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 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ARNOLD BENNETT
 
 By ARNOLD BENNETT 
 
 NOVELS 
 
 THESE TWAIN 
 
 CLAYIIANGER 
 
 HILDA LESSWAYS 
 
 THE OLD WI\rES' TALE 
 
 DENRY THE AL'DACIOUS 
 
 THE OLD ADAM 
 
 HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND 
 
 THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS 
 
 THE BOOK OF CARLOTTA 
 
 BURIED ALIVE 
 
 A GREAT MAN 
 
 LEONORA 
 
 WHOM GOD HATH JOINED 
 
 A MAN FROM THE NORTH 
 
 ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS 
 
 THE GLIMPSE 
 
 THE CITY OF PLEASURE 
 
 THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL 
 
 HUGO 
 
 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 POCKET PHILOSOnilES 
 
 THE author's CRAFT 
 
 MARRIED LIl'E 
 
 FRIENDSHIP AND HAPPINESS 
 
 HOW TO LIVE ON 24 HOURS A DAY 
 
 THE HUMAN MACHINE 
 
 LITERARY TASTE 
 
 MENTAL EFFICIENCY 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 THE GREAT ADVENTURE 
 CUPID AND COMMONSENSE 
 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS 
 POLITE FARCES 
 MILESTONES 
 THE HONEYMOON 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 paris nights 
 
 the truth about an author ' 
 liberty! 
 over there : war scenes 
 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 NEW YORK
 
 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 A Melodrama 
 
 BY 
 
 ARNOLD BENNETT 
 
 Author of "These Twain," "Clayhanger," "Hilda 
 Lessways," "The Old Wives' Tale," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 ?1 
 
 Loo'Z 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAPTES PAGE 
 
 I The Lovely Mrs. Cavalossi .... 9 
 
 II Sylviane Closes Her Eyes Once . . 22 
 
 III The Arrival of Mr. Sims 42 
 
 IV Arthur's Surprise Falls Below Expec- 
 
 tations 60 
 
 V The Doctor Explains a Million in 
 
 Vain 76 
 
 VI The Conquest of Mrs. Cavalossi . . 90 
 
 VII Mrs. Cavalossi and Sylviane . . . 102 
 
 VIII The Invitation to the Angel of Death 128 
 
 IX "Spilt Milk" 138 
 
 PART II 
 
 X The Other Arthur 147 
 
 XI Vagaries of a Dog-Cart and Some Har- 
 ness 165 
 
 XII Mr. Sims Sees the Door Locked . . 185 
 
 XIII Mr. Sims Meets with a Revolver . . 204 
 
 XIV Connubial 216 
 
 XV The Rain of Sovereigns 225 
 
 XVI The Last 238 
 
 20464G0
 
 PART I
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 
 
 She sat in her superb private drawing-room 
 at the Hotel Cecil. She was facing the large 
 window which overlooked the Embankment 
 and the Thames and the bridges and the pag- 
 eant of moving life by road and river. The 
 sun was in the heavens, and summer in the air; 
 the trees of the Embankment Gardens were in 
 full leaf — the geraniums bordering the path- 
 ways blazed forth a gorgeous scarlet; the 
 roofs of the fleeting hansoms were brilliant 
 with striped awnings; the large grey excur- 
 sion steamers heading for Hampton Court 
 carried cargoes of laughter and white blouses; 
 the water seemed as blue as the sky — all the 
 world was smiling. 
 
 Except Mrs. Cavalossi, who was obviously 
 uneasy and annoyed. 
 
 Yet she was still young; apparently she had 
 wealth; and her beauty was conspicuous, daz- 
 zling, memorable. At the first glance you 
 would have taken her for twenty-five or 
 
 9
 
 10 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 twenty-six; but on further consideration you 
 would decide, from the firm lines of her 
 mouth, the mystery in the eyes, and her gen- 
 eral air of experience, that she might be more. 
 She was, in fact, thirty-four, and she had been 
 a widow for seventeen years. A strange and 
 enigmatic woman, the strangest and most enig- 
 matic thing about her was that during all 
 those years she had remained unmarried. It 
 seemed incredible that she had not sooner or 
 later yielded to the mere constant repetition 
 of proposals which — you would have thought 
 — must have come to a creature of such beauty. 
 Then perhaps you would examine that oval 
 face, neither dark nor fair, but something be- 
 tween the two, with its pearl-shaped hazel 
 eyes, the marvellous profile of the Grecian 
 nose, the exquisite firm mouth, with rich red 
 lips, rather thin and compressed, the chin a 
 miracle of fine curves, the rounded rose-leaf 
 cheeks unmarred by any cosmetic, the high, 
 clear-white forehead, the little half-hidden 
 ears — you would examine all this, and won- 
 der at it and enjoy it. But you would feel 
 a vague fear; you would be afraid of the deep 
 sinister glance which flashed now and then 
 from those pearl-shaped hazel eyes. You
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI ii 
 
 would probably say to yourself that it was a 
 bold man, and a reckless one, who would pro- 
 pose marriage to Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 She got up suddenly, and passed two or 
 three times to and fro across the room. She 
 was dressed in a walking costume of white 
 drill, with a white hat, under which her 
 brown hair was lightly coiled. Eveiything 
 was severely simple; yet the last word of style 
 was spoken by that dress and coiffure. She 
 returned to the window, stared — without see- 
 ing it — at the magnificent panorama outside, 
 and then abruptly touched an electric button. 
 
 A maid, in the traditional black apron, re- 
 sponded to the summons. 
 
 "Adela, what time is it, exactly? This 
 clock has stopped." 
 
 "Precisely a quarter to ten, madam." 
 
 "Dr. Colpus has not come?" 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "Tell Sims"— Mrs. Cavalossi bit her lips— 
 "to go down to the hotel entrance and wait for 
 him and bring him up to me, the instant he 
 arrives. Then let me have my gloves and the 
 sunshade that came yesterday from Doucet's. 
 Then go and ask Mrs. Drew to be good 
 enough to stay in her room till I send for her."
 
 12 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 Adela withdrew. 
 
 But the door had scarcely closed behind 
 her before it opened again, and she came in to 
 announce: 
 
 "Dr. Colpus." 
 
 The visitor was an erect, slight, active man 
 of advanced middle age. His hair and long 
 moustache were grey. He wore a faultless 
 travelling suit of grey, to match the moustache, 
 and seemed out of breath. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi advanced to him suavely and 
 shook hands. 
 
 "I will ring when I want you," she said to 
 the maid, and Adela departed. Immediately 
 Mrs. Cavalossi and her visitor were alone the 
 expression of her face changed. 
 
 "You said you would arrive at nine," she 
 said sternly. "Have you forgotten that in 
 twenty minutes Arthur Forrest will be here?" 
 
 "The train was late; it was late in leaving 
 Edinburgh, and it steadily lost ground through 
 the night." 
 
 "The train!" she repeated sarcastically, as 
 if Dr. Colpus should have been above the 
 caprices of railways. 
 
 "Yes, the train," he said, showing his fine
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 13 
 
 teeth in a cool, careless smile. "Did you ex- 
 pect me to control the Scotch express?" 
 
 She made a silencing gesture. 
 
 "Well," she exclaimed impatiently, "is it all 
 right?" 
 
 "It is absolutely all right." 
 
 "You have got the affidavit?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And the marriage and birth certificates?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you are positively convinced that 
 there can't be any difficulty or mistake of any 
 sort?" 
 
 "I was positively convinced six months ago, 
 dear lady; before I went I told you that I 
 regarded this journey as unnecessary. But, 
 woman-like, you made up your mind — of 
 course, at the last moment — that it must be 
 done; therefore it was done. I am your 
 humble servant, rather hungry and distinctly 
 short of sleep." 
 
 "You are invaluable," she murmured, and 
 put her white hand on the old man's arm. 
 "Why, you look as fresh as a boy." She was 
 smiling now. 
 
 "The toilette accommodation on the train 
 was admirable," he said ; "and, as you know, it
 
 14 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 is the passion of my life to be a young dandy. 
 By the way, there is a matter I must mention 
 to you. Forrest, you say, will be here in 
 twenty minutes; that gives us twenty minutes 
 to settle it." 
 
 "Settle what?" 
 
 *T will tell you. We have arranged that I 
 shall have a hundred thousand if this affair 
 comes of¥." 
 
 "// it comes off?" said Mrs. Cavalossi, with 
 an emphasis of astonishment on the conjunc- 
 tion, "//it comes oflf? Has it not come off?" 
 
 "No," said Dr. Colpus; "it has not yet come 
 off." 
 
 "You are anticipating, perhaps," his com- 
 panion sneered, "that our young friend may 
 have an apoplectic stroke in the street, or some 
 cheerful accident of that kind?" 
 
 "No, indeed; I trust our young friend may 
 enjoy his usual health," the Doctor smiled and 
 stopped. Then he added, while his face be- 
 came suddenly hard and grave and sinister: 
 ''Until " 
 
 "Until?" 
 
 "I trust our young friend may enjoy his 
 usual health, until " 
 
 The Doctor stopped again. His eyes met
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 15 
 
 those of the beautiful Mrs. Cavalossi in a pro- 
 longed stare of profound significance; and it 
 was not the woman's eyes that quailed in that 
 encounter. 
 
 "Until he ceases to enjoy his usual health," 
 said Mrs. Cavalossi imperturbably. 
 
 "Exactly," said Colpus. "And permit me 
 to add, most precious and adorable creature, 
 that you are the coolest cucumber that it has 
 yet been my privilege to meet." 
 
 "Try not to be silly," was her only reply. 
 "Then you agree that the — affair has come 
 off?" 
 
 "I agree that it probably will do. But sup- 
 pose, for the sake of argument, that " he 
 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Well?" she urged him with a peevishness 
 entirely charming. 
 
 "No matter," he said. "We will be cheer- 
 ful and optimistic on this important and beau- 
 tiful morning. We will assume that success is 
 achieved. We will sing the epithalamium. 
 But before singing the epithalamium of our 
 young friend, I must return to the point from 
 which I started. As I remarked, we have 
 arranged that I shall have a hundred thou- 
 sand."
 
 i6 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 *'Yes," she said. 
 
 "I desire to alter that." 
 
 ''Alter it, my good Colpus?" 
 
 "Precisely. I want five hundred thou- 
 sand." 
 
 "Five hun " 
 
 They looked at each other in silence for 
 the second time that morning, but now it was a 
 measuring of forces, not a mutual comprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 "In other words," said Dr. Colpus lightly, 
 "half a million." 
 
 "I am sorry to disappoint you," Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi replied, with a curious glitter in her hazel 
 eyes; "but really you must admit that a hun- 
 dred thousand is sufficient — half a million 
 would be preposterous." 
 
 "Yes, dear lady, and I am in a preposterous 
 mood." 
 
 "Half a million," she went on, as though 
 the antique fop had not spoken, "is more than 
 you are worth." 
 
 "It would leave you with a round two mil- 
 lions," said Colpus. "And after all, I have 
 not been quite indispensable." 
 
 "You are a clever and unscrupulous man," 
 Mrs. Cavalossi said quietly. "I will go fur-
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 17 
 
 ther and admit that you are an extremely 
 clever and unscrupulous man. But there are 
 several thousands of extremely clever and un- 
 scrupulous men in this country, while there is 
 only one woman as beautiful as Sylviane, and 
 not many as beautiful as myself. Far more 
 than a clever and unscrupulous man, this cap- 
 tivating scheme has needed tlie aid of feminine 
 loveliness, my dear doctor. Therefore " 
 
 "Therefore I must be content with a hun- 
 dred thousand, eh?" 
 
 *'Yes; the sum for which you originally 
 stipulated." 
 
 ''A lady's logic! Yet I persist in demand- 
 ing more. The — er — remaining portion of 
 our scheme will fall to my hands, and every 
 day I am more and more impressed by the 
 danger of it." 
 
 "Pooh!" she flouted him. "You managed 
 well enough the first time." 
 
 "Less was at stake. My brain was cooler, 
 my hand firmer; and the man was older, much 
 older." 
 
 "You aren't growing nervous?" she sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Do I look nervous? I am merely assess- 
 ing the danger I run at its true value; and its
 
 i8 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 true value is half a million — neither more nor 
 less." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi shook her enchanting head. 
 A shade of anger flitted across the man's face. 
 
 "You think I am your adorer," he said 
 bitterly. "I am; I have alw^ays been, and I 
 shall always be, your adorer. In Hades, 
 whither we are both bound, I shall still adore 
 you. But I am not your blind instrument; I 
 am not the sentimental old fool you take me 
 for, Marie. I say that you shall yield to my 
 demand. I will force you." His tone was 
 restrained, enigmatic. 
 
 "Force me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Her answer was to approach him and put a 
 long, thin, caressing hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Do not speak like that, my friend," she 
 murmured, after a pause; "it pains me. You 
 are short of sleep, rather hysterical." 
 
 He laughed the laugh of the conqueror. 
 
 "My half-million?" he queried. 
 
 She moved away and sat down, and he fol- 
 lowed her. 
 
 "You shall have it," she said at length, very 
 quietly. 
 
 "You admit that I deserve it?"
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 19 
 
 "I admit it." 
 
 'Then I kiss your hand." 
 
 And bending, with a grace infinitely elabo- 
 rate, he did so; it was a fit climax to a mighty 
 transaction. They began to speak of trifles, 
 these two who were playing for millions that 
 had been heaped up by the dead. After all, 
 provided the millions are within grasp, it is as 
 easy to play for a million as for a thousand or 
 a hundred, or for love. A million of money 
 is not so very awe-inspiring when you look it 
 steadily in the face. Ask any millionaire (if 
 you happen to enjoy the acquaintance of such 
 a person), and if he is truthful he will tell 
 you that the more intimately he becomes ac- 
 quainted with the length and breadth and the 
 specious magnificence of a million, the less he 
 thinks of it. He will tell you that it falls far 
 short of his youthful dreams of it. 
 
 "A lovely day!" exclaimed Mrs. Cavalossi, 
 relapsing into the amiable banality which is a 
 relief even to the greatest minds after a period 
 of stress and strain. They stood together at 
 the window, enjoying the prospect. 
 
 "Yes," Dr. Colpus agreed. 'T saw the 
 dawn from the tail of the Scotch express, and 
 I said to myself: 'This will be a perfect day
 
 20 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 for Sylviane.' " He smiled sweetly, and she 
 caught his glance. 
 
 "In the matter of the cucumber, to which 
 you referred a few minutes since," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi, *'I am proud to yield to you. I 
 may be cool, but you are ice. Look, at that 
 cart, by the way; there'll be an accident!" 
 
 An ice-cart was lumbering down the Em- 
 bankment, and the driver had turned the heads 
 of the two great horses towards the side of 
 the road in the direction of a drinking-trough. 
 According to the invariable custom of London 
 carters, he did not trouble himself to look 
 behind before swerving. On this occasion a 
 hansom-cab happened to be overtaking him 
 on the left. The cabby tried to avoid a col- 
 lision, but it was too late. The cab-horse 
 charged with full force into the glossy side of 
 the near horse of the ice-cart, and rebounded 
 from that immense bulk as a dog might re- 
 bound after aiming at an elephant. The cab- 
 horse staggered against the horse-trough, and 
 a shaft was broken, but no further harm was 
 done. The ruffled cabby descended from his 
 box, evidently emitting quaint and multitudi- 
 nous oaths, and a young man at the same mo- 
 ment emerged from the interior of the cab,
 
 LOVELY MRS. CAVALOSSI 21 
 
 and stepped on to the pavement. With an 
 involuntary movement, Mrs, Cavalossi grasped 
 the hand of Dr. Colpus. 
 "God!" she whispered, "it is he!" 
 ''He seems unhurt," said the excellent doc- 
 tor. 
 
 "He might have been killed and then!" 
 
 "Yes, my angel," the Doctor remarked, "let 
 this be a lesson to you. Not long since you 
 spoke of our affair as accomplished; but for 
 our inveterate good luck, that clumsy carter 
 might have unconsciously ruined the beautiful 
 edifice that we have erected with so much 
 care." 
 
 The young man out of the hansom was 
 seen to exchange a few words with his cabby. 
 Then he strode forward towards the hotel.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES ONCE 
 
 "Mr. Forrest," a servant announced a few 
 minutes later. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi and Dr. Colpus exchanged 
 an instant's glance, and then the young man, 
 who was the pivot of the drama about to be 
 enacted, entered the room. Arthur Forrest 
 was aged about twenty-five, not very tall, and 
 not very firmly built, and with the slightly em- 
 barrassed manner of ten contracted by studious, 
 solitary people. He had the student's face, 
 with possibly a trace of the poet's superadded 
 — grave, inquiring, kindly, and lighting up at 
 moments into a quick smile of appreciation or 
 enthusiasm. Like the doctor, he was dressed 
 for travelling. 
 
 *'My dear Arthur," Mrs. Cavalossi ex- 
 claimed — and the welcome of her manner 
 seemed to envelop him — "how deeply thank- 
 ful I am that it was no worse!" 
 
 "Good morning," replied Forrest nonchal- 
 antly. "That what v/as no worse?" 
 
 22 I
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 23 
 
 "I saw your cab accident just now from the 
 window. You had a narrow escape." 
 
 They stood together in the middle of the 
 room. Dr. Colpus remained at the window. 
 
 "Oh!" said Forrest lightly, "that was 
 nothing." 
 
 "You are quite unhurt?" 
 
 "Quite. Not even concussion of the brain." 
 
 "Ah! I would say nothing to Sylviane about 
 this." 
 
 "You think it might upset her?" 
 
 "Naturally; to-day she is likely to be a little 
 nervous, don't you think?" Mrs. Cavalossi 
 smiled at him — a smile almost maternal. 
 
 "No doubt you are right," Forrest agreed. 
 
 As he spoke Adela slipped silently into the 
 room, and handed to her mistress a pair of 
 gloves virginally white. ' 
 
 "You are a few minutes before your time, 
 I fancy, Arthur," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "I am a little early," he answered; "but on 
 such a morning is it to be wondered at? 
 Where is Sylviane?" 
 
 "She will be here in a moment," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. "Adela, tell Mrs. Drew that we 
 are ready." 
 
 "Sylviane is well?"
 
 24 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Did you ever know Sylviane or myself 
 otherwise?" said Mrs. Cavalossi calmly. 
 
 "Never," he said; "but, then, I have only 
 known you six months." 
 
 "It seems longer," she said, gently stroking 
 the right-hand glove down her fingers as she 
 coaxed it on. 
 
 "To me it is like a dream," said Arthur 
 Forrest, almost in a whisper, glancing absently 
 at Dr. Colpus, who had remained at the win- 
 dow. "I can scarcely believe that all this is 
 
 true — that I am to Is it true? Am I, a 
 
 student, with no connections and a total in- 
 come of four hundred a year, going to " 
 
 "My dear, precious Arthur, how often have 
 I implored you not to talk about money! You 
 are aware that I have enough, more than 
 enough, for Sylviane, for you, and for myself. 
 You know Dr. Colpus, I think; he is an old 
 friend of our family, and he has promised to 
 come with us to-day. Doctor, come forward 
 and instil into Mr. Forrest some of that prac- 
 tical wisdom for which you are notorious. 
 An occasion like this demands it." 
 
 Dr. Colpus obediently joined the other two. 
 
 "I congratulate you, Mr. Forrest," he said. 
 
 "Thanks," said Arthur.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 25 
 
 Then both men simultaneously turned to- 
 wards the door, which had opened. A young 
 girl stood there — nothing but a young girl, 
 simply dressed in white, framed in the door- 
 way; but the men were held spell-bound, 
 though they had seen her many a time be- 
 fore. 
 
 "God!" exclaimed Ardiur under his breath, 
 "she is too beautiful!" 
 
 Sylviane stood motionless for a fraction of a 
 second; she was indeed beautiful to a miracle. 
 Astonishingly like Mrs. Cavalossi, in feature 
 and form, she yet totally eclipsed the older 
 woman's beauty. There was in her the unique 
 grace of youth, of eighteen years, the fair 
 fragrance of silken petals unsullied by any 
 breath of time and the world. With a face 
 surpassing the perfection of carved marble, 
 and a body slim, lithe, yielding in slight curves 
 to every emotion which passed through her, 
 she looked what she was — the incarnation of 
 supreme loveliness — a loveliness which was 
 always revealing itself anew. 
 
 Arthur sprang forward as she came into 
 the room. 
 
 "May I?" he murmured. 
 
 Her smile responded; he kissed her.
 
 26 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi and Dr. Colpus exhibited an 
 amiable toleration of this episode. 
 
 "Is it time?" asked Sylviane, after she had 
 shaken hands with the Doctor. Her voice 
 was low, tremulous, sweet. Arthur marvelled 
 at it anew, as he had marvelled a thousand 
 times before. 
 
 "Nearly. We may as well go," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. 
 
 "The irrevocable is best done quickly," re- 
 marked Dr. Colpus impassively. Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi caught his eye as he spoke. She was 
 putting on the left-hand glove; her fingers 
 violently clenched. Glancing scornfully at 
 the speaker, she pressed the electric bell. 
 
 "Adela," she said, "another pair of gloves; 
 these have split. Quick, we are starting." 
 
 "But my breakfast," put in the Doctor. 
 
 "You have not breakfasted? But why?" 
 This from Forrest. 
 
 "I — I am not good at getting up early." 
 
 "Very sorry. Doctor," said Mrs. Cavalossi 
 lightly; "but since you rose late your breakfast 
 must be late. Now, young people." 
 
 Going down to the ground floor in the lift 
 she chattered gaily. 
 
 "I am in charge of this exciting expedition,"
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 27 
 
 she said, as they went out; ''all must obey me." 
 
 A carriage and pair was waiting at the en- 
 trance to the hotel, and with the assistance of 
 some half-dozen gentlemen in gilded uniform 
 they ensconced themselves therein. 
 
 ''You have that precious blue paper, 
 Arthur?" Mrs. Cavalossi leaned towards 
 him. He gave an affirmative. She nodded a 
 command to the footman, and they drove off 
 westward, down the Strand, and so into a little 
 side street by Charing Cross. The carriage 
 stopped before a shabby, dirty building with a 
 brass plate on the door. They entered. An- 
 other group of four was just coming out. 
 
 "Is this really the place?" asked Sylviane 
 in the passage, eyeing askance two girls with 
 purple feathers in their hats, one of whom was 
 gently weeping. 
 
 "Name," demanded a clerk, who popped 
 out from a room. 
 
 "Forrest," said Arthur. 
 
 The clerk consulted a paper. "Arthur 
 Forrest and Sylviane Drew?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This way. You're early ; but never mind," 
 said the clerk cheerfully. 
 
 All four went into a room at the back,
 
 2% THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 furnished like an office. In this room two 
 officials were seated at a desk. The clerk 
 gave information to his superiors. 
 
 "Let the contracting parties step forward. 
 Have you the licence, Mr. — er — Forrest? 
 Thanks." 
 
 The two officials scrutinised the document 
 produced. 
 
 "There is surely a mistake here," one of 
 them said; "Sylviane Drew is described as a 
 widow." 
 
 The man looked with involuntary admira- 
 tion at the young girl as she stood before him, 
 flushed and a little nervous. 
 
 Dr. Colpus sprang up and beckoned the 
 official aside. 
 
 "It is quite right," he whispered; "Mrs. 
 Drew is a widow. She was previously mar- 
 ried at the age of sixteen. A dreadful 
 
 tragedy If possible please do not refer 
 
 to the matter." 
 
 The official waved a hand; he had been 
 a superintendent registrar of marriages for 
 twenty years, and allowed nothing to startle 
 him. 
 
 In another minute Arthur Clinton Forrest 
 and Sylviane Drew were man and wife.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 29 
 
 * Witnesses, please to sign," the clerk intoned 
 perfunctorily. 
 
 Dr. Colpus and Mrs. Cavalossi went to the 
 desk. 
 
 ^'Related to th'e bride or bridegroom?" 
 asked the minor registrar. 
 
 "No," said Dr. Colpus. 
 
 "Related to the bride or bridegroom?" the 
 official repeated mechanically. 
 
 "I am the bride's mother," said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi. 
 
 "The bride's — I beg pardon; what did you 
 say?" 
 
 "I am the bride's mother." 
 
 "Sign here, please," was the laconic re- 
 sponse. But both registrars looked intently at 
 the radiant lady; it was, indeed, a day of sur- 
 prises for them. Later on, when they wxre 
 alone, they actually discussed the beauty of the 
 two women, so incredibly mother and daugh- 
 ter, who had invaded their office that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 "Is it all over?" asked Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Quite over," said Dr. Colpus; and the hus- 
 band and wife laughed, not without embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 "And I have not had to give a single
 
 30 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 order!" said Mrs. Cavalossi. "Let us re- 
 
 turn." 
 
 ''My breakfast," said the Doctor, genially, 
 pretending to smack his lips. 
 
 They drove back to the hotel, and the break- 
 fast, served in the dining-room of Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi's private suite, was at least as elaborate 
 and satisfying as Dr. Colpus had a right to 
 expect; he did, indeed, several times audibly 
 pronounce it to be so. Arthur and Sylviane 
 had little to say; but Mrs. Cavalossi and the 
 Doctor vied with each other in the sprightli- 
 ness and gaiety of their conversation. The 
 meal passed with the rapidity of a dream. 
 
 "I drink to the health of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Forrest!" said the Doctor uprising, glass in 
 hand. 
 
 "No speeches," exclaimed Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 "So far, at my special desire, this wedding has 
 been strictly informal, and I wish the infor- 
 mality to continue." 
 
 "Dear lady, you desolate me. I have been 
 composing that speech for the last twenty 
 minutes; and now I am forbidden to give it 
 vent!" 
 
 Suavely smiling, he clinked glasses with 
 husband and wife.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 31 
 
 Arthur said, "On behalf of my wife and my- 
 self, I thank you heartily, Doctor;" and then 
 the breakfast was over. 
 
 "What time does the train leave Charing 
 Cross?" Sylviane asked her husband. 
 
 "Twelve forty," said Mrs. Cavalossi before 
 Arthur could reply. "You must leave us in 
 thirty minutes. Perhaps you had better go 
 and prepare, Sylviane. I have something to 
 say to Arthur; he and I and the Doctor will 
 go into the drawing-room." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," answered Sylviane, and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 "Now, Arthur," began Mrs. Cavalossi, 
 when they had crossed the corridor into the 
 drawing-room. She held up a finger play- 
 fully. 
 
 "Yes, viaman" he replied, following her 
 lead, and meekly folding his hands be- 
 hind him. "What are the maternal coun- 
 sels?" 
 
 "You are a married man, Arthur." 
 
 "I suppose I am; but it seems too good to 
 be true. 
 
 "You think so?" she queried; and Arthur 
 saw her eyes flash. Instead of speaking he 
 nodded.
 
 32 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "You will soon find it is true enough," she 
 laughed. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said. 
 
 "Marriage is very commonplace." 
 
 "Mine will not be." 
 
 Her eyes flashed again. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," she said. "But 
 let me come to my points. You know all 
 about the great tragedy of Sylviane's life — she 
 was only sixteen when it happened. She 
 seems to have forgotten it, but that can never 
 be. Watch over her, Arthur. I know that 
 all mothers say this to their sons-in-law, but 
 you are aware that in this case there is a special 
 
 reason." 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said eagerly; "you may rely 
 on me, mamanf' 
 
 "I know I can, Arthur. Still, there is no 
 harm in reminding you that although you have 
 married a widow, you have also married a 
 young and susceptible girl. And now, my 
 second point." 
 
 "I attend." 
 
 "You must make your will." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "Certainly; this is the proper time. It is 
 your duty. Who knows what may happen?"
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 33 
 
 "Ay!" put in the Doctor, sententiously. 
 
 "A settlement was out of the question," 
 pursued Mrs. Cavalossi; "I knew that, and I 
 was content. You were commendably frank 
 about your position when you asked me for 
 Syiviane, Arthur; nevertheless, you should 
 make a will in favour of your wife." 
 
 "I shall be delighted," said Arthur. "I 
 have an annuity of four hundred a year, 
 which, of course, ceases at my death. Shall I 
 bequeath that to Syiviane?" 
 
 She raised a hand as though in plaintive 
 feminine appeal. 
 
 "Don't make fun of your poor mother-in- 
 law. You might possess property later on; it 
 is even conceivable that you might earn some- 
 thing," she smiled, "though I fancy your pro- 
 fession of art criticism is not an excitingly 
 
 remunerative one." 
 
 "True," said Arthur, sticking his lips grimly 
 together. "But I will leave to Syiviane all 
 that I have or ever shall have." 
 
 "That is what I want — here is a pen; there 
 isn't much time." 
 
 "What do I write?" said he, sitting down 
 with due solemnity. 
 
 "Write as I dictate," said Dr. Colpus, look-
 
 34 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ing suddenly at Mrs. Cavalossi. ''I have 
 witnessed many wills, and I know the form 
 well. Are you ready?" 
 
 "Ready," said Arthur, with poised pen. 
 
 '^This is the last will of me, Arthur Clinton 
 Forrest. I bequeath all my property of what- 
 soever nature to my wife, Sylviane. Dated 
 this 20th day of June, 189 — ." 
 
 "Is that all?" the testator inquired, rather 
 surprised. 
 
 "That is all," said the Doctor, "except the 
 witnessing, which is rather important; Mrs. 
 Cavalossi and I v^^ill attend to that. Sign it 
 first, please." 
 
 It appeared as if Dr. Colpus had taken 
 charge of the proceedings. 
 
 "Listen, Sylviane," Arthur called out from 
 the table a moment afterwards, when his 
 beautiful wife entered the room, ready for de- 
 parture. "Listen to my will. X Arthur 
 Clinton Forrest, bequeath all my property of 
 whatsoever nature to my wife, Sylviane.'' So 
 that, if I die to-morrow " 
 
 He stopped in alarm, suddenly realising 
 what he had done. 
 
 The girl had sunk back into a chair with 
 an inarticulate cry.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 35 
 
 "Arthur, how could you?" whispered Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. 
 
 "Do you forget that poor Drew died the 
 day after they were married?" said Dr. Col- 
 pus, with curious calm. 
 
 "Sylviane! forgive me!" Arthur exclaimed, 
 and took her in his arms. In a moment or so 
 the incident was over, and Sylviane had per- 
 fectly recovered her composure. 
 
 "How stupid of me!" she said, smiling. 
 Nevertheless there was a certain chill gloom 
 as the pair began to make their farewells, 
 and not all Dr. Colpus's professional aplomb 
 could disperse it. Arthur regarded the thing, 
 in spite of himself, as an omen of evil. 
 
 "Good-bye, Sylviane, good-bye," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi, kissing her daughter twice on the 
 cheek. "Good-bye, Arthur. Be very happy; 
 and write soon, both of you — recollect that I 
 shall be lonely." 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 "Good-bye and good luck!" Dr. Colpus 
 was shaking hands and bowing with wonder- 
 ful industry. 
 
 "Sylviane!" Mrs. Cavalossi called her 
 daughter aside. "One word" — she bent to 
 whisper in the girl's ear; "you will receive the
 
 36 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 letter at Montreux. I may send Sims with it; 
 one must be dramatic. You understand?" 
 
 For answer the girl closed her eyes once. 
 
 Then husband and wife were gone; the 
 honeymoon had commenced. 
 
 "I carried it through nicely, didn't I?" said 
 Mrs. Cavalossi subsequently to Dr. Colpus. 
 
 "The affair was arranged perfectly," an- 
 swered the Doctor. "Shall I take charge of 
 the young man's will?" 
 
 "I won't trouble you, thanks all the same," 
 said Mrs. Cavalossi; "I can keep it safe." 
 
 "Why did you marry them in a registry 
 office?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 "Oh! I hardly know," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 "I suppose I had reasons." 
 
 "You were always sentimental," Dr. Colpus 
 rallied her. 
 
 "I think you will find, my good friend," she 
 retorted, "that I am sentimental only in mat- 
 ters of sentiment." 
 
 "Then you regard this marriage as a matter 
 of sentiment?" 
 
 "I regard the particular form of its celebra- 
 tion as a matter of sentiment." 
 
 "Yes," he agreed, courteously hiding a 
 yawn, "all women are alike in this. It is a
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 37 
 
 curious thing — the psychology of the feminine 
 mindl" 
 
 "You are not a woman. You have never 
 been married; therefore you cannot under- 
 stand. I did not care to see my daughter 
 married in a church; it would not have been 
 decent. You have no sense of the proprie- 
 ties." 
 
 "The lamented Mr. Drew married your 
 daughter in a church." 
 
 "Yes ; but I regret it." 
 
 "A wedding " began the Doctor. 
 
 "My dear and excellent Colpus," Mrs. 
 Cavalossi interrupted him, "why will you harp 
 on the subject?" 
 
 "Cannot you guess?" he said. 
 
 "No — since the affair is over." 
 
 "I will tell you, then." He cleared his 
 throat, stood up and walked about the room. 
 "Have you not noticed, Marie, that one wed- 
 ding often begets another?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean," he continued, "that the sight of 
 Mr. Forrest's connubial bliss makes me en- 
 vious of that unexceptionable bridegroom." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Marie, let me entreat you to be sentimental.
 
 38 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 Marry me — I love you, for your beauty and 
 for your sins. Have I not worshipped long 
 enough at the outer shrine, unrewarded?" 
 
 "It was because you loved me, I suppose," 
 she remarked with satiric emphasis, "that you 
 haggled with me this morning like a very 
 Jew?" 
 
 "My dear girl, one does not haggle over 
 half a million. One haggles over half a 
 crown; but where half a million is concerned 
 we call it negotiation. Besides, I only hag- 
 gled in order to prove to myself that " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That I could twist you round my little 
 finger;" he held up that appendage and shook 
 it at her. 
 
 "You flatter yourself, my Colpus; no man 
 could ever influence me." 
 
 "I can, sim.ply because you love me. You 
 have loved me since you were sixteen, Marie, 
 since I first met you in Berlin at the house of 
 that pompous ambassador to whose children 
 you were governess. I was poor then — I am 
 not very rich now." 
 
 "But you expect to be rich shortly," she put 
 in, caustically.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 39 
 
 "I was poor then," he resumed, with a hint 
 of seriousness. "And it was really very 
 chivalrous and unselfish of me to assist in your 
 marriage with the second secretary of the 
 Italian legation. Truly, I don't know why I 
 did it; in those days I must have been a per- 
 fect saint. I might just as well have married 
 you myself." 
 
 "And doomed us both to a life of poverty," 
 she added. 
 
 "We should soon have acquired riches, you 
 and I," he said. 
 
 "In those days" — she looked at him firmly 
 — "I had not learnt to be unscrupulous." 
 
 He hummed a fragment of an air, and then 
 said lightly: "You have never told me, by 
 the way, the circumstances of Signor Cava- 
 lossi's death." 
 
 "My husband died of failure of the heart's 
 action," she replied, in a low voice. 
 
 "H'm! Every one does," he commented; 
 and then went on, as though to dismiss a too 
 delicate subject: ^'What a pity I lost sight of 
 you for twelve years! we might have achieved 
 
 so much in that time Had I but known 
 
 you were a widow 1"
 
 40 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 She gazed at the window in thought. "We 
 met soon enough," she said, reflectively; "you 
 are my evil genius." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "and there is only one way 
 of exorcising me — by marriage. Be serious, 
 Marie; be sentimental, be kind — be mine!" 
 His mild voice rose in a discreet crescendo of 
 appeal. 
 
 "Am I not yours in soul, if not in body?" 
 she murmured. 
 
 "I love you," he said ; "you know it." He 
 bent his face towards hers. 
 
 "As for me, I hate you I" Her eyes were 
 lifted to his, he saw that they were full of 
 tears. "Once, perhaps, I loved you, but now 
 I hate you; and, to save my soul from perdi- 
 tion, I would not marry you." 
 
 Never before had he seen the least trace 
 of moisture in the pearl-shaped orbs of Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. He stopped at the sight of them, 
 as one stops who comes suddenly to the edge 
 of a precipice. 
 
 "That is my misfortune," he answered her, 
 in a grave, conciliatory tone; "my misfortune, 
 not my fault. Dutiful as ever, I submit to 
 remaining in the outer shrine." And, kissing 
 his hand, he walked out of the room.
 
 SYLVIANE CLOSES HER EYES 41 
 
 As soon as he had departed Mrs. Cavalossi 
 rang the bell for her maid. 
 "Adela," she said, ^'we leave here to-mor- 
 
 row." 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "Send Sims to me in half an hour." 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "And get me a liqueur of cognac and my 
 Russian cigarettes." 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 As she lighted a cigarette Mrs. Cavalossi 
 remarked to the match, "He is right, and he 
 knows it. I am madly in love with him, and 
 I would give a million not to be so."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 
 
 Arthur Forrest and his wife had been 
 married three weeks. After a tour in the 
 Austrian Alps they had gone on to the Hotel 
 Splendide at Montreux, in order to enjoy for a 
 day or two the charms of the Lake of Geneva. 
 It was a cloudless July morning. Arthur had 
 just finished an English breakfast, and he was 
 possessed by that profound feeling of satis- 
 faction which only an English breakfast can 
 produce. Sylviane had left the table, and was 
 reclining in an easy chair. She complained 
 of fatigue ; they had spent most of the previous 
 day in a rather complicated railway journey. 
 As she sat there, languidly smiling, enveloped 
 in a confection of blue silk and white chiffon, 
 her exquisite face showing the flushed pallor 
 of a wild rose, Arthur examined her with a 
 gaze so searching, so intent, that she moved 
 uneasily under it. 
 *'What is the matter?" she said. 
 
 42
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 43 
 
 "Nothing whatever, dearest; but if your 
 face is within sight I must look at it." 
 
 The first part of this statement was not 
 entirely truthful. Something was the matter, 
 but that something was so slight, so elusive, 
 that Arthur was almost justified in calling it 
 nothing. The fact was that, though Arthur 
 loved his marvellous wife deeply, he was, so to 
 say, mystified by her; her temperament was 
 a labyrinth in which his soul lost itself. He 
 reflected that this had been so since his first 
 meeting with her six months ago. That meet- 
 ing had occurred, curiously enough, at the 
 house of a high official of the British Museum, 
 a scholar with whom Arthur was on friendly 
 terms, and whom he was in the habit of visit- 
 ing. At an "At Home" given by that gentle- 
 man Mrs. Cavalossi and her daughter had 
 been present, and Arthur, not unnaturally, 
 was fascinated at once. Impelled by a sudden 
 passion of admiration, he, who had hitherto 
 considered women as being outside his sphere, 
 had audaciously requested permission of these 
 two ladies to call on them, and the permission 
 had been granted with a welcoming gracious- 
 ness which positively astonished him. Mrs. 
 Cavalossi had told him that they were staying
 
 44 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 at the Hotel Cecil for the season, that they 
 travelled about a great deal, had no settled 
 home, and very few friends. Subsequently 
 Arthur inquired from his friend of the British 
 Museum how he, whose instincts were not 
 remarkably social, had come to number this 
 wonderful mother and daughter among his 
 friends. The official said that he did not 
 number them among his friends, that they 
 had been invited by his wife, who had met 
 them at a dance at the Hotel Cecil. Arthur 
 found that his friend had not even noticed 
 anything extraordinary about Mrs. Cavalossi 
 and Sylviane. He attributed this to the man's 
 notorious absorption in Egyptian sculpture, 
 upon which subject he happened to be the 
 greatest authority in the world. 
 
 The acquaintance thus begun had grown 
 at a rapid pace. Arthur found the two ladies 
 installed in one of the luxurious suites of the 
 great hotel on the Embankment. Obviously 
 their means were so large as to be practically 
 unlimited; they had a retinue of their own 
 servants, who lived in the hotel. Arthur was 
 by no means a gastronomical expert, but he 
 felt sure that their cuisine, apparently simple, 
 and their wines, never more than one at a meal.
 
 THE ARRIVAL OP MR. SIMS 45 
 
 were absolutely of the unsurpassable first 
 grade. Nevertheless, the pair were of quiet 
 tastes. Apparently they did not go out much, 
 and there was never the slightest ostentation. 
 It came to pass that Arthur got into a habit of 
 dining with them tete-a-tete. Sometimes they 
 would go to the theatre together. Soon tlie 
 young man was upon terms of intimacy. He 
 never attempted to disguise his sentiments 
 towards Sylviane — disguise would have been 
 foreign to his nature; and since both Mrs. 
 Cavalossi and Sylviane herself encouraged, 
 rather than restrained, his candour in this re- 
 spect, he placed no bridle upon his galloping 
 passion. He had dared to fall in love with the 
 loveliest woman he had ever seen — a creature 
 surrounded by all the graces of environment 
 which wealth can bestow — and certainly so 
 far his love had not been scorned. It seemed 
 incredible, but since the fact stared him in the 
 face, he accepted it — and went on. 
 
 One night he took an opportunity to tell 
 Mrs. Cavalossi that he was a poor man of no 
 particular family, who had done nothing all 
 his life but travel through Europe seeing pic- 
 tures and writing about them, and that his 
 highest ambition was to write a monumental
 
 46 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 work on die art galleries of Europe. Mrs. 
 Cavalossi had calmly given him to understand 
 that, as for her, though she had wealth, she 
 attached no real importance to either wealth 
 or birth. 
 
 Within the next week Arthur had proposed 
 to Sylviane and been accepted. 
 
 The whole thing was like a dream to him, 
 some vision from which one wakes to the hard 
 reality of prosaic life. But he had not both- 
 ered about any possible waking; he had ceased 
 to be interested in anything save Sylviane. 
 The young girl, with the tragic history of her 
 first marriage behind her, passionately at- 
 tracted him as an enigma at once bewildering 
 and delicious. The succession of her moods 
 was infinitely various. At one moment she 
 would be the very incarnation of some early- 
 Tennysonian heroine ; it was then that he could 
 peer into the recesses of her soul and divine 
 the secret therein. At the next all was 
 changed; her eye hardened, she would utter 
 some cynical commonplace in her mother's 
 manner, and Arthur withdrew, as it were, 
 baffled. And yet even at these instants he 
 felt that there was something else behind and 
 beneath the assumption of mere worldliness.
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 47 
 
 He abandoned the puzzle, contenting him- 
 self with the sweet certainty of his love. 
 Then he would take it up once more, and aban- 
 don it again. Finally, he had said to himself 
 that when they were married her spirit would 
 bare itself to his, and this mysterioiis veil 
 hanging between them be rent for ever. 
 
 The veil, however, had not been rent. He 
 loved her, his love daily increased; but she 
 was a riddle to him, adorable, unique, intoxi- 
 cating — but a riddle. It was the conscious- 
 ness of this that slightly disturbed him as he 
 gazed at her that morning in the hotel at 
 Montreux. 
 
 Presently she went to the window and 
 looked out. 
 
 "Do come and look, Arthur," she said, with 
 a sigh of pleasure. He went to her side. 
 
 The immense lake, an ocean of rippling 
 blue, lay extended at their feet, tremulous in 
 the clear sunshine. The sky had no cloud. 
 Far away was an indistinct line topped here 
 and there with glittering white patches — the 
 snow-capped Alps. A few coloured sails 
 moved slowly across the water, and almost as 
 slowly the great lake-birds circled to and fro 
 past the hotel windows asking to be fed. It
 
 48 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 was a scene that would have made a brewer 
 sentimental or a stockbroker write poetry. 
 Sylviane yielded herself to its influence. She 
 never talked much, and she did not talk now. 
 She turned her amazing eyes upon Arthur, 
 and took his hand. 
 
 Together they went out on to the balcony. 
 Down below people were walking about. 
 
 *'Why," she cried suddenly, "there is Sims, 
 of all folks in the world." She dropped 
 Arthur's hand; all was changed. 
 
 *'Sims?" said Arthur. 
 
 "Yes, you know," she answered impatiently, 
 "my mother's invaluable courier. He is com- 
 ing here; something has happened." 
 
 "I hope nothing is wrong." 
 
 "Wrong I Of course not. It is one of 
 mamma's whims, I know perfectly well. I 
 shouldn't be at all surprised if she had sent 
 from London just to inquire after our healths. 
 You don't know mamma, Arthur; she is 
 capable of being very extraordinary." The 
 girl's voice was strangely hard. 
 
 "If she has sent Sims merely to say 'How 
 are you?' to us, she certainly is," agreed 
 Arthur. "Shall we go downstairs and meet 
 the man?"
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 49 
 
 "Let us stay here; he will be knocking at 
 our door in a moment, you will see," said 
 Sylviane; "Sims never loses time." 
 
 Sylviane was right. Sims, having ascer- 
 tained their number, without an instant's delay 
 was upon them. He knocked and entered, 
 and with a gentle, low "Good morning, 
 madam; good morning, sir," presented a letter 
 to Sylviane. Sims was dressed in navy blue, 
 with a black necktie; he looked the perfection 
 of calmness and sinister discretion. 
 
 "You have come direct from Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi?" Arthur asked him, amused at the man's 
 air of having done nothing but what was en- 
 tirely usual. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Travelled fast?" 
 
 "Moderately, sir." 
 
 "Is Mrs. Cavalossi quite well?" 
 
 "My mistress enjoys her accustomed health, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Sylviane finished the letter with a smile. 
 "The answer is 'Yes,' Sims." 
 "I thank you, madam. Good morning." 
 Sims was gone. 
 
 "W^ll," laughed Arthur; "of all the 
 quaint "
 
 50 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Listen," said Sylviane, interrupting him. 
 "It is rather startling after all. This is what 
 mamma says: — 
 
 " 'My dear Sylviane and Arthur, — Just a 
 line to say that I have the most wonderful 
 piece of news to communicate to you — it is so 
 wonderful that I can't write it; I simply must 
 tell it. I am going to Folkestone to-day, and 
 shall stay at the Metropole. Will you oblige 
 me by coming home via Boulogne instead of 
 Calais, and we can see each other at Folke- 
 stone? I long to see you both; I long to tell 
 you this wonderful news, which, by the way, 
 concerns Arthur very intimately. I may just 
 say that it was Dr. Colpus who found it out, 
 quite by accident. In five days you will be 
 at Folkestone, will you not? Till then, au 
 revoir, and my fondest love. — M. C " 
 
 "Concerns me intimately, does it?" said 
 Arthur. 
 
 Sylviane smiled at him through half-closed 
 eyes. 
 
 "Do you guess what it is?" he asked her, 
 surmising something from her glance. 
 
 "Not a bit. By the way, I gave Sims his 
 answer without consulting you; do you mind, 
 dearest? It was very wrong of me."
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 51 
 
 She pretended to be contrite. He came 
 over and kissed her; one excuse serves as well 
 as another on a honeymoon. 
 
 ^'I am dying to know what it can be," Syl- 
 viane murmured. "You may be sure that if 
 mamma says it's wonderful, it is wonderful." 
 
 "You are right," said Arthur. 
 
 "Mamma never exaggerates." 
 
 "Where is the letter dated from?" asked 
 Arthur suddenly; and they examined the 
 missive, their two heads dangerously close to- 
 gether. But there was no sign of the place of 
 the letter's origin. 
 
 "Mamma said she should leave the Cecil 
 the day after we did," Sylviane remarked; 
 "and I thought she was going straight to 
 Folkestone. But here she says, 'I am going to 
 Folkestone to-day.' " 
 
 "Let's ask Sims where he came from." 
 
 "You forget; Sims has gone. By this time 
 he will be half way across Europe en route for 
 home." 
 
 "So he will, my acute darling." The fond 
 youth stroked her wondrous hair. 
 
 "I'm sure of one thing — that mamma 
 wouldn't stay in London all this time by her- 
 self. She'd be so dull."
 
 52 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "With Dr. Colpus?" Arthur suggested with 
 a malicious laugh. 
 
 "What do you mean, my love?" 
 
 "Dr. Colpus is never dull, is he?" 
 
 "Do you think, then, that there is anything 
 between mamma and Dr. Colpus?" 
 
 "I never meditate on such matters, Sylviane ; 
 but it struck me that the Doctor enjoyed the 
 occupation of being a satellite to your mother." 
 
 "Dr. Colpus is nothing to mamma. He is 
 a wicked man." 
 
 "Quite possibly, my dearest; but how do 
 you know?" 
 
 "I — I — I feel it," said Sylviane, blushing 
 momentarily 
 
 And once more Arthur experienced the 
 curious sensation of being baffled by something 
 in his wife's personality which he could not 
 fathom. 
 
 "You actually know nothing against him, 
 then," Arthur persisted. 
 
 Sylviane kissed her spouse full on the lips; 
 it was the first time during their honeymoon 
 that she had offered him a caress unasked. 
 He thanked her as a lover should, and with 
 that forgetfulness of all external things which
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 53 
 
 should invariably characterise the demeanour 
 of a lover. 
 
 "Let us talk of something else," Sylviane 
 appealed to him gently. "We have not come 
 to Montreux to discuss Dr. Colpus." 
 
 And she ran to the window, he following. 
 
 "The lake is lovely," said Arthur. 
 
 "Suppose we go for a sail," she replied, 
 taking his hand, and glancing into his eyes 
 with a girlish timidity that sent him wild with 
 ecstasy. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour they were afloat on 
 the sunlit blue, and Dr. Colpus passed into 
 oblivion. 
 
 Yet it seemed as if Sylviane could not for- 
 get her mother's letter, and since Dr. Colpus's 
 name occupied an important position in the 
 letter, that name crept again into their conver- 
 sation. As thus: 
 
 "Now, what can mamma's news be?" Syl- 
 viane burst out w^ithout any warning or pre- 
 lude. 
 
 Arthur examined her face. 
 
 "Suppose we wire privately to Dr. Colpus 
 and ask him. Your mother says it was he 
 who -found out this wonderful thing."
 
 54 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Only by accident, though," said Sylviane. 
 
 "Does Dr. Colpus ever do anything by acci- 
 dent?" Arthur asked the surrounding air. 
 
 The light went out of Sylviane's eyes. 
 
 "I believe you know what the news is," 
 Arthur went on. "I believe you're only teas- 
 ing me." 
 
 "Arthur!" 
 
 "You look awfully self-conscious, you 
 kitten." 
 
 He smiled fondly at her, but she burst into 
 tears, and he had to comfort her. 
 
 On the next day but one they were in Paris, 
 and on the fifth day after receiving the letter 
 they had reached Boulogne. The sea was a 
 little rough, and Sylviane regarded the tiny 
 tossing Boulogne paddle-boat with apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 "Let us wait till to-morrow^" Arthur sug- 
 gested, as they stood on the quay. 
 ' "But mamma is expecting us." 
 
 "What matter? Mamma can wait." 
 
 Sylviane looked out to sea. 
 
 "I should prefer to go to-day," she said; 
 "let me get it over." 
 
 Immediately they went on board, Sylviane 
 insisted on disappearing into the ladies' cabin.
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 55 
 
 To Arthur's argument that she would be better 
 on deck she was inflexibl}'^ adamant 
 
 Arthur walked from end to end of the ship 
 during the whole voyage. As the clififs of 
 England grew visible to the eye, his mind be- 
 came engaged upon Mrs. Cavalossi's message. 
 Sylviane had mentioned it several times on 
 the intervening days. Her demeanour in the 
 matter puzzled him. She insisted that the 
 message must refer to something of the highest 
 importance, something which meant good for- 
 tune, and yet her curiosity seemed to be list- 
 less and half-hearted. His own speculations 
 on the question did not lead him far. They 
 pointed in only one direction, and that di- 
 rection, he felt convinced, was quite impos- 
 sible. 
 
 As he stood at the prow of the boat a hand 
 was suddenly laid on his shoulder from be- 
 hind. 
 
 "Hullo, Arthur! What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 He turned round, and beheld a young man 
 of about twenty-five, with a round, smooth, 
 boyish face, and a distinctly boyish laugh. 
 
 "Hullo!" Arthur returned the salutation. 
 They shook hands with energy.
 
 56 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ''What have you been up to?" asked the 
 boy of twenty-five. 
 
 ''Only getting married," Arthur replied; 
 and they fell at once into an intimate conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Who," inquired the youth, "has been blind 
 enough to your defects to marry you?" 
 
 Arthur laughed, as one is bound to laugh 
 at the tedious pleasantries of one's intimate 
 friends. 
 
 "A lady," he said. 
 
 "A widow, I bet," said the youth. 
 
 "You are right, my dear fellow," said 
 Arthur seriously. ' 
 
 "No! Not really!" It was the youth's 
 turn to feel embarrassed. "Young, I am 
 sure," he said gallantly. 
 
 "You are right again; she is eighteen." 
 
 "Eighteen and a widow! You are joking, 
 Arthur." 
 
 "My sagacious infant, I have not yet been 
 married long enough to have learnt how to 
 make jokes at the expense of my wife. She 
 was first married at the age of sixteen — she 
 was a wife for one day only; the poor chap 
 died. Does that satisfy you?" 
 
 "Perfectly. I was always rude, you know,
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF IVIR. SIMS 57 
 
 without meaning to be. And may I ask, 
 without offence, if this is part of your honey- 
 moon?" 
 
 "It is the last day of our honeymoon." As 
 he uttered the words, Arthur involuntarily 
 sighed. 
 
 "How's art-criticism getting on?" inquired 
 the youth. 
 
 "I have forgotten all about it; I have for- 
 gotten that such a thing as a picture exists. 
 By the way, you omitted to congratulate me 
 on my marriage." 
 
 "Did I? I apologise. Accept my con- 
 gratulations, and don't think I am not de- 
 lighted to hear your news. The truth is, I'm 
 a bit preoccupied with my own affairs. I am 
 conscious of a certain desire to talk about my- 
 self, and in trying to restrain that desire I 
 forget the subject in hand." 
 
 "My dear chap, talk about yourself by all 
 means. You always did when you were with 
 me; don't lose your old habits." 
 
 The boy of twenty-five gazed out to sea for 
 a few moments. 
 
 "I say," he said at length, "my birthday will 
 be here in a trifle over two months." 
 
 "I congratulate you," said Arthur. " I
 
 58 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 knew it wouldn't be long now before you came 
 into it." 
 
 The boy laughed eagerly. 
 
 ''I come into // on the 20th of September 
 precisely. 1 can scarcely believe the thing, 
 you know. But I've made up my mind Tm 
 going to have a terrific big show to celebrate 
 it. I shall want you and Mrs. Forrest to 
 come down to Stafifordshire early in October. 
 You'll come?" 
 
 "We'll come, if it's only to see what sort of 
 an ass you make of yourself." Arthur looked 
 thoughtfully at the harbour, which they were 
 now entering. "Yes," he repeated, "we'll de- 
 cidedly come; it will enchant Sylviane." 
 
 "Sylviane: is that your wife? What a 
 beautiful name! If Mrs. Forrest is as beauti- 
 ful as her name " 
 
 "She is seventy and seven times more beau- 
 tiful, old chap, but " 
 
 "But " 
 
 "Well, to be candid, which always means to 
 be rude, if she has experienced any — er — un- 
 pleasanmess on the voyage she won't want me 
 to be introducing you to her immediately we 
 land; so you'd better clear ofif. See? You 
 say you're staying the night in Folkestone.
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF MR. SIMS 59 
 
 So are we; we shall be at the Metropole. 
 Call in the morning. Where are you stay- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Not at the Metropole — can't afford; run 
 dry." 
 
 Arthur laughed loudly. 
 
 "I'll lend you a tenner," said he. 
 
 "Oh, no, you won't," said the boy. 
 
 "Then all this time you've kept strictly 
 within the allowance? No borrowing?" 
 
 "Strictly," said the boy, not concealing his 
 pride in the statement. 
 
 "I renew my congratulations. You are a 
 prodigy." 
 
 "But won't I have a time in the autumn!" 
 was the emphatic response. 
 
 The boat drew alongside. They shook 
 hands, with a "See you to-morrow," and 
 Arthur wei^t below to seek the woman who 
 was seventy and seven times more beautiful 
 than her name.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE FALLS BELOW 
 EXPECTATIONS 
 
 "And now, mamma," said Sylviane, "let us 
 hear this wonderful news." Arthur and Syl- 
 viane, with Mrs. Cavalossi and Dr. Colpus, 
 were just finishing dinner in a private room of 
 the Hotel Metropole at Folkestone. It was 
 Mrs. Cavalossi's custom to inhabit the private 
 rooms of expensive hotels. She told Arthur 
 that she adored hotels, that all the events of 
 her somewhat eventful life had occurred in 
 hotels, and that it was her full intention to die 
 in an hotel. She averred that though hotels 
 were expensive, they saved trouble; that if you 
 went the right way to work you could always 
 get exactly what you wanted, and that there- 
 fore to patronise hotels was in the end, for a 
 person of means, the cheapest way of keeping 
 a roof over your head. 
 
 Dr. Colpus had arrived from London — 
 after the soup, smiling, dehonnaire, and im- 
 
 60
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 6i 
 
 perturbable as usual. Sylviane was perfectly 
 recovered from the inconveniences of the 
 Channel, and she and her mother vs^ere gay, 
 alert, radiant, entrancing. By chance their 
 dresses were almost exactly similar — of grey 
 silk with an alluring V-shaped corsage. 
 They looked like sisters, and they knew it, 
 and consciously or unconsciously accentuated 
 the fact by little resemblances of speech and 
 gesture. Arthur sat between them, with Dr. 
 Colpus opposite. The extraordinariness of 
 their amazing beauty had never struck him 
 more impressively than to-night. Yet amid 
 this scene of light laughter and feminine love- 
 liness, in this room where softly shaded can- 
 dles threw a discreet light upon half-empty 
 glasses and exquisite feminine arms, he ex- 
 perienced a sense of diffidence, even of appre- 
 hension. He felt that he had slipped out of 
 his world — the world of scholarship and art 
 and simplicity. 
 
 With an abrupt motion of the hand, Mrs. 
 Cavalossi dismissed the waiter. Then, rais- 
 ing her glass, she said: 
 
 "I drink to the news!" 
 
 "To the news!" repeated Dr. Colpus and 
 Sylviane.
 
 62 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "I call upon Dr. Colpus to deliver it," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Oh, then, it is Dr. Colpus's news?" said 
 Arthur. 
 
 "Dr. Colpus will relate it. For myself, I 
 couldn't possibly remember all the details; it 
 is much too complicated," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 "Moreover, the credit of the discovery be- 
 longs entirely to our dear Doctor. Thirdly 
 and lastly, at my special request he has very 
 kindly come down specially from London to- 
 night to meet us." 
 
 The Doctor bowed. 
 
 "The whole business is very extraordinary," 
 he began, "so extraordinary as to be almost 
 incredible. I haven't ceased to wonder at it 
 from the moment when I first started to un- 
 ravel the thing." 
 
 "When was that?" asked Arthur. 
 
 "Curiously enough, it was on the very after- 
 noon of your marriage. I was idling about in 
 the reading-room at the Cecil, when I picked 
 up a back number of the Graphic — it was 
 three years old. I was just about to ask the 
 attendant how it came ther6, when my eye 
 caught a portrait of Carl Peterson."
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 63 
 
 Arthur was sipping his champagne. He 
 quietly put down his glass, and, drumming 
 with his knuckles on the table, put in : 
 
 "You mean Peterson, the Staffordshire 
 millionaire?" 
 
 'Trecisely," said the Doctor. "You may 
 remember he died about a couple of years ago. 
 He left a fortune of two millions and three- 
 quarters." 
 
 "Heavens!" ejaculated Mrs. Cavalossi, smil- 
 ing brilliantly, "I feel like a pauper." 
 
 ''Yes," Dr. Colpus repeated, "two millions 
 and three-quarters. The fortune was so large 
 that the newspapers printed his will in full. 
 Not that it was a long document. He had 
 two sons; one of them, Carl, the younger, was 
 insane; some say it was owing to an unfor- 
 tunate accident to his mother. Lady Evelyn 
 Peterson, which ultimately resulted in her 
 death. But I fancy there is queer blood in the 
 family. After providing a thousand a year 
 for the proper maintenance of Carl, who is 
 now dead, the will proceeded to devise the 
 whole of the remainder of the testator's prop- 
 erty to "my eldest son, Arthur" — same name 
 as your husband's, Sylviane."
 
 64 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ''Is all this part of the news?" said Syl- 
 viane, innocently. "It sounds as if it was go- 
 ing to be awfully elaborate." 
 
 "Yes, it is part of the news. Now for the 
 next point. Although Carl Peterson was a 
 sort of public character, I had never seen a 
 portrait of him till that day. I have, I may 
 remark, an extraordinary memory for faces, 
 and I instantly said to myself, "I have seen 
 that man somewhere." And I was soon able 
 to recall the time and place. I once practised 
 for a short time in Edinburgh, and one 
 night — this must have been nearly thirty 
 years ago — a man knocked me up and asked 
 me to go to his wife, who was dangerously 
 ill." 
 
 "What was the illness? Did you save 
 her?" asked Sylviane. 
 
 Mechanically Arthur put his hand on his 
 wife's arm as if to check her. 
 
 Dr. Colpus smiled indulgently at the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "Yes, I saved her. As for the illness, that 
 night a son was born. Now, as I sat in the 
 reading-room at the Cecil, I was absolutely 
 sure that the man who had knocked me up 
 that night thirty years ago in Edinburgh was
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 65 
 
 none other than Carl Peterson, whose portrait 
 I had seen in the Graphic. Strange, was it 
 not?" 
 
 "Very," murmured Arthur, and he sipped 
 again his champagne. 
 
 The Doctor resumed : 
 
 "Having a taste for mysteries, and knowing 
 that, so far as the world in general was aware, 
 Carl Peterson had only had one wife, a peer's 
 daughter, I casually went to Edinburgh and 
 made a few inquiries. These inquiries were 
 singularly successful. Armed with the por- 
 trait, I interviewed landladies and parish 
 clerks, and I consulted registers, and within 
 three days I collected positive proof that Carl 
 Peterson had lived a year or two in Edin- 
 burgh, had married there, and had had a 
 son." 
 
 'Tn his own name?" asked Arthur. 
 
 "Not in his own name; I will tell you the 
 name presently." 
 
 "Tell me now," Arthur demanded, and 
 looked at Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Yes, tell him at once," said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi. 
 
 "The name was Forrest, and, to cut the tale 
 short, you are that son."
 
 66 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Oh!" cried Sylviane. "Well " She 
 
 stopped, gazing at her mother. 
 
 There was still a little champagne in Ar- 
 thur's glass. He calmly poured it on to the 
 tablecloth and set the glass down. Mrs. 
 Cavalossi laughed at the odd trick. 
 
 "You are a curious young man!" said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. 
 
 Arthur bowed. 
 
 "You would infer then, Doctor," said 
 Arthur, "that Carl Peterson's reputed wife 
 was not his wife at all ; that Carl Peterson was 
 a bigamist, and that the two sons brought up 
 in Staffordshire were not legitimate?" 
 
 "I would infer that," assented the Doctor; 
 "it is beyond question. I know what consti- 
 tutes legal proof, and I have that proof." 
 
 "Do you know why Carl Peterson should 
 have deserted his wife in Edinburgh?" 
 
 "I do not know, and I fancy that mystery 
 will be a mystery for ever. But, tell me, do 
 my facts agree with your early recollections?" 
 
 "They agree with them so far that I never 
 knew my father," answered Arthur, "and also 
 that my mother told me frankly that my father 
 had disappeared." 
 
 "Ahl" said the Doctor.
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 67 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi beamed upon her son-in- 
 law, disclosing her superb teeth. 
 
 "Your mother, I have been told, is dead," 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 Arthur signed an affirmative. The Doctor 
 began again: 
 
 "Carl Peterson's will was proved by the 
 executors. It orders that 'my eldest son, 
 Arthur,' shall not receive his heritage until he 
 attains a certain age, and that until then he 
 shall receive an allowance of only five hun- 
 dred a year. Peterson was a fellow of whims, 
 but I can see some sense in that arrangement. 
 By the way, if my information is correct, the 
 millionaire left his Edinburgh wife, your 
 mother, when you were only a few days old?" 
 
 "So she once told me." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Doctor again, "then Carl 
 Peterson never knew that you had been named 
 Arthur; that, in fact, by a not very remarkable 
 coincidence, he had two sons named Arthur. 
 Nevertheless, you and not the Staffordshire 
 Arthur, are the 'my eldest son Arthur' referred 
 to in the will." Dr. Colpus paused. "You 
 take it very calmly," said he at length. 
 
 The tinkle of Sylviane's bracelets as she 
 moved her hand sounded loud in the room.
 
 68 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "I will tell you why," Arthur replied; "I 
 knew the whole thing before — 1 have known 
 it since the day my mother died." 
 
 With the swiftness of lightning Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi and the Doctor exchanged a glance. 
 Sylviane drew in her breath. 
 
 "Since your mother died?" murmured Syl- 
 viane, repeating Arthur's last phrase almost 
 mechanically. 
 
 "My mother's dying legacy to me was the 
 history of my father's scoundrelism," said 
 Arthur bitterly. And then there was a pause. 
 
 "Of course," Dr. Colpus put in suavely, "it 
 is a subject upon which you must feel very 
 deeply." 
 
 "I do," Arthur agreed. 
 
 As the two conspirators eyed the young 
 man's firm and set lips a qualm of anxiety and 
 apprehension crossed their gilded dreams of 
 the future. Both had an uneasy suspicion that 
 this art-critic, usually so mild and simple in 
 his ways, might be capable of the most extraor- 
 dinary and disconcerting act. The Doctor 
 mentally faced this possibility; the woman 
 characteristically tried to avoid it, to pretend 
 to herself that it did not exist. 
 
 "We guessed, of course," said Mrs. Cava-
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 69 
 
 lossi, "that some of the facts which the Doc- 
 tor had to place before you would give you 
 pain; but we hoped" — here she smiled with a 
 touch of roguishness — "that the general effect 
 of our news would be — er — joyous, my dear 
 Arthur." 
 
 "Your hope was an excusable one," said 
 Arthur coldly, in a tone which at the same 
 time implied that it was a very foolish hope. 
 
 "Forgive my curiosity," the Doctor picked 
 up the conversation, which seemed about to 
 languish into an awkward silence; "but have 
 you any idea why your father and your mother 
 agreed to part?" 
 
 "My father and my mother did not agree to 
 part," said Arthur. 
 
 "But they ceased to live together?" 
 
 "My father deserted my mother. Have 
 you not yourself already implied as much?" 
 
 "Was the difference between them due to 
 what is called incompatibility of temper?" 
 
 "There was no difference; it happened thus, 
 so my poor mother told me: My father per- 
 suaded her that they were not legally married ; 
 he actually pretended to her that he had de- 
 ceived her — he made himself out to be a vil- 
 lain in the eyes of the woman he loved."
 
 70 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 There was another pause. At least two of 
 the party had anticipated a pleasant, even a 
 politely uproarious, evening. They had imag- 
 ined that this wonderful news of Arthur's title 
 to vast wealth would be seasoned with laugh- 
 ter and washed down with wine; and lol here 
 was an atmosphere of gloom, constraint, and 
 mystery ! 
 
 *'You asked me just now," pursued the Doc- 
 tor, "if I knew why your father left your 
 mother. I could not reply; but perhaps you 
 know the answer yourself." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Arthur, in the same cold 
 and sinister tone. "Before marrying my 
 mother my father had had sentimental rela- 
 tions with Lady Evelyn Hart, but they had 
 been abruptly broken off by the lady's parents ; 
 my father was not rich enough then to claim 
 a peer's daughter. Afterwards Lady Evelyn 
 became an orphan and her own mistress, and 
 she wrote to my father, unaware that in the 
 meantime he had married my mother. In- 
 stantly my father conceived the plan of desert- 
 ing my mother; of suppressing his marriage 
 with her, and going through another cere- 
 mony with Lady Evelyn. He began his cam- 
 paign of infamy by pretending, as I have said,
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 71 
 
 that his marriage with my mother was not a 
 legal one. He really convinced her of this, 
 and it was not till years afterwards that she 
 discovered the trick played upon her. Next 
 he told her that he was tired of her, that she 
 had no claim on him, and that he proposed to 
 leave her. He offered her money, which she 
 indignantly refused. He called her a fool, 
 and departed in quest of Lady Evelyn. My 
 mother was left penniless in Edinburgh, witli 
 a child a few days old — you see, it was im- 
 perative that my father should lose no time 
 in replying to Lady Evelyn's invitation. The 
 scheme was a bold one — it was bold to the 
 point of rashness; but it succeeded. My fa- 
 ther, 1 fancy, had a knack of making things 
 succeed; it was this knack, coupled with his 
 perfect disregard of all obligations, save the 
 obligation to 'get on,' that left him with a for- 
 tune of over two millions. In some ways my 
 father was a great man." 
 
 "And so Mr. Peterson began an entirely 
 new life in Staffordshire?" said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi. 
 
 "An entirely new life." 
 
 "I trust your mother was never in actual 
 distress."
 
 72 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "She was never in actual monetary distress; 
 Heaven watched over her. An aunt of hers 
 died, and left this dear creature — who thought 
 herself a shamed woman, while she was really 
 a lawful wife — a tolerably large sum of 
 money. With this money my mother bought 
 an annuity on my life. It was not a wise 
 thing to do, but she was unversed in business 
 affairs. Had she been a little less simple and 
 confiding, perhaps Carl Peterson would not so 
 easily have imposed on her." 
 
 "You have our sympathies, Mr. Forrest," 
 said Dr. Colpus. "May the earth lie lightly 
 on the graves of both your mother and father 
 — the sinned against and the sinner!" The 
 Doctor uttered this excellent sentiment with 
 an admirable histrionic talent. Then he con- 
 tinued, as a sort of after-thought: "You have 
 told us that you were aware of the whole 
 thing. Did you, then, know the details of 
 Carl Peterson's will?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Arthur with undiminished 
 calmness, "I did. Let me add my little store 
 of facts on that part of the affair. The Staf- 
 fordshire Arthur will be twenty-five years of 
 age, and in a position to demand the property 
 from the executors, on the twentieth of Sep-
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 73 
 
 tember next. The Staffordshire Arthur hap- 
 pens to be an acquaintance of mine." 
 
 "An acquaintance of yours?" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Cavalossi, obviously startled. 
 
 "A friend — a dear friend," said Arthur. 
 
 "How did that friendship arise?" 
 
 "We first saw each other in Spain, where I 
 was travelling from city to city in search of 
 pictures. The precise circumstances are of no 
 importance. Arthur Peterson confided in me. 
 He told me all about the provisions of his 
 father's will." 
 
 "And you revealed your identity to him?" 
 
 "No, I did not reveal my identity to him." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I preferred not to do so. I may mention 
 that, after losing sight of him for a period, I 
 met him on the Boulogne steamer to-day; he 
 is now in Folkestone. He will call here to- 
 morrow morning in order to be introduced to 
 Sylviane. You thought to astonish me, Doc- 
 tor. Admit that I have astonished you." 
 
 But the Doctor was silent, busy with the ex- 
 amination of Arthur's face. 
 
 "How piquant," murmured Mrs. Cavalossi; 
 "and how excessively awkward it will be for 
 you, Arthur, to tell your friend that that two
 
 74 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 millions and three-quarters will never be his. 
 Perhaps you had better leave it to the Doctor 
 to break the news to him." 
 
 ''The Doctor will oblige me by saying noth- 
 ing to Arthur Peterson." 
 
 "That is, of course, as you wish. But may 
 1 ask, my dearest Arthur, why you have de- 
 layed the matter so long? Every day makes 
 it more delicate for you if this poor boy is your 
 friend." 
 
 "I have no intention of claiming my father's 
 fortune," he said. 
 
 "Do you mean that?" asked Dr. Colpus, in 
 a low voice; "or are you appealing to our 
 sense of humour?" 
 
 Arthur waited for the fraction of an instant 
 before answering. 
 
 "I mean it." His tones were absolutely 
 steady. 
 
 "Arthur!" screamed Sylviane sharply, 
 pointing with an hysteric movement of the 
 hand to her mother. 
 
 The beautiful Mrs. Cavalossi had suddenly 
 risen from her chair. Her face was blanched 
 and tremulous with passion. The features 
 were transformed, and the eyes shot down
 
 ARTHUR'S SURPRISE 75 
 
 upon Arthur a burning, consuming ray of 
 anger. 
 
 "You are a fool!" she gasped; "but, before 
 heaven, I will cure you of your folly!"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS A MILLION IN VAIN 
 
 Not only Arthur, but the imperturbable Dr. 
 Colpus himself, was obviously amazed by this 
 outburst on the part of Mrs. Cavalossi. As 
 for Sylviane, she seemed to be more alarmed 
 than astonished — it was as though she had 
 been accustomed to the phenomenon. The 
 two men looked from one to the other of the 
 two women, Arthur distinctly amazed and at 
 a loss, the quick-witted old Doctor searching 
 within his active brain for some solution of 
 the difficulty. 
 
 The atmosphere was tense, electric; each 
 wondered what would happen next. Arthur's 
 eyes showed that a quarrel might burst like a 
 thunder-cloud at any moment. Everything 
 depended on the next words spoken. 
 
 Then Mrs. Cavalossi smiled exquisitely and 
 her features resumed their normal sweetness. 
 
 "Forgive me, my dear Arthur," she said, 
 *'but the temptation was irresistible; I could 
 
 76
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS ^-7 
 
 not help that bit of acting. But it appears 
 that I startled you instead of making you 
 laugh. Really, I quite meant you to laugh. 
 You ought to have laughed at my little joke — 
 you who can so lightly refuse an offer of 
 millions." 
 
 She sat down again and poured out some 
 wine. 
 
 To look at that calm and smooth face in re- 
 pose, with its delicious contours and charm- 
 ing gradations of colour, no one would have 
 guessed that it was capable of such a trans- 
 formation as that through which it had just 
 passed. There are some feminine natures 
 which remain placid for years, like the slopes 
 of an unsuspected volcano, and then, like a 
 volcano, break out viciously into clouds of 
 anger and lava-torrents of vituperation. The 
 damage done may be trifling, or it may be dis- 
 astrous, but all in the vicinity have realised 
 the lurking danger, and they go in fear of it 
 for a time. In due course the danger is for- 
 gotten again; the volcano sleeps; the lava- 
 beds are overgrown with vegetation; the land- 
 scape smiles. Perhaps only one person re- 
 members the past, and counts the risk of the 
 future. In this case that one person was Syl-
 
 78 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 viane. Sylviane knew her mother; not with 
 the scientific insight of Dr. Colpus's trained 
 intelligence, but by a sheer and profound in- 
 stinct almost infantile in its sure divinations. 
 Sylviane sighed now — a sigh made up equally 
 of thankfulness and of apprehension. It was 
 as though she had once witnessed the entomb- 
 ment of Herculaneum and Pompeii by Ve- 
 suvius, and the sight of fire and smoke, the 
 sound of rumbling, had reconstituted the scene 
 before her mind's eye — an eye which plainly 
 perceived the possibility of further similar 
 disasters. 
 
 Through what crises, one wondered, had not 
 the daughter passed with her mother during 
 the years of her earlier girlhood! 
 
 The air was temporarily cleared. Sylviane 
 glanced timidly at her mother, and then at her 
 husband. Dr. Colpus seized the chance, and 
 began to speak in his low, even, reassuring 
 voice. 
 
 "Ah! millions!" he said; ^'people often talk 
 of millions without in the least realising what 
 a million is, what it means, what it stands for. 
 Now, Sylviane — you permit the old Doctor 
 still to call you by that name, eh? — have you.
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 79 
 
 for instance, any idea of what a million 
 pounds is?" 
 
 "Not the least in the world, Doctor," she 
 answered calmly; and then added, with a gaze 
 suddenly cold and scrutinising upon her hus- 
 band: "And I don't believe Arthur has, 
 either." 
 
 Arthur Forrest shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I have no practical interest in millions," 
 said he; and it was obvious that he was en- 
 deavouring to look bored by the tedium of this 
 after-dinner interview. "I mean " 
 
 "Let me try to tell you what a million is," 
 said the Doctor, without allowing Arthur time 
 to say anything further. "A million pounds 
 means an income of a hundred pounds a day, 
 every day for ever. The fortune which Carl 
 Peterson left is at this moment increasing by 
 means of interest at the rate of two thousand 
 pounds a week. Think of that! No one is 
 doing anything to it, yet it is mounting up at 
 the rate of ten pounds every hour, day and 
 night. So much for the wonderful mechan- 
 ism of interest. The man who ultimately 
 handles that fortune will be one of the most 
 powerful men in the most powerful country in
 
 8o THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 the world. Without any ability on his own 
 part, he could become anything he chose, even 
 to a marquis. He could spend a thousand 
 pounds a week and still save half his income. 
 He could found hospitals, build art galleries 
 and museums, endow libraries, erect magnifi- 
 cent churches, succour the poor of a whole 
 city, and scarcely feel these outlays." 
 
 "Is there anything he couldn't do?" laughed 
 Arthur. 
 
 "Yes," said the Doctor, "there is. He 
 couldn't spend the whole of his income on 
 himself and get value for it. I defy any man 
 worth nearly three millions, however expen- 
 sive his tastes, to spend the whole of his in- 
 come on himself. Unless he absolutely threw 
 the money in the street, he must either sup- 
 port scores of charities or get richer and more 
 powerful in spite of himself. That is why 
 some of those Yankees one hears of — men who 
 were worth a million or so some ten years since 
 — are worth ten and twenty millions to-day; 
 not because they desired these extra millions, 
 but because they could not avoid them." 
 
 "It seems to me," said Arthur, "that you 
 are bringing forward a very strong argument 
 in favour of my declining this terrible fortune,
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 8i 
 
 which would grow whether I wanted it to 
 grow or not. According to you, in a few years 
 I should be so disgustingly, so oppressively 
 rich that I should be a nuisance not only to 
 myself but to my friends." 
 
 "Scarcely to your friends, Mr. Forrest," the 
 Doctor smiled. "And as to becoming a nui- 
 sance to yourself, if it is a bore to be in a posi- 
 tion to realise every wish, to have no whim 
 unfulfilled, then all I can say is that there are 
 a number of people on this planet who would 
 desire nothing better than to be bored." 
 
 "Ah, well," said Arthur, as if to finish the 
 matter, "I decided this question once and for 
 all many years ago." 
 
 The Doctor put on a solemn and serious 
 look. 
 
 "Let me say one word to you, Mr. Forrest, 
 in the presence of your wife and of your wife's 
 mother," he began. "I am an old man, and 
 you will pardon me for speaking plainly. 
 You are young enough to have been my son. 
 You have no right to refuse this fortune. It 
 is yours. If you allow another to hold and 
 enjoy it, you will be doing an injustice — and 
 the worst of all Injustices, an injury to your- 
 self. Vast wealth is a social responsibility —
 
 82 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 no one has the right to shirk it. You know as 
 well as I do that the fortune is yours; know- 
 ing that, you must also know that it is your 
 duty to see that that fortune is properly ad- 
 ministered, put to the best uses. Apart from 
 the question of your mother's memory " 
 
 'T will thank you, Doctor," interrupted 
 Arthur, "to leave my mother's memory out of 
 the discussion." 
 
 *'I say, apart from the question of your 
 mother's memory," insisted the Doctor with 
 firmness, "you are utterly wrong in sacrificing 
 this wealth, which is so legitimately yours, 
 from a mere exaggerated notion of friend- 
 ship." 
 
 "Notion of friendship?" repeated Arthur. 
 
 "Yes," said the Doctor, smiling shrewdly. 
 "Do you think that I cannot trace your mo- 
 tives, young man? Here is this unfortunate 
 youth, Arthur Peterson, brought up in the ex- 
 pectation of great, of exceptionally great, 
 wealth. You, on the other hand, were 
 brought up differently; you had no such 
 golden vista always before your eyes. Then, 
 one day, you learn that this dreamed-of wealth 
 is not yours, but his. You are his friend, you 
 have told us so; you love him — perhaps he
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 83 
 
 has some claim on your gratitude. And so, 
 with superb unselfishness, you say to yourself: 
 'The blow would be too cruel for him. I 
 don't want the money. I will never tell him 
 that it is mine.' That, Mr. Forrest, is what 
 you said to yourself. I admire you for it; 
 but, nevertheless, such a course is inexcusable. 
 Moreover, let me tell you that you have not 
 yet grasped what it is that you are doing." 
 
 "How did you learn all this?" said Arthur, 
 without stirring in his chair. 
 
 "It seems plain to me," answered the Doc- 
 tor. 
 
 "Then permit me to say, Doctor, that you 
 are totally mistaken in your assumptions. 
 Considerations of friendship never entered my 
 head; I was governed in my action by some- 
 thing far deeper." 
 
 "You despise money — is that it?" The 
 suave Doctor almost sneered. 
 
 "If you care to put it that way, I do," said 
 Arthur. 
 
 The two men had hitherto had the conver- 
 sation to themselves, but now Mrs. Cavalossi 
 could keep silence no longer. 
 
 "If you forget yourself, Arthur," she said, 
 "you should not forget my daughter."
 
 84 THE GATES OF. WRATH 
 
 She was calm, but only with an effort. 
 
 Arthur looked at his wife, whose face was 
 impassive, illegible, like a lovely mask. 
 
 ''As regards money," he said, "I owe noth- 
 ing to Sylviane. I did not marry her under 
 false pretences. You knew my income. You 
 said you would give Sylviane as much as I 
 had. I agreed. That made a total of eight 
 hundred a year. What more can we need? 
 These millions — what are they to me? I have 
 my life-work to perform, and not all the mil- 
 lions of Europe will help me to perform it." 
 
 "Your life-work?" queried Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Yes," said Arthur. 
 
 "And may we respectfully inquire what 
 that is?" 
 
 "I think, dear Mrs. Cavalossi," he replied 
 suavely, but with a formidable calmness, "I 
 think that you and I have several times dis- 
 cussed the book about the origins of Italian art 
 upon which I am engaged; more than once 
 you have been good enough to speak quite en- 
 thusiastically concerning it. You have en- 
 couraged me to continue — you have said that 
 such a labour as I have in hand was worth the 
 doing, and that it would be of permanent bene- 
 fit to the artistic life of the world."
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 85 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Cavalossi, somewhat alter- 
 ing her tone, "that is true enough. But " 
 
 The Doctor broke in: "Of course that 
 might be a lifework for a poor man; but a 
 rich man, a very rich man — one of the richest 
 men in England — should surely undertake 
 something of wider import, something of 
 larger benefit to humanity." 
 
 "You forget one thing, Doctor," said 
 Arthur. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Merely that I am not a rich man — I am a 
 poor man. As I said, I married Sylviane as 
 a poor man. I was brought up to be a poor 
 man, I have always expected to be a poor man, 
 and a poor man I hope to remain; that is, if 
 a man who has enough for his needs can be 
 called poor." 
 
 "You are not rich at the moment," the Doc- 
 tor answered, "but you have only to claim 
 your riches." 
 
 "That I shall never do." 
 
 "Forgive me, my dear Arthur," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi, "if I remark that I may deem it my 
 duty, in case you should carry your quaint- 
 ness too far, to claim those riches on your be- 
 half for my daughter's sake."
 
 86 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Nothing whatever could be done without 
 me," said Arthur politely. "I know very lit- 
 tle of the law, but I am quite sure of that." 
 Then he added: "This is not a matter about 
 which one argues, it is a matter about which 
 one feels — it is a question of emotion, not of 
 reason. And I tell you that nothing will in- 
 duce me to claim my father's millions from 
 Arthur Peterson — nothing!" 
 
 The young man's tone was final, beyond ap- 
 peal. In the momentous silence which fol- 
 lowed he again looked at his wife. This time 
 Sylviane met his gaze; a scarcely perceptible 
 crimson crept over the marble of her beauti- 
 ful features; she looked timidly at her mother 
 from beneath her long dark lashes. Then, 
 with a little sigh, she leaned over towards her 
 husband, and with her fragile fingers gently 
 stroked his hand which lay on the table. 
 
 He started; it was as though by that simple 
 action the terrible die of fate had been cast. 
 Mrs. Cavalossi stared fixedly at the couple. 
 
 "Come along, Sylviane," Arthur said, 
 springing up. "Put on your cloak; we two 
 will go out for a little stroll." 
 
 When they were outside the door, in the
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 87 
 
 darkness of the passage, he drew her to him. 
 *'SylvieI" he murmured. 
 
 Her long delicate arms were locked pas- 
 sionately round his neck. 
 
 They walked on the Leas — that vast elec- 
 trically lighted plateau where the wealth, the 
 vulgarity, and the Jewry of England may be 
 seen every fine summer evening digesting din- 
 ner, ogling, flirting, flaunting, and pretending 
 to listen to one of the worst bands in Europe. 
 The huge hotels and the immense boarding- 
 houses, whose bay windows and balconies look 
 down complacently upon the crowd and the 
 expanse of trodden lawn, had emptied them- 
 selves into the balmy night, and every one was 
 out of doors. A full moon was halfway to- 
 wards the zenith, and in her luminance the 
 waves of the Channel glittered and shone in 
 broken reflections. A couple of miles ofif 
 shore a torpedo-destroyer swung like a menace 
 or a foreboding. The band in the large band- 
 stand was performing "Soldiers of the Queen" 
 — that deathless melody; and thousands of 
 persons lounging in chairs were grouped in 
 vast concentric circles round this musical hub. 
 Thousands of others paraded to and fro. And
 
 88 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 all of them — the Jewesses in decollete bodices 
 and picture-hats, the paterfamilias and the 
 materfamilias of good blood and many ances- 
 tors, the financiers who support the Empire 
 and the smart restaurants and the music-halls, 
 the actresses who get a hundred pounds a week 
 for a curve of the arm, the men-about-town 
 who m5^steriously exist and keep a racing- 
 stable on nothing a year, the maidens of the 
 marriage-mart, the dowagers who have lived 
 and want to live again as though nothing had 
 happened, even the cripples in bath-chairs — 
 all pretended to themselves that they were 
 happy and in the act of enjoyment. If it had 
 not been pathetic it would have been ridic- 
 ulous, this nocturnal masquerade at the most 
 fashionable pleasure resort in England. 
 
 ''Let's get away from this," said Arthur. 
 
 Husband and wife walked by the edge of 
 the cliff towards Sandgate, and then descended 
 through the shrubberies by the zigzag path to- 
 wards the margin of the sea. Near the foot 
 Sylviane paused at one of the seats thought- 
 fully placed by the town council in a nook cut 
 into the undergrowth. 
 
 They sat down. It was quite dark here. 
 The steep side of the cliff rose almost perpcn-
 
 THE DOCTOR EXPLAINS 89 
 
 dicularly above them, cutting off the moon- 
 beams. The restful, sleepy splash of short 
 waves on the sand made a continuous murmur. 
 
 "Arthur!" said Sylviane, in a murmur that 
 resembled the murmur of the sea. 
 
 He pressed her fragile hand, which gleamed 
 faintly white in the shadows. 
 
 "I wish I could tell you how splendid I 
 think you are!" she said, with shy enthusiasm. 
 
 "I was afraid you would think me a brute!" 
 he replied happily. 
 
 "There will be trouble," she exclaimed later. 
 
 "Trouble? Why should there be trouble? 
 We are our own masters." 
 
 "There will be trouble," she repeated; "but, 
 O Arthur, you must always believe in me." 
 
 "My love!" he entreated, half in alarm, half 
 soothingly, "what on earth do you mean by 
 saying that? Of course I shall always believe 
 in you; why do you say such things?" 
 
 But Sylviane made no answer. She kissed 
 him, and a tear from her eye fell on his cheek.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF MRS. CAVALOSSI 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Cavalossi and Dr. Colpus 
 were left alone in the dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi laughed; it was a vicious 
 laugh, a laugh like a threat, and yet a little 
 apprehensive, too. 
 
 The Doctor looked inquiringly at her across 
 the rich debris of the table. In the soft crim- 
 son glow of the lights it seemed to him that 
 she had not altered a whit in sixteen years. 
 Her beauty was as imperious, as compelling, 
 as perfect as ever. 
 
 "Why do you laugh?" he said. 
 
 "Sylviane will cure him of his fancies," said 
 Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "She can do what she likes with him," said 
 Mrs. Cavalossi carelessly. 
 
 "Suppose she has fallen in love with him?" 
 
 "Sylviane in love with that boy! 
 
 Scarcely I" 
 
 90
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST 91 
 
 "But Sylviane is only a girl." 
 
 "Pardon me; Sylviane is a woman. She is 
 my daughter and my pupil — she knows what 
 she is about; she knows exactly what is neces- 
 sary to be done. He adores her; she will play 
 her cards well. We are safe, in spite of his 
 absurdities." 
 
 "You have given Sylviane her instructions?" 
 
 "I gave them six months ago, before she had 
 met him; I have had no occasion to vary them. 
 With beauty like Sylviane's, one's instructions, 
 even in an affair as big as this, need only be 
 simple; men are such babies." 
 
 "But suppose she disobeys you?" 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi laughed again. 
 
 "It is impossible," she murmured, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 "Nevertheless," said the Doctor gravely, "I 
 warn you that she will disobey you." 
 
 "She is incapable of it," said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi. One might have detected a suspicion of 
 forced bravado in her voice. 
 
 "When a woman is in love she is capable of 
 anything." 
 
 "You harp on that string; I tell you that 
 the idea is absurd. She simply can't be in love 
 with him."
 
 92 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ''Why not?" 
 
 "I merely know — that's all." 
 
 *'What do you know of love?" asked the 
 Doctor, a little bitterly. "Recollect that I 
 have enjoyed your acquaintance now for many 
 years." 
 
 "Too many!" she remarked. 
 
 "You have said something like that before, 
 once," he retorted. "Do not repeat yourself 
 — it is unworthy of a woman of your original- 
 ity. I ask you what you know of love." 
 
 "Perhaps more than you imagine." The 
 natural woman showed herself for a fleeting 
 instant in her tone. 
 
 "Then you do love me?" he said, as quick 
 as lightning. 
 
 She looked at the table-cloth. He had read 
 her soul, but she could not admit the fact. 
 "Oblige me by keeping to the point," she said 
 with an admirable imitation of coldness. 
 "We were discussing whether Sylviane is or is 
 not in love with Arthur Forrest." 
 
 "She is." 
 
 "Impossible," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "You did not observe her look when he 
 asked her to go out for a walk. It was a look 
 of the sort that no woman can counterfeit — I
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST 93 
 
 have seen the same look in your eyes, Marie." 
 
 "Even if she were in love with him" (Mrs. 
 Cavalossi defended her position obstinately), 
 ''she would still obey my instructions. Why 
 should she not? Sylviane is a creature de- 
 signed and made to exist in the luxury of 
 boundless wealth. The giving of pleasure to 
 such women as Sylviane forms the sole ex- 
 cuse for great wealth; she will take care to 
 obtain possession of that wealth for her own 
 sake." 
 
 "Your argument is both powerful and 
 philosophical" — the Doctor smiled — "up to a 
 certain point. The sole proper purpose of 
 great wealth is to provide expensive felicities 
 for charming and beautiful women — that is a 
 maxim which should be widely diffused; but 
 permit me to inform you that Sylviane no 
 longer cares for wealth." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "She cares for her husband instead. 
 Wealth will be nothing to her in the future. I 
 would wager a ten-pound note that at this 
 moment they are billing and cooing in some 
 sequestered seat. Why, Sylviane regards his 
 refusal of the Peterson fortune as a great sacri- 
 ficial act. She admires him for it; she looks
 
 94 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 on him as a hero. Arthur could twist her 
 round his little finger." 
 
 *'Our precious Arthur! Nonsense!" 
 
 "Our precious Arthur; and it is not non- 
 sense; it is deep wisdom, and you ought to be 
 much beholden to me." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi pouted. The Doctor was 
 really becoming too absurd. 
 
 *'But our precious Arthur is so — so colour- 
 less. Why, although I am only his mother-in- 
 law, if I had him to myself for an hour I 
 would undertake to bring him to reason." 
 
 "You consider that Mr. Forrest is a fool?" 
 
 "He may be a great authority on pictures 
 of Madonnas and saints, and that sort of thing; 
 but when it comes to anything else " 
 
 "Marie," the Doctor interrupted, smiling as 
 a man only smiles at a pretty woman, "only 
 your beauty could excuse such rank stupidity. 
 Upon my word, talk of the insight of women; 
 I never met with it; no, never — it is a 
 stupendous fable. Listen, adorable creature. 
 I have not yet fathomed Arthur Forrest's real 
 motives, but I can tell you this: neither you 
 nor Sylviane (even if she wished to do so) will 
 persuade him out of his resolve. Have you 
 been blind to his chin? People with chins
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST 95 
 
 like that never give way. Because he is a 
 little awkward, because he doesn't splutter 
 over with agreeable small talk, because he isn't 
 invariably dressed in the height of fashion — 
 like me — you think he hasn't got two ideas in 
 his head to knock together; you think he 
 doesn't possess a will of his own. You were 
 seldom more profoundly deceived." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi made an impatient noise 
 between her teeth. 
 
 ''You always were a bully, my friend," said 
 she, "and you are trying to bully me now. 
 You are a man all over, with your superior 
 airs. Well, you amuse me — that is all. I will 
 play my own game first, and then if that fails 
 you can try." 
 
 "There is only one game," he said quietly, 
 "and that is yours and mine jointly. If you 
 play it and lose it the thing is finished. A 
 game cannot be won after it is lost. No, 
 Marie, I will play this game; it is a game 
 which I invented." 
 
 "You invented?" 
 
 "Invented," he repeated. "Who discovered 
 first the particulars of this peculiar Peterson 
 family secret? who saw first the possibilities 
 which lay dormant in Sylviane? who imagined
 
 96 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 the scheme through which, by means of Syl- 
 viane, you were to be not only the prettiest, but 
 the richest, woman in Europe — was it you 
 or I?" 
 
 "Oh, well," she said, "of course you first 
 thought of it." 
 
 "Good," he ejaculated. 
 
 "You also said the scheme was faultless — 
 that it could not fail." 
 
 "Ah," said he; "but I had not reckoned on 
 the singular character of Arthur Clinton For- 
 rest, nor on his weird views with regard to 
 money. Nevertheless, I repeat now that it 
 will not fail — that is, if I continue to control. 
 But only I can carry it to success. It was a 
 bold scheme to begin with ; it will have to be 
 bolder than ever. Do you feel equal to it, 
 Marie?" 
 
 "Was I frightened before?" she answered, 
 coldly. 
 
 "To do you justice, you weren't," he said. 
 "Still, as I say, we shall now require even 
 more courage." 
 
 "You exaggerate the dIfRculties, my friend." 
 
 "The difficulties cannot be exaggerated," he 
 said; "they are tremendous; only the alliance
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST 97 
 
 of beauty like yours and brains like mine could 
 overcome them." 
 
 He spoke with gravity, and it appeared that 
 at last he had convinced her that their common 
 path was less smooth than she had thought. 
 
 "Let us begin then," she said. 
 
 "I will proceed to describe the first step," 
 he resumed, having cleared his throat some- 
 what nervously. "It is essential that we 
 should be constantly together, Marie; you will 
 be useless without me, I shall be powerless 
 without you. In order to save appearances, 
 and ease the way, you must — we must get 
 married." 
 
 She looked at him. "You presume on my 
 good nature," she almost hissed at him. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 The good doctor rose from the table, and 
 stood against the mantel-piece 
 
 "By daring to introduce that subject again. 
 Can you not see, have you not got the sense to 
 perceive, that our relations are solely in the 
 nature of business relations? I tolerate you 
 because you are useful to me — and for no other 
 reason. Why do you oblige me thus to speak 
 plainly?"
 
 98 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "My sweetest pet," he replied, "I am pro- 
 posing that we should become husband and 
 wife for the sake of business. Surely there 
 is nothing unusual in that? There are ten 
 thousand people in Folkestone to-night who 
 married each other and who tolerate each other 
 entirely for the sake of business." 
 
 "I hate you," she said. 
 
 "Do not repeat that lie," he remarked; *'I 
 have already warned you against repetition. 
 You do not hate me: you love me; I can see 
 plainly into the recesses of your soul, Marie. 
 There is only one thing there that I cannot 
 fathom, and that is, why you should pretend 
 to yourself that you do not like your Col- 
 pus." 
 
 He approached her, and imperturbably 
 
 stroked her hair. 
 
 "Lookup at me." 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 "How do you know that I love you?" she 
 asked him in a low voice. 
 
 "By the same signs that I know that Syl- 
 viane loves Arthur Forrest." 
 
 This said, he moved away to the window, 
 and sat down on a chair. Her eyes never left 
 him.
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST 99 
 
 "You know I adore you madly," he con- 
 tinued, smiling. 
 
 She made a gesture of impatience. "Why 
 need we be always together.?" she asked. 
 
 "Angel, dare I leave you alone? Have you 
 already forgotten that pretty melodramatic 
 display of yours at dinner to-night? I 
 tremble to think what might have happened 
 had I not been here to create by my mere 
 presence an atmosphere of diplomatic calm. 
 The difficulty might have developed into an 
 open rupture." 
 
 "And what if it had?" she queried. 
 
 "We should have had to begin everything 
 anew. Besides, it would have been so inar- 
 tistic, so unworthy of our skill." 
 
 "You are the only man I was ever afraid 
 of," she whispered. She had the air of a 
 daunted puma, and the curious thing was that 
 Dr. Colpus had seemed to exert no personal 
 force whatever. He had stroked her hair. 
 
 "I know it," he concurred. And then a 
 long, a very long silence fell, a silence broken 
 by nothing but the soft regular intake of Mrs. 
 Cavalossi's breath 
 
 "Bah!" she said, cutting him short, "marry 
 me if you like, then. As you said just now,
 
 100 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 you have enjoyed my acquaintance for many 
 years ; you should, therefore, by this time, know 
 something about the risks you take in offering 
 your hand." 
 
 "You accept, Marie?" 
 
 "I accept." 
 
 "Come over here and kiss me," he said care- 
 lessly. 
 
 Strange to relate, she obeyed him like a 
 slave. 
 
 "Sit beside me, my darling," he said. And 
 they shared the lounge chair. 
 
 She took his hand. "Frank!" she mur- 
 mured, and he smiled. By some extraordi- 
 nary fatuity, or lack of insight, on the part of 
 his parents, Dr. Colpus had been baptismally 
 named Francis. It was the last name in the 
 world that they should have bestowed on him. 
 
 "Say it again," he commanded; "I like it." 
 
 "Frank!" she murmured once more. 
 
 It was a strange love-making, bizarre, 
 weird, even repellent — but it was love-mak- 
 ing. 
 
 "Just as you have always loved me," he 
 went on with the scene, "so I have always 
 loved you. But I loved you far more since 
 your husband's death than I did before."
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSrS CONQUEST loi 
 
 "Why?" she asked, almost voiceless. 
 
 "Because I am fully aware that you practi- 
 cally killed him, Marie. You have courage, 
 and there is nothing in a woman that I admire 
 
 more Oh, no! I am not in the least 
 
 afraid that my own life will be shortened at 
 your hands. Kiss me again!" 
 
 She sighed, and laid her head on his 
 shoulder; it seemed as if she almost swooned. 
 "I hated you because I knew you knew and 
 didn't care," she stammered; "oh! you make 
 me afraid." Then she closed her eyes; he 
 soothed her. 
 
 Yes, it was a strange love-making. 
 
 "Now the next step," said Mrs. Cavalossi; 
 "we have agreed that the first step in your 
 scheme to overcome Arthur Forrest shall be 
 our marriage; tell me the next step." 
 
 "Not this evening," he replied blandly; "I 
 am going back to London early to-morrow, 
 and I must have a good night's rest. I always 
 think in the morning — never after a good din- 
 ner, and especially never after my hand has 
 been accepted in matrimony by a beautiful 
 
 woman." 
 
 They both laughed like children.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI AND SYLVIANE 
 
 "By the way," said Dr. Colpus, leaning down 
 to Mrs. Cavalossi through the window of the 
 first-class carriage, *'how much money have 
 you left now?" 
 
 The London train was on the point of de- 
 parture. It was yet early morning, the hour 
 of milkmen and postmen. The station had a 
 chill, unused, deserted look; the passengers 
 were few, and for the most part still gaping 
 with astonishment at finding themselves out of 
 bed. Dr. Colpus, however, and Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi also, contrived to be alert, vivacious, and 
 fully awake. 
 
 They had breakfasted together and walked 
 to the station together, and talked industri- 
 ously together for the space of one hour and a 
 quarter. Physically they were both superb 
 animals. Dr. Colpus had the elasticity of a 
 man in early prime; Mrs. Cavalossi had the 
 waist and the neck of a girl, and she invariably 
 
 102
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 103 
 
 enjoyed the outrageous health of a Cossack. 
 
 "How much have you got left?" repeated 
 the Doctor. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi frowned a little. 
 
 "Oh, pretty well," she answered, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Have you got five thousand?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Three thousand?" 
 
 "Yes; a little over that." 
 
 "Ah! Let us confront the facts; let us look 
 them in the face. You told me the other day, 
 did you not, that you reckoned it cost you a 
 hundred a week to live?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "about that." 
 
 "That is fourteen pounds a day." 
 
 "Is it? I was never good at mental arith- 
 
 metic." 
 
 "It seems a great deal," he pursued. 
 
 "You know what hotels are." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "I have a sort of notion 
 what hotels are; and I fancy I could live well 
 in any hotel on a couple of pounds a day, or 
 even thirty shillings." 
 
 "Then there is Sims and Adela; don't for- 
 get those important personages."
 
 104 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "They surely don't explain the difference 
 between two and fourteen." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Cavalossi, "one must 
 have clothes; I assure you I haven't a rag to 
 my back." 
 
 "Perhaps not a rag" — he smiled, humouring 
 her, but with a basis of urgent seriousness in 
 his tone — "perhaps not a rag, but a confection 
 in alpaca that must have cost as many guineas 
 as there are days in a month." 
 
 "Well?" she said, defiantly. 
 
 "Well," he repeated, "tell me how much 
 you spend on clothing that fair form, in hid- 
 ing that surpassing beauty from the world." 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "I wish you to calculate. Are you incapa- 
 ble of so doing?" 
 
 "Why these calculations?" putting her hand 
 on his as it rested on the window. 
 
 He looked at that hand, or rather at the 
 immaculate white glove that encased it. 
 
 "What expensive gloves!" he sighed. Then 
 he continued in a new tone: "Marie, we must 
 be serious. Life is real, life is earnest. If 
 you are spending a hundred a week, and you 
 have only three thousand pounds in hand "
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 105 
 
 "How tedious you are, Frank!" she stopped 
 him, again stroking his hand. 
 
 "That means you have enough for thirty 
 weeks," he said quietly, without appearing to 
 notice the gesture. "Thirty weeks is not long. 
 Couldn't you retrench a little?" 
 
 "Impossible," she answered, shaking her 
 head vehemently. ''Besides, we have oceans 
 of time, simply oceans " 
 
 "Marie," he interrupted her, "you are 
 divine, but you are a ninny; and the worst of it 
 is you think yourself clever. You will ruin 
 us both yet with your haste and rashness. Let 
 me beg you to retrench. I repeat that thirty 
 weeks will be all too short." 
 
 "Simply oceans of time," she said again, 
 with the insistence of a parrot and the sweet- 
 ness of a dove. 
 
 "I shall be angry with you in a moment," 
 he said. 
 
 "Remember that we are not married yet, 
 my dear," she retorted, "and that any woman 
 with a mind is at liberty to change that mind." 
 
 He saw that she would not be serious; as 
 a matter of fact, Mrs. Cavalossi was seldom 
 serious at early morning. With her, as with
 
 io6 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 all people of perfect health, early morning 
 showed her at her brightest. It is only the 
 valetudinarians, the hypochondriacs, and the 
 swallowers of quack medicines who improve 
 as the day waxes. 
 
 "You are incurable," he said; '^there are 
 some of your moods in which you are deaf to 
 reason. But let me inform you, Marie, that 
 we are skating on very thin ice." 
 
 "That is your conclusion after sleeping on 
 the matter?" 
 
 "It is. If the ice gives way, do not say that 
 I have not warned you." 
 
 "Rubbish!" she ejaculated. "You don't 
 know what I can do; you treat me like a baby. 
 How do you suppose I managed during those 
 years when I had not the inestimable benefit 
 of your co-operation in my schemes?" 
 
 "Ah!" he said, "luck is always on the side 
 of beauty." 
 
 "Just so; that is my point" She enjoyed 
 the little score she had made. 
 
 "But occasionally the luck turns," he said 
 dreamily, and glanced at the signal ahead. 
 
 "Not against me," she said imperturbably. 
 
 "Who can say?" 
 
 She merely smiled at him, half tolerant, half
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 107 
 
 contemptuous. In that smile she subtly gave 
 him to understand that for years and years to 
 come nothing could ruin the possessor of such 
 a face as hers. 
 
 'M shall stay here for the rest of the week," 
 she said boldly. "Imagine that I have kissed 
 you; good-bye. See you on Monday — in the 
 meantime rely on me." 
 
 "Good-bye, bright star," he said gallantly; 
 "awfully good of you to see me ofif." 
 
 He raised his hat and bowed. The guard 
 whistled, the engine shrieked, and in another 
 moment this loving couple were parted 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi, conscious of the perfection 
 of her highly coloured alpaca frock, strolled 
 amiably back to the hotel. The morning was 
 perfect, but there was a suggestion of ap- 
 proaching thunder in the air. She sat down 
 in a basket-chair within the precincts of the 
 hotel entrance, and looked fixedly seawards in 
 a rapt and absent manner. A slight curve of 
 the lips and nostrils seemed to indicate that the 
 feeling uppermost in her mind was one of 
 severe contempt — the contempt of a person 
 who, assured of absolute power, looks down 
 impatiently upon all the rest of the world. 
 
 "Good morning, mamma."
 
 io8 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ^'Sylviane!" 
 
 The sudden exquisite apparition of the girl 
 startled Mrs, Cavaiossi. Sylviane was attired 
 in pink — the freshest pink of morn. The 
 trailing gown enveloped her slim figure like 
 a garment of cloud; her virginal face shone as 
 a flower shines when the sun is young in the 
 sky. Its surpassing and perfect beauty was 
 intensified by a faint, elusive touch of sadness, 
 which gave depth to the eyes and subtle mean- 
 ing to the curves of the mouth. 
 
 Mrs. Cavaiossi had a vague feeling of ap- 
 prehension as she looked at her child. If her 
 own beauty was power, what power must there 
 be in the loveliness of Sylviane? She seemed 
 to sink into inferiority in the presence of this 
 young girl. 
 
 "Sit dov^n, Sylvia," said Mrs. Cavaiossi, 
 taking her hand. "Have you had breakfast? 
 Where is Arthur?" 
 
 "Adela brought me some tea. Arthur is 
 staying in bed; he is not well." 
 
 "Not well?" Mrs. Cavaiossi turned round 
 suddenly to her daughter, and then the germ 
 of some strange thought seemed to strike her. 
 "What is the matter with him?" 
 
 "Headache. He says he will be all right
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 109 
 
 by lunch-time. I think he is a little feverish ; 
 I shall ask Dr. Colpus to see him." 
 
 "Dr. Colpus has returned to London; I 
 have been with him to the station. Sylviane, 
 I have a piece of news for you, and for Arthur 
 too; I wish he had been up. Dr. Colpus has 
 asked me to be his wife !" 
 
 "You are going to be married, mamma?" 
 
 "I merely said he had asked me to be his 
 wife. Tell me, Sylviane, would you like me 
 to accept him?" 
 
 The girl's eyes wavered. 
 
 "You are too young for Dr. Colpus, mamma, 
 and too beautiful." 
 
 "He does not think so, Sylvie. He is grey- 
 haired, but he is an ideal lover. I have ac- 
 cepted him. We shall be married next week; 
 you know the place." 
 
 "Mamma, are you in love with him?" 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi laughed. 
 
 "Possibly," she replied; and then: "I adore 
 him." 
 
 Sylviane should have said something fit for 
 such an occasion, but she happened to say 
 nothing, and there was a difficult silence; even 
 Mrs. Cavalossi was troubled. A restraint 
 seemed to have sprung up between mother and
 
 no THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 daughter. To find refuge from it they both 
 began to watch the hotel servants, who were 
 vigorously polishing the brasswork of the 
 double doors within the entrance. Guests 
 were not supposed to be abroad at that hour, 
 especially pretty women. The attendants 
 were coming nearer now, and it would have 
 been impossible to continue any private con- 
 versation. 
 
 'T think I will go to Arthur," said Syl- 
 viane, getting up from her seat. 
 
 ^T am coming upstairs, too," said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. 
 
 They went up the broad staircase together 
 in silence. 
 
 At the door of Arthur's bedroom Sylviane 
 stopped; there was no one else in the long 
 corridor. 
 
 "Oh, mamma," she whispered, kissing her, 
 "why are you going to marry him? What 
 does it mean?" 
 
 "Mean?" Mrs. Cavalossi repeated the 
 word ; "it means that I don't want to spend a 
 solitary old age; it means that our dear, good 
 Doctor requires a nurse. What else should it 
 mean? Go and nurse your own darling, 
 Sylvie, and I will dream of mine."
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI m 
 
 An hour later, just as Mrs. Cavalossi was 
 preparing to go for a walk, Sylviane ran into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 "Mamma, he is ill!" 
 
 There was an appealing apprehension in 
 the tremulous tones. Mrs. Cavalossi hap- 
 pened to be examining the handle of a new 
 umbrella. She looked up quickly at the 
 young wife, whose face told the same tale as 
 her voice. 
 
 "111?" said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Yes At least, I think so." 
 
 "You said it was only a headache." 
 
 "I said he was a little feverish, too, 
 mamma." The young wife's attitude towards 
 her mother was that of a timid schoolgirl. 
 
 "But people with bad headaches are often 
 a little feverish. You are silly, my dear." 
 
 "I know, mamma; but I cannot help it. 
 I'm dreadfully afraid he's going to be ill." 
 
 "Going to be ill!" repeated Mrs. Cavalossi, 
 and her own voice sounded to her as though it 
 came from a great distance. 
 
 Again a strange thought seemed to strike 
 her, but this time more strongly. Her fea- 
 tures gave no sign, yet within her soul she saw 
 the finger of Fate stretched forth inviting her
 
 112 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 to grasp it. Her supreme luck, that luck 
 which had never deserted her for long, was 
 once more at her call. Already a plan formed 
 vaguely in her mind. She saw the future ; she 
 saw events waiting to be moulded by a pow- 
 erful, unscrupulous hand. She could have 
 laughed as, like lightning, she sketched out 
 the disaster which should presently occur; Dr. 
 Colpus should see what she was capable of 
 without his assistance. She was born to suc- 
 ceed — hell itself was on her side. 
 
 "I will go and see Arthur for myself," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, do. He wants to see you, mamma." 
 Sylvie accepted the suggestion eagerly. "He 
 told me to ask you to go into his bedroom." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me before?" said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi, rising. 
 
 "I — I — I thought you didn't like going into 
 sick rooms; you would never come into mine." 
 
 "Sick room! Fiddlestick! It appears to 
 me that Arthur gets ill very suddenly. Are 
 you not worrying yourself about nothing?" 
 she paused ; "why should you worry?" There 
 was a momentary hint of kindness in her tone. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 "Have you fallen in love with your hus-
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 113 
 
 band?" continued Mrs. Cavalossi, her voice 
 hardening again. 
 
 "Mother," answered the girl passionately, 
 "he didn't marry me for my money; he isn't 
 mercenary." Her eyes were fixed on the 
 floor. ^ ■ 
 
 "You are convinced of that?" 
 "Did he not prove it last night?" 
 "Sylvie, don't be absurd. He will soon 
 change his mind about that, you will see; it 
 was only a pose. You will find him really 
 ready enough to live on your fortune. Be- 
 sides, it is your business to make him change." 
 "I can't do it, mamma." 
 "You can if you try." 
 "Mammy, I shall never try." 
 Mrs. Cavalossi put down her umbrella. 
 "Sylvie, it will be unfortunate for you if you 
 and I quarrel. I have brought you up as a 
 woman of the world, I have allowed you to 
 have no illusions; six months ago you were 
 ail I could wish. You regarded marriage as 
 what it is — a matter of business. I unfold a 
 scheme by which we might be really rich, not 
 half rich, you and I ; you had no scruples 
 then. We were to make the acquaintance of 
 Arthur Forrest, who, as we then thought, was
 
 114 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ignorant of his title to the Peterson estate, and 
 you were to marry him. I told you that he 
 would be ready enough to marry you when he 
 knew you were worth twenty thousand pounds, 
 I was right! He was attracted by your beauty 
 and your fortune at once. He acted as any 
 other man would have done — he took the 
 bait." 
 
 '*No, mamma; he fell in love with me." 
 
 "Stuff, Sylviane! Anyhow, he married 
 you. It turns out that he did know of the 
 claim to the Peterson estate, though, for some 
 reason, he had made no move in the affair. 
 We received a slight check last night; but 
 what of that? If, as you say, he is in love 
 with you, two words from you will make him 
 spring on to the Peterson millions like a tiger." 
 
 "But I shall not say them." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi laughed gaily. 
 
 "You have grown sentimental, Sylviane; 
 that will pass, and in the meantime you amuse 
 me. Well, we will leave it now. You say 
 that Arthur is ill, and that he wants to see me; 
 I will go to him. I expect the symptoms are 
 chiefly in your fancy. He was perfectly well 
 last night." 
 
 Picking up the umbrella, Mrs. Cavalossi
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 115 
 
 followed her daughter to the bedroom. She 
 entered it smiling, the incarnation of health 
 and spirits; it seemed impossible that any 
 disease or weakness could exist where she was. 
 The apartment was large, and flooded with 
 light from a lofty window; between the win- 
 dow and the door was the bed upon which 
 the invalid lay, next to the bed was a fold- 
 ing screen. Mrs. Cavalossi saw at once that 
 Arthur was really ill. In her time she had 
 had some curiously wide experiences of all 
 sorts of illness. The young man looked ex- 
 hausted; the whites of his eyes were pink, and 
 the eyes ran with water; he was flushed, his 
 hair was damp, and a slight rash had broken 
 out on his face. 
 
 He smiled feebly in response to Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi's greeting — a greeting full of tact and 
 cheerfulness. Placing her umbrella at the 
 foot of the bed, and absently touching her 
 straw hat to assure herself that it had the cor- 
 rect poise, she came to his side. Sylviane 
 stood behind. 
 
 The invalid made a furtive sign in the direc- 
 tion of his wif 
 
 "Arthur," said Mrs. Cavalossi, without a 
 second's hesitation, 'T will take your tempera-
 
 ii6 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ture. Sylvie, run and ask Adela to get a clin- 
 ical thermometer." 
 
 "Now," she hurriedly whispered, when Syl- 
 viane had gone, "what is it, my dearest 
 Arthur?" 
 
 "I've got influenza," he replied. "It will 
 be serious; last year and the year before I 
 nearly died from it. Get a doctor at once. I 
 want you to keep Sylviane from being fright- 
 ened; reassure her — tell her it's nothing." 
 
 "I understand," said Mrs. Cavalossi, with 
 soothing tenderness, "I understand. I will see 
 to everything; you've no idea what a nurse I 
 am. I knew instantly that it was influenza, 
 but there's no reason to consider it serious; 
 the strictest care is all that is necessary. You 
 couldn't have been properly looked after in 
 your previous attacks; in a week you will be 
 perfectly well. I wonder how you could have 
 caught it." 
 
 "I can't guess," he murmured; "I think I 
 must carry the germs about with me, and 
 they blossom into life when summer comes." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi smiled benignly, as at a 
 spoiled child. 
 
 "It is more probable," she said, "that you 
 have brought it on by being out last night.
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 117 
 
 The English climate is never safe after dark, 
 my poor Arthur. By the way, why did you 
 go out last night so suddenly?" 
 
 "I wanted a walk with Sylvie." 
 
 "You are frightfully fond of her, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "I love her," he said quietly. 
 
 "And you don't like your old mother-in-law 
 because she crossed you yesterday evening? 
 That's it, isn't it? Naughty Arthur 1" 
 
 His lips relaxed into a vague smile. 
 
 "Don't forget about Sylviane," he said in- 
 sistently. 
 
 "Rely on me, Arthur," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "Mamma," said Sylviane, following her 
 mother out of the room after Mrs. Cavalossi 
 had duly taken Arthur's temperature and 
 despatched Sims himself for a doctor, "I'm so 
 frightened. I " 
 
 And then her voice broke. 
 
 "It's like fate," the girl said between her 
 smothered sobs. 
 
 "Sylviane, what in heaven's name is the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Don't you remember two years ago?" 
 
 The young wife looked straight in front of 
 her with staring eyes, suddenly dry. It was
 
 ii8 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 the tragic corpse of her first husband which 
 these eyes saw in the blackness of space. 
 
 "Can it be fate?" she murmured again. 
 
 "Hush!" said Mrs. Cavalossi, "he will hear 
 you. Come to my room for a few minutes. 
 I will give you some brandy; you must con- 
 trol yourself. Arthur will be quite recovered 
 in a day or two. What is an attack of in- 
 fluenza?" 
 
 And afterwards, when Sylviane had re- 
 gained her composure and gone back to sit 
 with her husband till the doctor came, Mrs. 
 Cavalossi gazed into her looking-glass and 
 deliberately smiled. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "what is an attack of in- 
 fluenza? The strictest care " 
 
 She was interrupted by the entrance of 
 Adela bearing a card. 
 
 "A gentleman to see Mr. Forrest, madam, 
 so I brought the card to you." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi inspected the white paste- 
 board. It showed the name, "Arthur Peter- 
 son." 
 
 "I think I will see him myself, Adela." 
 Then she hesitated. "No," she said at length, 
 "tell Mr. Peterson that Mr. Forrest is ill in 
 bed with an attack of influenza that has come
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 119 
 
 on quite suddenl}^, and that a doctor has just 
 been sent for." 
 
 "Yes, madam. And if he asks to see you?" 
 
 ''He doesn't know me." 
 
 "I beg pardon, madam," and Adela de- 
 parted. 
 
 ''I would give my ears to have fifteen 
 minutes with this Peterson person," Mrs. 
 Cavalossi mused when she was alone again; 
 "but to make his acquaintance now might com- 
 plicate matters." 
 
 When the doctor arrived it was Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi herself who received him, and though 
 Sylviane followed the pair into Arthur's room, 
 she occupied an entirely secondary position in 
 the conference. The doctor's manner was in- 
 gratiating, reassuring. There are two kinds 
 of doctors — those who assume that you will die 
 until their unparalleled efforts have so unmis- 
 takably succeeded that you can eat a beefsteak 
 for breakfast, and those who assume that you 
 are perfectly well until you are dead. The 
 Folkestone doctor belonged to the second 
 variety. Experience had taught him much, 
 and amongst other things that if doctors were 
 only called in when they were really needed 
 about five-sixths of the profession would be
 
 120 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 compelled to turn grocers or politicians. At 
 first he did not regard Arthur's case as in the 
 least serious. But then it is necessary to re- 
 member that he had previously been under the 
 spell of Mrs. Cavalossi in Mrs. Cavalossi's 
 drawing-room; he had been warned that 
 Sylvie's fears must not be aroused. 
 
 "H'ml" he muttered, after having taken 
 Arthur's pulse, and used again Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi's clinical thermometer. "H'm!" Then 
 a pause. Then: "Influenza undoubtedly; a 
 slight attack. No cause whatever for alarm, 
 madam." He looked at Sylviane and smiled. 
 
 "Didn't I say so, my love?" Mrs. Cavalossi 
 remarked to her daughter. 
 
 "I will send some medicine round at once." 
 
 "And I should like you to call again this 
 afternoon," said Sylvie, venturing at last to 
 assert her rights as a wife. 
 
 "Will that really be necessary?" asked Mrs. 
 Cavalossi. 
 
 "I will call by all means," said the doctor 
 shortly, after he had examined the patient 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi herself accompanied him to 
 the precincts of the hotel.
 
 MRS. CxWALOSSI 121 
 
 Then she went for her morning walk on the 
 sea front; Mrs. Cavalossi had a habit of taking 
 exercise whatever happened. It is possible 
 that this habit explained her complexion and 
 her redundant health. 
 
 It was still somewhat early, and the major 
 part of the pleasure-seekers of Folkestone had 
 not yet greeted the sun and the sea. The Leas 
 were but sparsely dotted with people; the band 
 had not commenced the day's labours. Mrs. 
 Cavalossi took a chair, paid a penny for it, 
 and began to meditate upon things in general. 
 Her meditations must have been rhythmic, for 
 she tapped her incomparable foot upon the 
 ground at irregular intervals as though playing 
 a tune. Suddenly her thoughts were inter- 
 rupted. A young man, walking past her, had 
 deliberately stopped in mid-career, and stood 
 facing her. 
 
 "Excuse me," said this young man, "but I 
 believe you to be Mrs. Cavalossi." 
 
 "My name is Cavalossi," she admitted, smil- 
 ing in spite of herself. 
 
 The young man was a beautiful young man. 
 At any rate he seemed so in the morning light, 
 dressed as he was from head to foot in white.
 
 122 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 He showed his excellent teeth, and swung a 
 rather knobby stick with an air of perfect ease 
 and assurance. 
 
 "And mine is Peterson — Arthur Peterson," 
 he said ; ''I have just left my card on my friend 
 Forrest at your hotel. I hope he is not seri- 
 ously unwell." 
 
 "I hope not," said Mrs. Cavalossi. "We 
 must hope it is nothing; but with influenza, 
 you know, there is no certainty." 
 
 "Arthur ought to know what influenza is by 
 this time," said Mr. Peterson. 
 
 "Yes; he told me that he had had one or 
 two severe attacks before." 
 
 "Severe!" said Mr. Peterson, "severe ain't 
 the word." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "I have called in the doctor; everything is 
 being done. I am just taking the air for half 
 an hour or so, then I shall assume a share in 
 the nursing of your friend, Mr. Peterson." 
 
 "You will?" he exclaimed; "if I were ill 
 1 should like to be nursed by you." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Because you're so awfully pretty." 
 
 The compliment was paid in the most inno- 
 cent and youthful way in the world; but still
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 123 
 
 it was not precisely the kind of speech that a 
 man, even a young man, should make to a 
 woman to whom he is a complete stranger — to 
 whom he has not even been formally intro- 
 duced. Mrs. Cavalossi found pleasure in this 
 honest enthusiasm; but, nevertheless, she felt 
 it incumbent upon her to say something in the 
 nature of a rebuff. 
 
 "You are singularly candid, Mr. Peterson," 
 she remarked. 
 
 ^'Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, crestfallen; 
 "have I been rude? I hope not. Anyhow, 
 I apologise. You see, I'm not used to the 
 society of women. I'm always putting my 
 foot in it. But you are awfully pretty, you 
 know, Mrs. Cavalossi. May I take this chair 
 beside you?" 
 
 Without waiting for permission, he 
 plumped down in the chair, leaned forward, 
 pushed his hat back, and twiddled his stick 
 between his knees. 
 
 "I must be going directly," said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi; only her manner distinguished the 
 speech from that of a shop-girl. "Pray, how 
 did you know who I was?" 
 
 "I met Arthur on the steamer yesterday, and 
 I saw him leave the boat with a lady on his
 
 124 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 arm who I knew must be his wife. Unfor- 
 tunately I had not the pleasure of meeting her. 
 That lady was the image of yourself, and since 
 Arthur had told me about you both, I guessed 
 at once who you were when I saw you sitting 
 here." 
 
 "I see," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 
 "I hope you didn't mind me introducing 
 myself to you; I only wanted to know about 
 Forrest." 
 
 "Not at all, Mr. Peterson; I think you will 
 find," she added, "that no one will object to 
 meeting a young man as rich as you are going 
 to be." 
 
 He reddened. 
 
 "Then you have heard about my father's 
 will, and all that?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said, "of course. Who has 
 not? You will be in all the halfpenny papers 
 shortly — that is to say, when you come of age." 
 
 "I trust not," he said. 
 
 "Worse things might befall you than that." 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "I will not give any examples; but I am 
 a prophetess in a small way, Mr. Peterson." 
 
 'Look at my hands, then." He held them 
 
 <'i
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 125 
 
 out eagerly, and she pretended to examine 
 them. 
 
 "The line of life is long," she said. 
 
 "Is it?" he exclaimed; "that's good. I had 
 my fortune told a year or two ago by a gipsy 
 on Epsom Downs, and she said the life line 
 was very short." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi glanced up at the youth sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Very short?" she questioned with sharp- 
 ness. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Gipsies are such frauds," she said; "never 
 believe them. The life-line is long. But — 
 let me warn you against calamity." 
 
 "What sort of calamity?" 
 
 "Nay, how can I tell?" 
 
 "You are teasing me," he said. "I don't 
 really believe you know anything about palm- 
 istry at all, Mrs. Cavalossi." 
 
 "Infidel!" she smiled at him, impertrubed; 
 "you will see. Good morning!" 
 
 "May I not walk with you to your hotel?" 
 he begged. 
 
 "I could not think of troubling you, Mr. 
 Peterson," she said coldly.
 
 126 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "It wouldn't be a trouble," he urged. 
 
 "Good morning," she said, and left him 
 without shaking hands. 
 
 "Curious woman!" he murmured, when he 
 was alone. "But she's a clipper all the same. 
 I'll call at that hotel twice a day till Forrest 
 gets better — dashed if I won't!" 
 
 Then he went off in the direction of the 
 men's bathing ground. Pathetic figure, un- 
 conscious of his pathos! Fate was weav- 
 ing her web round him and round his mil- 
 lions. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi bit her lip as she re-entered 
 the Pavilion Hotel. She was wondering 
 whether she had behaved with complete dis- 
 cretion during this somewhat amusing inter- 
 view with Arthur Peterson. She comforted 
 herself with the thought that, anyhow, the 
 interview had been forced upon her by cir- 
 cumstance; she had not sought it. She quite 
 expected that the exuberant and youthful 
 Peterson would call at the hotel, but she de- 
 cided that she would not see him. And the 
 fact indeed was that these two — so apart yet 
 so intimately connected — never saw each other 
 again. Their orbits touched just that once, 
 lightly, momentarily; they exchanged five
 
 MRS. CAVALOSSI 127 
 
 minutes of the airiest talk — and parted for 
 eternity. In such chance meetings there is an 
 element of the incomprehensible, the discon- 
 certing, the supremely poignant.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE INVITATION TO THE ANGEL OF DEATH 
 
 In the meantime the course of Arthur For- 
 rest's illness was proving that he had not been 
 mistaken in diagnosing his own case. By the 
 afternoon of that day he was seriously ill, and 
 every one in the hotel knew that he was seri- 
 ously ill. The manager went about with the 
 look of a martyr, having a natural professional 
 antipathy to all varieties of illness, and more 
 particularly to those of an infectious nature — 
 hotel guests are so exacting, so nervous, so 
 timid. However, nothing could be done be- 
 yond maintaining a strict silence on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 This extraordinary disease, though it is 
 probably scores of centuries old, made its first 
 appearance in modern times scarcely a dozen 
 years ago. Since 1889 it has assumed widely 
 different forms — forms alike only in the de- 
 grees of their fatality. It has carried off thou- 
 sands of lives, and it has vanquished the efforts 
 
 128
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH 129 
 
 of science to ascertain its nature and causes. 
 One of the most mysterious of modern epi- 
 demics, its manifestations are often so dis- 
 guised that its presence can only be detected by 
 after-effects. At the best its symptoms are 
 trifling, and it is the very slightness of these 
 symptoms which, by leading the patient to 
 minimise their importance, so materially as- 
 sists the disease in its deadly work. Its cure 
 has yet to be invented ; as things stand at pres- 
 ent, the best that the best doctor can do is to 
 order the sufferer to be kept warm in bed and 
 supplied with suitable liquid. 
 
 At the end of the second day Arthur's posi- 
 tion was critical. His temperature was 104 
 degrees. Stimulants seemed to have no effect 
 upon him; he was frequently delirious, and 
 his hold upon existence had obviously grown 
 weaker. Mrs. Cavalossi had, with Sylviane's 
 entire concurrence, decided against having a 
 nurse. The two women told the doctor that 
 they preferred to nurse Arthur themselves. 
 On the previous night Sylviane had sat up 
 with her husband, Adela being within call; 
 to-night Mrs. Cavalossi was going to sit up. 
 It was ten o'clock, and the doctor was just 
 concluding his visit. Sylviane had, upon
 
 130 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 absolute compulsion, retired to her mother's 
 room for a few hours' rest. 
 
 "He is, perhaps, the least bit in the world 
 better," said the doctor to Mrs. Cavalossi, tak- 
 ing up his hat. "But the fever seems ob- 
 stinate. I may as well tell you frankly, now 
 that Mrs. Forrest is not here, that the case is 
 still as serious as it could be. I think you 
 should have a professional nurse, though you, 
 Mrs. Cavalossi, are faultless in that respect. 
 It is Mrs. Forrest that I fear; she is too anxious 
 and excitable to nurse well." 
 
 "As you wish, doctor," said Mrs. Cavalossi 
 submissively; "I will obtain a nurse early to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "You mentioned that you happened to have 
 a friend in London who was an eminent phy- 
 sician. May I suggest that you telegraph for 
 him?" 
 
 "I have already done so," said Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi; "I thought you would not mind. He 
 will, I hope, be here early to-morrow." 
 
 The doctor bowed. 
 
 "I need not enjoin on you the most scru- 
 pulous care," said the doctor in parting; "the 
 least temporary failure in watchfulness might
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH 131 
 
 have a disastrous result. Good night; I shall 
 call to-morrow morning immediately after 
 breakfast." 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi and the patient were alone 
 in the large bedroom, lighted by a single elec- 
 tric light over the dressing-table. She closed 
 the door softly; yes, she was alone with him. 
 All had gone well; all had fallen out as she 
 had intended. The course was clear, the 
 action safe, simple, perfect. She walked to- 
 wards the bed, and the soft swish of her deli- 
 cate grey gown disturbed the silence of the 
 apartment. She looked down — she, with the 
 flashing eye and the hue of health — she looked 
 down upon this sufferer stretched so suddenly 
 under the fell stroke of unexpected disease. 
 She smiled with the cold glittering joy of one 
 who has no scruples, no hesitation — nothing 
 but desire to be gratified. Arthur lay half- 
 unconscious, moaning now and then, and now 
 and then dropping ofif into a brief sleep; here, 
 helpless, feeble, flickering, was the man who 
 had dared by his obstinacy to check the 
 most magnificent scheme of her career! It 
 was too funny — too excruciatingly funny! 
 Forty-eight hours ago he had withstood her
 
 132 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 with all the resolution of youth and strength. 
 Now — now he was a candle. Poof! and the 
 flame would be gone, never to be rekindled. 
 
 Arthur opened his eyes and made some faint 
 sign. 
 
 "Thirsty?" she queried, gently; 'T must 
 give you your medicine." 
 
 With adroit movements she took the bottle 
 from the night-table, poured out the dose, and 
 put the glass to his lips, supporting his head as 
 he drank it off. 
 
 "Sylvie?" he murmured. 
 
 "She is resting awhile," said Mrs. Cavalossi. 
 "The poor thing was dreadfully tired. Now 
 you must rest, too ; you must try to go to sleep." 
 
 She passed a cool, firm hand across his wet 
 forehead. The throb of his agony communi- 
 cated itself to her. She smiled again imper- 
 ceptibly as it occurred to her with renewed 
 force how ill the man was. 
 
 Then he slept, unconscious of the sinister 
 forces arrayed against him. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi went and sat by the fire at 
 the other end of the room. Although it was 
 August, there had been a sudden change in the 
 weather, and the doctor had laid down the 
 strictest injunction that the temperature of the
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH 133 
 
 sick chamber should be kept absolutely level at 
 63 degrees. 
 
 Perhaps half an hour elapsed in oppressive 
 silence. At length Mrs. Cavalossi went to the 
 door and listened intently. Not a sound any- 
 where, save Arthur's heavy breathing. She 
 looked at him again : the sweat stood in beads 
 on his brow, but he was indubitably asleep. 
 
 The moment had come. 
 
 With exquisite lightness of touch she care- 
 fully drew down the bedclothes till his 
 shoulders and chest were exposed. He slept 
 on. She went to the window, pulled the blind 
 aside. It was raining, and the sky was torn 
 and grey with ragged, racing clouds; she 
 fancied she could hear the dull surge of the 
 sea. 
 
 She turned round abruptly, and, after listen- 
 ing again, moved the great screen that stood 
 between the window and the bed. Then she 
 felt for the catch of the window; fortunately 
 it was undone. With a happy, deliberate sigh 
 she noiselessly pushed up the window inch by 
 inch — inch by inch — till it stood open over a 
 foot. The cold air of a rainy night wandered 
 into the room — even she shivered at its con- 
 tact. It blew across the intervening space and
 
 134 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 disturbed the damp locks of the sick man. 
 
 He slept on, unaware that the shaft of death 
 had struck hin 
 
 All over his head and shoulders played the 
 air which had swept across leagues of ocean, 
 through leagues of rain — the pure atmosphere 
 to breathe which the inhabitants of cities will 
 travel hundreds of miles; but to Arthur it was 
 death. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi perched herself on the win- 
 dow-sill and watched calmly. There were 
 chances against her even now, but she accepted 
 them. If he awoke! He stirred once, but 
 she never stirred. Twenty minutes passed; 
 then, just as softly as she had opened it, she 
 closed the window. 
 
 "The most scrupulous care 1" she murmured, 
 mimicking the doctor. 
 
 At that very instant, waking up, Arthur 
 spoke. She approached the bed. 
 
 "You mustn't disturb the clothes, Arthur 
 dear," she said, and gently raised them again 
 round his shoulders. "Will you have some 
 lemonade?" 
 
 "I'm worse," he said, after he had drunk. 
 "I can feel it all through my body; I'm worse 
 than I was an hour ago."
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH 135 
 
 "No, no, you are better really. People 
 always feel worse in the night." 
 
 "Is the fire burning?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, it's a beautiful fire," she answered. 
 
 "I'm l' 'lied to the bone," he said; and then 
 put his flushed face meekly down upon the 
 pillow. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi, with a silent movement, 
 seized the screen and pulled it back to its place. 
 As she did so it slipped, and would have fallen 
 against the window had she not caught it in 
 time. With a little exclamation of annoyance 
 she lifted it upright. All was well. A creak 
 startled her; her eyes travelled like lightning 
 to the door. 
 
 "Sylviane!" she whispered hoarsely. 
 
 The girl stood there with wide, frightened 
 eyes, and outstretched right hand, her white 
 dressing-gown clutched to her with the left. 
 
 "What is it, Sylviane?" said Mrs. Cavalossi 
 calmly. 
 
 "I dreamt he was dying, and so I came. 
 What were you doing with that screen, 
 mother?" 
 
 "I accidentally nearly knocked It over; 
 but you must really go back to bed, Syl- 
 
 vie."
 
 136 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Mother," she entreated, and came near the 
 bed. 
 
 They stood on opposite sides, mother and 
 the daughter, and the sick man between them. 
 
 ''He is worse," said Sylviane, ir .1 breath- 
 less whisper. 
 
 "My dear girl," said Mrs. Cavalossi, lead- 
 ing her daughter away from the bedside, "you 
 must try to keep calm. Personally, I do not 
 think he is any worse; but he is certainly not 
 any better. No one can fight against fate. 
 We have done all that could be done, and we 
 must hope that he will recover." 
 
 Sylviane started away from her mother's 
 caress. 
 
 "Why did you force me to go to bed?" she 
 cried under her breath. 
 
 "You needed rest, my dear girl," Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi answered imperturbably. 
 
 "Why wouldn't you let me stay up and 
 nurse him to the last?" Sylviane cried out 
 again in the same accents, ignoring her 
 mother's answer. 
 
 "Don't get hysterical, Sylviane," said the 
 mother. 
 
 "You seem to have forgotten that I am his
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH 137 
 
 wife. Oh! if I had stayed up I should not 
 have dreamt — I should not have dreamt " 
 
 "What?" 
 _ "That dream, that dream! Mother," she 
 continued quickly, "is the window shut?" 
 
 "Of course it is shut, my dear silly girl; I 
 have been most particular. Now, if you are 
 ready to take your turn in here, go and dress." 
 
 There was a discreet tap at the door, and 
 Adela entered. The clock in the corridor 
 struck eleven. Catching her mistress's eye, 
 Adela beckoned, and Mrs. Cavalossi left the 
 room. Husband and wife were alone. 
 
 "Dr. Colpus is here, madam," said Adela to 
 her mistress in the corridor. 
 
 "Dr. Colpus?" 
 
 "Yes, madam; he has just arrived by the 
 mail." 
 
 "My dream!" exclaimed Sylviane, and fell 
 into a chair sobbing. 
 
 The sick man stirred on the bed, and Syl- 
 viane ran to him. Mrs. Cavalossi gave a few 
 brief orders to the tireless and invaluable 
 Adela, who seemed never to take or to need 
 rest.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "spilt milk" 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi hurried to the drawing-room. 
 Dr. Colpus was removing his gloves. 
 
 "I wired you to come to-morrow," she be- 
 gan, with some sign of vexation. 
 
 "I preferred to come at once," said Dr. 
 Colpus; "the case seemed serious." 
 
 "It is no longer serious," she said, lightly, 
 having shut the door; "it is decided." 
 
 "He is better?" 
 
 "He is dying — he cannot recover." 
 
 Something peculiar in the woman's voice 
 arrested his attention. 
 
 "What have you done?" he asked her, per- 
 emptorily. "What is this game you are play- 
 ing down here all alone?" 
 
 "The local doctor" — she answered, with 
 composure — "the local doctor said that any 
 change of temperature would be fatal. So I 
 opened the window for half an hour while he 
 was asleep — it seemed to me much the best 
 
 138
 
 "SPILT MILK" 139 
 
 thing to do. It is over now, and it serves him 
 right; people so stupid as he is have no right 
 to live. When he is out of the w^ay wc can 
 prove his relationship to Peterson, and there 
 will be no further bother. He has made his 
 will, as we know, and everything will be Syl- 
 viane's; therefore, everything will be mine. 
 Confess that I have arranged it neatly, and — 
 kiss me." 
 
 Dr. Colpus sank into a chair, ignoring the 
 invitation of her rosy mouth. 
 
 "Marie!" he gasped. His face flushed 
 purple, then white. Then, with a tremendous 
 effort, he pulled himself together. 
 
 "Are you indisposed?" she asked icily. 
 
 "No," he replied, and as he spoke he sat 
 bolt upright in the chair, and burst out laugh- 
 ing. "You are too much for me," he added. 
 
 "Why?" she queried with an air of inno- 
 cence. 
 
 "The audacity of trying that trick on 
 again!" 
 
 "What trick?" 
 
 "The open window trick, you infernal 
 witch!" 
 
 "May I ask you to explain exactly what you 
 
 mean?"
 
 HO THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Did not the late Signer Gabriele Cavalossi 
 die of an open window, when he was suffering 
 from an attack of bronchitis? And was not 
 the window opened by his wife?" 
 
 She gazed at him in silence. 
 
 "You thought no one knew the cause of 
 Cavalossi's death. But I knew; and, what is 
 more, I was told by some one, a mere servant, 
 who saw the trick done from the outside of the 
 palazzo." 
 
 "Giovanni, the cowherd?" she questioned. 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "But Giovanni is dead," she said, and 
 laughed easily. 
 
 "Yes; but who knows that Giovanni did not 
 tell some one else before he died — some one 
 less discreet and loyal than me?" 
 
 "Bah!" said Mrs. Cavalossi; and she ap- 
 proached Dr. Colpus and kissed him. 
 "Thank heaven we are neither of us senti- 
 mentalists." 
 
 This singular couple, united equally by 
 crime and an intense passion — this couple 
 whose wickedness was so cold, reasoned, and 
 sincere, that it is impossible to be altogether 
 angry with them as one would be angry with
 
 "SPILT MILK" 141 
 
 sinners who tried to gloss over their sins by 
 specious argument — this couple remained 
 hand in hand and silent for the space of about 
 a minute. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts 1" said Mrs. 
 Cavalossi to her betrothed, who was gazing at 
 her. 
 
 He started, as though awakened swiftly to 
 the realities of the present, and cleared his 
 throat. 
 
 "Marie, if he dies, all is lost; that is why 
 I hurried down." 
 
 "Lostl" she repeated, frowning. "But you 
 positively assured me that the claim was per- 
 fectly clear!" 
 
 "So it is, if Forrest is alive to make the 
 claim. But if he is dead, how shall we prove 
 his identity, on which everything depends? 
 There will have to be exhumation — a thousand 
 things. It couldn't be done. The question 
 would be too awkward, Marie." There was 
 a mild reproach in his tone. "You seem de- 
 termined to ruin us. Do you not recollect 
 that at our memorable little dinner party, the 
 other evening, Arthur Forrest told you very 
 plainly that no claim could be substantiated
 
 142 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 without his personal assistance? Arthur For- 
 rest happened to be perfectly correct in that 
 statement." 
 
 She sat down, cowed. There was silence. 
 She could think of nothing to say. Her heart 
 was bursting with sullen, futile anger. 
 
 "I thought he was merely boasting," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "Forrest is a sort of man that never boasts, 
 and that never says anything without good 
 grounds." 
 
 ''Well," she said, "it's no use crying over 
 spilt milk." 
 
 Never in the whole of her life did Mrs. 
 Cavalossi use a phrase more thoroughly char- 
 acteristic of her than this one — "It's no use 
 crying over spilt milk." She was a criminal, 
 utterly vicious; but there was a strain of 
 Napoleonic grandeur in her composition. 
 
 "It should have occurred to you," Dr. Col- 
 pus said at length, "that of the two Arthurs 
 the other Arthur was more in the way." He 
 smiled calmly. 
 
 "TAf other Arthur?'''' she repeated after 
 him. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah!" Mrs. Cavalossi uttered the mono-
 
 "SPILT MILK" 143 
 
 syllable as though she had been struck by a 
 sudden arrow of light. There was a pause. 
 
 "He is a nice boy — the other Arthur," she 
 said. 
 
 "How do you know — have you met him?" 
 
 "He introduced himself to me the other 
 morning. He was deliciously impertinent 
 and boyish; but I think there is something 
 more in him than mere impertinence and boy- 
 ishness. However Well, what are you 
 
 going to do? It's all over with my respected 
 son-in-law." 
 
 "I will see your son-in-law at once," said 
 Dr. Colpus, starting up. 
 
 "I tell you it is useless," she said, bitterly; 
 "I have made too sure — there is no hope." 
 
 "There is always hope. I will save him. 
 Yes, there is always hope," he repeated. 
 
 "Not when I have been at work," she said. 
 
 The doctor seemed to recoil from those ter- 
 rible words, but only for an instant. 
 
 "Take me to him," he said; "I will save 
 him."
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 
 
 Arthur Peterson, the young man whom 
 
 Forrest had met on the Boulogne steamer, and 
 who had so outrageously tried to flirt with 
 Mrs. Cavalossi on Folkestone Leas, sat in the 
 library at Radway Grange. Let it be said 
 that the library was not a library, and the 
 Grange not a grange. The library happened 
 to be a rather large room fitted up with two 
 desks, a number of pigeon-holes, and some tin 
 boxes — there were a few volumes in a dwarf 
 bookcase ; but these comprised only such litera- 
 ture as local directories, the "Post Oflice 
 Guide," joint-stock year books, some works on 
 coal mining, and a ready reckoner. The late 
 owner of the Grange, Arthur Peterson's 
 father, had been by no means of a bookish dis- 
 position. As for the Grange, it was an early 
 Victorian erection in the Palladian style, and 
 with its stucco front and stiff portico it bore 
 about as much resemblance to a grange as a 
 
 147
 
 148 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 railway station bears to a cathedral. Never- 
 theless it was of respectable size, containing 
 some fifty rooms, and it had always been called 
 the Grange. It might have been kept up 
 handsomely on an income of three thousand 
 a year. The late owner had sixty times that 
 income, yet the place satisfied him. He had 
 not even kept it up handsomely; he had merely 
 kept it up, being a person in no way prone to 
 domestic extravagances. It stood, roughly 
 speaking, halfway between Crewe and that 
 immense industrial district called the Five 
 Towns. It was in Staffordshire, but had it 
 been a quarter of a mile to the north-west it 
 would have been in Cheshire. Radway 
 Green was the nearest village, and Turnhill 
 the nearest town ; but Crewe, owing to its posi- 
 tion on the main line of the London and 
 North-Western Railway, was regarded by 
 Radway Grange as the most convenient point 
 for reaching civilisation, though it was seven 
 full miles ofif. The Grange lay in a hollow. 
 Just behind it rose a hill, and from this on 
 clear days and nights you could see the smoke 
 and flame of the Five Towns, out of whose 
 mines and ironworks old Peterson, the million- 
 aire, had made his millions.
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 149 
 
 Old Peterson, the millionaire, had gone to 
 his own place, and the whole of the district, 
 including the Five Towns, was wondering 
 what sort of a figure young Peterson, the new 
 millionaire, was about to cut in local life, 
 social and political. The district had both 
 loved and feared old Peterson — it loved him 
 because he would never "stand any nonsense;" 
 and, curiously enough, it feared him precisely 
 for the same reason. This is human nature. 
 Old Peterson had taken no interest whatever 
 in local life; he had extracted his vast profits 
 from the bowels of the earth, and he had paid 
 wages every Saturday morning with the exac- 
 titude of a chronometer and the niggardliness 
 of a government department — and that was 
 all. He had never desired to represent the 
 division in the House of Commons, or to bully 
 the county council, or to pose as a benefactor, 
 a philanthropist, or a faddist. He had posed 
 merely as what he was — a millionaire and an 
 employer of labour. There had been only one 
 strike at the Peterson works: that strike had 
 lasted forty-two weeks; during it many chil- 
 dren had died of starvation, several mothers 
 had been convicted of theft, and sundry at- 
 tempts had been made to shoot old Peterson,
 
 I50 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 the millionaire. But in the end old Peterson 
 had won. The men "went in" uncondition- 
 ally, beaten and cowed. Whereupon, having 
 thus established his triumph old Peterson had 
 calmly granted the rise in wages which the 
 men had originally struck for. This incident 
 transformed Peterson into a public character. 
 His name went round the world in sensational 
 newspaper paragraphs, and came back again 
 via New York embroidered with a thousand 
 impossible legends. 
 
 It was stated in the neighbourhood that old 
 Peterson was very harsh to his wife, Lady 
 Evelyn. Certainly, when she drove into the 
 Five Towns behind her costly and dangerous 
 horses, she had the sad look of a queen who 
 has lived too long. She was a fragile flower, 
 and Peterson knew nothing and cared less 
 about the proper way to treat fragile flowers. 
 But, at any rate, he never stooped so low as 
 to keep her short of money. Money in plenty 
 she had, as befitted an earl's daughter. One 
 day she died — Arthur was fourteen then. 
 She just died; and it was reported that old 
 Peterson, on hearing the news in his office, ex- 
 claimed: "H'm!" and went on dictating a 
 letter. Probablv this tale is not entirely ac-
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 151 
 
 curate; but it is a fair sample of the stories 
 which were afloat concerning old Peterson. 
 
 It cannot be wondered at, therefore, that 
 young Arthur's advent in the district as master 
 and millionaire created a flutter of anticipa- 
 tion. Arthur, fortunately or unfortunately, 
 was unaware of this flutter. He had no in- 
 terest in industrial affairs; in fact, he did not 
 quite know where he stood. He was younger 
 than his age, and, though endowed with a 
 mind powerful and obstinate in some direc- 
 tions, he had peculiarities, and he had by no 
 means yet "found himself." 
 
 It was afternoon, and the December light 
 was fading. He sat in a worn armchair — 
 apparently he was doing nothing; as a matter 
 of fact, he was very busy getting used to the 
 idea of riches. He had now been in posses- 
 sion of Radway Grange, and in nominal pos- 
 session of his father's fortune, for about a 
 couple of months. It was a complicated busi- 
 ness, he found, entering into an inheritance so 
 vast as his. He had seen his solicitor, Mr. 
 Thrush, who was also the trustee of his father's 
 will, many times ; but up to now there had been 
 no big interview, no crucial conversation, at 
 which affairs should be settled in huge lumps,
 
 152 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 as it were, and mighty, far-reaching instruc- 
 tions given and received. Both solicitor and 
 client had been occupied with innumerable 
 details — absurd details which refused to be 
 put on one side. These details had at last been 
 disposed of, and the great final interview was, 
 in fact, to take place that afternoon; Arthur 
 Peterson was even now expecting Mr. Thrush 
 to arrive from Manchester. 
 
 He looked at his watch; it was half-past 
 three. At that moment a servant entered. 
 "Mr. Thrush, sir, and this letter.'* 
 Peterson took the letter, and, observing the 
 handwriting, opened it with eagerness and be- 
 gan to read. The missive ran : — 
 
 "London: December 15. 
 
 "My dear Arthur,— Renewed thanks for 
 your constant inquiries. After an infernally 
 long bout I am now perfectly convalescent; 
 people tell me now that it was a miracle I 
 recovered at all. Old Colpus, of whom you 
 have heard, and who, by the way, has married 
 my esteemed mater-in-law, did the trick, and 
 of course I'm awfully grateful to him. Well, 
 I am writing to say that Sylviane and I can 
 now accept your invitation. Please expect us 
 on Friday afternoon next, the i8th, unless that
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 153 
 
 will be inconvenient to you. The train gets 
 to Crewe at 4.30 P.M., and we trust you will 
 meet us yourself or send some one. Sylviane 
 is a bit out of health, or rather out of spirits; 
 I guess ny illness has been too much of a 
 strain on her. She is anxious to make your ac- 
 quaintance. Au revoir till Friday. — Yours 
 ever, 
 
 "Arthur C. Forrest. 
 
 "P.S. — Try not to be too magnificent with 
 your millions; remember I am a simple sort 
 of person, and that in the days when we 
 chummed you yourself were fairly simple too. 
 
 "A. C. F." 
 
 Peterson smiled absently as he finished the 
 letter, and then perceived that the servant was 
 waiting. 
 
 "Oh," he said, "show Mr. Thrush up here, 
 and bring a couple of lamps and some tea." 
 
 The only thing distinctively legal about the 
 external aspect of Mr. Thrush, the eminent 
 Manchester solicitor, was his sm.all brown bag, 
 which seemed to be part of him when he was 
 on a journey; otherwise he resembled a coun- 
 try gentleman of outdoor tendencies. He 
 wore a bowler hat, a blue suit, and a pink
 
 154 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 necktie; he was clean-shaven, and had a full, 
 rather square countenance; his age was fifty- 
 five, and he looked forty-five. No cleverer 
 or more experienced lawyer than Mr. Thrush 
 existed in the Midlands. 
 
 "I shall have just an hour and a quarter 
 here," he said to Peterson, after they had 
 drunk tea and chatted. *'I have to go to 
 Derby. Shall we start on our business now, 
 and discuss the weather afterwards — if we 
 have time?" He smiled humorously. 
 
 Peterson nodded. Peterson, though the 
 master of millions, still had the look of a boy, 
 with his round smooth face and rather short 
 stature. 
 
 "You said in your last letter that you wished 
 to ask me some questions; what are they?" 
 said Mr. Thrush. 
 
 ''Well," Peterson began, clearing his throat, 
 "I want to know exactly what I own, and what 
 it is worth, and what it brings in; I am not 
 yet clear on these points. You handed me a 
 sum of thirty-five thousand pounds in cash two 
 months ago, Mr. Thrush. It may interest you 
 to learn that I have spent a good bit of that." 
 
 "Not on the Grange," said Mr. Thrush, 
 laughing, and looking round at the bare room.
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 155 
 
 ''No, I am not sufficiently interested in this 
 Grange; but, as you know, I am building an- 
 other one." 
 
 "Which will entail a larger outlay?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "I have heard that architecture is your 
 hobby," said Mr. Thrush. 
 
 "My hobby?" 
 
 "Your speciality, let us say." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 "One of my clerks, who took his holiday in 
 Italy this last summer, and saw you making 
 drawings of the Certosa of Pavia." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" said Arthur Peterson, and then 
 added, as if faintly annoyed, "it appears, then, 
 that my goings-on are discussed even in Man- 
 chester; I had no idea I was so important a 
 personage." 
 
 Nothing about him was more striking than 
 the change in his demeanour since he had 
 begun to handle his inheritance. His looks 
 were still boyish, but at times there came over 
 him an air of weariness, of pettishness, which 
 suited ill that countenance normally so fresh 
 and open. 
 
 "Of course, you are a public character," said 
 Mr. Thrush, "and, as such, your doings will
 
 156 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 be discussed — I hope always with respectful 
 friendliness." 
 
 Arthur's interest in architecture was per- 
 fectly genuine. He was singularly lacking in 
 tastes, predilections; but he did sincerely feel 
 an attraction towards the subject of architec- 
 ture. Hence the Palladian ugliness of Rad- 
 way Grange had annoyed him since the very 
 earliest of his years of discretion, and it had 
 long been his design to build a more beautiful 
 house on a better site. With a wild energy 
 which disclosed at once the strength and weak- 
 nesses of his charatcer, he had commenced 
 operations immediately upon his succession to 
 the estate; and several months before this he 
 had employed a young architect, whom he be- 
 lieved to be a genius, to create the new abode. 
 
 "Yes," Arthur said absently, "my new 
 Grange will be the finest private house in the 
 county." 
 
 "Delighted to hear it," said Mr. Thrush 
 with formal politeness. 
 
 "But you don't think it will, all the same," 
 said Arthur. 
 
 "I hope it will, Mr. Peterson; but I am no 
 authority on architecture, and shall not pre- 
 sume to judge. By the way, what shall you
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 157 
 
 do with the present house? — a commodious 
 residence, my dear sir." 
 
 "I shall pull the d d thing down," Ar- 
 thur exclaimed, with apparently causeless 
 fury. "Its ugliness is enough to give you the 
 measles." 
 
 "Tut-tut; you are exigent, my friend — your 
 travels have made you over-critical." 
 
 "Well, at any rate, I will give this talkative 
 county something to talk about with my new 
 house. And now, to return, Mr. Thrush, how 
 much will the owner of this new house have 
 to spend?" 
 
 "Listen," said Mr. Thrush, taking up a 
 paper. "This is a list of your possessions. 
 First, you have six thousand shares of a hun- 
 dred pounds each in the Peterson Collieries 
 and Ironworks, Limited. These bring in an 
 income of a hundred and fifty thousand a year, 
 and they are worth, at current prices, about 
 one million eight hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 "Excellent," said Peterson dryly. 
 
 "Then you have four hundred thousand 
 pounds' worth of London and North-Western 
 Railway stock, of which company you are the 
 third largest shareholder. This brings in six- 
 teen thousand a year."
 
 158 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Good," said Peterson. 
 
 'Then you have two hundred and twenty 
 thousand and five hundred pounds in Consols, 
 bringing in six thousand a year." 
 
 "We are descending to trifles," said Peter- 
 son. 
 
 "Then you have cottage property all over 
 the Five Towns worth fifty-two thousand 
 pounds, and bringing in five thousand. You 
 also have this house, and the two thousand 
 acres of land attached — value uncertain." 
 
 "Leave it out," said Peterson, laconically. 
 
 "Then you have miscellaneous shares and 
 mortgages to the tune of three hundred and 
 thirty thousand pounds, yielding nine thousand 
 a year. And, lastly " 
 
 "Yes, lastly?" 
 
 "You requested me to get some cash in hand. 
 I have done so. Lastly, you have two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds on deposit, bringing in 
 a paltry eighty pounds a week." 
 
 "And that is all?" 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 "Now for the total." 
 
 "The total value, roughly speaking, is three 
 millions one hundred and two thousand five 
 hundred pounds."
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 159 
 
 "Then my father's fortune has increased 
 since his death?" 
 
 "Big fortunes have a pleasant habit of in- 
 creasing automatically. Yes, it has increased 
 by a little over three hundred thousand 
 pounds. The amount would have been more, 
 but death duties arc now lamentably heavy." 
 
 "And the present income?" 
 
 "The present income is, as nearly as possi- 
 ble, two hundred thousand a year." 
 
 "Thanks," said Arthur Peterson. "Now, 
 Mr. Thrush, I have some simple instructions 
 for you. You are much older than me; you 
 are also my legal adviser." 
 
 "Let me put in," Mr. Thrush interrupted 
 pleasantly, "that you, Mr. Peterson, are my 
 most important client, my richest client. My 
 other clients come to see me; I come to see 
 
 "I regard it as an honour," Peterson re- 
 turned, smiling. "I was saying that you are 
 older than me, and that you are my legal ad- 
 viser. The instructions which I am about to 
 give you will surprise you. Nevertheless, let 
 me warn you beforehand that I do not wish 
 to argue about them — I have made up my 
 mind.!'
 
 i6o THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 *T allow nothing to surprise me," said Mr. 
 Thrush; "continue." 
 
 "My instructions are these: You will sell 
 all my property, of whatever kind, except the 
 consols, and you will buy consols." 
 
 Mr. Thrush had just stated that he allowed 
 nothing to surprise him; but, nevertheless, he 
 now found himself in a state which, without 
 exaggeration, might be termed a state of 
 amazement. 
 
 "Are you mad?" he exclaimed. 
 
 No sooner had this experienced man of af- 
 fairs uttered the words than he perceived that 
 he had committed an error of discretion. 
 
 "Mad?" said Arthur Peterson. "Oh! peo- 
 ple say I am mad, do they? Do I look mad? 
 Is there anything about me to suggest insan- 
 ity, Mr. Thrush?" 
 
 The young man rose from his chair and 
 walked to and fro. 
 
 "You mistake me, my dear sir," said Mr. 
 Thrush soothingly. "We lawyers are prone, 
 I am afraid, to regard any proceeding not 
 marked by business principles as — well, as 
 mad. I spoke only in that sense. And of 
 course I am not so wrapped up in commercial-
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR i6i 
 
 ism as to be unable to perceive that there may 
 be other points of view than ours." 
 
 Mr. Thrush's manner was perfect. Abso- 
 lutely free from servility, it yet gave the young 
 millionaire to understand that the old lawyer 
 regarded him with respect. 
 
 "I should not be doing my duty towards you 
 professionally," the solicitor continued, "if I 
 did not treat such instructions as you have just 
 given me with at least a pretence of alarm." 
 Here he laughed, and Arthur Peterson 
 laughed too — loudly. 
 
 "You grasp my instructions?" said Arthur. 
 
 "Ah I" said Mr. Thrush, after a long breath. 
 "You are aware, Mr. Peterson, that this pro- 
 ceeding will reduce your income from 200,- 
 000/. a year to — let me see — to something un- 
 der 100,000/. a year; that you will, therefore, 
 be throwing away 2,000/. a week." 
 
 "I am aware of it." 
 
 "And may I ask your reasons?" 
 
 "Simply this ; that I want to enjoy my for- 
 tune. As it is, the worry of all these various 
 shares and securities would be the bane of my 
 life. If my money is in consols the income 
 may be small comparatively, but it is an in-
 
 i62 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 come without anxiety, and beyond the schem- 
 ings of the Stock Exchange." 
 
 "That is true," murmured Mr. Thrush. 
 
 "Moreover, I sha'n't be able to spend loo,- 
 ooo/. a year, to say nothing of 200,000/." 
 
 "I see," said Mr. Thrush; "permit me to 
 say that you are an original young man, Mr. 
 Peterson." 
 
 "Perhaps so; but I want to enjoy myself. 
 You will carry out my instructions?" 
 
 "Am I not your solicitor? But the thing 
 must be done delicately; I shall want time. 
 To put your colliery shares, for instance, on 
 the market all at once would seriously lessen 
 their value, while to go on to the Stock Ex- 
 change and buy 3,000,000/. of Consols in a 
 lump would certainly send up the price. I 
 shall want time, Mr. Peterson." 
 
 "I give you six months. Will that do?" 
 
 "I will try." 
 
 "You spoke of 200,000/. cash ; is that at my 
 bankers'?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Then I can draw a cheque for 25,000/. in- 
 stantly?" 
 
 "You can." 
 
 Arthur Peterson took his cheque book from
 
 THE OTHER ARTHUR 163 
 
 a drawer, and, writing out a cheque for the 
 sum he had named, handed it to Mr. Thrush. 
 
 "This is made out to me," said the lawyer. 
 
 "It is for you." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "Merely as an acknowledgment of your 
 services, and of my appreciation of your for- 
 bearance in not arguing with me about my de- 
 cision to reduce my income." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Peterson, I cannot accept it." 
 
 "Why not? Are you, then, so rich?" 
 
 "It is so unusual." 
 
 "Mr. Thrush, accept the advice of a young- 
 ster. Do not refuse that cheque; it is an ex- 
 presion of goodwill, and one should never de- 
 spise any expression of goodwill." 
 
 For answer, Mr. Thrush shook hands with 
 Arthur Peterson. 
 
 "You are too munificent," he stammered, 
 putting the cheque into his pocket-book. 
 
 In half an hour, matters of detail having 
 been discussed, Mr. Thrush had left the 
 Grange. He was startled, but he was also im- 
 pressed by his young client. 
 
 "Devilish odd!" he murmured to himself as 
 he got into a first-class carriage at Crewe; and 
 again, when he changed trains at Knype, he
 
 i64 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 murmured, ^'Devilish odd!" And, as he left 
 the Midland station at Derby in a Derby fly, 
 he remarked to the peculiar sliding doors of 
 the fly : ''There's something about that young 
 
 man I can't understand. I wonder, now " 
 
 But the doors heard no more; they never knew 
 what Mr. Thrush wondered. And so Mr. 
 Thrush passes out of the story.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART AND SOME 
 HARNESS 
 
 The mare and the dog-cart stood waiting at 
 the door, a groom at the mare's head. 
 
 "Everything all right?" said Arthur Peter- 
 son as he came down the steps buttoning his 
 gloves. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the groom. 
 
 "I've only left myself half an hour — will 
 she do it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir; easy, sir. I had her out yes- 
 terday morning for exercise, and she did 
 her two mile in seven-fifty, sir. I picked up 
 
 Mr. I forget his name — your new valet, 
 
 sir. Beg pardon, sir, he seems to know a bit 
 about horses; he said she were a treat; so she 
 is, sir. 
 
 "So my new valet understands horses, does 
 he?" said Arthur Peterson with amusement, 
 being more and more struck every day by the 
 omniscience of the wonderful servant recently 
 engaged from London. 
 
 i6s
 
 i66 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "Yes, sir, he's often in the stable, sir; seems 
 to like it. Handy man, sir." 
 
 "Right. You needn't come with me. Has 
 the luggage cart started?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, half an hour since." 
 
 "Let go." 
 
 The black mare went ofif like a gun, or a 
 stone from a catapult — exactly as a hundred- 
 guinea mare, handled by a young man who 
 can drive well and knows it, should go off. 
 This mare, like a certain horse, was a noble 
 animal, but she needed handling; with Arthur 
 Peterson at the other end of the reins she 
 had it. 
 
 Peterson snatched a glance at his watch as 
 they passed the first milestone on the way to 
 Crewe Station. Three minutes fifteen seconds 
 for the first mile. He reflected that it was 
 rather unceremonious for a millionaire to 
 fetch guests from the railway station in a dog- 
 cart unaccompanied by a groom. But he had 
 not yet had time to grow ceremonious, and 
 moreover he had a boyish anxiety to show off 
 the mare to Arthur Forrest, and for this pur- 
 pose she must not be overweighted on the re- 
 turn journey. 
 
 "Jove! I hope the lovely Sylviane won't
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 167 
 
 object to travelling in a dog-cart; never 
 thought of that," he murmured. Then the 
 mare occupied him again; half a mile of 
 straight dead-level lay before him. 
 
 "Now, Betsy," he chirruped, and drew the 
 whip gently over her flank. 
 
 She jumped forward, and something hap- 
 pened. The dog-cart was swerved askew, and 
 the mare danced across the road. With a 
 supreme effort he mastered her and sprang 
 out. A trace had broken on the near side. 
 The accident might have had serious conse- 
 quences, but Peterson took it calmly enough. 
 
 A boy happened to be lounging along the 
 road in front of him — a little boy with big feet 
 and the gait of a decrepit cabman. 
 
 "Hi!" called Arthur. 
 
 The boy took no notice. 
 
 "Hi!" Arthur called again. 
 
 They boy turned round. 
 
 "Didst call, mester?" the boy inquired 
 blandly, in the dialect of the district, which is 
 an extraordinary mixture of the dialects of 
 Staffordshire and of Cheshire. 
 
 "Of course I called," replied Peterson; 
 "don't ask silly questions. Come here, I want 
 you."
 
 i68 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ''See any green i' my eye?" the boy re- 
 marked. 
 
 "Come along, now; I've got a job and a six- 
 pence for you." 
 
 Thus cajoled, the boy came at a pace learnt 
 in the arable clayey fields of Cheshire. 
 
 "Can you hold this mare, my lad?" 
 
 "I can hold a plough-horse," said the boy. 
 
 "Well, catch on with both hands, and mind 
 she doesn't run away with you." 
 
 The boy laughed and obeyed. 
 
 Peterson bent down to take a lace from his 
 boot; but when he perceived that he wore but- 
 toned boots, he cursed the shoemaker at Old- 
 castle who had persuaded him that as a self- 
 respecting man he must wear buttoned boots 
 on certain occasions; Peterson, by inherited 
 instinct, was a man who wore one pair of 
 boots for most occasions. He looked next at 
 the boy's boots. The boy's boots, however, 
 were clogs — enormous shoon, in which the 
 Old Woman of the nursery rhyme might have 
 brought up a family. 
 
 "What sort of laces do you wear?" he de- 
 manded of the boy. 
 
 The boy sniggered, as though Peterson had 
 made an excellent joke.
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 169 
 
 "Leather?" asked Peterson. 
 
 "No," said the boy. 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "Porpus, 0' course; these are feyther's clogs, 
 and he has a fancy for porpus." 
 
 "Good," said Peterson, "take off the right 
 boot; that seems to have the best lace." 
 
 "Dost see any green i' my eye, mester?" the 
 boy once more asked. 
 
 Peterson boxed his ears, which disquieted 
 the mare, and the mare had to be soothed. 
 Time was flying. 
 
 "Here's half a crown for you," said Peter- 
 son. 
 
 "Hafe a crahn's better than a scuft in th' 
 earhole any day," said the boy with precocious 
 philosophy; and he removed his boot while 
 Peterson held the mare. 
 
 "Thanks," said Peterson. 
 
 "Thank yo'," said the boy, as he put on the 
 clog again, laceless. 
 
 "That's the worst of new harness," Peterson 
 said to himself. In five minutes, with the aid 
 of a penknife and the porpoise boot-lace, he 
 had mended the fracture. 
 
 "Gently now, Betsy!" he instructed the 
 mare; and they did the next four miles at a
 
 ijo THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 pace not exceeding thirteen miles an hour. 
 Then occurred a stiff rise of half a mile or so 
 before the descent into Crewe. The mare 
 took this well, and was just enlivening herself 
 at the top of the slope, when she shied at a 
 heap of stones by the roadside. She zig- 
 zagged at an angle of forty degrees, her ears 
 and tail restless. The next moment there was 
 a sudden noise — half a crunch, half a shriek 
 — at Peterson's left hand. He looked round 
 and saw the near wheel waggling. In a frac- 
 tion of a second he had jumped out, the reins 
 in his hand. At the same instant the wheel 
 detached itself from the vehicle, ran a yard or 
 two, and fell over; the cart dropped with a 
 thud. 
 
 "Great Scott!" he ejaculated; "what next?" 
 But he had the mare firmly by the head, and 
 though she struggled to get free of the twisted 
 shafts she could do nothing. 
 
 "Steady, mare!" he coaxed her. "You 
 won't reach Crewe this afternoon; but I 
 shall." 
 
 He did in fact, reach Crewe, and only a 
 quarter of an hour after time; happily the 
 train was twenty minutes late. As he drove 
 home with Arthur and Sylviane along the
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 171 
 
 dark lanes in a landau hired from the Crewe 
 Arms, he recounted in a nonchalant manner, 
 which did him much credit, how in the gath- 
 ering dusk he had got the mare out of the 
 shafts, led her to the stable of a wayside inn 
 close by, sent a couple of men to remove the 
 damaged dog-cart, and then done the mile and 
 a half into Crewe at the double. 
 
 "That explains why I was breathless when 
 you first saw me, Mrs. Forrest," he said to 
 Sylviane, who sat opposite to him in the car- 
 riage. 
 
 She smiled gently; he noticed that she 
 seemed steeped in melancholy, while her hus- 
 band was in admirable spirits. ^ 
 
 "You always could manage a horse, Pe- 
 terson," said Forrest, quietly, proud of his 
 friend. 
 
 "It was about the tightest fix I've been in," 
 Peterson answered him. 
 
 "It seems strange that two accidents should 
 occur on one journey," Sylviane said, looking 
 at Peterson. 
 
 "Very; but I have known a wheel to come 
 ofif before, and I have known a trace to break 
 before; the two things merely happened to- 
 gether, that's all."
 
 172 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "But sha'n't you hold an inquiry among the 
 stable hands?" she pursued. 
 
 "I shall make a row," he said, "if that's 
 what you mean," and he laughed. 
 
 "So long as the mare is all right, the bold 
 youth cares not," said Arthur Forrest. 
 
 But Sylviane would not respond to the 
 mood of the two men. 
 
 "I have always been afraid of dog-carts and 
 of fast-trotting mares," she said, seriously, 
 "they make me shiver." 
 
 "Then Fm glad that wheel came ofif," said 
 Peterson, quietly and positively. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because if it hadn't you would have been 
 in the dog-cart and behind that precious mare, 
 instead of in this landau and behind the weird 
 quadruped which the driver has the audacity 
 to describe as a horse." He was trying to 
 show his wit to the fair creature. 
 
 "With you I should not have been afraid." 
 
 "You wouldn't? Why?" 
 
 "I don't know; but I shouldn't." 
 
 She gave him a look of confidence which 
 enchanted him. His friend's wife had, in 
 truth, made a profound impression upon his 
 youthful and somewhat mercurial tempera-
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 173 
 
 ment. And, indeed, Sylviane was more beau- 
 tiful than ever. The anxieties through which 
 she had recently passed in connection with 
 her husband's illness — of whose seriousness 
 neither himself nor Peterson had any adequate 
 conception — seemed to have added to her face 
 a certain wistful and nun-like attraction — 
 final touch of the divine. 
 
 When at length the funereal trot of the 
 hired horse ended at the front door of the 
 Grange, and the housekeeper had taken Syl- 
 viane to her room, Peterson dragged Arthur 
 Forrest for a few moments into his study, 
 which was also a smoking-room. 
 
 'T say, old man," he blurted out; "I can't 
 help telling you — she's absolutely magnificent. 
 She's an angel, and a deuced sight too good 
 for you." 
 
 "Fm glad you like her," said Arthur For- 
 rest, simply. "She has taken to you." 
 
 'Think so?" 
 
 Forrest nodded, while Peterson almost 
 blushed. 
 
 "I was immensely struck by your mother- 
 in-law," said Arthur Peterson; "but your wife 
 outshines her as the sun outshines the moon." 
 
 "Don't wax poetical, my youth," said For-
 
 174 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 rest; "but if you must, do not be quite so ob- 
 vious in the selection of images. I was not 
 aware that you had met Mrs. Cavalossi." 
 
 *'Oh, yes! On Folkestone Leas," said Ar- 
 thur Peterson; and he went off into an eager 
 description of the famous interview between 
 the mature beauty and his callow self. "I 
 imagine," he added, ''that Mrs. Cavalossi 
 didn't take quite such a fancy to me as you are 
 kind enough to say your wife has done." 
 
 "Ah! well," Forrest commented, "if she 
 snubbed you, I've no doubt you deserved it." 
 
 That evening, after dinner, the three sat in 
 the drawing-room, where, by mutual consent, 
 the men were smoking. The apartment was 
 large, but, like the rest of the house, it had a 
 look of neglect and decay. The furniture was 
 mid-Victorian, solid, ugly, but not uncomfor- 
 table. On the walls were large mirrors, 
 which reflected the light of the great central 
 candelabrum. 
 
 It was the moment for intimate conversa- 
 tion or for silence. The fire on the great 
 hearth blazed up warm and inviting; Sylviane 
 and Peterson sat in easy chairs on either side 
 of it. Arthur Forrest stood up, a cigarette in 
 one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 175 
 
 "Piano any good?" he questioned of Peter- 
 son. 
 
 "Pretty fair, I think; never touch it my- 
 self." 
 
 "I'll give you one of the old tunes — you 
 remember, eh?" 
 
 "What— 'Carmen'?" 
 
 With a nod Arthur Forrest, putting down 
 his cup, went over to the piano, which was at 
 the far end of the room, and began to play the 
 Toreador song. 
 
 Sylviane leaned suddenly towards Peterson. 
 "That song seems to have memories for you," 
 she said; "tell me about your early friendship 
 with my husband." 
 
 "What shall I tell you?" 
 
 "Well, to begin with, how did you first 
 meet?" 
 
 "It was like this. We were each of us 
 driving up in a fiacre to the Midi Station in 
 Paris, and his fiacre ran into mine, and there 
 was a fearful collision and spilling of lug- 
 gage, and a tremendous outpouring of French 
 and English oaths; at least, that's my version. 
 It's only fair to tell you that your husband's 
 version of the affair is that my fiacre ran into 
 his. However, we met like that. It turned
 
 176 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 out that we were both in a hurry to catch the 
 Lyons express, and we both missed it. So we 
 agreed to stay in Paris for another day, and to 
 spend the time together. We got on fa- 
 mously. Of course, Forrest was, relatively, 
 much older than me then than he is now; I 
 believe I was only nineteen. It was my first 
 journey on the Continent — one Long Vaca- 
 tion." 
 
 "What a strange coincidence!" Sylviane 
 murmured. 
 
 "Where was the coincidence?" asked Peter- 
 son. 
 
 "That — that you should both be trying to 
 catch the same train." 
 
 "Do you call that strange?" said Peterson; 
 and his eyes said: "What a delightful, sim- 
 ple little thing you are!" 
 
 "And then, I suppose, you began to see a 
 good deal of each other?" Sylviane continued 
 her catechism. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "we travelled together a 
 good deal in various parts of Europe after- 
 wards, he seeing old pictures, I seeing old 
 buildings. It was in Cadiz that we had the 
 adventure of my career, at the opera there — 
 a wretched enough opera-house it is, too;
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 177 
 
 'Carmen' was the opera — I remember the 
 whole thing perfectly. Afterwards we went 
 together for a stroll on the Alameda. And 
 
 there something happened But Arthur 
 
 made me swear never to mention it to any 
 
 one." 
 
 ''You may tell me." 
 
 "I think I may. It was only that he saved 
 my life; don't ask me the details. The afifair 
 was one common enough in Cadiz." 
 
 "I felt sure that either you or he had saved 
 the other's life. There is something in your 
 attitude towards each other I cannot ex- 
 plain " 
 
 "You are right," said Peterson, eyeing the 
 woman with adoration. 
 
 Arthur Forrest had finished the Toreador 
 song, and begun the dance from the first act. 
 
 "Upon my word," said Peterson, glancing 
 at his friend, "he looks as if he had never had 
 a day's illness in his life. Was he very ill?" 
 
 Sylviane leaned back in the chair, and cov- 
 ered her face for a moment with one hand. 
 
 "I will tell you," she said — and her voice 
 was charged with feeling — "what I have said 
 neither to him nor to any one else — I never 
 expected him to get better; it was a miracle.
 
 178 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 You see him now well and strong, and take 
 his recovery for granted. To me it is a 
 miracle — even now I can scarcely believe it — 
 I had absolutely abandoned hope; I was ready 
 to throw myself down and die by his side." 
 
 Peterson felt the tears coming into his eyes, 
 and he coughed. 
 
 "I didn't know it was so bad," he said ; "you 
 must have nursed him superbly; and Arthur 
 says that Dr. Colpus is something rather spe- 
 cial." 
 
 The girl shuddered, 
 
 "Dr. Colpus," she murmured; "Dr. Colpus 
 saved my husband by pure force of will; he 
 scarcely left his bedside for thirty-six hours 1" 
 
 "I suppose you know that I called at the 
 hotel at Folkestone every day to inquire after 
 Forrest — every day for a fortnight, that is. I 
 was obliged to clear out of Folkestone at the 
 end of a fortnight, as I had come to the end of 
 my money." 
 
 "Did you, really?" Sylviane replied; "I had 
 no idea — no one told me." 
 
 "Well, perhaps every one was too busy." 
 
 "I'm glad to think you called like that every 
 day," she said. 
 
 "Are you? How nice of you!"
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 179 
 
 Both were silent; Peterson averted his face. 
 As for Sylviane, she gave her host a long look, 
 in which were strangely mingled compassion 
 and troubled curiosity. Then Arthur re- 
 turned from his excursion to the piano. 
 
 "My young friend," said the latter gaily, 
 "we are quite private. How much are you 
 worth? I should really like to know." 
 
 "Would you?" said Peterson, "if I tell you, 
 you won't think I'm boasting?" 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 "Well, I'm worth a little over three mil- 
 lions." 
 
 Sylviane was looking into the fire, and did 
 not move her head. 
 
 "Ah!" said Arthur Forrest, calmly, "well, 
 I must say that this house doesn't do much 
 credit to a person of your means — shall we say 
 'ample means'? Excuse my frankness, but 
 you and I were always rude to each other." 
 
 "It doesn't," Peterson agreed; "nor do I 
 take the slightest pride in it." 
 
 "But surely it is your old home," inter- 
 rupted Sylviane, quickly. 
 
 "Yes, in a way it is; but I was always at 
 school or at Oxford, you know. And when at 
 the age of twenty-one, after the 'Varsity, I
 
 i8o THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 declined to be a colliery master, and insisted 
 on being an architect, my respected father in- 
 formed me that I could go; so I went. Rad- 
 way Grange was no home to me; you see, my 
 mother died when I was quite tiny. To me 
 the place was always ugly and cheerless — my 
 father never attempted to make it otherwise. 
 He and I had quarrelled, and though he al- 
 lowed me a few hundreds a year, I had no 
 idea whether or not he would leave me the 
 whole or any part of his fortune. I didn't 
 even know he was a millionaire; he was a pe- 
 culiar man — I speak of him quite without 
 prejudice." 
 
 Peterson's tone had perceptibly hardened; 
 there was a pause. 
 
 "The park is fairly large, isn't it?" said 
 Arthur Forrest at length. 
 
 "The park is magnificent," Peterson agreed 
 enthusiastically, "and I shall not leave it. 
 To-morrow you must inspect its beauties." 
 
 "Then you will stay here, after all, in this 
 abode so ugly and cheerless," Arthur smiled. 
 
 "By no means; I am building a new house 
 on the hill just behind." 
 
 "What, already? But you have only been 
 here a couple of months!"
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART i8i 
 
 "I needn't explain to you, my dear Arthur," 
 said Peterson, "that architecture is my pas- 
 sion — architecture and horses, that is. Two 
 years ago, when the lawyer read to me my fa- 
 ther's will, I instantly determined what I 
 should do. I would not leave Radway; I 
 would not live in this wretched house — I 
 would build a new one in the position which 
 ought to have been originally chosen. I have 
 been at work on the plans ever since. It will 
 be superb ; it will be the finest private mansion 
 in Staffordshire, and that is saying a good 
 deal. Immediately I came into possession 
 here I began operations; a hundred men are 
 at work every day. The foundations are laid ; 
 in parts the walls are at the first story." 
 
 "You are positively a magician, Mr. Peter- 
 son," murmured Sylviane, stirred from her 
 usual apathy, while Arthur Forrest whistled a 
 high note of surprise. 
 
 "It is the one privilege of a millionaire — to 
 be a magician," said Peterson. 
 
 "We must see this wonderful palace," Ar- 
 thur Forrest laughed. 
 
 "Rather! I spend whole days there. Im- 
 mediately after breakfast to-morrow, eh?" 
 
 "Agreed." Forrest walked to the window,
 
 i82 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 and drawing aside the blind looked out. 
 "What a perfect nightl The moon is simply 
 marvellous." 
 
 "Look here," said Peterson, struck with a 
 sudden idea, "let's wrap up and go out on to 
 the hill to-night. Would you care, Mrs. For- 
 rest? It isn't far, and the place looks splen- 
 did at night — sort of Coliseum touch, you 
 know; and the view of the Five Towns in the 
 distance beats everything. Pardon my en- 
 thusiasm, but will you come?" 
 
 Forrest looked at his wife, and she smiled 
 a consent. 
 
 "We will humour you, Peterson," said For- 
 rest ; "you are a little mad, but we will humour 
 you." 
 
 Arthur Peterson suddenly scowled, and 
 then straightened his features. 
 
 "I wish to goodness you wouldn't regard 
 me as a madman, my dear fellow," he said. 
 
 "But you are, you know," laughed Forrest. 
 
 "It will be quite an adventure," said Syl- 
 viane, with eagerness. 
 
 Peterson rang the bell twice, and in a mo- 
 ment a servant entered. On beholding Ar- 
 thur Forrest, the servant bowed respectfully.
 
 VAGARIES OF A DOG-CART 183 
 
 "Sims!" said Forrest, astonished and some- 
 what taken aback. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the man, discreetly smiling; 
 "I am glad to see you better, sir." 
 
 At the sound of that quiet and sinister voice, 
 Sylviane looked up quickly; a sharp sigh es- 
 caped her, and then, ignoring the servant, she 
 turned her head away and gazed into the fire; 
 her face had paled. Peterson gave some nec- 
 essary orders about wraps and lanterns, and 
 Sims departed again, 
 
 "It appears that you know my new man," 
 said Peterson; "I may tell you he is a jewel." 
 
 "He was with my mother-in-law," Arthur 
 Forrest replied; "I did not know he had left 
 her." Sylviane said nothing. 
 
 "He came to me with first-rate references," 
 said Peterson, "in answer to an advertisement 
 of mine, and I am entirely satisfied with him; 
 in fact, I am enchanted with the fellow." 
 
 Sims presently re-entered the drawing- 
 room with overcoats and wraps. 
 
 "By the way, Sims," said his master, "have 
 they told you of the accidents this afternoon?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; very curious indeed. I happened 
 to be in the stable-yard this morning when
 
 1 84 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 they were washing the dog-cart, and it struck 
 me what a well-made cart it was." 
 
 "You didn't happen to examine the 
 wheels?" 
 
 "No, sir, I didn't." 
 
 "Are the lanterns ready?" 
 
 "They are at the conservatory-door, sir." 
 
 "Thanks, that will do."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MR. SIMS SEES THE DOOR LOCKED 
 
 Peterson and the two Forrests were soon at 
 the summit of the hill which bore the first be- 
 ginnings of the superb mansion that was to be. 
 Each of the men carried a lantern, but the 
 w^hite illumination of the moon, flooding earth 
 and sky with soft radiance, rendered these un- 
 necessary. As Peterson had predicted, the 
 rising walls of the new house had just the ro- 
 mantic appearance of some immense and age- 
 worn ruin. There was a long irregular line 
 of wail, with gaps for windows and doors, and 
 cross walls here and there breaking away from 
 it at right angles. Huge scaffolding, sharply 
 silhouetted against the sky, lifted a network 
 tracery above everything. In one place, near 
 the centre of the faqade, the scaffolding rose 
 considerably higher than elsewhere. 
 
 As they approached the huge erection all 
 
 three were impressed by the utter silence, the 
 
 185
 
 1 86 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 spectral and perfect stillness which enveloped 
 the spot. 
 
 ''It is as if the place had been abandoned," 
 whispered Sylviane. 
 
 "Is there no night watchman?" Arthur For- 
 rest asked. 
 
 ''No," answered Peterson; "why should 
 there be? My own land, which is in a ring 
 fence, extends for half a mile in every direc- 
 tion." 
 
 Involuntarily Sylviane stopped when they 
 were within fifty yards of the building. 
 
 "Come along," said Peterson. 
 
 "It is very uncanny," she said. 
 
 "Yes, it is a bit," he replied, "especially if 
 you give way to the feeling. But you must 
 come near by, and see the blaze and smoke- 
 trails of the Five Towns' furnaces seven miles 
 off; that is a sight which you will not soon 
 forget." 
 
 They walked close up to the line of the fa- 
 qade, and the tremendous scale of the archi- 
 tecture stood for the first time fully revealed. 
 
 "Why, Peterson," exclaimed Arthur For- 
 rest, "it is simply prodigious!" 
 
 "Yes," the host said with pride, "I expect 
 it looks pretty big to you. I've got used to it."
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 187 
 
 "And you've done this in two months?" 
 
 "The workmen have. Of course, it's only 
 just commenced ; this is nothing. It will cost 
 two hundred thousand, and another hundred 
 thousand to furnish." 
 
 "Peterson, you are a man of large ideas. I 
 congratulate you." 
 
 "Oh, stuff! You see that scaffolding there, 
 towards the middle — that is the beginning of 
 the great central double tower. If you care 
 we will get up to the top of the scaffolding. 
 It is worth doing; unless we climb that we 
 can't get the view of the Five Towns without 
 going round the end of the building to the 
 back. What do you say, Mrs. Forrest?" 
 
 "Is it up ladders?" she inquired, with a 
 woman's timidity. 
 
 "Oh, no; the stairways are quite practica- 
 ble — I had them made so for the sake of the 
 workmen. You see, this is not a contract 
 job." 
 
 "We will go," said Arthur. "Excelsior, 
 Sylviane; it will do you good!" He was in 
 the brightest spirits. 
 
 Under the guidance of Peterson, they found 
 themselves presently involved in a medley of 
 poles and planks, with a steep stairway in front
 
 i88 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 of them. To right and left of them stretched 
 long vistas of bricks, pale in the moonlight. 
 
 They climbed and turned corners, and 
 climbed and turned corners; and at length, 
 with quickened breathing, they were on the 
 topmost stage of the scaffolding, forty feet 
 above the ground. 
 
 "Look," said Peterson, stretching forth his 
 hand. 
 
 Far away in the distance they could see a 
 rich crimson glare, with a glowing canopy of 
 smoke stretched above it. 
 
 "Those are the chief works of the Peterson 
 Collieries and Ironworks Company at Turn- 
 hill; they always remind me of a huge caul- 
 dron served by Titans. Better than fireworks, 
 isn't it?" he added. 
 
 Forrest and his wife gave no answer; they 
 gazed spellbound. 
 
 Suddenly Sylviane glanced backwards. 
 
 "What was that?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "What was what, my dear?" 
 
 "I thought I heard some one behind us, 
 Arthur." 
 
 "Don't be nervous, Sylvie; I am afraid the 
 moon and the Peterson furnaces are too much 
 for you."
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 189 
 
 For answer she clung to him. 
 
 "I saw some one," she whispered. 
 
 ''Nonsense I" 
 
 "I saw some one, and I heard a footstep." 
 
 "Never mind, Sylvie; let us assume it was 
 a ghost." 
 
 This brief colloquy was spoken too low to 
 be heard by Arthur Peterson. Forrest tried 
 to reassure his wife. Then he said to himself 
 that she must be over-fatigued with the jour- 
 ney. But despite his efforts to laugh away her 
 alarms, the fear in Sylvie's eyes had communi- 
 cated itself to his own heart. 
 
 "Come over here now, to the other side," 
 said Peterson, "and you will see the lights of 
 Crewe shunting yard. Don't be afraid; there 
 are four planks together, wide enough for an 
 army, but unfortunately there is no handrail. 
 Follovv^ me; it is absolutely safe." 
 
 He pointed to a sort of bridge, perfectly 
 plain in the moonlight, which led from the 
 staging upon which they stood to a similar 
 staging on the other side. 
 
 "Come along," he repeated, and stepped 
 forward on to the bridge. One of the planks 
 yielded, and in an instant, as if by magic, 
 Peterson had disappeared. There was no cry,
 
 I90 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 no sound — except Sylviane's short, suppressed 
 shriek. Husband and wife listened in vain 
 for the least sign of life. 
 
 He was gone, extinguished. One moment 
 he stood before them, plain and tangible in the 
 moonlight; the next he had become invisible, 
 inaudible; it was as though some sinister and 
 mysterious hand had risen out of the void and 
 plucked him down. 
 
 "The plank must have slipped off the cross- 
 beam," said Forrest. 
 
 Why is it that in the presence of sudden dis- 
 aster the human mind invariably takes refuge 
 in the banal, the obvious? Here was an im- 
 mortal soul snatched strangely away, and Ar- 
 thur Forrest must needs remark that the plank 
 had slipped off the cross-beam! 
 
 "There was no sound of a fall," he con- 
 tinued, trying to assume a natural inflection of 
 voice. "Did you hear anything, Sylvie?" 
 
 Sylviane shook her head slowly. 
 
 "He is killed!" she cried. 
 
 Arthur got on his knees and peered down 
 into the gulf, but all was blackness there; he 
 could see nothing. The lanterns had been left 
 below.
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 191 
 
 "Peterson 1" he called; the cry echoed 
 weirdly — no answer. 
 
 "I tell you he is killed." 
 
 "Let us go down," said Arthur; "take my 
 hand." 
 
 He could not even try to reassure her, now. 
 He called himself fatuous for having tried to 
 reassure her before. Are not the divinations, 
 the presciences, of women, subtle and surer 
 than those of men? Has it not always been 
 so, and will it not always be so? Yet men per- 
 sist in the pretence that women are creatures 
 of causeless alarms and absurd trepidations. 
 
 He sought to guess what it was, or who it 
 was, that Sylviane had seen and heard; but he 
 could find no answer to that riddle. His 
 wife hesitated to move — if one plank yielded, 
 why should not another yield? 
 
 "Come along," he said imperiously, almost 
 brutally. 
 
 "Is it safe?" she tremblingly murmured. 
 
 "Have no fear," he said, with masculine 
 certainty. 
 
 And they crept down the rough stairways, 
 slowly, cautiously, alternating between spaces 
 of bright moonlight and spaces of deep black-
 
 192 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 ness. As they reached the lower stage of the 
 scaffolding a half-smothered voice shouted: 
 *'A11 right — it's all right;" and a figure ap- 
 proached them. It was Peterson himself. 
 
 "It's all right," he said, talking loudly from 
 excitement; "I hope you weren't alarmed. I 
 fell into a heap of sand which had been 
 dumped down only this afternoon for the mor- 
 tar mill. I was a bit choked and stunned at 
 first, but I'm quite unhurt. It was a longish 
 drop, though, forty feet! Great Scott I If 
 that sand hadn't been there, every bone in my 
 body would have been broken. Look here, if 
 you don't mind, we'll go back to the house and 
 have a brandy and soda apiece." 
 
 As Peterson emerged from the shadow it 
 could be seen that he had lost his hat; his hair 
 was tousled, and the disarray of his clothes was 
 plainly apparent even in the moonlight. 
 
 Forrest felt the weight of Sylviane's body 
 against his side. She was on the point of 
 swooning. 
 
 "Steady, dear girl," he encouraged her, and 
 with an obedient effort she recovered herself. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Forrest," said 
 Peterson, coming still nearer. "I'm as right
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 193 
 
 as a trivet, though I dare say I shall be a bit 
 stiff to-morrow." 
 
 "I'm awfully glad you aren't hurt," said 
 Arthur Forrest. "But you must certainly set 
 this down as a day of miracles, Peterson." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Peterson; and, picking 
 up their lanterns, they walked to the house 
 with scarcely another word; none could find 
 anything to say. 
 
 Then a loud sigh, like the sighing of a levi- 
 athan — regular, stertorous, and horrid — was 
 borne to them on the still night air. Syl- 
 viane's arm fluttered in Forrest's, and he 
 clutched it tighter. 
 
 "What is that infernal noise?" he asked 
 Peterson. 
 
 "That — oh! it's only one of my blast-fur- 
 naces, one of the Peterson Company's blast- 
 furnaces, that is to say, between here and 
 Turnhill; it's four or five miles ofif. If you 
 heard it close to, you would think it was some- 
 thing to take notice of." The youth laughed 
 loudly again, for he was still under the influ- 
 ence of strong excitement. Now a blast-fur- 
 nace is the most ordinary affair in the world 
 — in the Midlands. Yet, to Arthur Forrest,
 
 194 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 who was no feeble victim of imaginative ter- 
 rors, that blast-furnace seemed to be transmit- 
 ting the dark messages of fate; it seemed as 
 if it were a chorus to the accidents of the day. 
 
 As they passed through the conservatory 
 the master of the house shouted out: "Sims, 
 where is Sims? I want my clothes brushed; 
 and tell some one to bring brandy and soda 
 into the drawing-room at once." 
 
 "I am here, sir," answered Sims, entering 
 the conservatory behind them from the gar- 
 den. Arthur Forrest flashed his lantern upon 
 the man's face. It wore an impassive, respect- 
 ful smile — a guileless smile — the smile of a 
 man who, knowing his own worth and recog- 
 nising the worth of others, is at peace with the 
 world. 
 
 That night Forrest, having stayed up rather 
 late talking with Peterson, sat finishing a ciga- 
 rette in the dressing-room which adjoined 
 the Forrests' bedroom. The whole house was 
 silent, except for those vague, inexplicable 
 sounds which only make themselves heard in 
 the darkness. He put the end of the cigarette 
 into an ash-tray, and, going towards the win- 
 dow, looked out. The moon was sinking over 
 the hill, and her light shone through the scaf-
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 195 
 
 folding of the new mansion, which stood 
 quaint and bare, like a black skeleton in that 
 luminous flood. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a noise within the room. 
 
 ''Arthur I" 
 
 A pale figure crouched at his feet; it was 
 Sylviane in her night-dress. Trembling and 
 shaken with sobs, her hair loose, her eyes 
 misty with tears, she bent before him, the 
 image of despair and tribulation. 
 
 "My dear Sylvie, are you ill?" He picked 
 her up and put her on a chair. "What is it — 
 a bad dream?" 
 
 "Would to God it were!" she answered, 
 clutching his hand and then dropping it as 
 though it burnt her. "Arthur, they are try- 
 ing to kill him!" 
 
 "Who is trying to kill — kill whom?" 
 
 "Mr. Peterson. I know it." 
 
 *'My dear Sylvie, what are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 He said to himself that his wife's manner 
 had been strange and curious since they went 
 into the drawing-room after dinner. 
 
 ''Sims is here," she insisted with a terrible 
 emphasis. "Immediately I saw Sims in the 
 drawing-room I knew that something was
 
 196 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 afoot." She ceased sobbing, and murmured 
 inarticulately. 
 
 "Come," he said, soothing her; "if you cry, 
 I can't tell a word you say. What is all this 
 about Sims?" 
 
 "It is a plot," she said. "Can't you see? 
 The breaking of the trace, the wheel coming 
 ofif, and then that loose plank to-night; it is a 
 miracle Mr. Peterson isn't dead. But they 
 will do it yet; nothing will stop them. You 
 don't know them, Arthur." 
 
 "Who are they?" 
 
 "Dr. Colpus— and " 
 
 "Dr. Colpus?" 
 
 "Yes, and — O Arthur— my mother!" 
 
 "Sylviane!" 
 
 "Yes, my mother. They have sent Sims 
 down here — he is working for them; I am 
 convinced of it. When we were on the top 
 of the scaffolding I saw some one — it must 
 have been Sims." 
 
 "But, Sylvie, why should Dr. Colpus and 
 you mother wish to kill Peterson?" His 
 intention was to humour her. He thought her 
 mind was wandering, that Peterson's narrow 
 escape had affected her brain. 
 
 She paused a moment, and seemed to be
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 197 
 
 gathering herself together for a great efifort. 
 
 "Listen, Arthur," she said, "I must tell you 
 everything — I should have told you long ago, 
 but I daren't; I was so afraid of mamma. It 
 was all a plot from the beginning. Before we 
 met you, mamma and Dr. Colpus knew that 
 you were entitled to the Peterson fortune; that 
 was why we met you. I had orders to marry 
 you. You can guess the rest of the plot; you 
 know it, in fact. The marriage being accom- 
 plished, Dr. Colpus was to pretend that he had 
 only just found out your connection with the 
 Petersons." 
 
 The idea that his wife's mind was wander- 
 ing vanished in a moment; he knew some- 
 how that she was speaking the cold and bitter 
 truth. A thousand trifles came back to him 
 out of the past — trifles hitherto ignored or dis- 
 dained; and these trifles confirmed the tre- 
 mendous indictment against her mother and 
 Dr. Colpus which Sylvie had outlined in those 
 few pregnant and breathless sentences. 
 
 His brain reeled under the intoxication of 
 dreadful thoughts. 
 
 "Sylvie!" he cried, standing up, "did you 
 marry me because you thought I was going to 
 be a millionaire?"
 
 198 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 She hid her beautiful face in her hands. 
 "No, before God I didn't 1" she answered in 
 a whisper; "I loved you — I do love you, 
 Arthurl Don't you believe me?" 
 
 "I believe you," he said, without moving; 
 "go on, Sylviane." 
 
 "What put them out was your refusal of the 
 fortune, and the fact that you knew all about 
 it before. They hadn't calculated on that; 
 they had to begin again. O Arthur, I over- 
 heard them talking that night you were so 
 very ill; I had the most frightful suspicion, 
 and so I crept to the door of the drawing-room 
 that night when your influenza took a turn for 
 the worse, and I heard what Dr. Colpus and 
 mamma said to each other. Mamma — 
 mamma I can't tell you." 
 
 "You must tell me, Sylviane." 
 
 "She — she wanted you to die, Arthur! 
 She opened the bedroom window so that you 
 might — so that you wouldn't get better, 
 Arthur. I found it just a little open after 
 she had left the room; she had not closed it 
 properly. I would have given worlds to ac- 
 cuse her, but I daren't — I daren't. I was 
 always afraid of her."
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 199 
 
 "Why did your mother wish me to die?" 
 he asked, coldly. 
 
 "She thought when you were dead the 
 fortune could be claimed on my behalf — that 
 was what I overheard; but Dr. Colpus said it 
 would be difficult, and that you must be saved 
 at all costs. Then I heard him say to her that 
 the other Arthur was more in the way. They 
 think that if Mr. Peterson was dead you would 
 be sure to accept the fortune." 
 
 "It can't be true I" Forrest exclaimed; "it is 
 incredible." A thrill of amazement and un- 
 speakable wrath shook him from head to foot. 
 
 "It is true," she said; "and that is why 
 Sims is\ here now. Sims is invaluable. Sims 
 may be relied on to do what he is told." 
 
 Forest walked to and fro in the room. 
 
 "Yes," he said, stopping at length before his 
 wife, "it is true; in my heart of hearts I have 
 always known that your mother was an ad- 
 venturess. But I thought only of you." 
 
 "Arthur, I will leave you to-morrow; it is 
 the least I can do. Let us say good-bye nowl" 
 
 She, too, stood up, and for a moment 
 fronted him. Her marvellous face, sur- 
 rounded by the loose coils of her hair, was a
 
 200 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 sublime appeal to his mercy. The pathos of 
 her position brought the tears to his eyes, and 
 made him forget the perils through which he 
 himself had passed, and those by which 
 Arthur Peterson was still surrounded. 
 
 "I will leave you to-morrow!" she repeated 
 more firmly. Her eyes wavered as they met 
 his. 
 
 "Leave me?" he cried. 
 
 "Yes; I must. I tell you it is the least I 
 can do — my mother's blood runs in my veins. 
 Did I not at the beginning consent to the plot? 
 Oh, yes, yes! I am only fit for hell! I am 
 unworthy that you should ever look at me 
 again. But let me swear to you first, Arthur, 
 that I did not know they meant murder — I 
 only knew you were going to be rich, very 
 rich. If I had not happened to fall in love 
 with you, my husband, I should have married 
 you without a scruple. And when I found 
 that I loved you, I said to myself that I must 
 not marry you, that it would not be fair to 
 you. But my love for you tempted me, and 
 the temptation was too strong for poor little 
 me — and mamma was so awful. And I did 
 so want to be your wife, Arthur. I promised
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 201 
 
 myself that after we were married I would tell 
 you; but even then I dared not — I was afraid 
 lest you would despise me and send me back 
 to mamma. And now, now that I have seen 
 you nearly murdered, and Mr. Peterson nearly 
 murdered, I cannot keep silence any longer. 
 Arthur, you must try to forgive me; and if 
 you can't forgive, forget. I shall go away, far 
 
 from you, and far, far from my mother 
 
 No I I will not ask you for a kiss before I 
 leave you." 
 
 "Leave me?" he repeated; "you say you 
 have seen me nearly murdered, do you wish to 
 murder me yourself?" 
 
 "Arthur!" she cried. 
 
 "Then don't say another syllable about 
 leaving me!" 
 
 She sank at his feet. 
 
 "Poor victim!" he involuntarily exclaimed. 
 Without another word he lifted her in his 
 arms, and carried her to the bedroom; she 
 closed her eyes as if in exhaustion, he waited 
 by the bedside till she should open them. 
 
 "Sylvie," he breathed softly, "I trust you as 
 I trust myself; you will never leave me!" 
 
 She smiled with a relief exquisitely sad.
 
 202 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "In all my idle life," she murmured, "I have 
 done nothing to deserve your love and your 
 goodness." 
 
 "Angel!" he replied, "it is sufficient that 
 you exist. The lilies toil not, neither do they 
 spin. And now you must sleep; you aren't 
 afraid, are you?" 
 
 "Not now," she sighed. 
 
 He turned away, profoundly moved. 
 
 "Arthur," she whispered. 
 
 "Dearest, what is it?" he gazed at her 
 again. 
 
 "Mr. Peterson," she murmured, "you will 
 save him?" 
 
 "Rest in peace, my love," he said; and she 
 thanked him for the reassurance with a look. 
 
 At that moment there was a discreet knock 
 at the dressing-room door; they both started. 
 
 "Who is there?" said Forrest, loudly. 
 
 "I, sir." 
 
 "Wait a moment, then." 
 
 Forrest passed a hand gently over his wife's 
 forehead. Then going into the dressing- 
 room, he locked the door between the bedroom 
 and the dressing-room, and opened the outer 
 door.
 
 THE DOOR UNLOCKED 203 
 
 "Come in," he said, and a man entered. 
 
 "Oh, Sims," said Forrest, "is that you? 
 Up late, aren't you?" With a quick motion 
 he locked the outer door also.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MR. SIMS MEETS WITH A REVOLVER 
 
 It was not without a little sign of astonish- 
 ment that the imperturbable Sims saw Arthur 
 Forrest lock the door of the dressing-room. 
 
 "Mr. Peterson's compliments, sir," he said 
 quietly, "and he forgot to tell you that he was 
 going out early to-morrow morning, and hopes 
 you won't wait breakfast for him if he should 
 happen to be late." 
 
 "Oh!" said Arthur Forrest, as he put his 
 right hand into a brown bag which lay open on 
 a table; "so your master is starting out early 
 to-morrow. He said nothing to me, and I 
 only left him a quarter of an hour ago." 
 
 "No, sir; he forgot." 
 
 "He is in bed now?" 
 
 "Yes, sir.'^ 
 
 "Is he shooting to-morrow morning?" 
 
 "No, sir; I — I think it's on some business 
 connected with the new house that he's going 
 
 out." 
 
 204
 
 MR. SIMS MEETS A REVOLVER 205 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Forrest, with as much of 
 the magisterial manner as he could command, 
 but without looking at Sims. "By the way, 
 Sims, Mr. Peterson seemed surprised when I 
 happened to remark this evening that you had 
 previously been in the employ of Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi." 
 
 "Did he, sir?" 
 
 "He did. Does not that strike you as 
 curious?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't catch your drift, sir." 
 
 "My drift should be fairly plain to a person 
 of your acute intelligence, Sims. If your ex- 
 cellent references, of which Mr. Peterson 
 made special mention in our conversation, 
 were not forged, surely they should have borne 
 the name of your previous employer?" 
 
 "The inference does not follow, sir. My 
 reference bore the name of my last employer 
 but one." 
 
 "How was that?" 
 
 "Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I had the 
 misfortune to differ from Mrs. Cavalossi — 
 Mrs. Colpus as she now is — on an important 
 point. Not to mince matters, sir, we quar- 
 relled. The influence of Dr. Colpus, sir, I'm 
 afraid; and Mrs. Colpus declined to give me
 
 2o6 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 a character of any sort. She's a rather fear- 
 some lady, sir, when she's roused." The 
 gentle forgiveness in Sims's tone was wholly 
 delightful. 
 
 ''Very ingenious, Sims I" said Forrest, who 
 was by no means prepared to swallow this 
 specious explanation. It did not require 
 much shrewdness to guess that if the Colpuses 
 and Sims had quarreled they had carefully re- 
 hearsed the quarrel beforehand. 
 
 "In these days, sir," Sims pursued, "it's 
 difficult to get a good place, and so you see I 
 was obliged to draw a veil over my four years' 
 service under Mrs. Colpus. One must live, 
 sir; and there was no harm done by a little 
 innocent deception. I am glad to think that 
 Mr. Peterson is well satisfied with my efforts 
 to suit him." 
 
 "You think he is satisfied?" 
 
 "He has been good enough to tell me as 
 much, sir." 
 
 "And I understand that his message is that 
 he is going out early to-morrow morning, and 
 we are not to wait breakfast for him?" 
 
 "Those were his words, sir." 
 
 "Indeed!" Forrest looked up at Mr. Sims 
 for the first time. "I suppose, Sims," he said
 
 MR. SLMS MEETS A REVOLVER 207 
 
 slowly, "that this message doesn't happen to 
 be an invention of yours?" 
 
 "I fail to grasp your meaning, sir." 
 
 "Well, suppose, for instance, that you in- 
 tended to get rid of your master during the 
 night, and wanted to arrange that the discov- 
 ery of his disappearance should occur as late 
 as possible to-morrow." 
 
 "Sirl" 
 
 "You heard what I said, my friend." 
 
 "Get rid of my master?" 
 
 "Yes; or, if you prefer the phrase, murder 
 him, annihilate him — of course by accident, 
 pure accident." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Forrest, I must protest 
 
 I — I trust it isn't the brandy " 
 
 "Sims, it's all up. I know the whole 
 scheme hatched between you and the Col- 
 puses; and so you may as well accept your 
 defeat quietly." 
 
 For once in his life, Sims was astounded 
 out of his presence of mind, and he made a 
 false move — he rushed for the door. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Forrest, and with the word 
 he took out of the bag a loaded revolver. "It 
 is a habit of mine always to carry this," he 
 said.
 
 2o8 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 Sims stopped. 
 
 "Sit down, Sims; I want to have a chat." 
 
 Instead of sitting down, Sims edged towards 
 the door. 
 
 "Sit down, Sims," Forrest repeated softly. 
 "As for the door, it's locked." He lifted the 
 revolver in the direction of Sims's forehead. 
 
 "You'll never dare to use it," said Sims, 
 who was now himself again. 
 
 "Won't I!" Forrest replied; "I should ad- 
 vise you not to trespass too far on my good 
 nature. For the third time I request you to 
 sit down — take that chair over there." 
 
 Sims obeyed. 
 
 "Now we can proceed," said Arthur For- 
 rest; and he too sat down, with the revolver 
 on his knees. "We won't talk loud, because 
 my wife is trying to go to sleep in the next 
 room." 
 
 "I may as well tell you, sir," Sims put in, 
 "that I haven't the least idea what all this 
 extraordinary fuss is about. I merely came 
 here with a message from my master " 
 
 "Listen to me, Sims, and listen carefully. 
 I haven't the slightest doubt that you are an 
 unrelieved scoundrel; but sometimes it is
 
 MR. SIMS MEETS A REVOLVER 209 
 
 necessary for honest men to make use of 
 scoundrels, and with your permission I pro- 
 pose to make use of you. I know, beyond any 
 sort of doubt, that there is a plot against the 
 life of Mr. Peterson, and that you are the most 
 active agent in that plot. I can prove what I 
 say, and a great deal more. Now, I will 
 make you an offer. If you will tell me all 
 that you know — all, mind you — and under- 
 take to leave the country instantly — I will let 
 you go. On the other hand, if you are ob- 
 stinate, I shall merely keep you here and send 
 for the police." 
 
 "You had better send for them, then," said 
 Sims, with the air of a martyr, "for I can't 
 possibly tell you the details of a plot of which 
 I know nothing." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Sims." Forrest had made 
 at least one bold invention in his last speech, 
 and he cast about now for another one of 
 even greater force. He regretted at that 
 moment that he had not had more practice in 
 skilful lying. "I saw you on the scaffolding 
 to-night, Sims, and my wife saw you too. 
 To-morrow Mr. Peterson will be told every- 
 thing. Further," he went on, "I know that
 
 210 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 you had been meddling with the wheel of the 
 dogcart. The breaking of the trace may or 
 may not have been an accident." 
 
 Sims's eyebrows made the least movement 
 in the world, and then there was a pause. 
 
 ''How do I know, if I tell you anything, 
 that you'll let me go?" asked Sims sullenly. 
 
 "You don't know, Sims; you'll just have 
 to trust me. I might break my word; you 
 can't be sure." 
 
 Sims looked longingly at the window. 
 
 "Come," said Forrest, "will you be free or 
 will you go to prison?" 
 
 "What do you wish me to tell you?" 
 
 Arthur Forrest gave an involuntary sigh of 
 relief. He knew now that Sylviane's sus- 
 picions were well founded. 
 
 "I will ask you a few questions; they will 
 be blunt and to the point, and I want plain 
 answers. No protestations, no shilly-shally- 
 ing, no nonsense. First question: how much 
 were you to receive from the Colpuses when 
 Mr. Peterson was dead?" 
 
 "Sir, I really " 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "Ten thousand down " 
 
 "Yes, ten thousand down, and ?"
 
 MR. SIMS MEETS A REVOLVER 211 
 
 ''And twenty thousand afterwards." 
 
 "Good. Second question: Do the Colpuses 
 know that your attempts to-day have failed?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "When will they know?" 
 
 "About 8.30 to-morrow morning, as near 
 as I can tell." 
 
 "Supposing that Mr. Peterson shouldn't — 
 er — die suddenly during the next few days; 
 supposing, in fact, that you found yourself 
 unable to do what you came here to do — 
 what would be the next move? You can 
 assume that I know the objects of this conspir- 
 acy." 
 
 "Mrs. Colpus would tell Mr. Peterson that 
 his fortune was really yours." 
 
 "They think he would at once relinquish it 
 in my favour?" 
 
 "Yes; if the facts were proved to him — as 
 they would be." 
 
 "Why haven't they tried this move first?" 
 
 "Because it isn't certain; he might refuse to 
 give it up, and " 
 
 "And if he gave it up I might refuse to take 
 it even then. That's the argument, is it? 
 And so you all thought it simpler to get Mr. 
 Peterson comfortably out of the way! Now
 
 212 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 for the third question: Did you precious plot- 
 ters assume that if Mr. Peterson was dead, my 
 objections to accepting the fortune would be 
 removed?" 
 
 'Tes, sir." 
 
 "I see; thanks. Fourth question: How 
 long have you known Dr. Colpus and Mrs. 
 Cavalossi — I mean Mrs. Colpus?" 
 
 "Nearly twenty years." 
 
 "Been Mrs. Cavalossi's servant all that 
 time?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then why did you tell me, a few minutes 
 ago, that you had only been in her employ 
 during the last four years?" 
 
 "A slip of the tongue, sir." 
 
 "Nevertheless, you referred to people who 
 had employed you before Mrs. Colpus. Who 
 were they?" 
 
 "Oh, dear! Mr. Forrest!" exclaimed Sims, 
 "you are worse than a cross-examining counsel 
 at the Old Bailey." He beamed with vague 
 politeness. "I may as well be frank with you, 
 sir. I have never had any other employer 
 than Mrs. Colpus." 
 
 "Your previous statement was a lie?" 
 
 "Yes, sir."
 
 MR. SIMS MEETS A REVOLVER 213 
 
 "Then you are acquainted with Mrs. Col- 
 pus's affairs pretty intimately?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The man smiled for a fraction of a second. 
 
 "Let me see," continued Arthur. "Is there 
 anything else? Yes, there is. Fifth ques- 
 tion: Supposing that I did accept the fortune, 
 how is that to benefit you and the Colpuses? 
 Mrs. Colpus is my mother-in-law, and she 
 would doubtless like to have me a millionaire; 
 but still, she would be entirely dependent on 
 my good nature as regards a share in the Peter- 
 son millions. Was it your intention, as soon 
 as I had accepted the fortune, to send me after 
 Mr. Peterson?" 
 
 "Do you really expect me to answer that, 
 sir?" 
 
 "I do ; and by God you shall I Say it, man." 
 
 The reply came quietly enough. 
 
 "Yes, that was the intention, sir. You 
 know you have made a will in favour of your 
 wife." 
 
 "Ah, my wife!" Arthur murmured; "Mrs. 
 Colpus doesn't seem to have much regard for 
 her daughter's feelings," he said bitterly. 
 
 "Her daughter," said Sims, "ought to be 
 getting used to being made a widow."
 
 214 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 Stung with a sudden thought, Arthur 
 sprang up. "What does that mean?" 
 
 Sims's smile was hideous. "While I am 
 on the subject I may as well tell you," he 
 said. "Perhaps you forgot that Mr. Drew 
 died the day after his marriage. He was 
 worth a matter of thirty thousand, I believe, 
 and that proved very useful to Mrs. Cava- 
 lossi." 
 
 For a moment Arthur could not speak. 
 
 "And was Drew ?" He stopped; he 
 
 could not frame the suggestion. 
 
 Sims nodded impassively. 
 
 "Who did it?" 
 
 "Colpus." 
 
 "But my wife had no suspicion? No; she 
 couldn't have had." 
 
 "She had no suspicion." 
 
 Arthur sat down again. He was conscious 
 of growing pale. The idea of Sylviane being 
 thus made an innocent lure, by means of her 
 beauty, for bringing men of wealth Into the 
 clutches of this vile trio, completely staggered 
 him; it was too horrible. The infamy of it 
 surpassed anything in his experience; it 
 stunned his senses. 
 
 "Sims," he said at length, recovering him-
 
 MR. SLMS MEETS A REVOLVER 215 
 
 self, "you and your accomplices or employers 
 are the most damnable villains that I have 
 ever heard of. I said I would let you go, and 
 I will. Go instantly; I will see you off the 
 premises. You shall have twelve hours^ 
 start." He rose, the revolver still in his hand. 
 "Thank you, sir," said Sims.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CONNUBIAL 
 
 Meanwhile scenes not without interest were 
 passing in London. On the same night that 
 Arthur Peterson fell forty feet into a hillock 
 of sand, Dr. Colpus and the desire of his eyes 
 sat together in one of the drawing-rooms of the 
 Hotel Cecil. They sat together in a corner, 
 as far as possible from the lordly portal of the 
 apartment; it was as though they wished to 
 extinguish themselves amid the rich hangings 
 and furniture of that gold-and-green chamber. 
 The night was advanced into morning — pre- 
 cisely, it was a quarter to two A.M. An at- 
 tendant entered the drawing-room and looked 
 round with an air of profound injury; for, 
 although in large hotels it is a rule that guests 
 are never absolutely sent off to bed, being in 
 theory at liberty to remain up from the dewy 
 eve of the Thames Embankment to the radiant 
 morn of the Strand, there is nevertheless a 
 
 sort of tacit understanding that the public 
 
 216
 
 CONNUBIAL 217 
 
 rooms are to be abandoned about the hour of 
 two o'clock at latest. Every other woman in 
 the hotel had retired long ago, save only a 
 French actress, who had a private sitting-room 
 and a team of mules wherewith to advertise 
 herself in the courtyard of the Cecil — hence 
 the lackey's air of injury. 
 
 "Beg pardon," he said, ''I came to turn 
 lights out. I thought " 
 
 Dr. Colpus dismissed him with an abrupt 
 gesture. The lackey's words had been de- 
 cently civil, but his manner had been unmis- 
 takably insolent. No human being is more 
 perfectly human than a footman in a large 
 hotel devoted to the service of wealth. This 
 footman had observed the financial declension 
 of the Doctor and his wife — a few months ago 
 the Doctor and his wife had occupied the very 
 sitting-room now used by the French actress 
 who drove mules. Force of circumstances 
 had compelled them to relinquish that sitting- 
 room, for it is a fact that you cannot lounge in 
 a private sitting-room at the Cecil on sixpence 
 three-farthings a day. Dr. and Mrs. Colpus 
 had somewhat more than sixpence three- 
 farthings a day; but their daily income was 
 steadily diminishing to that figure; therefore
 
 2i8 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 the lackey, beholding their gradual fall, had 
 put a gradually increasing insolence day by 
 day into his demeanour towards them, thus 
 demonstrating his humanness. 
 
 "Confounded cheek!" exclaimed the Doc- 
 tor, when the footman had departed. 
 
 "We will go over to the Savoy," said Mrs. 
 Colpus pettishly. 
 
 "Certainly," agreed the Doctor; "after we 
 have paid our bill here!" He smiled. 
 
 "You need not be witty at my expense, 
 Frank," said the wife, with the gesture of a 
 martyr. 
 
 He took her gallantly in his arms and kissed 
 thrice that marvellous and ageless face. 
 Without doubt the Doctor could perform to 
 perfection the role of elderly and accom- 
 plished beau. 
 
 "Forgive me!" he entreated; "and on your 
 birthday, too!" 
 
 Mrs. Colpus winced and closed her eyes 
 for an instant. 
 
 "Let us retire," she said. 
 
 It was her thirty-fifth birthday, always a 
 dies ireB in the life of a beautiful woman. 
 Mrs. Colpus had a passable amount of phi- 
 losophy in her composition, but one is obliged
 
 CONNUBIAL 219 
 
 to admit that she had not got through that day 
 without captiousness, without the expression 
 of a perhaps pardonable annoyance at her in- 
 ability to emulate Joshua's feat of arresting the 
 sun. Thirty-five years! In five more she 
 would be forty! In a woman whose chief 
 capital is her beauty, to be forty is a crime 
 against society. And Mrs. Colpus felt that 
 on that day five years hence she should in all 
 probability commit a dramatic and pictur- 
 esque suicide which would look well in the 
 papers. 
 
 So they went to bed, glum, morose, moody, 
 and preoccupied. But on the way thither Dr. 
 Colpus made a detour to the bureau and 
 peered at the telegram pigeon-holes. There 
 was, however, no orange envelope which bore 
 his honoured name. 
 
 "Anything come?" inquired his wife as he 
 rejoined her in the sleeping chamber. 
 
 "Nothing," he replied simply, and passed 
 without another word into his dressing-room. 
 He remained there a considerable time buried 
 in contemplation of things past, things pres- 
 ent, and things to come. It was nearly three 
 o'clock when he stretched himself on one of 
 the pair of gilded couches which were tlie
 
 220 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 pieces de resistance of the bedroom. The 
 woman who had achieved thirty-five years 
 appeared to be asleep. Stretching out his 
 hand to the switch, he turned oflp the light at 
 the bed-head and slept also. 
 
 But at five o'clock he was awakened by a 
 light in the room. His beautiful wife, clad in 
 a ravishing dressing-down, was seated at the 
 dressing-table in front of the window. As her 
 back was towards him he could not see what 
 she was doing; but he could hear the rustle of 
 bank-notes and the usually agreeable chinking 
 of golden coins. Now, however, the chinking 
 of golden coins was disagreeable, for it 
 sounded to Dr. Colpus like a melancholy 
 swan-song of wealth. 
 
 "Aren't you cold, my dear?" he inquired 
 calmly. 
 
 She made no answer. The rustle and 
 chinking proceeded for a space. 
 
 Then Mrs. Colpus murmured, as if to the 
 surrounding air: 'Tifty-four pounds ten." 
 
 "And our bill this week will be at least 
 sixty," the Doctor answered evenly. 
 
 "How horrid you are I" said the woman. 
 "I was so anxious, that I could not sleep, and 
 so I got up to think, and to see exactly what
 
 CONNUBIAL 221 
 
 our resources were, and — and then you are 
 horrid I" 
 
 'This is unworthy of you, my Marie; in 
 your heart you know that I am not liorrid; 
 you know that my conduct as a husband has 
 been above reproach. But the fates have been 
 unpropitious towards us, and since you have 
 too much sense to be angry with the fates, you 
 vent your anger on me. Have I not begged 
 you almost on my knees for months past to 
 relinquish this hotel life and all its luxuries, 
 and go and live quietly in that boarding-house 
 I told you of in Bloomsbury Square?" 
 
 "Boarding-house in Bloomsbury Square!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Colpus, turning round in her 
 chair; "if you mention that again I shall go 
 mad. I should die in Bloomsbury Square." 
 
 "Not you!" said the Doctor; "a far severer 
 climate than that of Bloomsbury Square will 
 be needed to kill you, my love." 
 
 "I never thought that we should be all these 
 months without doing anything really effec- 
 tual. I had more belief in your powers, 
 Frank." 
 
 "Well, my pet," said the Doctor, "I have 
 done all I can — I am doing all I can; Sims is 
 doing all he can ; and you must remember that
 
 222 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 I warned you in the summer that thirty weeks 
 would not be too much. As a matter of fact, 
 the thirty weeks have not yet expired; but we 
 have been so extravagant that " 
 
 "It isn't extravagance," she protested; "it's 
 only what I've always been used to, and what 
 I must have. I can't understand how it is we 
 haven't heard from Sims." 
 
 "Doubtless we shall hear this morning," 
 said the Doctor, "and if it will be of the slight- 
 est relief to you, my treasure, I will tell you, 
 as a great secret, that I have a hundred-pound 
 note in my pocket-book, so that we are not yet 
 at starvation point, and we can pay our bill at 
 the week-end in triumph." 
 
 "You are mistaken," she said; "you left 
 your pocket-book lying about the evening be- 
 fore yesterday; I saw that note, and I appro- 
 priated it." 
 
 "Marie I" he gasped. 
 
 "Yes; and I sent it to my dressmaker; she 
 was becoming formidable." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "To-morrow," said the Doctor solemnly, "I 
 take fifty pounds out of that fifty-four pounds 
 ten and I start for Monte Carlo. You shall 
 pray for my success."
 
 CONNUBIAL 223 
 
 He then — and his composure was a com- 
 plete demonstration of a great mind — turned 
 on his side and sank into slumber. His wife 
 sighed, replaced the notes and the bullion in 
 their receptacle, abandoned her dressing- 
 gown, and crept almost furtively into bed. It 
 was a pathetic scene, and one that poignantly 
 illustrated the truth of sundry axioms in 
 Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Job, and Isaiah; these 
 axioms need not be quoted, everybody is aware 
 of their import; everybody professes to believe 
 in them, thought comparatively few persons 
 act as though they believed in them. 
 
 At eight-fifteen, when the light of a Lon- 
 don winter's dawn was struggling through the 
 embroidered blind of the window, there was a 
 tap at the door, and Adela entered with tea 
 and toast for two; it was dry toast. Adela 
 also bore five missives — four of these were ac- 
 counts rendered; the fifth was a sealed letter 
 and bore the Crewe postmark. Having de- 
 livered these and drawn up the blinds, Adela 
 departed. 
 
 The Doctor read the letter imperturbably. 
 "No luck!" he commented, and passed it to 
 his wife. 
 
 "Sims is getting old," said that lady;
 
 224 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "surely he ought to have had the sense to " 
 
 "My dear," the Doctor interrupted her, 
 "you are ill." He suddenly smiled. 
 
 "I am not ill," she contradicted. 
 
 " Yes, you are," he insisted ; "you are ill, 
 because I wish you to be. I have thought of 
 a plan, my love, a plan." 
 
 "What is it?" Her face showed hope. 
 
 He spoke low in her ear, and she seemed 
 to approve. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later Adela was in- 
 formed that her mistress was seriously indis- 
 posed. The doctor rose and ate a hearty 
 breakfast; his lunch, however, was less hearty. 
 In the meantime he had received a telegraphic 
 communication from Sims which forced him 
 to change his scheme in more than one par- 
 ticular.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 
 
 To return to the precincts of Radway Grange, 
 and the previous night. 
 
 Arthur Forrest accompanied Mr. Sims as 
 far as the lodge. It was the dead of night, 
 and Sims would have nowhere to go; never- 
 theless, Forrest felt that he would have not 
 even a comparative peace of mind till the man 
 had removed his sinister presence from the 
 house. His strong instinct was to get Sims 
 away instantly, and he obeyed that instinct. 
 The scoundrelism, the impassive coldness, and, 
 above all, the absolute shamelessness of the 
 fellow, amazed Forrest, unnerved him, weak- 
 ened his resolves. Such a character as that of 
 Sims was incredible to such a character as that 
 of Arthur Forrest. The latter was afraid, 
 not of the actual personal danger to himself — 
 he scarcely gave that a thought — but of the 
 moral turpitude which was capable of the vil- 
 lainy which Sims had calmly confessed. 
 
 225
 
 226 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 When he reflected upon that trio — the beau- 
 tiful Mrs. Cavalossi, Colpus, the sagacious 
 Colpus, and the unspeakable servant — silent, 
 implacably, leisurely at work upon a plot so 
 base and so inhuman, he shuddered. The 
 horror of it seized him, and in its clutches he 
 shook convulsively. 
 
 As he returned to the house, and re-entered 
 it with furtive steps by the conservatory door, 
 the thought uppermost in his mind was: what 
 is the next move to be? Certainly he had, 
 metaphorically speaking, taken Sims by the 
 throat and drawn his fangs. Beyond doubt, 
 Sims was frightened; Sims was impressed; 
 and Forrest felt convinced that from this par- 
 ticular scoundrel nothing more was to be 
 feared. Sims would decamp, and probably 
 renew his activities in another clime. On the 
 whole, Forrest was glad that he had let him 
 depart; there was solid information gained, 
 and there was also an incubus lifted from his 
 nerves. But what should he do next? The 
 Colpuses remained — clever, inscrutable, deter- 
 mined. How was he to deal with them? He 
 had, he was obliged to admit, no shadow of 
 proof against them. To go to them with a 
 definite accusation would be absurd; they
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 227 
 
 would laugh at him; they would pretend to 
 be insulted; they would ask him to produce 
 Sims, who had made these startling assertions. 
 Should he go to the police? Probably the 
 police also would offer him only an incredu- 
 lous smile ; in any case, they would ask to be 
 informed why he had permitted Sims to 
 escape. No, he could not at the present stage 
 of affairs go to the police. The only alterna- 
 tive which he could devise was to consult a 
 firm of private detectives, and by their aid 
 make a thorough investigation of the career of 
 Dr. Colput and Mrs. Cavalossi. But here a 
 sinister doubt — a doubt for which he loathed 
 himself — entered his mind; any such investi- 
 gation would comprise Sylviane within its 
 scope. Could he bring himself to lift the veil 
 of the past? 
 
 Upon one point he did come to a definite 
 and unalterable conclusion. Arthur Peterson 
 should hear nothing of the affair; he knew 
 Peterson, and he knew that, if the slightest 
 breath of the truth reached him, not only 
 would the young man insist upon abandoning 
 his father's fortune, but his whole life would 
 be embittered, and even ruined. It was a pos- 
 sibility which Arthur Forrest refused to con-
 
 228 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 template. Peterson believed himself to be an 
 eldest son ; he believed himself to be legiti- 
 mate; he believed himself to be the rightful 
 owner of a vast estate. As a matter of fact, he 
 was none of these things; but Arthur Forrest 
 swore privately, not without bitterness, that 
 his half-brother should never know the truth 
 if he could help it. 
 
 He reached the dressing-room again, and 
 quietly opened the door of the bedroom and 
 looked in. Sylviane, wearied by too much 
 emotion, was sleeping. He gazed at her, then 
 closed the door and sat down. Suddenly a 
 notion came to him that he would wake up 
 Arthur Peterson on some excuse, and have a 
 chat with him. He felt that he must talk to 
 some one, and perhaps an opportunity might 
 occur to pave the way for a plausible explana- 
 tion of Sims's absence on the morrow. He 
 fought against the impulse for a few moments 
 — it seemed rather bizarre to wake up one's 
 host in the middle of the night — but in the 
 end he yielded to it, and stepped out into the 
 corridor. Peterson's room, he knew, was at 
 the other side of the house — at the end of the 
 long corridor which cut through the heart of 
 the mansion like a tunnel.
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 229 
 
 He stopped outside the door of his own 
 room to listen. Not a sound; nothing but the 
 pale radiance of the westering moon. Before, 
 when he had descended to escort Sims, he had 
 experienced no alarm — none of those strange 
 sensations of the night which attack the 
 nocturnal wanderer in a slumbering house — 
 yet now his flesh crept; a faint, inexplicable 
 fear fell upon him like a clinging mist. He 
 would have gone back and double-locked his 
 door against this unnamed fear; but he was 
 either too proud or too obstinate, and so he 
 went forward to Peterson's room. The floor 
 of the corridor creaked and complained under 
 the tread of his slippered feet; the air was 
 peopled with slight noises, which arose and 
 subsided in the causeless manner of a dream. 
 At length he stood before Peterson's door. 
 The staircase leading to the second story was 
 nearly opposite to it, and to the right was a 
 lofty window. His heart was beating, and he 
 smiled as if in scorn of himself. 
 
 He tapped discreetly at the door. "Peter- 
 son, old man!" 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "Peterson! wake up, old chap; I want to 
 come, in!"
 
 230 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 There was no answer, but his voice sounded 
 with amazing strangeness in the corridor, and 
 it seemed to him to go singing up the stairs 
 towards the roof of the house. Evidently 
 Peterson slept soundly, as a young man should, 
 even though he be a millionaire. Arthur 
 tried the knob; it turned, and he said to him- 
 self: "I'll go in, I've got to talk to some one;" 
 and thereupon he went in. It was a large 
 bedroom. At the end opposite to the door, in 
 front of the window, stood a dressing-table, 
 and on this was a night-light, which cast a 
 flickering yellow gloom across the chamber. 
 The great bed, an old-fashioned erection with 
 four immense posts, stood behind the door. 
 Forrest approached the bed; he could see that 
 it was empty and that it had not been slept in. 
 He struck a match, lighted a candle, and 
 examined the room. The wardrobe contained 
 clothes in orderly array. On the table was a 
 dirty collar and a necktie; on a chair in 
 stretchers lay a pair of trousers, and over the 
 back of the chair a white shirt. A waistcoat 
 lay folded on another chair close by, and on 
 the floor by the bed was a pair of clocked 
 socks. Peterson had evidently prepared for 
 bed, and then
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 231 
 
 Forrest raised the candle on high and 
 glanced round the room bewildered. What 
 had happened? A faint sound stole out from 
 a corner. At first it frightened him, with its 
 quick regular impact on his ear; and then he 
 grasped the obvious fact that it was a watch 
 ticking. That watch seemed to be charged 
 with some sinister message for him. Was it 
 possible that Sims, in the short interval at his 
 disposal before he came to Forrest's dressing- 
 room, had ? He felt something warm on 
 
 his hand, and looked at the hand apprehen- 
 sively; it was nothing but grease from the 
 candle, which he had been holding crooked — 
 yet the touch of that fallen wax thrilled 
 through him like the touch of blood. He 
 heard a noise in the corridor, and hurriedly 
 went out of the room. A woman's figure, 
 dressed in a loose dark robe, was descending 
 the stairs awkwardly a step at a time. On 
 seeing him with the candle in the doorway the 
 figure started back and threw up its arms. 
 
 'Who is there?" he whispered. His heart 
 beat heavily, but he could not help that. 
 
 "It's me, sir," answered a venerable voice, 
 "Mrs. Hewitt, the housekeeper. I thought I 
 heard some one about, and so I came down to
 
 232 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 see. Anything the matter, Mr. Forrest? Is 
 Mrs. Forrest ill?" 
 
 "Mrs. Hewitt," he said, "where is your 
 master?" 
 
 "My master, sir?" she stammered, "isn't he 
 in his room?" 
 
 "No," said Forrest. 
 
 She hesitated a moment. 
 
 "Then you have found it out too?" she 
 whispered. 
 
 ^^I have found out that he is not in his 
 room," answered Forrest, "and I want to know 
 where he is ; I am not going to bed till I have 
 seen him." 
 
 The old woman leaned down towards For- 
 rest, and, dropping her voice till he could 
 scarcely hear it, said, with beckoning finger: 
 "Come upstairs." 
 
 Silently he followed her to the second 
 story; she guided him to a bedroom, which 
 he took to be her own. 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," she said, "I was obliged 
 to bring you here. I want you to look out of 
 the window, sir. Look along to the left, sir, 
 at the third window from this one." 
 
 The window was open, and Forrest obeyed. 
 He saw in the moonlight, projecting from the
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 233 
 
 window which Mrs. Hewitt had indicated, 
 what seemed to be a piece of spouting or 
 gutter-pipe, about six feet in length. This 
 spouting moved slightly, as though some one 
 within the room held it in his hands. 
 
 "Come back," said the warning voice of 
 Mrs. Hewitt, "don't let him see you"; and 
 Arthur withdrew his head. 
 
 "What is it?" he said. 
 
 "Listen," she answered. 
 
 With suspended breath he strained his ear 
 for a sound. 
 
 "I hear nothing," he murmured. 
 
 "Wait." 
 
 Far below there was the faint noise of a 
 splash. 
 
 "Something fell," he said. 
 
 "Listen again." 
 
 And after another interval the noise of the 
 splash was repeated. 
 
 "Well, sir?" questioned the housekeeper. 
 
 "Well?", he returned. "Who is in that 
 room?" 
 
 "The master, sir," she said in awed tones; 
 "every night, unless there isn't a moon, he 
 goes up there after we're all gone to bed, and 
 I hear them splashes — a hundred and forty-
 
 234 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 two I've heard to-night. There's no furniture 
 in that room, sir, and he keeps it locked. 
 Sometimes he takes packages up there. Just 
 underneath the window there's a sort of well, 
 or perhaps I should say a little pond, that 
 comes nearly up to the walls of the house, sir; 
 that's where you hears the splash, sir." 
 
 "And what it is that drops, Mrs. Hewitt?" 
 
 "Don't ask me, sir, for I don't know; but 
 I can tell you one thing, sir." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 The woman checked herself. 
 
 "You're an old friend of the master's, aren't 
 you, Mr. Forrest?" 
 
 "I think I am the most intimate friend he 
 has." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you, sir. The master's 
 madl" 
 
 "Mad!" Forrest exclaimed, involuntarily 
 raising his voice. "But " 
 
 "Hush!" She stopped him. 
 
 There was the sound of a door closing and 
 the turning of a key; then feet on the stairs. 
 Arthur Forrest crept out of the room, and, 
 looking over the banisters, was just in time to 
 see Peterson, clothed only in his pyjamas, dis- 
 appear into his bedroom.
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 235 
 
 "I tell you he's mad." Mrs. Hewitt was 
 by his side again. 
 
 "But he can't be," said Forrest, rather an- 
 noyed, "I know him so well ; I've never known 
 a truer " 
 
 "He's mad," repeated Mrs. Hewitt. "It's 
 in the family. I dare say you know that 
 young Carl died in an asylum?" 
 
 The next day Sylviane was obliged to stay 
 in bed; she had a feverish cold, caught the 
 previous night. Forrest and Peterson break- 
 fasted together. The absence of Sims had, 
 of course, been discovered, and Forrest, who 
 had not yet decided on any definite course, 
 contented himself with expressing an indiffer- 
 ent surprise when Peterson told him the news. 
 Curiously enough, Peterson himself did not 
 seem to be at all disconcerted by this un- 
 authorized departure of his treasured valet. 
 
 *'He's a dreamy fellow," he said; "rather 
 queer — must be a genius. I dare say he's got 
 up early to go fishing, and has forgotten the 
 time." 
 
 "Does he often forget the time?" asked 
 Arthur.
 
 236 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "No, I must say he doesn't; but when a 
 fellow's fishing, you know " 
 
 "Just so," Arthur agreed. "By the way, 
 talking of fishing, that's a curious little well or 
 pond you've got up against the back of the 
 house." 
 
 Peterson stopped eating, his eye suddenly 
 blazed, and then he looked away. 
 
 "When did you see it?" he inquired, 
 fiercely, almost angrily. 
 
 "I was taking my walks abroad this morn- 
 ing," answered Arthur, with careful non- 
 chalance, "and I happened to come across it; 
 that's all." 
 
 During the remainder of the meal Peterson 
 never uttered another word. Towards after- 
 noon, as Sims had not returned, Peterson 
 talked of informing the police. 
 
 "Wait till to-morrow, old chap," said For- 
 rest; "that's my advice. Fifty things may 
 have occurred to keep him away, and Sims 
 isn't the man to let himself come to any serious 
 harm." 
 
 Peterson concurred ; and so It happened that 
 Forrest had another day in which to form a 
 plan of action. 
 
 Just before dinner there came a telegram
 
 THE RAIN OF SOVEREIGNS 237 
 
 addressed to Mrs. Forrest; Forrest opened it. 
 The message was: "Your mother seriously ill; 
 you had better come to-morrow. Colpus, 
 Hotel Cecil." 
 
 Instantly Arthur Forrest seemed to see a 
 way clear. Sylviane could not go to London ; 
 he would go alone, and seize or create an 
 opportunity to come to grips with Colpus. 
 As for the illness, it did not interest him; he 
 admitted to himself he wished Mrs. Colpus 
 might not recover; that would be a tremen- 
 dous simplification. 
 
 That night, half an hour after he had said 
 good night to his host, Forrest crept out 
 through the conservatory to the back of the 
 house. Sticking close to the wall, he went 
 forward till he came to the well. Looking 
 up, he descried the projecting pipe above him; 
 there was a splash at his feet. Almost me- 
 chanically he took off his hat and held it over 
 the open well ; presently a light object fell into 
 it. Arthur examined this gift from above — 
 it was a sovereign. 
 
 With a sinking heart he crept back again, 
 and even as he went he heard another splash 
 into the well.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE LAST 
 
 The next morning Peterson drove Arthur 
 Forrest to Crewe station. The millionaire 
 was in the gayest mood, and as Forrest listened 
 to his chatter he could scarcely believe that 
 this was the man who spent the midnight hours 
 in dropping sovereigns down a well from a 
 second-story window. And yet, sometimes, 
 as he looked at him and examined the work- 
 ings of his face, the terrible words of Mrs. 
 Hewitt, spoken with such firmness and con- 
 viction, came back to him with appalling 
 force. There was a looseness, a lack of con- 
 trol in the man's gesture, which might easily 
 be interpreted as the beginning of madness, or, 
 at any rate, of monomania. For himself, For- 
 rest was depressed; he felt as though he was 
 standing on a plank, and the plank was being 
 withdrawn from under his feet — turn which 
 way he would, he could see no sure ground in 
 front of him. He doubted now whether after 
 
 2(38
 
 THE LAST 239 
 
 all Sims was really disposed of, whether he 
 might not have returned direct to his employ- 
 ers, the Colpuses, and commenced a new series 
 of machinations. Forrest was also uneasy 
 about his wife. She was by no means seri- 
 ously unwell, but the feverish cold which held 
 her had not improved, and he had left her still 
 in bed. He would have preferred to stay by 
 her side; but when, without actually showing 
 her the telegram, he had told her that her 
 mother was ill, she had of her own accord 
 suggested that he should go to London. 
 
 "If mother is ill she will be very ill," 
 Sylviane had said. "I should like you to 
 
 go." 
 
 "I meant to go," he had answered. 
 
 "Perhaps — perhaps you may — be able to do 
 something," she had suggested, with a strange, 
 wistful glance. 
 
 But what could he do? he reflected; how 
 should he broach the subject to Dr. Colpus? 
 What logic could he use? What pressure 
 could he bring to bear? Would not the re- 
 sult be that he would merely make himself 
 ridiculous, with no result whatever? If he 
 had one shred — one tittle of evidence — but he 
 had not. He almost regretted now that he
 
 240 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 had let Sims go. Would it not have been bet- 
 ter to take the bull by the horns, as it were, to 
 have given Sims into custody, and trusted to 
 the efforts of the police to get hold of some- 
 thing tangible? 
 
 Peterson woke him up from his reverie. 
 "You're worrying," the young man said, 
 "and it's a fine autumn morning; you're 
 behind a good horse, and you ought to be 
 sublimely ashamed of yourself. I'm sure you 
 needn't get excited about your mother-in-law; 
 these things always seem more serious at a 
 distance. When you get there you're certain 
 to find that it's nothing very extraordinary, this 
 illness of hers. As for your wife, Forrest, rely 
 on me to take care that she is seen after." 
 Peterson spoke with a sudden access of feeling. 
 "I shall call for Dr. Spriggs and take him 
 back with me." 
 
 They reached the station. At the book- 
 stall Forrest stopped to buy a paper, but found 
 that he had no small change. 
 
 "Can you change me a sovereign?" he said 
 to Peterson, and held out a gold piece. It 
 happened to be the very coin which he had 
 caught in his hat on the previous night — abso- 
 lutely new and bright.
 
 THE LAST 241 
 
 Peterson looked at the sovereign intently, 
 and as he did so his face altered. "No," he 
 said, as if ofifended; "I can't." 
 
 Although the train was an express, its 
 progress to London that morning was notice- 
 ably slow — the good genius of the North- 
 western Railway, the finest railway in the 
 world, seemed to be struggling against some 
 adverse and powerful influence. Forrest 
 chafed under the delays. He was absorbed by 
 the desire to see the Colpuses, to do something; 
 he felt that further inactivity was impossible. 
 The train ran into Willesden very late ; Arthur 
 noticed that it was nearly twenty minutes to 
 two. A down train, the one-thirty from 
 Euston, was just leaving the station. Forrest 
 gazed absently at the compartments as they 
 slowly filed past him. Then suddenly he 
 started up ; he had seen a face — the merest 
 glimpse of a face — in that outgoing train; but 
 he was sure of it, and it was the face of Dr. 
 Colpus. He excitedly inquired from the offi- 
 cial who collected the tickets where the down 
 train was bound for. "Crewe and North 
 Wales," was the answer. He wanted to jump 
 out and pursue it; he wanted to fly, to perform 
 miracles -of speed.
 
 242 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 "What is the next train to Crewe?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Two o'clock from Euston, sir — Scotch 
 express; doesn't stop anywhere, sir. Due in 
 Crewe at 5.15, one minute before the train 
 that's just gone out, sir." 
 
 "Could I catch it at Euston?" 
 
 "You might just catch it, sir." 
 
 But there was another long delay at Willes- 
 den, and it was one minute to two o'clock 
 when it arrived at Euston. Forrest flung 
 himself out and raced round to the departure 
 platform. The Scotch express was just 
 moving. A porter tried to block his way; 
 but he made a circuit of the man, opened 
 the door of a second-class compartment, which 
 happened to be nearest, and sprang in. He 
 had caught iti He smiled triumphantly. He 
 laughed — it was wellnigh a brutal laugh — the 
 laugh of one who feels that he is to be a con- 
 queror. He was sure — the truth flashed upon 
 him — that Mrs. Colpus's illness was a purely 
 imaginary illness, and that the telegram of the 
 previous evening had been despatched solely 
 to get him, and Sylviane also, out of the way, 
 while Dr. Colpus performed a mission of his 
 own at Radway Grange. What that mission
 
 THE LAST 243 
 
 was he could not guess. It might be a mission 
 of murder, or its object might merely be to see 
 Arthur Peterson and inform him of the true 
 facts of old Peterson's first marriage. In 
 either case Forrest swore to himself that the 
 mission should not be executed. By a for- 
 tunate chance he had caught sight of Colpus, 
 and he would take full advantage of his good 
 fortune; he felt almost happy in the im- 
 mediate prospect of open hostilities — he felt 
 that he was capable of any audacity, any bold- 
 ness. The one matter that troubled him was 
 the question of Sims. Why was Dr. Colpus 
 thus hurrying the matter? Was it because he 
 had heard from Sims, or was it because he had 
 not heard from Sims, and, not hearing, feared 
 an unlooked-for hitch? To these queries he 
 could discover no satisfactory reply. 
 
 The express proved itself worthy of its 
 reputation as one of the first "flyers" in the 
 kingdom. Arthur Forrest happened to have 
 with him a time-table and a map, and he cal- 
 culated that his own train should overtake the 
 train which had left Euston half an hour 
 before it, stopping at Willesden, Rugby, and 
 Stafford en route, somewhere near Whitmore, 
 a wayside station about halfway between
 
 244 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 Stafford and Crewe. As soon as the Scotch 
 express with its two engines had thundered 
 through Stafford he began to look out of the 
 window. The superb quadruple road of the 
 North-Western stretched away in front in 
 large sweeping curves. Almost immediately 
 he saw a wisp of steam through some distant 
 trees, and soon he caught sight of the tail of the 
 North Wales train. He timed the speed by 
 the mile-posts ; they were travelling at the rate 
 of sixty-four miles an hour. Gradually, with 
 infinite slowness, the big Scotch express drew 
 nearer to the much lighter, single-engined 
 train, which was now only a few hundred 
 yards ahead. In four minutes the two trains 
 were practically level, running side by side 
 down the gentle slope into Crewe at something 
 like sixty-five miles an hour. It was a mag- 
 nificent, a thrilling sight — these two tremen- 
 dous powers vying with each other in a Titanic 
 contest* As his own train crawled past the 
 glinting, swaying wheels of the other one, 
 Arthur, with a quick movement, drew down 
 the blind and peeped out cautiously from be- 
 hind it. At length he saw Dr. Colpus, soli- 
 
 * These express races, if I may so call them, do or did actually 
 occur on the London and North-Western line between Stafford 
 and Crewe.
 
 THE LA6T 245 
 
 tary in a first-class carriage. Dr. Colpus 
 seemed to be very busy doing something to a 
 walking-stick — so busy, in fact, that he did not 
 appear to notice the great race which was go- 
 ing on. Suddenly the increased vibration, or 
 something else, attracted his attention, and he 
 looked up and saw the other train. With a 
 swift instinctive movement he dropped the 
 walking-stick. Arthur noticed that the Doc- 
 tor's face had an air of having been detected 
 in some sin. 
 
 The next thing was a sudden jar; the 
 Scotch express had encountered an adverse 
 signal, and Arthur had the mortification of 
 watching the other train slide past him to the 
 front. When the Scotch express drew up 
 alongside the platform at Crewe, the Crewe 
 passengers of the North Wales train had al- 
 ready left it. Arthur hastened to leave the 
 station, but he saw nothing of Dr. Colpus. It 
 was now nearly dark. He took a cab, and told 
 the driver to drive to Radway at his very best 
 pace; he hoped to overtake the Doctor on the 
 road. Within the last mile of Radway they 
 met a vehicle returning, and just outside the 
 lodge gates Arthur saw a figure in the heavy 
 dusk; he called abruptly to the driver to stop,
 
 246 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 paid him, and jumped out. The figure stood 
 hesitatingly in the shadow of the lodge wall. 
 Forrest watched his cab depart and then ap- 
 proached the wall. At the sound of footsteps 
 in the slushy road the figure turned quickly 
 round. 
 
 "Good evening, Doctor," said Arthur 
 quietly, summoning all his wits, all his cool- 
 ness. 
 
 "Forrest!" exclaimed the Doctor, obviously 
 taken aback; and then, quietly: "How are 
 you, my dear fellow?" 
 
 "I'm in excellent form, thanks," said Arthur 
 dryly; "but what is the meaning of this unex- 
 pected visit? You wired us that Mrs. Colpus 
 was seriously ill." 
 
 "Ah! she is better, Arthur; she is better. 
 Er — a wonderful constitution, my wife's; her 
 recuperative powers astound me!" 
 
 "Indeed! I am glad she is better; but you 
 haven't told me why you are here. Have you 
 come to let Sylviane know that her mother is 
 out of danger?" 
 
 The Doctor looked up queerly, as though 
 he detected some sarcasm in Forrest's tone. 
 
 He twirled his walking-stick — that stick 
 which Arthur had noticed in the train — and
 
 THE LAST 247 
 
 then put his arm into Forrest's and drew him 
 into the tree-lined avenue past the lodge. 
 
 '^My dear fellow, the fact is I have come 
 down on a strange errand — I scarcely like to 
 breathe it, it is so queer; but you will have to 
 know, sooner or later, and you may as well 
 know now. I dare say you have discovered 
 that our old servant Sims has quarrelled with 
 us and taken service with Mr. Peterson." 
 
 "I have noticed it," said Arthur; "and I 
 have also noticed something else." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Go on; I will tell you afterwards." 
 
 "Well, Sims wrote to my wife a day or two 
 ago, hoping she'd excuse the liberty, and said 
 he had found out a terrible thing — that Mr. 
 Peterson was mad." 
 
 "Mad?" Forrest was startled in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 "Yes, undoubtedly; a monomaniac on the 
 subject of golden sovereigns. He hides it 
 well ; but Sims, as you know, is a smart fellow. 
 Now, a monomaniac, under some conditions, 
 is the most dangerous sort of lunatic. My 
 wife was uneasy about Sylviane and yourself, 
 and she would not rest till I promised to come 
 down here and look into things. Of course I
 
 248 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 shall have to make some excuse to Mr. Peter- 
 son for my presence. Is Sims about?" 
 
 "Sims is not exactly about," said Forrest. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because he has left here; surely he has in- 
 formed you of his departure?" 
 
 "Why should he inform me?" said the Doc- 
 tor under his breath. 
 
 "I made him leave," said Arthur, deter- 
 mined to bring things to a crisis instantly. 
 "Dr. Colpus, from the moment my wife saw 
 Sims here she suspected your damnable plot; 
 she told me of her suspicions, and I cap- 
 tured Sims in a room by himself, and gave him 
 the choice between confession and the prison. 
 He chose to give his employers away — that's 
 all." 
 
 Dr. Colpus raised his stick in a peculiar 
 manner, and then dropped it. He tried to 
 speak, but apparently could not compose any 
 suitable speech. 
 
 "And let me tell you something else," re- 
 sumed Arthur. "I know that your telegram 
 was a mere blind; I know that Mrs. Colpus 
 has not been ill, though I was fool enough at 
 first to believe that she was. I went up to 
 London this morning, my dear Doctor, saw
 
 THE LAST 249 
 
 you by a happy chance at Willesden, and fol- 
 lowed you back to Crewe. I think I can 
 guess your object in coming here: you had 
 not heard satisfactory news from your friend, 
 Mr. Sims; you feared that something had 
 gone wrong, and so you thought you would 
 come down and settle afifairs in your own 
 style. One murder more or less, what would 
 that be to you? If Arthur Peterson were out 
 of the way, I should take the Peterson mil- 
 lions then. Why, of course ! And then, when 
 I had taken them, how easy to send me after 
 Peterson I" 
 
 Forrest, for all his intention to be cool, had 
 lost control of himself in the heat of his anger. 
 He moved closer to the Doctor, and fixed on 
 him a menacing glance. In the darkness each 
 could just distinguish the other's face. 
 
 "Are you, too, mad, Arthur?" said the Doc- 
 tor, gently. 
 
 There was a stir in the trees behind them. 
 
 "What was that?" exclaimed the Doctor. 
 
 "If it is not Sims, it is a rabbit," Arthur 
 sneered. 
 
 "I really can't pretend to make any answer 
 to this marvellous charge of yours," began the 
 Doctor; "I can only hope that you are not
 
 250 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 yourself to-night. I think I will leave you." 
 
 "Before you leave me you might answer one 
 question," said Arthur. 
 
 "Well?" said the Doctor, as though to hu- 
 mour a lunatic. 
 
 "How did you kill the late Mr. Drew?" 
 
 There was a silence, but Dr. Colpus's 
 breathing could be heard. 
 
 "Then Sims has blabbed," he muttered. 
 
 "Have you no answer?" 
 
 "It is useless to say anything; I will go." 
 
 "Yes," said Arthur, "you will go— but you 
 will go to the police-station." 
 
 "Not at all," answered the Doctor, "you 
 must not take me for a fool, my dear Arthur. 
 A man such as I always arranges for acci- 
 dents, and it appears that an accident has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "Then you confess?" 
 
 "Since you insist. But there will be no 
 police-station, and I will tell you why. To 
 accuse me would be to accuse your wife's 
 mother, Arthur ; you couldn't do that. Think 
 of Sylviane's feelings; think of the scandal." 
 The Doctor smiled. 
 
 "If the scandal were fiftyfold what it will
 
 THE LAST 251 
 
 be, you shall hang. As for my wife, I am 
 capable of watching over her." 
 
 "Ahem!" said the Doctor. "By the way, 
 Arthur, satisfy my anxiety on this one point; 
 I beg it as a last favour. Why did you refuse 
 the fortune?" 
 
 "I will tell you — I should like to tell you. 
 On her deathbed I promised my mother that 
 I would never attempt to obtain my father's 
 fortune from my half-brother; she was proud, 
 and I am proud. 'If your father could forget 
 us,' she said, 'let him forget us; we will owe 
 nothing to him.' And I, too, say, let him for- 
 get us. Not for ten times the millions would 
 I stoop to take those millions from the man to 
 whom my father left them." 
 
 "I can scarcely understand such a feeling,'* 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 "Possibly not." 
 
 "Nevertheless, my curiosity is satisfied." 
 
 "And now I shall send the lodgeman for the 
 police." 
 
 "You will do nothing of the kind," said Dr. 
 Colpus, "for I am going to kill you." The 
 Doctor raised his stick in both hands. "This 
 is only an air-gun," he continued; "but it is a
 
 252 THE GATES OF WRATH 
 
 very special air-gun, and it will infallibly kill 
 at four yards. Moreover, it doesn't make a 
 noise. Don't stir, sir. I give you ten seconds 
 in which to pray for your idiot soul. One — 
 two — three — " 
 
 There was a crash through the trees, and 
 the Doctor was violently dragged backward, 
 by a suddenly appearing figure, into the ditch 
 which bordered the avenue. Both figures 
 dropped out of sight, and Arthur Forrest 
 could hear the sound of a terrible struggle. 
 
 When Forrest and the lodgeman came 
 with a lantern they found the Doctor dead — 
 choked, with Arthur Peterson's hands still 
 clasped like a vice round his throat. As for 
 Peterson, he was dying: he had been shot in 
 the neck. They carried him into the house. 
 
 "Forrest," he murmured, "we are quits 
 now; I saved your life." 
 
 "Thanks for that; but don't talk, old man." 
 
 "He called me mad, Forrest, and I was, I 
 was. I tried to keep it of?, but I couldn't. I 
 felt I must drop a thousand sovereigns every 
 week into that well. I was bound to do it. 
 Bad blood, Forrest. I say, Forrest, shake 
 hands — Good-bye !"
 
 THE LAST 253 
 
 As Arthur Forrest closed the eyes of his 
 dead friend, he thought of a verse from the 
 oldest of the sacred books of the East: "Let 
 him that inherits riches take heed lest perad- 
 venture he enter thereby into the gates of 
 ivrath." 
 
 In spite of himself Arthur Forrest became 
 a millionaire. He passed his time in spoiling 
 his wife and in purchasing authentic master- 
 pieces of painting and presenting them to pub- 
 lic galleries. His own collection of canvases 
 is the finest private collection in Europe. 
 
 Mrs. Cavalossi was last heard of in Buenos 
 Ayres, upon which city the effulgent autumn 
 of her beauty sheds an adorable glow. 
 
 THE END
 
 
 
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