him the secrets he held in bis breast concerning all those who were wrapped around with the mystery of Redpost Park ; H 2 lOO /I NOfM-: OF TKAns. hut now I l»:ul no tk-ssire citlvr to learn any svcrcts «'f !!ie i>,»st, or to dip into the sc( rets of tlic liitr.rc. '' (;o, Doctor," said \'ia(av;i w ilii cai;criicss, pi intin;; t<'\\ aids I ho terrace. " (io ; you are growing; stupid a-ain. (Jo and prescribe for yourself, Vou irrlialc me. You have one wcelc from this to deliver my letter. I shall do myself the lionoi.r of calling upon you on the eighth day from this. Vou wil!' have something to tell me then if ." ile checked himself with a chuckle. liis words roused me. I rose and walked away as if the outstretched finger of Viacava was impelling me onward. CHAPTER XV. '«^.<4i» The extraordinary variations of my lemperament which dated from the period of my visits to Redpost House — but especially the phenomenal rapidity of the mental metamor- phoses which had overpowered me from the moment Viacava had first threatened my life on the cliffs, to the time he had ' commanded me to leave the jetty — are still to me a source of uneasy speculation, a st :dy curious and unsatisfactory. When I endeavour now, after the lapse of many years, to bring myself back to the examination of my mental condition during that horrible period of my life when Viacava exercisea over me an evil mesmeric influence, I seem to be gazing at a whirling kaleidoscope which shows me nothing but instant taneous and bewildering changes. The horror which was vet in store for me would have proved a horror for the stoutest heart, the most securely balanced intellect ; but the sensa-> tions which the son of Doctor Bletsoe inspired— the primary callousness to deadly peril, the thirst for Viacava's life which succeeded that strange apathy, the intense hatred and loath* fo: J HOUSE OF TEARS. mg rtf the man which I experienced as we walked side by s'de over the cliffs, the mad prurient curiosity which devoured me the following morning, and the baneful influence which I allowed Viacava to exercise over me, the eagerness with which I sought him out and abandoned myself to him — all are inscrutable mysteries to myself. No examination, how- ever searching, can discover and analyse the causes of my mental disturbances. Admitting this, it is, I own, useless to hope — as 1 did once hope — for sympathy : it is impossible even to expect that I shall be credited with truthfulness. Yet, the truth I have told ; neither extenuated my weakness and my folly, nor set down in itiy favour aught in which the most searchinjr introspection can find a flaw. I will not again attempt any further analysis of my mental condition ; I v/ill simply give a brief and plain narrative of facts, relate in a straightforward manner the few remaining, incidents in my strange and terrible story. I should like to dwell upon my thoughts and my actions during the week which elapsed between my interview on the jetty at Broad - stairs with Viacava, and the moment when I found myself once more inside the gates of Redpost Park, charged with a message from the son of Dr. Bletsoe to the son of Archi- bald Brabazon ; but these thoughts and actions of mi no have no proper place in my narrative ; they concern only myself, and would, I faftcy, prove of little interest to others. The last nig!it left to*' Tiie by Viacava for the performance of my promise was a dear cold night. There was a toucli A HOUSE OF TEARS 103 of frost in the air. A young moon lloated in ;i cloudless sUy, ' and the stars were dim and dwarfed. My professional duties detained me in the Jiurgery until the stroke of ten. Shortly after ten I hadi passed the gates of Redpost Park, Viacava's letter in the breast pocket of my overcoat. I walked slowly up the carriage way until I ■ I. reached the spot where I had found the' almost lifeless body of Madame Viacava. Here I stood still, a nervous dread thrilling me. I felt inclined to turn, to run back to the gate, to defy Viacava on the morrow ; but, with a slight effort, I succeeded in dismissing the impulse to retrace n^y steps. The light in Mr, Brabazon's window was visible from the spot where I stood, and though I tried to laugh at niy foUyy i could not dismiss the absurd idea that the light was an eye blazing from the forehead of a monster— an eye in which malignity and mockery struggled for mastery. A moment more, and a rustle to the right broke upon my ears ; then a crackling sound warned me that some one — some thing — was advancii.g stealthily uppn me, and an icy shivet seized and shook me. Could it be that the hideous serpent was approaching me — the serpent v/ho had left his fang in Madame Viacava's wrist ? Before I could decide in what direction it were best to flee, the tall dark sinuous ftgure of a man stood out before me on the carriage way. With a cry of relief I rushed towards the man, and stretching forth my hands i attempted to grasp his hand, for t04 A UOVSE OF TEARS. he seemed inclined to retire a^jain to the shadows" from .vhich lie had suddenly emerged. " Mr. Brabazon ! " I exclaimed. " Do you forget mc ?" He stepped bac .ward.s-a. few paces. A strange, tremulous motion of the head, like the motiua of one afilicted with a disease popularly kuoy.n as St. Vitus's dance, agitated him, communicaCiting i^olf 'to his vvholp body as he stood facing me for a moment. " Ahl Doctor Em;>nuel 1 ** he cried, advancing quickly and offering me his left hand, which I grasped warmly, " I did not recognise you at first. Your overcoat alters your appear- ance very much. Excuse my left hand," he added. " My right wrist has been injured— nothing, a mere scratch. I am so pleased it is you." His tall figure stood out clearly and sharply in the white moonlight. He seemed to have grown taller and more slender, and there was that curious suppleness of the body, an undulatory movement of the whole frame, which I had not noticed during my visits to Redpost House. " And 1 am so pleased to see you once more," I said. " It seems ages since we met last. How is Mr. Ashcroft.^" " He is well," replied Mr. Brabazon, "but somewhat de- pressed. He has been over-anxious about my unfortunate wrist. Ir ieed, it has troubled him quite as much as it has troubled me." He looked about him as lie spoke, as if he were listening for some sound. t ' A HOUSE OF TEAI^S. 105 ti Let me examine it," I said, with pardonably profc->;or. il - eagerness. " No, no," he cried, stepping back, "his nothing :n>ihi;^[^ I assure vou." I doubted this statement, for there were unn>istakable traces of suffering in his pallid face. Whether it was the white light of the moon deceived me or not I was unable to decide, but I thought I had never before looked upon a face so deadly white. The more I gazed at Mr, Brabazon the more horrible did this unnatural palior seem. 1.; " Will you come with me," he said, after a brief, awkwarii pause, "and see our old friend Ashcroft ?" Again he started as he spoke, as if his speech presag* cl danger ; and turning his head slightly to one side he seemed to be trying again to catch some sound. I arrested his wandering thoughts by saying in a somewhu loud tone, **I will accompany you to the house with pleasure. I shall be very glad to see Mr. Ashcroft again." Then, as Mr. Brabazon turned his steps towards me, i remembered Viacava's letter. What better opportunity th m this could I hope for ? Mr. Ashcroft's absence relieved me ol the unpleasant task of resortiijg to what V iacava had termed stratagem. *. " By the by, Mr. Brabazon," I said, " 1 have a message for i you. I had almost forgotten it. A letter," placing my hand .' " , . \ ... • '. inside my overcoat, and taking out a white envelope. "A letter ! " he cried, darting swiftly from my side until lie ^ To6 u4 J/OUSf': OF TEARS. stood a few paces oft' " Do not give it to nie. Give it to Mr. Ashcroft. I cannot an'^wer for myself" There was a wild unearthly wail in his voice. What couhl it mean } Had Viacava planned some plot, the meaning of which I could not even guess ? What was the dan^jer hinted at by the writer of the note I now held between my trembliii.L,^ ringers? Had I not better face the known danger which \*iacava fiad threatened than the unknown danger which might follow the delivery of my message? Yes, I would defy the cowardly ruffian. I was about to replace the letter in in>' pocket when with a swift and almost imperceptible motioii Mr. Brabazon reached my side, and snatched the letter fruui my fingers. He tore open the envelope, and gazing at the sky he placed himself in a position where the light of the moon would fialf across the letter. I stood, silently, in agonised suspense as I watched him — the tremulous motion of the head now agitating him violently — scanning the letter. His vision must, I reflected, be' wonderfully acute. How quickly and easily he reads I When he had mastered the contents of Viacava's note he stood for a, brief, awfid moment perfectly stiH and erect. Then with uplifted left hand he crushed the paper, and in the act of dashing it to the ground he struck his injured wrist a swift and violent blow. A yell of agony bursting from him, he threw his head back, and, his eye? ablaze, he rushed upon me, lolling out a lonu, black, forked tongue. # # ♦ # # CHAPTER XVI. 'fill IT was many weeks before the precious light of reasoT. dawned on me again. I came out of the land of shadows wearily, drearily. Several days went by before I wouUi acknowledge, even to myself, that I lived again. I could see my kind old housekeeper, who had nursed me through iny fever, sitting by my side, tenderly smoothing my pillows, or cooling my burning brow,4)uti could not find words to thank her. Doctor Halhvorthy too was most attentive and kind. He knew the great danger had passed, and yet he left me — how I thank him now for it — to come back into the world in my own leisurely way. " You have had a bad time of it, old fellow," he said one ■day, ."^ut you are all right now, and we must have no non- sense you know. Next week you will go down stairs, and HI take 'cafe you are not allowed to mope in your old way. You must knock about— -rrouse yomself." 1 opened my eyes and sni'led. It was pleasant to think loS A HOUSE OF T/:Ak'S. that I h;iJ made io\\\Q friends, th;it 'r.iy uortlilcss life h.'.d Sdi.ie value in the eyes of others. From th u time forth I determined to recover, uad my progress nus woadeifully rapid. Once more I was down stairs, and seated in a cosy chair at a comfortable fire in my drawing-room. My mirror showed me an old man, gray-haired and wrinkled, but — I hope I need acarcely make the declaration — the change did not trouble me. I was calmer, and more at ease with myself and with the world than I had ever been during my former life. More horrors had been crowded into one short wee'c than have been spread over the lifetime of most men, and I felt that Providence would mercifully spare me and pity me for evermore. Though I was curious to know how my life had been saved, how it was that I too had not died as Madame Viacava died, I did not dare to question any one yet a while. In the first place, I knew my questions would be fenced, for Doctor Hallworthy's strict injunctions were that I should not be allowed to talk over much — I knew what that meant — and in the second place I was not eager to have the recollections of that night in Redpost Park forced upon me with added strength. I did not inquire if Signor Viacava had called : but I concluded he had failed to keep his appointment for some ((ood reason of his own. A HOUSE OF TEARS, 109 The tenth dr.y^ after my first visit to my drawiiv^f-roojii i asked Doctor Ha'lworthy if I mij^ht read my k*iicrs-I guessed that a budget of correspondence would have accumu- lated. " Yes," he said, " I have no objection now ; you are going on famously. Read them by all means — it will be a relaxation for you — but mind that you toss all the unpleasant ones — threats of distraint for taxes, et hoc genus irtitabile omncy* he added, with a loud hearty laugh, " into the fire." With a feeble smile 1 promised to take his advice, and when the kind-hearted medico had left the house a plethoric letter bag was placed by Mrs. Chilcomb on a table at my elbow. The ccrrespondence was of a very varied and comprehen- sive nature, but there is no occasion for me to go into details about it. I left one letter for the last. It was a very bulky envelope, and I prejudged it to contain a circular from the latest gold mining swindle, or from a monster drapery house which had recently reared its head in my suburb. I was rather surprised to find that the envelope contained a letter of many pages, written in close crabbed handwriting. It began " My dear Doctor Emanuel." I turned over to the last page and read: "Henry Ashcroft." The letter was dated at the foot of the last page. The date was the previous day. Eagerly I commenced to read the old man's letter, and after some cogitation I have decided to give its contents in full. MO A HOUSE OF TEARS. Mr. Ashckoft's Llitlr. I learn, my dear Doctor, that you are convalescent ; and I hope yoii will pardon me for attempting to distmb you at a time when no doubt unreflecting quiet Is the most potent medicine. The knowledge that you have recox ered, that you are once more sound in mind and body has given me unutterable relief, as well as heartfelt pleasure. If these phrases seem hackheyed, pray lay the blame to a liand which i^ growing old and feeble, and has lost the art of manipulating phrases. I Jiave experienced great difficulty in commencing my letter to you ; the dozen lines above have been written two days, and as I read them now they seem to wear a cold and mechanical aspect. But I have decided to. let them pass. My reason for addressing this lengthy epistle to you will appear as I proceed with my narrative. I call it a nar- rative, as if it were the recital of some ictitious story : at one time I thought no earthly power could induce me to put what I know upon paper in such a shape. Necessity non' compels me. Let me begin at the beginning, and be patient with me if I enter into details which may not seem to concern you, and which may not interest you. Forty-five years ago I first entered into the service of the late Mr. Ralph Brabazon as a kind of secretary and stewarc*. I was then in my twentieth year. Iwo years afterwavdl 'ft A flOUSF. OF TEARS. •iven 11! Ralph lirabazon mysteriously clis.ipixiared. His brother Archibald succeeded to the j)ropcrty and to tlu; money — there were no other relatives Jivinj?. In less than another twelve months, Mr. Archibald— who kept me on in the position I had occtipied under his brother— brought home to Redpost House a young and beautiful woman— his wife, God lielp her I I will not detain you with a long-winded exposition of my new master's character. It will be sufficient to say tliat tie was a morose, tyrannical creature. I am not particularly un- charitable, but I have no hesitation in declaring there was nothing good in Mr. Archibald's composition. He had originally selected medicine as a profession, but he had never made any attempt to take a medical degree. He was simply a devil-may-care young man in the beginning ; his vices did not come prominently to the surface in his early youth ; but he descended in the moral scale rapidly. Evil companions, perhaps, helped to degrade a nature which at no period had been an admirable one. His closest friend— if the word can be applied to such as he— was a certain Philip Bletsoe, the son of a German father and an English mother. This man was clever, after a fashion. As a student he was always full o( strange, wild theories which never seemed to result in any practical good or evil He was a confirmed drunkard; and by degrees his theories developed into absurd and monstrous views of the problems of life and death. 112 A /fOC/S/' OF TEARS. Whether iMctsoe poisoned the mind of Archibald Br \\y,\- lon, or whether Archibald posoned the mind of the younj; doctor — I atn speaking now of the lime when IiIetsoe,a fully- qualified physician, had taken up his quarters at Rcdpost House— is immaterial ; but both tiien fell from bad to worse and gloried in the fall. The important difference between them was, that as the years went by the master of Redpost House rescued himself from the thraldom of drink, while the doctor allowed its ^lasp to grow closer and closer. A room in the house was set apart for Doctor Bletsoe. f I He made of it a laboratory, a museum of living and dead curiosities, an eating room,' a drinking room, a sleeping iroom ; and my master and he spent most of the day, and often the greater part of the night in this room. Its door was closed r^ gainst all the household except themselves ; but sometimes the agonising shrieks of living creatures— animals, we supposed, who were being vivisected or otherwise operated on — used to reach our ears, and fill us with terror. I scarcely know how I managed to remain in that ghastly house, but remain I did. I felt a sincere pity for the young wife, a tender, delicate, gentle lady, yet one who, with all her gentleness, could exhibit traces of a strong will when circumstances demanded a strong will. Her lot was a most unhappy one. Her parents had forced her into the marriage ; they were poor and sadl^ in need of money, Mr. Brabazon was rich and wanted her for his wife. He knew she had left h«r heart outside the gates of Redpost Park, but the. A HOUSE OF Tf.ARS. I>3 slumbering devil of jealousy did not fully iiwakc in An Ri- bald Brabaz(Mi's breast until nearly two )cari) after ihd marria;;;e. He had occasion to make a journey to :i distant part of the country, where sixmc property of his lay, and he was not expected toreiL-rn to Rcdpost House for a month. The news of his departure caused a feeling of intense relief to mobt of the members of his household, and I could see that his wife made no secret of her delight at the prospect of being freed, even for so short a periodj from his hateful companion- ship. Prior to his departure he had been more than ordinarily cruel to Mrs. Brabazon, and Tie had outraged her feelings beyond measure by compelling her to listen to stories of the strange experiments and discoveries Doctor Bletsoe and himself had recently made. Amongst other things, Mr. Archibald possessed an inor- dinate love for the reptile tribe, and he could not or would not understand why other people should not share in his love for reptiles. His wife hated, and he knew it well, the meru mention of his pets, and it angered him that nothing short of physical force could compel her to enter the room ' where his ophidiary was. He did employ sheer force on the dayof his departure ; and -when I saw the white, passion-constrained face of Mrs. Brabazon, when she came from the horrid chamber, I felt she ■had at last resolved upon some desperate course of a«.:tion. 114 A rrn-'sf' >y/' ry.!'rs^. t ^ IJmin ; i." ..•• di",*.! ul.:'.-. '>!' .\r(l:.l>:i!ii U:';il);r/»»ii's ;i!)'ieiuc T was roaniiiis; thnHi.nli '.lie ] ;iik,a hook unc,(.r tiiy nrui, wl.ca siuldcnly my eyes li;',hi \1 »\\ two pc . '.<.• staiuliiv^ close toj;cthcr in a sort cjf arb.uir, i>m- ncd by tall, sprcac\in;.; azalea trees. f would have slmt my eyes rrcjainst the fact that one of tbe fij^incs was that of Mrs. lirabazon, ami the other that of a j'oung man — a stranger to me ; but, as I was about to mo\ e stealthily away \ caught sight of a-nothcr figure standing behind one of the azaleas. His back was turned towards me, but I knew at a glance who the man was. Archibald Brabazon ! Hfs neck w;is craned m the effort, nq doubt, ^> overhear what was passing, between his wife and the stranger. 1 knew the passionate reckless nature of the man, and I feared a tragedy ; so I decided to remain close at hand, in the hope I should be enabled by my presence to prevent the consummation of that tragedy. * As I noiselessly approached the group 1 could not help overhearing some of the conversation which was going on' between Mrs. Brabazon and her companion, and I felt that ' the words were biting deep into the heart of the husband. She was confessing her intense loathing of the man slie hid married, a loathing which, she declared, was greater tlian the loathing she felt for his serpents. The grossness of the serpents' nature must have been, she said, infused into the spirit of him she had fabcly vowed to love and honour. y? JIufSF. or '/■/.. ;;.v. ^•5 «« f rp ' I ■ I This was evidently too ninrh for Mi-. I'luba/wn. Il«' r.iui,! no lon«jer restrain hims.clf. He patirtl 'he r(.ll>«-e \vM W\\\\ him from his wife, the cry ol'u wild, infuriated beasi bir..v>in;^' from hira. I ruslied forward, callin,!:; loudly upon my master to be merciful. My cries prevented murder. Mc ti.rncd round, And facing; me, a sctnvl '* Inflled :^gc distortin;,' his features, he said hoarsely : "You have saved his life — and hers. I vnlue niy own neck. Damnation seize you! — Go!" he cried, turning;' to the stranger, who with blanched, alarmed face, stood near him. " Go ; and thank this man," pointir^' to me, " for your life." The stranger, with a piteous glance at the trembling wife, amoved backwards a few steps. " Or^ if it please you better, good sir," continued my master with a mocking laugh, "make free of my park at all times of day and night. You are welcome. Do not stare. I mean it. Perhaps madam may be gracious again. She will have her liberty, be assured. And for di€ present good day, sir," bowing twice with inock solemnity. The stranger walked slowly away. Mr. Brabazon, his arms folded across his chest, gazed at the retreating figure for some minutes ; then turning to his wife he slowly hissed out, " So, madam, I am more loathsome than a serpent. May the devil send you a serpent for a son, madam. Ciet you indoors 1 '* I 2 iJ6 A riorsr OF y^E.irS. i\tv iuisuess, wh.o \v;is in a ckTcate state of hcallli, re- mained in her room for many days- \\hcv\ she aj>peared amongst us again her face was paler than c\cr, b'.ii there \\;w a strong light in her eyes which, 1 feared me, bfitoiccned danger. Her husband was ostentatiously polite to her, and never, so fai as I could learn, made any allusion to the scene in the park. He would express his anxiety that sh.e should enjoy the fresli air oftenei than was her wont, and that she should try and dijuiiss her moping mood. I could not understand Mr. Brabazon, bu I feared it was only the calm which precedes the storm. One evening I observed my mistress going out of doors as dusk was approaching. Mr. Brabazon was in the lal)oratory at the time, but at breakfast that morning she had declared her intention of walking in the park ; he had seemed pleased — so pleased that I dreaded some fresh ^vil. Therefore I determined to follow my mistress at a respectful distance, I saw that she had wandered to the right, behind the houi c, and was probably intending to visit a knoU from which a fine view of the setting sun was visible at that tune of year. I allowed her to take about a quarter of an hour's start of me, and then, arming myself with a stout 1>tick and a loadc.l pistol, I followed in her footsteps. I had no cone, ,/fion nt ♦he nature of the danger which would attend iici vail; but that there was danger I felt assured. In about ten minutes aftc I had left the house I heard a ^cream. With fast-beating heart I ran quickly forwar^. At 4 iforsr: or thars. n? the foot of the hillock my mistress stood, evidently panilyscd Avith terror at the sight wl^ich met lier gaze. The ground swarmed with hideous reptiles. 1 shouted at the top of my voice not to be alaimed. My cry reached her ears and re- called her senses. She turned quickly round, stared at me for a moment, a wild tenor in her eyes, and fell to the ground. I rushed to her side, lifted her into my arms ; and then I rcr traced my steps to the house, carrying with me what I believed to be her dead body, , However, I was unfortunately — dear Doctor, I say unfortu- nately, and mean it — mistaken. My mistress lived for some months ; died, giving birth to a monster — the monster whom J have loved and lived with from the hour of his birth ; the man whom all others but myself would rush from, as from a foul and deadly plague, did they but know the secret of his terrible birthright I will not dwell, dear Doctor, on the incidents which immediately followed. The sole charge of the child devolved upon me and upon Dr. Bletsoe, The whole nature of the Doctor seemed to change from the time he heard of the unnatural creature, who was now heir to Redpost Park. He abandoned drink completely, and appeared to live for nothing but the expiation of his former wickedne.?s. He liursed the child with the tenderness of a mother, and seemed never at ease unless in its presence. He held some absurd !lS A I[OU.-E OF TEARS. theory ihc product of a drink-denicntcd brain — that he was accountable for the inhuman creature that had been sent to Archibald Urabazon as an earthly punishment for his sins. 7'he father would never look at his child, but shut himself up in a room at the top of the house. His footsteps could be heard ail day, pacing to and fro in the prison he had allotted to himself He would admit no one but Dr. Bletsoe to his presence, and one by one the servants left the house, none being the wiser of the mystery which hung around it, but all fearful of some unknown peril. The authorities liad been informed of the existence of reptiles in the park, and had scoured it of the pestilence. But no charge could be made against; the owner of the park, for it was found the serpents were half-dead creatures ; some had been maimed, and from some the fangs and venom glands had been cruelly extracted. When young Ralph Brabazon was eight years of age Dr. Bletsoe with my consent extracted the fangs, which oc':uj)ied the place of the eye teeth; but in a few months nature replaced the fangs, and in despair the doctor went out one morning and hanged himself. Some suspicion attached itself at the time to Archibald Brabazon, but it was proved beyond doubt that he was paeiu.u to and fro in his own room at the time the doctor must.h;n f^ taken his last fatal step, 1 had almost forgotten to mention that Bletsoe was a mnv- ried man. He had married in his student days, but his wife A HOUSE Of TI-Al^S. IT9 had fled from him in disgust before he had l;;koa \\\) Xwi abode in Redpost House. He never nicntior.ecl to nie the ■existence of a wife until the morning of his suicicic. He pi:t a letter into my hand addressed to Mrs, Blctsoe, and ask'ccj me to post it later on. After the doctor's suicide Archibald Brabazon suddenly determined to quit Er>gland. He came down stairs one day and desired me to be in readiness to start immediately for Paris. He would follow me, he said. I went to Paris, taking young Ralph with me, a dreamy, in'^'-'lligent boy, with no knowledge of his horrible heritage. The day after we arrived in the French capital Archibald Brabazon came into the room where his son and I were sitting. He approached the boy — it was the second time he had laid eyes on him — and placed his hand on his mouth before I had time to arrest the action. The child, ignorant of the identity of the strange man, cried and rushed into my arms. The father left the room in silence. A few minutes afterwards H Iheard the crack of a pistol. My master had failed to make his son the instrument of his death and had shot himself. After the first shock of the tragedy had worn itself away, «nd when it was arranged, in accordance with the instructions which Mr. Brabazon had left behind him, that the whole charge of young Ralph should devolve upon me, I determined to roam about the Continent. 720 A iioisE OF t/:ars. My dcsiif was to lose ;i!i connection and communication- with a wdild wlr.i li l.ncv;, or suspected^ anything concern- ing the i>i;ib;i/one-. L)i rourse 1 kept up conimunica'.ion vviili the soiiciiois who had charg'e of the Drabazon estate, bui no one else was aware of my 'fliovements or intentions. 1 knew the secret was safe in my hands, and so far as I was aware, no other being in the world had a suspicion of the dreadful truth. Young Ralph was, as I have already told you, an intelligent,, retiring boy. Moreover, he was docile and affectionate. He developed a turn for study early. He seemed to desire no other companions but his books and myself, so that my burden was a comparatively light one. My only dread was that he should discover the dreadful truth that he was • different from other human befngs, that there was no place for him in the world of men. With thi^ fear ever haunting me I took care that he should see no books which could give, him any information leading up to a knowledge of his horrible heritage, of the monstrous, the deadly power he possessed. Companions, as I have told you, he had none, nor did he ever grumble at the isolation which I enforced upon him. His mind was, I need scarcely tell you, of a different mould from that of the ordinary run of mortals, but there was na marked eccentricity in his behaviour. For twelve years we travelled about the Continent, aelecting the smaller towns and the places least frequented by strangers ; and it seemed to me that no suspicion had ever crossrtf A HOUSE OF TEARS. 121 iicatioa* incern- ica'.ion estate, tions. ar as I cion of lligent,. J. He lire no ) that dread le was. ' ► place unting id give. :)rnble iessed. lid he 1 him. mould as na ecting ngers ; rCi9S0(f Ralph Brabazon's mind that I was withholding any important w knowledge from him. As h'vs twenty-first birthday approached we found ourselves in a small town in Southern Italy. To •my surprise, and with some anxiety, some foreboding of danger on my mind, I discovered that a German physician who had spent the greater portion of his life in England was stopping at the little hotel where we had put up. As we were the only people in the place who spoke English, I could not, without attracting attention, refuse to enter into conversation with him. He was a delicate man of about thirty years of .age, and evidently in the last stages of consumption. I found him to be a young man with an intellect as powerful as his body was weak. He seemed.to be much attracted by Ralph Brabazon, and with pain I could see that he guessed there was something strange about my charge. Far the first time it struck me forcibly how peculiar was the speech of Ralph Brabazon. Having been closely associated with him for so many years, so accustomed to the inflections of his voice, and so little accustomed to conversing with others, it did not strike me as being a peculiarly odd or unnatural voice, but evidently it was otherwise with the young doctor. By some merciful dispensation Ralph Brabazon never obtruded his tongue at any time. Whether it was that he had learned it was unlike the tongues of other rnen, d whether it was owing to causes over which he had no control, his tcngue Was ever confined within his mouth. T22 A mu:s:.(: erf fBAr^^. 11 HMMit IB You will probably guess what resulted. Ralph Ilrabazur. picked up one day a work on anatomy bclon^injj to th^ doctor. I had no suspicicw^ at the time v liat tlv; nature of his studies were until one morning— we always occupied th? same bedroom — I arose to find the body of my y»uftg master on the floor in a pool of blood. Instantly 1 summoned the assistance of the German doctor, and he disco^vercd that Ralph had' foreibfy extracted the hideous fangs, ignorant (rf the a'vful fact tiiat nature would replace them again. I laid the whole stbry before the doctor, whose name wa& Ludwig Englehorn. He was at first inclined to treat m^rtale with supercilious incredulity, but in the end he had to c<»r»fess' that facts were too much for him. He pulled Ralph Brabazoi^ through a long illness, which followed his first attempt to rid himself of his monstrous deformity, and when young Ralph was able to be up and about once more, the doctor called me into his room one evening and said, " I would not stand in- your shoes, much less in the shoes of the poor fellow you are shieldmg, for a hew lease of life." He saw 1 treated his words rather with surprise than with alarm. " I am perfectly serious," he went on ; " your life will for evermore be in imminent peril." I was about to speak ; to tell him that he was taking an exaggerated view of the danger which I should incur in the future — for I knew how dearly my young master loved me— when he stopped me with a motion of his hand, " Let me go on," he said. " He A HOUSE OF TEARS. "has now the knowledge of his hideous power. 'I'lumks to your care and treatment of him he will for ever be hckl in •check while you are with him ; but scmie day, when som^ in- tense physical pain attacks him, he will lose control, pver himself, and y<5u will in all probability fall a victim to his ttncontroUable rage. Perhaps you do not know what a liorrible death the death from snake bite is?" I assured him •I did, but that I had still no fear of my young master ; tliat no words of his could alter my opinion of him. " Very well," he said, "y«u will have only yourself to blame. It is fortunate for you that I have made siake venom a study. I have not, it is true, discovered much that 'is of importance, but I am confident I can protect you. I do not say I can guarantee you absolute immunity from danger, -but I can certainly pro- tect you. I will — do not gainsay mc — inoculate you for snake poison.'* 1 I was horror-stricken at the notion that Doctor Engle- horn, who was evidently wholly in earnest, and to whose intelligence I was, even then, ready to pay >hearty tribute, should contemplate the possibility of -my dear young master Inflicting an injury — and such an injury — upon me. Doctor Englehorn saw he had alarmedme, and he renewed his attack with increased vigour. In the end I consented to be operated upon. I felt I could place implidt confidence in Doctor Englehorn, comparative stranger though he was. He would ^ive me no information — indeed I did not press him very Jiard to do so^forthe information could be of little value to me ]24 A 'noVSli OF TK'VK'^i — icgartlingthe nature of ibc inctciilatioji. tie frankly acknow- ledged that his experiment would be a dangerous one, but he assured me he was confident of success, and I trusted him. It was touch and go with me, a struggle between death and life, for twenty-four hours ; and the agony 1 experienced taught mc to recognise the tremendous nature of the danger which lay before me in the future. Still, 1 allowed no dread of Mr. Brabazon to cow me or make me shirk the responsi-- bility I had undertaken. After I had come safely through the struggle which resulted from Doctor Englehorn's experiment, the young physician gave me some instructions about my future treatment of my young master. The instructions were mainly to this effect : " Do not check him or thwart him in any ordinary or fairly reason- able desires of his. The effects of his early training will bo likely to prevent him from asking or seeking for much that is dangerous. Isolate him as much as you possibly can ; keep moving from place to place with him — as you have already done. Be always at his side. If he should*ever, when in the- country, seek to roam about at night, allow him to do so, but keep watch upon him yourself, without allowing him to sup- pose he is being watched. That will not always be possible, but you can only do your best. Great mental agony he is not likely to endure ; the greatest mental trouble that could visit him would probably be the knowledge that other men gfuessed his secret. You can prevent that ; my mouth, be assured, is sealed. Great physical pain it is quite possible A noi'SK OF /7:.i/cs\ J^T may visit him — an accident may happen to him. In sMch a case do not hesitate; let no foolisli .sontimcntar.tv cause you to pause. Lock him into a room until the first paroxysms have passed away and prostrated him. Go not )iear him there yourself, nor do not allow any one to go near him. His nature will allow him to live easily witliout food or drink for many days, should occasion arise to place lock and key upon him. Keep tobacco, spirits, or opiates always out of his reach, and do not allcvv them to be used in his presence. If he should fall ill you must attend to him yourself. For this purpose it will be necessary for you to make yourself ac- quainted with some simple forms of treatment. He is not likely to sicken easily. Ordinary diseases will not, in my opinion, be likely to visit him. In fact," he said, " there is but one great danger that can happen — so far as Mr. Brabazon IB personally concerned — and as I cannot offer you any advice or suggest any remedy in such a contingency, I will be silent as to the nature of that danger, and can only say to you : Do what you think best and wisest, outside the plans I have Sketched for you. If it were not that I know you are clear- headed and sensible I would at once insist upon having Mr. Brabazon confined in some asylum ; but such a course would probably result in the deaths of a succession of keepers, and I feel he is comparatively safe in your hands. At all events he will be much safer in your hands than in any asylum. You have a terrible duty to perform, but I know you will perform it to the best of your ability — you can do no more.*' l>6 A HOUSE or t!:ars. I pressed hini to tell nie what the continj^ency was, of the nature of which he had not enlightened nie, but he shook his head and was silent. ,,, , Twelve months afterwards I learned with deep regret that the brilliant young doctor had passed away. You will now see, dear Doctor Emanuel, why it was that your proposal to administer an opiate to Mr. Brabazon when first you visited him caused me so much uneasiness. I would not on that occasion have summoned your aid, but Mr. Brabazon expressed a strong desire to have you called in. He had heard something of you through me. I had b^t related to him the gossip, which our servant from time to time had retailed to me — and sometimes in his nightly rambles through the park he has stood for hours behind ^h^ fence bordering your garden, staring at you as you sat in your study window. ,^ He was anxious to see you, and I could not refuse his request, that you should be summoned, though I doubted the wisdom of submitting to my master's will ! ♦ But I am running in advance of my story. For many years we continued our roving life. My younj; master had changed considerably since his discovery of his unnatural possession. He grew more retiring than ever, buried himself in his books, and seemed at times to hate the sight of his fellow man. r Fortunately We both were blessed with excellent health. A nors/-: of teai^s. 127 Whenever our wanclcrin«js brought us to a wooded country a strange anxiety would seize hold of my young master, to wander all night long through the forest. Beyond this fulfil- ment of Doctor Englehorn's prophecy, nothing came to pass for many years that caused me any unusual uneasiness ; but one night in his wanderings through a lonely wood his foot caught in a hole in the ground, and he stumbled, spraining his ankle, as I afterwards discovered. His cry of pain reached my cars, for I was following his footsteps as I had those of his mother on the fatal day when the reptiles had been let loose in Redpost Park. I was soon at his side. It must have been that he did not recognise me in the darkness, for instantly I felt his fangs imbedded in my cheek. I bear the marks still, as you may possibly have observed. Then, with a cry of anguish, he seized me and frantically sucked the venom from the wounds, and sobbed and wept in my arms, as I tried to assure him that I was in no danger. There islittle to relate — nothing, in fact, that is necessary for you to know— about the years which passed from that time until the year we returned to England. His diarity was unbounded. He could never read or hear of a' case of distress without experiencing a desire to relieve it. Roughly speaking, I should think three-fourths of his income was devoted to charitable purposes. About a month before we came to Redpost Park we were at Monaco. Here a desire to gamble seized upon Mr. I3« ^ ffOUSK OF TEARS. Wr.xhix/.ow, I Ii.i'l MO objection (o ui.-;c. He was Cnorinoiisly rich, and it roiilcl not mattc-r, so far as he was personally concerned, if he lost ten, na\ , a liundied tlioii^and pounds. For several nii^hts he stood at the tables and was always disgusted with the results. His losses one day would be counterbalanced by gain the next. He played on, and one evening he broke the bank. Some curiosity to know the mys- terious stranger, who was reported to be a nicjdern Crctsus, arose after this, and I tried to hurry him from the town, but I was too late. A professional gambler, and blackleg, to boot, discovered his name at the hotel where we stopped — I had often tried to make him altei' his name, but without effect, and sometimes, without his knowledge, I had given him a false name. At Monaco I had entered him as Mr. Ashcroft, junior,, my son. . TJie gambler I have referred to stopped Mr. Brabazon in the hall of the hotel one night and said, " I am addressing Mr. " my master filled in the blank, " Brabazon," he €aid. "Ah! Bral: izon ! I thought so," the strans^er said. " Mr, Ralph Brabazon of Redpost Park." Mr. Biabazon was a little astonished, but his interrogator smiled away whatever . fears pr doubts were arising in his mind and continued,"! was very aijxious to know who the lucky man really wds. I am myself an unlucky player, and it interested me to know. Many thanks." And he went away bowing and smilini^. Mr. Brabazon told me of the incident. 1 was alai-mccl, but soon forgot my fears. A //ocrsj- OF tj:ars. t:<) Next day a letter was handed to Mr. Uralxizon as wo s;it at dinner in our private room. As soon as he had re;id the letter he threw up his hands, and then lluni,' them down on the table. A knife, by some untoward accident, had been placed against the dish in front of Mr. llrabazon. His rijjht hand struck the blade, which buried itself in his open palm. With a howl of jtiin he jumped from his chair and rushing upon me fastened his fangs in my cheek. As on the forrr.er occasion his paroxysm passed quickly away and he fran- tically sucked the venom from the wound, sobs of wild despair convulsing him. I read the fatal letter the same evening. It ran thus ; To Ralph Brabazon of Redpost Park, in the County oj Surrey, England. Sir, — Your secret is known to me. An annuity of five thousand pounds per annum will seal my lips, not one penny - less. I have for a long time been seeking you out. Natur- ally I am not anxious to find myself often in your presence, but do not flatter yourself that the power you possess has terror for me. If your payments are regular you are safe. If you decline my very reasonable terms I will do myself the honour of exposing you through the length and breadth of the land. Not alone will your diabolical secret be known to all men, but the secret unknown perhaps even to you — that your father — if one may be pardoned for calling him your father — murdered my father in cold blood. Till death, yours, Anthony Bi,etsoe. K t.iO A //''[.'yr or 77:.ur To Mtv ;;•; 1,-^tcr tlic nairc of I>!?tsoc \\:ri a Ircro^^lyii^hic — tiie l\()scit:i stone u;as locked in my breast. 1 trjvd to per- suade Mr. Bnvbiizon that the writer of the letter wasn .'i riitic —1 still believe him to be a lunatic biit I did not, of (ci.iic, attempt to hide my anxiety to ily from the irnn v.lio ':nc\v our secret.. For my own part I believed he tlid kiion- tlie secret — that he had learned it through some pa pes of his father was quite probable — but I endeavoured to con \i nee Mr. Brabazon that the man was only a scoundrel \Vho had guessed something and could, prove nothing. "His state- ment about your father and his," I said, " proves hini to be demented ; but at all events he is a scoundrel who would hold a double-edged sword above our heads. One edge of tl at sword is sharp and deadly — we muct avoid it ; the other edge is a bogus edge — it cannot wound, but we are weak and it may hurt us.** We decided to return instantly, and with as much secrecy as possible, to England. In Redpost House Mr. Brabazon thought he would find security. In the breast of the English-' man there is always the feeling that his house zs his castle, his home, a haven of refuge. You know when we came here. You will remember, doubtless, your first visit to us. The dread that Mr. Brabazon, in his desire to make a friend _f you, should let his secret sHp always haunted me. The night I hurried \ oii away, 1 am certain he was on the eve of making a confession^ He feels — and can I blame him ?— that I am growing old ; A HO USE OF TEARS. M ■.\v.:\\' and a faithful companion he must have when X am gone. Mr. Brabazon's taste for nightly wanderings developed itself quickly with the influence of this awful park around him. It pained me too, to see that, iustead of finding a .home in Redpost Houje, he had ,found a living grtive. JFuneral imaginings were, and a-e, ever present with him. His rooms, his body, his spirit, have been draped in bl^ck, rsiiice the baleful influence of this l^ouse established its sway »over him. He has brightened sometimes in your presence, 3)ut the brightness is tarnished quickly. He lives in constant dread cf Anthony Bletsoe. 'You may 'Temember how excited he became when the sound of ciarriage wheels reached his sensitive ears the first night .of your vioit. • .. At this ponit I think it will not be unwise to break off from the principal theme of this lengthy communication, and "direct your attention specially to 'Bletsoe. A few days subsequent to your terrible adventure in the park I received a letter from him threatening Mr. Brabazon with immediate exposure. He stated he had visited you at Broadstairs, and ■you had consented to aid him in his plans. No suspicion, Tjeli^e me, crossed my mind that there was one word of truth in this ; but a conviction seized me that the man was, for some weighty reason, afraid to make himself known to 'the authorities. Therefore I determined u-* institute privately ^inquiries about Anthony Bletsoe. The result of the investi- K 2 132 A HOUSE OF TEAR^, gations -it seems there was .i]^reat dirficulty in discovering- and piecing together any trustworthy facts concerning the man I will now summarize for you. tt may be that once more Bletsoc will darken your path, and" I think it is only right you should learn what a dangeroifs character he is. I must add that I do not intend to make any use of the in* formation I have obtained. I hope the scoundrel has agaia quitted the country, and I pray — though I fear such prayers are not of much avail — that the world and I have heard the last of his wickedness, that he will battle with the evil promptings of his evil mind and repent him of what is past. Previous to his marriage he had temporarily abandoned his father's name, and adopted that of Viacava. This name belonged to a distant relative of his mother. In one of his- first fits of homicidal mania — a disease which it seems he had succeeded in hiding from all who had the misfortune to know him — he had committed a briital murder. The victim was an unfortunate woman who lived in a lodging-house in one of the northern districts of London. The details of this murder are of so extraordinary a nature that I am almost tempted to give them a place in these pages, liut as the crime has no direct connection with Mr, Brabazon I have wisely, I hope, decided to make merely this passing mention of it. It will be sufficient to say that the police were com- pletely baffled, and that Bletsoe succeeded in escaping from England before any suspicion attracted itself towards him. After some years a clue to the murder was found, and a certain Antonio Viacava, whq had left no traces behind him. A HOUSE OF TEARS. 131 was v/anted. Bletsoe had married abroad, and he and his wife had established ji gambling hell in Paris, where fortune waited upon them pax many years. On the death of his mother, who had returned to her friends in Italy, and who had held little or no communication with her son, certain papers belonging to Dr. Bletsoecame into Anthony Bletsoe's hands. These papers gave him some highly-coloured in- formation about the mysterious owner of Redpost Park, and Bletsoe determined he would lose no opportunity of making capital out of his information. Having made a good deal of money in Paris he was enabled to travel wherever his in- clination beckoned, and by one of those unlucky accidents which occur every day he had come across Mr. Brabazon, for whom he was ever on the watch. Baffled at finding his first threat had produced no effect, except the flight of Mr. Brabazon from Monaco, his slumbering madness began to assert itself. He set inquiries on foot, and soon learned that Mr. Brahazon had returned to Redpost Park. Bletsoe feared to follow him to England. He was not aware that under his pseudonym the police were endeavouring to trace him, but he thought it would be unwise to tempt the fates by returning to the scene of his greatest crime. Therefore he despatched his wife to England, telliiig her what he knew of the secret, and instructing hei to get to my ear, and impress me with his (Bletsoe's) determination to disclose the secret if the demand made at Monaco was disregarded. He further desired his wife to adopt the name of Viacava, in order that I tnight be taken completely off my guard. Bletsoe possessed «34 A nnrs/-: of t/:^ia\^. the ciimiing -which is often ohticrvcd in the insane, but his Tihitant arrog^ance dorninatcd his cunning. Viacaxa to him, . and to him only, he thmic;ht -was a name of might, of secret deadly devilry. Under that nanK; he had committed a crime .which had h<^rrified all England- The assumption of it by .his wife augured success for his attempt to coerce Ralph Braibazon. The news of his wife's death \\'asa staggering blow, but he quickly recovered from it, and determined to take the matter into his own hands. He would once more assume tlie name of .Viacava. Himself and his crine had been forgotten in England. H^ was safe, but he would be cautious. When he followed you to Broadstairs no doubt he, in his distorted men- tal condition, believed the name of Viacava would by some unental process known only to himself strike terror in your ears, and cause you to bend to his potent will without a struggle. \, And now, if I have not exhausted your patience, dear Doctor Emanuel, you will hear what occurred in the park the night you found Bletsoe's wife dying on the carriage way. There is no need to dwell on details. Almost in the same manner that you came across the dark figure of my master she came across him. He would have flown instantly from her— he had no notion what or who she might be ; but she was a stranger, and that was enough. She gave him no time. W'th the knowledge fXk ber heart of the deadly power Mr. Brabazon possessed. A IK) USE OF TEARS, IV ., fea];ing mortal danger, no doubt, fired at him, and the Dullet struck his right wrist. The shock roused the devil that is in him, and he rushed upon her, burying a fang in her flesh. So great was his rage, so fiercely did he seize upon her, that, as you know, he left a fang in the wound. The double shock was too much for him. He fell lifelessly to the ground. I had heard the pistol she. and the shriek that succeeded it, and I ran to the spot. I saw at a glance what had hap- pened, and I dragged him home ; it must have been but a few minutes later when you appeared on the scene. I knew the woman's life was sacrificed, that no human aid coild save her or relieve her sufferings. Doctor Englehorn had assured me that Mr. Brabazon's bite would prove more deadly than the bite of a dozen cobras. Knowing this, what could I do ? Blame me if you will, blame me for screening the man who had taken her life — but remember my whole 'i)eing was wrapt up in the man, that the guarding of his secret from the eyes of a prying world had grown to be the paramont olyect of my life. At last, dear Doctor, J have nearly done. You know what I know about Ralph Brabazon. I do not expect you can sympathise with him, or that you can trample your feelings tander foot, and forgive the almost mortal injury he caused you. I have been candid with you. I have told you the whole truth. I will be candid with you to the end. Your life was saved by an accident over which neither you nor 13^' A HOrSE OF TEARS. fell at his feet idlv Mr. Brabazon had control Y faint : to his unnatural bodilv senses vou were as one dead. He coiiid not strike at you. I found him bending over you, dazed, but with murderous intent in his very gestures. I v^s fortunate in being able to pinion him before he was aware of my presence. Can you — is it too much to hope even faintly i* — can you find any pity in your heart for the poor, wretched being who, through no fault of his own, is a murderer and a monster? Nature endowed him with noble aspirations, a gentle, generous spirit — with a body, horrible, malignant, unnatural, incredible. I do not know if you have already made known to the world Mr. Brabazon's secret. I have no reason to hope you have been silent. But there is a possibility you have not spoken. Like a drowning man I cling to that straw. If you have not yet spoken I implore you to be silent for a little longer. Give him, give me a little time. He is very ill ; the wound in his wrist seems to have developed very dangerous symptoms. It is beyond my poor skill. He is in great pain, but he bears it like a stoic. Though I know the risk I run I dare not take any precaution to protect myself, lest I should wound his sensitive heart. I feel that the effects of the inoculation have lost their potency. Send me a line, if I may dare to ask so great a favour, telling me the worst. Every ns^inute I think I hear them coming — coming to seize my dS^ar master. Have mercy on us, if you have not yet spoken. Have mercy on us both ! CHAPTER XVII. The tears were coursing down my cheeks as I laid down Mr. Ashcroft's letter. I could think only of the noble old man living in that awful house, every moment in deadly peril, no thought disturbing him but'the thought that danger was hovering around the monster to whom he had sacrificed his life. What a miserable puny being I felt I was as I thought of the brave old man who had blotted out his own existence in order to protect the life of a fellow creature, and what a creature ! ''' Mr. Ashcroft, with his white hair and the livid cicatrices on his shaven cheeks, faded from my vision, and in his place stood the tall black figure, with the long, flat head, with the eyes now of a patientj gentle, kindly man, now of an in- furiated demon, and b^lbw them hidden, but revealed to me, the deadly fangs and the long lissom black tongue. For a while I scarcely knew how I regarded this man, as my mental vision gazed at the shadowy outlines of his body. He had r3S A jYOC'SI-: Of TLJ.I^S,. II! l)een to mc the cai!'~>c. d'cct'y nnci indirectly, (if so mrcyv physical and riicntal irouijle lliat it was hardly in huriKuv nature to syivipatlwlsc with him in h!s strani^e and ;r. i ;1 misery. But I soon succeeded in dismissinjj the base and selfish considerations which had rendered him so odious to mc. Who could be a better judge of him than the man who had lived with him all his life, an ■- had not that man dwelt lovingly upon his kindly nature .'' H-ere was a beingy I mused, whom nature has, in some devilish mood, marked with a brand worse than the brand of Cain — immeasurably more awful than the brand of Cain — for the murderer degrades and stains himself by an act ^f will over which he has been endowed with controHin,!^: powers, distorts and misuses his mental functions, shuts liimself out from all human sympathy, drags himself down to a level lower than that of the beasts ; but this poor wretch has been endowed with a physical formation, partly animal, partly human, and he has almost raised himself clear of the animal passions with which nature has cursed him : it is only when physical pain, an inheritance all of us share w'th the brute creation, seizes him that he loses control over his higher nature. What can be more pitiable, more horrible ! A strong revulsion of feeling in favour of the man who had but a short time ago sought to take my life seized me. No longer did I find him. odious ;, I thought of him, as Mr. Ash- A HOUSE OF Ti:Ah\S. 139 •croft did, as one to be pitied and protected. The nvnion •of exposing his secret to the gaze of a cruel world vanished from me. Was I not to be contemned, T reflected, as he was lO be .pitied ? Nature had endowed me with a bodily form as perfect as most ordinary men are blessed with ; he >as ;born a monster. Through my own fault ; because 1 had not stamped out my baser passions ; because I had allowed niy- self to float down the tide into the bouidless waters of despair, instead of struggling to reach the firm shore, I had been well nigh lost. I had been tossed about, a useless member of. society, doing little harni, perhaps, but certainly performing no worthy deeds. Ralph Brabazon, on the other hand, had struggled with his brute nature, and had well nigh succeeded in conquering it. That he did not overcome it: effectually was no fault of his. He had performed what good 'it lay in his power to perform, He had the divine spirit of charity towards mankind, from whom he was for ever separated. A strange reflection occurred to me at this point. What should I have done, how should I have acted, if I had been born as Ralph Brabazon had been born ? It seemed to ine I should have made no struggle ; that with the knowlet'.cre of my unnatural power, with the wealth at my command that he possessed, I would have made myse]f the silent and all- powerful scourge of the whole world, levelling in my might, secure in the knowledge that my secret was safe even by its J40 A //CCS/: Or' T/-.A/'S. vci\ inrrcdibilit}-. Prc'sin;^- niy hands to my brow 1 shut out ihe hateful ictlcctions uhicli had forced themselves upon me, and prayed God to sa\e me from mvself. And here had I been bitting' on judgment over Ralph IJrabazon ! It was ridiculous. I would go to him ; assure him of my devotion to his cause. Hevvas in suffering ; my skill, such as it was, should be offered to him. I stepped! across the room — there was a firmness in my walk which assured me of quickly returning health — to my writing-table and penned a short note to Mr. Ashcroft, telling him that he r,ould rely upon my secrecy, and that I would call at Red- post House, as soon as I was permitted to go out of doors, for the purpose of attending to Mr. Brabazon's wound. CHAPTER XVIII. The next day brought a grateful reply from Mr. Ashcroft. Mr. Brabazon was unfortunately much worse ; he was afraid the wound was very serious, that gangrene was setting in. This was alarming intelligence. I nerved myself for a struggle with Dr. Hallworthy. At first he flatly refused me permission to go out of doors for at least a week ; but libught my battle with so much energy that he proposed a com- promise. It was then Thursday. I might take a short walk on Saturday. He would not, he said, be responsible if I suffered a relapse ; but I was so confident of myself, so buoyed up with the hope of rendering service to the poor fellow, who was, I feared, in mortal danger, and of relieving in some measure Mr. Ashcroft's anxiety, that I was confident in my power to walk to Redpost House without running any serious risk. Late on Saturday afternoon I left my house, stating my intention of returning within an hour. I took with me sbms medicines and instruments. <*. i ^ %. )42 /I ifoc:^:.: VF /.".v. I diicclcd my steps to the j^iitc of Rctlpost Park, and soon found ni\ self wandering over tlie jiath now so well known to me. The tsun, a j^reat blindin;jf ball of fire, was sinking slowly behind Kcdpost Park, and throuj,'h the tall trees came red glimpses of flame which pained my eyes and blurred my vision. As I passed the spot where my life had so nearh been sacrified, where Madame Viacava had paid the great penalty, a brief pang of horror and dread shot through me. With quickening steps 1 left the scene of deadly peril behind, and was soon standitig in the hall of Redpost Park, clasping with a fervent pressure the hand of the old man 'vhose face I could not gaze at now without a feeling of re^ ':e. Mr. Brabazon, I learned, was worse. His wound had not at first presented any symptoms of a serious nature. The bullet had not lodged in his wrist, and Mr. Ashcroft liad hoped and believed he would have been able, without aid from outside, to bring his master round. But since the niij^ht of my adventure in the park Mr. Brabazon's wound had as- sumed a more dangerous aspect. He had been in great pain, attended with pronounced feverish symptoms. All tliis 1 learned as Mr. Ashcroft an'd I'slowl^' ascended the stairs." We reached the landing ori the third floor, and entered a room which I had not previously been inside of. A hiiii]) — the same lamp which had first sent its light into my study, alarming and horrifying me — stood on a bracket in a corner, and suffused the room with a sickly jellow glow. ■*\» ^ nous/-: OF tfars. ni Mr. Brabazon lay on a couch in the rontrc of the npaiM« ment. Icould scarcely rccof^nisc li'nn in the fV^ure which I was now standinjic over. His clieeks weie sunken and Hvid ; his closed eyes seemed to be buried in two j^reat cavities under his brow ; his body was fearfully emaciated. A rapid examination of his wound showed me that mortifi- cation had set in, and that the only chance of saving his life was by amputating the arm at once. The mortification was spreading rapidly. " He is Wonderfully patient and gentle," whispered Mr. Ashcroft to me. " Have no iear of him." The assurance was unnecessary. I had no fear of him — no fear but the one — that death was fast closing in. However, there was the one chance, and there was no time to be lost. Mr. Brabazon opened his eyes, and a brilliant light illumined them as he recognised me. " Ah, Doctor Emanuel," he murmured, " is it you ? Do you, can ydii, forgive me ? I was mad that night ; but you know all now. Will you shake hands with me ? " He put out his left hand, wan and white. I pressed it fervently. I could not speak for some moments, but he knew at least that I bore him no ill will. " It is very good of you," he said, retaining my hand. " Good," I sobbed—I could not for the life of me be calm — " You wrong me bitterly, I am stirred to the very depths 144 .■1 HOUSE OF TEARS. of my soul w iien 1 look at you, and hear you ask ^or my for- givcaess - knowing what I know. Do you think my heart is of stone ? " I checked the torrent of words which I knew could V- ily injure my patient, and, pressing his hand again warn.'- , said, "You know we must be calm. A doctor has to close the doors of his heart when duty calls." "You have made me strangely happy,"' he murmured, with a wistful smile. " But I see death in your face, Doctor. Do I not?" " No, no," I rephed with eagerness. " You must not think that." " I do think it," he said ; " but do not imagine I fear death. It can only be a grateful release for me. Not only do I live a living death, but the lives of others are in danger while I breathe. It were better I died now." Mr. Ashcioft was now on his knees at the couch, and was holding between his palms the hand I had relinquished. " Dear old Ashcroft ! " murmured Mr Brabazon, " there is a world where we shall meet without fear." Delay was dangerous ; every moment was precious now. " Come ! " I said, " I must be dictator for a while. You must bear a little pain, and all will be well." " Pain I" he cried, with a shudder. " I can bear it, but you know what it means — for others. That is my only fear. I have mastered myself of late ; but I fear great pain still, pot for my Qwn sake, 'but for the sake of those I love. 1 know what you mean, Doctor. My arm ! *^ . A HOUSE or t/-:ars. •45 I nodded. "It must be, I suppose," he said, s:;;liiiv^- p'.v.r.mndly. It would have been acom{xuati\clys;inple operation under ordinary circumstances, but with Mr. Brabazon it was almost a question of life and death for him and for us. Ana.'sthetics I could not administer. I had seen men bear up with i->iar- vellous fortitude under similar conditions without the aid of anaesthetics; but with Mr. Brabazon it was different Pain, acute physical suffering-, meant the outbreak of deadly passion. However, there was no help for it. I made the necessary preparations with as much haste as possible, and Mr. Ashcroft stood ovei the patient to soothe him, and hold him down. It v/as a terribly dangerous operation under the circumstances, but other aid we dare not summon. At the first touch of the knife a hideous yell burst from Mr. Brabazon : he rose in the bed, flinging the old man from him as if he were a feather-weight. I seized bin. with both arms, and before I could even guess what his object was he wrenched his left arm from my grasp and bit deeply into it. " It must be either you or me," he cried in agony, as we fell upon him. Mr. Ashcroft struf^gled to seize his arm in order to suck the venom from the wound ; but our efforts were of no a\ail. With the strength of ten men he tossed us from him. a.nd rising from his couch he seized my knife and kei)t us at bay with the fury of a madman. " What matters my lifv.' ! '' lie cried. " You are men : t am but a monster.'' t4''> A If 'I'SK or ti:ars. We shouled for ass'suini.c, br.t n(i\)ne answered i)ur fraiiiic call^. The sxMn-aiK who had always aiisweicd llie ha!! do.tr for me was o;it. I know not how !oa • t!ie fearful stru'^'de —for \vc' did ho:ii-!Stlv t>truL;';!e wit': id! oar uiii/ht to seize him -lasted. It was proljab!)' al^out ten minutes, but it may have been much lon;^er or much shorter. At hibt with a convulsive ^jhudder he fell to the ground. Fearful of some unlooked-for accident I had brouglit with me a phial of liquor ammonia, and I injected, hypodermic- ally, a strong dose as soon as Mr. Brabrzon fell ; but though I repeated the doses I effected no change. He went through the same course as Madame Viacava had gone ; and with one wild cry, which sounded in my ears like a pitiful wail la heaven, he passed out of the world. CHAPTER XIX. "This, then," said Mr. Ashcroft, sinking into a chair and bur)'ing his face in his hands, " is what Doctor Englehorn feared." Halph Brabazon's body was now laid out on the couch. I liad expected to find the features distorted and unsightly in death ; but I found them glorified with a calm and beautiful peace. The expression was that of one who had passed out of the world, not with the agonising wall which had fallen upon my ears, but with a great sigh of relief. I stood for some time looking down upon the body of the man whose path in life had been different from the path which all other men may tread, who had with his own hand closed upon himself the gates of life, the portals which no man may reopen, and who had opened upon himself the mysterious and awful gates which disclose the paths of eternal "happiness or eternal sorrow. Which of these was Ralph Brabazon now treading? 1 could not regard him as an ordinafy suicide. No base or cowardly impulse had caused L 2 •vV • lis A //.Ji'S/C OF TEARS. Irin to tn':'.^ ';'s o- •! lip;; : ho hnd sacilficed liiiiisclf for others' s.ikc. 1 sU>()j)cd down and rcvcvently kissed the maible forehead. 1 could not help pondering, as I rose to my feet, on my own connection with Redpost House. That I of all others — weak, morbid, retiring, as I had been — should have been singled out by fate as the one to share with 'Mr. Ashcroft the knowledge of the terrible secret, as the only one to sympathise with him for the shock his affectionate nature had sustained, seemed incomprehensible to me. Bletsoe professed to know the secret too — how much or how little he knew was no concern of mine — but he was one who knew it apart from Mr. Ashcroft and myself, and one whose only desire was to benefit himself at the expense of the dead man. Why had I been selected, I could only ask myself pver and over again in vain, to share this dreadful burden ? After much painful deliberation I found an answer which partly satisfied and wholly humbled me. It was simple enough. It was but the just reward of my own supreme folly, my own culpable weakness. (Had I been less wrapt up in myself, had I struggled with my weaker^ baser nature, and had I striven determinedly to shake off my whin- ing misanthropy, this terrible chapter in the book of tn • life would never have been written. Ralph Brabazon would have shunned me as he had shunned the test of the world; he would not have been attracted towards me because of my morbidity, and because I was friendless. Perhaps the A HOUSE OF TEARS. 149 tragedy would never have occurred : Madame Viacava would not have dared to traverse the p:irk at night but for my assurance, given in good faidi, tliat I had always found Mr. Brabazon in his room at the hour when she went to meet her death. There was no tenderness in my mind now for the woman who had once bewitched me ; her reign in my heart had been strangely short ; but I could not wholly dismiss the idea that I was in some way the cause — the indirect and innocent cause, it is true — of her death. The chain of my gloomy thoughts was broken suddenly by Mr. Ashcroft. With, a weary sigh he rose from his chair, and approaching the couch bent over it and pressed his trembling lips to the cold firm mouth of the man be \iiS^ loved and suffered for. I seized his arm gently and led him to th* door. CHAPTER XX. When Mr. Ashcroft and I had left the chamber of death behind us and were in silence descending the r>tairs, the sound of voices reached our ears. To me such sounds conveyed no impression, save that I felt welcome relief at heariilg once more the voice of my fellow man ; but it was otherwise? ^Viih my companion. To him a stranger's speech in that awful house was a tocsin of klarm. He lifted his white bowed head, and in a startled tone he cried, " What is that ? What do I hear?" His words, or rather the tone of his voice, at once made me remember it was exceeding strange there should be visitors in Redpost House. My first thought was that our cries for help had lieen heard by some wanderer in the park, but Mr. Ashcroft shook his head when I suggested this as an explanation. " No," he murmured ; " it cannot be. The park is avoided by every one. To the neighbourhood it is a Sahara — a desert of horrors and mystery. No stranger Ventures to wander through it.'* A HOUSE or TFARS, V' \Vc had stopped on the second hinding to listen, but the ^ voices below were unintelligible. " Let us descend," I said, graspinij the old man's arm. , "We cain soon ascertain who the intruders arc" "Yes, yes," he answered wearily, bowing- his head once more. " What can it matter now ? " As we went down the stairs the voices were hushed- The strangers had probably heard our footsteps and were silently awaiting us. When we reached the first landing we saw that a lampwps alight on a table in the great wide hall ; and the draught, which struck chilly upon us, warned us that the hall door stood open. There were three men in the hall : Mr. Brabazon's servant, who had evidently returned to the house only a few minutes previously, for he was trimming the lamp which had so often lighted me up the staircase, and his hat was still on his head ; a young man in a gray tweed suit and a billycock hat ; and a powerfully-built man whom I recognised at a glance. " Anthony Bletsoe ! " burst from my lips — the memory of everything connected with the man rushing like a torrent upon me. Had he come here, I asked myself, to seek me out, to revenge himself upon me for the failure of my mission ? Or had he come to denounce the man lying up stairs in the calm untroubled majesty of death ? He started as I uttered his name. We were now at the foot of the staircase) and he advanced a few paces to see who ..<,■: 152 A HOUSE OF TEARS. had spoken. His companion in the gray suit had also started at my voice, but he had moved backwards towards the open door. " Only Mr. Ashcroft and the good Doctor Emanuel," said Bletsoe. *' Be not afraid, comrade. The mr.ster of the house is, I take it, still confiiied to his chamber." Mr. Ashcroft roused himself as Bletsoe spoke, and lifting his head he turned to the servant, and in a firm and angry tone asked, " Who admitted those men ? " The servant stammered a long apology for himself. He had a few minutes previously returned, and as he was in the act of opening the door tfte' two gentlemen came upon him suddenly and demanded admittance. He had, acting upon general orders, denied them admission at first, but learning that one was a gentleman from Scotland Yard he had, through his respect for the law, and the officers thereof, allowed them to enter. Of course he expected instant dis- missal : he was prepared for that ; but he could not defy the law, or rather the embodiment of ths law, in the person of Mr. Snellgrove. Mr. Snellgrove, a nneek-looking man of about thirty yea^s of age, bowed in corroboration of the servant's somewhat laboured statement. Bletsoe also bowed towards Mr. Ashcroft, and then, turning to me, the spasmodic motion of his mouth disclosing his white, grinning teeth, said, "'Pon my soul and honour, t)octor, I did not expect to find you here. I did not keep A HOUSE OF TEARS. \'> 5j > Started he open el," said le house d lifting id angry :lf. He IS in the pon him ig upon learning he had, thereof, ;ant dis- defy the erson of rty years )me\vhat I, turning >sing his honour, not keep 41 iny appointment, as I heard of your ilhiess, and guessed the cause of it. I honour y(Hi— 'pon my soul I admire you for your pluck, your devotcdness to my interests — and, judgin.^c by your presence here, for your generosity of spirit. Shall we shake hanfis ? No ! " as 1 drew myself back from him, Well, be it so ; but you are unwise.'* "What is your business, sir?" interrupted Mr. Ashcroft angrily. " My business \ Egad, a pertinent question, a very per- tinent question. My business, my good sir, lies not with you. The mountain (for which read Ralph Brabazon) would not come to Mohammed (for which read Anthony Bletsoe), so Mohammed comes to the mountain." .. " This is no answer, sir. Your business, pray \ " I' r " I have informed you my business lies with your master i •our business, I should say," pointing to Snellgrove, " for the practical portion of the matter lies mainly with him. Egad ! " l^e grinned ; " Mr. Snellgrove, if you will believe me, is a trifle incredulous on some points known to a select few, and is willing to back his opinion by doing a certain duty unaided. I admire pluck, as my dear friend Doctor Emanuel •can tell you, but I deplore rashness. However, Mr. Snellgrove is a gentleman not to be gainsayed." "Is Mr. Brabazon in the house .^" asked Mr. Snellgrove meekly. "He is, he is," replied Mr., Ashcroft slowly, a heaving motion of the chest agitating him. KA yi it'U-^r: rr rr/ri'^. ''■'Cone! ■( t P.!C to liiiii, plcii'^c." \ Iio'J ;>. \' ;.i iiar f-,.- I;:^ .ariest." *ia'fl Mr. Sncll'^^rovc, ahinrlMivn • lis f. >!uu'i- ni •',':- ness of voice and manner, and placov^lils Iimi I u ^.!ic I)rc-ii:,t.- pocl-ct of his coat. " He has been ah-eady summoncl to a h;;^!ic,- and nio'-ft merciful tribunal than the tribunal of men," siM Mr. Ash- • croft, lifting his head and glaring defiantly at the i^entlvai.aii from Scotland Yard. " Dead ! Dead, you mean I " shrieked IJlctsoc, clenching;' his hands and staimping bn the floor. " Dead ! You Have said it;" There was silence in the dimly-lighted hall for a few moments. I was the first to break the silence. " Antonio Viacava," I said, miconsciously addressing h'r.i by the name which had possessed such terror for me, " I hope, though I fear the hope is a vain one, that your evil heart will , be touched when you go up stairs and sec your victim. If his death was your object you have succeeded. You are, to my mind, his murderer as much as if you had plunged into his heart the knife you held at my breast." " Damnation ! " he hissed, glaring at me with an intensity ■ of hate in his ordinarily unimpassioned eyes. " You are mad, good Doctor Emanuel. You shall have a strait jacket." ** I think you addressed my friend," said Mr. Snellgrove, ^pointing to Bletsoe, "as Antonio Viacava." " He is rfvad," interrupted the son of Doctor Bletsoe, with ' undisguised eagerness and terror. *^ Do not I tell you ihe A HO US]-: OF '/v:jr:s. 33 odd doctor is truly iiKul ? Mis reason luii-'fccn upset- and no wonder !" he liisscd witli a sardonic grin. " Why have you adihcssed hini as Antonio V'iacava ? " asked Mr. Sncll;-;rovc, disrci^ardin;!;; Hletsoe's interruption. *' liccause," I answered, " he tola me he was known abroad by that name. He se;,med to take quite a pride in it." A furious oath came from Blctsoc's lips as I spoke. Mr. Snellgrove turned towards him and said, " Quiet, man ! Do you think I don't recognise a madman when I see one •'* " Then, addressing the servant who was standing near hmi in open-mouthed bewilderment, Mr. Snellgrove continued, "Will you oblige me by closing th6 hall door, my man? The draught strikes in bitterly." The 'servant obeyed in silence, and stood with his back against the door, evidently stupefied. " Now, Mr. Blctsoe," said Mr. Snellgrove, " things look pretty snug. We shall be better acquainted by and by. When I have satisfied myself that OReof my prizes is beyond my reach," pointing upwards with his forefinger, " I will, with your kind permission, Mr. Bletsoe, do myself the pleasure of claiming another and a tntite Valuable prize. Anthony Bletsoe, a/i'as Antonio Viacava, will you oblige a friend by permitting him to slip this little bracelet round your wrist ? " The gentleman from Scotland Yard, who had now as- sumed an air quite theatrical, quickly approached Bletsoe holding in his hand a pair of handcuffs. IS6 A HOUSE OF TEARS. With a mad yell lilclsoe darted backvvauls, and then, glanciny swiftly round the hall, he rushed past me up the staircase. " Stop at once ! " said Mr. Snelljj^ove, " or, so help me, ril tire ! " Bletsoe stopped suddenly at the threat. He was half-wny up the first flight of stairs. He turned slowly and faced us, his mouth twitching rapidly. Mr. Sncllgrove stood at the bottom of the stairs holding a revolver in his right hand. "Bah!" cried Bletsoe. "You would not kill me. You are too clever for that. You would only wound me, and then " He held his hand close to his neck, and uttering a horrible guttural sound he jerked his thumb upwards. " My father's death ! No. Never that. If I had the hu k to have carried my revolver with me I should not hesii;itc., I would shoot you aii like rats. But I have only my knife — my knife ! " And suddenly drawing from his pocket the surgical knife he had held at my breast on the cliffs, he gazed at it and then at us for one awful moment, and with a yell he buried the glistening blade in his heart. A moment later his body tumbled down the stairs, and foiled to our feet. |- THE END. 9^'