His health had benefited greatly by the voyage, and he determined6 to strengthen it still further by lingering for a few weeks in the South of France before venturing to encounter the more variable and trying climate of his own country. It was while thus enjoying himself that the letters and papers sent back from India reached him. It was a terrible shock to the old soldier to read the news told therein. In his secret heart he had come to look upon Lionel with all the affection and yearning7 which he might have bestowed8 on a son.
Without the loss of a moment he started for Paris, en route for London.
But by the time he reached Paris he was so ill again that the doctor whom he called in ordered him at once to bed, and utterly9 forbade him even to think of venturing any farther on his journey for at least a fortnight to come. In this dilemma10 he telegraphed to Mr. Perrins, the family lawyer. That gentleman was by the old soldier's bedside in less than twenty-four hours afterwards.
Mr. Perrins brought with him the startling news of Lionel's escape from prison; but beyond the bare facts of the affair as detailed11 in the newspapers he knew nothing. With those bare facts the General was obliged to content himself for some time to come. He watched the newspapers from day to day with feverish12 anxiety, dreading14 each morning to find in them the news of Lionel's recapture. But when a month had passed away, and the subject had begun to die out of people's minds in the rush of newer interests, he took heart of grace and wrote to Perrins again, begging of him to go down to Duxley, and there ascertain15, by cautious inquiries16 and the free use of his purse, whether it were not possible to obtain some clue, however faint, to Lionel's whereabouts.
Mr. Hoskyns was the first person on whom Mr. Perrins called when he found himself at Duxley; but that gentleman professed17 to know very little more than was known to the public at large. Nor, in fact, did he. The annoyance18 he had felt at the time at having been so cleverly impersonated, and the trouble he had been put to to prove his non-complicity in the escapade, had soon been forgotten. He had learned to like and esteem19 Lionel as much as it was possible for him to like and esteem any one, and he was genuinely glad that he had escaped from prison. But it was no part of his business to pry20 into the details of the affair, nor did he ever attempt to do so; neither did Lionel nor Tom see any adequate motive21 for laying on his shoulders the burden of a secret which he could in nowise help to lighten for them.
Thus it fell out that he had nothing to tell Perrins. But he did the wisest thing that could be done under the circumstances: he took him straight to Tom Bristow, introduced him to that gentleman, and then left the two together.
This first interview between Mr. Perrins and Tom took place during the time that Lionel was lying perdu at Pincote. Not till he had fully22 satisfied himself as to the lawyer's identity, and had consulted with Lionel, would Tom say a word either one way or another. So Mr. Perrins stayed all night in Duxley, and saw Tom the following morning; but, even then, the information which he took back with him for the behoof of General St. George was of the scantiest23. Still, as far as it went, it was eminently24 satisfactory. Lionel was well and safe. He sent his love and regards to his uncle, and begged of him to wait a little while longer and then everything should be told him.
The General had not long to wait. Within a fortnight of the time that Mr. Perrins had communicated to him the result of his mission, Mr. Tom Bristow was ushered25 into the sitting-room26 of his hotel in Paris. Tom was the bearer of a letter of introduction from Lionel, which spoke27 of him and his services in such terms that the old soldier's heart warmed to him in a moment. Then Tom told him everything: the story of the murder; the imprisonment28; the marriage; the trial and the escape; and finished by telling him how Lionel, under the name of the Rev3. Horace Brown, was at that moment hidden safely away among the Cumberland hills.
The old soldier listened to the narrative29 in open-mouthed wonder. To him it was like a story out of the "Arabian Nights"--a veritable chapter of romance.
He thanked Tom Bristow over and over again, in his warm-hearted, impulsive30 way, for the services he had rendered his dear boy.
"But we have now to consider the future," said Tom, when he had brought his narrative up to date.
"Ay; just so. But what about the future?" asked General St. George, with a puzzled look.
"Simply this," answered Tom. "As matters stand at present, Dering's life is one of perpetual dread13 and uncertainty31. He never feels sure from day to day that before nightfall his hiding-place may not be discovered, or his disguise penetrated32, and he himself taken into custody33 as an escaped murderer. Such a life, in time, would become utterly unbearable--would, in fact, be enough to drive a man insane, or to give himself up to the police in utter despair."
"I see it all. Poor boy! poor boy!"
"It would, therefore, seem that in order to escape so wretched a fate, only one course is left open to Dering: and that is, to put the width of the ocean between himself and his pursuers. The width of half a world if possible."
"I should go with him wherever he went," said the General, with a tear in the corner of his eye. "I could not bear to let him go again."
"In some remote nook of the New World, where the nearest city is a hundred miles away, with his wife on one hand and you on the other, to love and care for him, Lionel Dering, like a storm-tossed ship that has reached a happy haven34 at last, might live out the remainder of his days in quiet happiness; without any haunting dread that his past life would ever become known, or that he would ever be touched on the shoulder by any other hand than that of a friend."
"Yes--yes; living out in the bush, or something of that kind is what you mean," said the old soldier, excitedly. "I've camped out in the jungle many a time, and know what it is. It's not such a bad sort of life when you get used to it. Why not get Li to sail next week? I'm an old campaigner, and could have my rattletraps ready in a few hours."
"But to go away thus," resumed Tom, "with the red stain of murder clinging to his name; with the foul35 conspiracy36 to destroy him still unravelled37; with his wrongs unavenged; is what Lionel Dering will never consent to do. And I confess that, were I in his place, my feelings in the matter would be very similar to his. He has set before himself one great object in life, and he will never rest till he has accomplished38 it. And that is--to track out and bring to punishment the real murderer of Percy Osmond."
"But--but what can he do?" faltered39 the General. "It seems to me that his predicament is such that he is quite powerless to help himself, or to take any action whatever in his own interests."
"At the first glance it would naturally seem so," said Tom. "But some of the difficulties which surround his case, as it stands at present, may, perhaps, be got over by a little ingenuity40. I am going to put before you a certain scheme which may, or may not, meet with your approbation41. Should you not approve of it, it will have to be at once abandoned, as it will be impossible to carry it out without your active help and co-operation."
"My dear Mr. Bristow, you have told me enough this morning to induce me to promise beforehand that any scheme you may put before me, which has for its basis the welfare of Lionel, will meet with my heartiest42 support. No man could have proved himself a better friend to my dear boy than you have done. Your wishes are my law."
After satisfying himself that there were no eavesdroppers about, Tom proceeded to lay before General St. George the details of a scheme which he had been elaborating in his brain for several days, and which, in outline, had been already agreed to by Lionel.
When Tom ceased speaking, the old soldier mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was hot and nervous with excitement. "Your scheme is certainly a most extraordinary one," he said; "but I have faith in your ability to carry it out. I need hardly say that you may depend upon my doing my best in every way to second your designs."
Tom stayed and dined with the General, and went back to London by the night mail.
One result of the interview was that the General decided43 on not returning to England for some time to come. Lionel and his wife were to join him in a little while at some place on the Continent, not yet fixed upon. Meantime he would rest quietly in Paris, and there await further instructions from Tom.
The General had obtained Kester St. George's address from Mr. Perrins, and about a week after Tom's visit he wrote to his nephew, telling him where he was, and asking him to go over and see him in Paris. The invitation was one which Kester obeyed with alacrity44. He had always held firmly to the belief that his uncle was a comparatively rich man. Now that Lionel was out of the way, and with so terrible an accusation45 still banging over him, what more natural or likely than that he should replace Lionel in his uncle's affections; and have his own name substituted in place of that of his cousin in his uncle's will?
Kester flung black care to the winds as he climbed the staircase that led to his uncle's apartments in Paris. He put on his most winning smile, his most genial46 manner, as another man might pull on a pair of easy-fitting gloves. A servant opened the door: and there was his uncle seated in an invalid47 chair at the far end of the room.
Kester sprang forward. "My dear uncle----" he began; and then he stopped. There was something in the eyes of the old soldier that chilled his enthusiasm in a moment.
The General extended two lean, frigid48 fingers, and motioned to him to sit down. "Pray be seated," he said. "I am not well, and I hate scenes." Kester sat down without a word.
General St. George, after deliberately49 rubbing his spectacles with his handkerchief, placed them across his nose, and proceeded to take a steady survey of his nephew.
Kester fidgeted a little under the ordeal50, but smiled and tried to appear pleased.
"You don't look so young as when I saw you last," said his uncle.
"Eight years make a difference in the appearance of most men," said Kester; "and London life is very wearing."
"No doubt it is," said the veteran, drily. "But that any absolute necessity exists for you to live in London is more than I was aware of before."
"No absolute necessity, perhaps, does exist. Yet I confess that, except by way of a brief change now and again, life to me anywhere else would soon become unendurable."
"You look prematurely51 old, sir--prematurely old," said the General, severely52. His spectacles were across his nose again by this time, and he was again looking Kester steadily53 in the face. And now he spoke in a voice that was low, stern, and impressive. "You look as if you had a burden on your mind: you look as if you had some secret care that was eating away your very life. Kester St. George, you are an unhappy man!"
Kester's colour came and went. A shiver ran through him from head to foot. He pressed one hand for a moment across his eyes. Then he laughed, a forced, hollow laugh.
"Really, sir, you are rather hard on me," he said. "After not seeing you for eight years, this is scarcely the greeting I anticipated from you. You have called me an unhappy man. Granting that I am one, am I any exception to the ordinary run of my fellow mortals? Show me the man who is really happy--who has no skeleton locked up in the secret closet of his heart!"
"Kester St. George, what have you done with your cousin, Lionel Dering?"
Kester started to his feet, his eyes staring, his hands trembling. A spasm54 that was gone almost before it had come, contorted his face for a moment strangely.
"Before heaven, General St. George, I don't know what you are driving at!" he cried, in tones that were husky from excitement. "I am not my cousin's keeper, that you should ask me what I have done with him."
"Then it was not you who assisted him to escape from prison?"
"I! No--certainly not."
"And yet I said it could be no one but you," said the General, half sadly. "And you don't know what has become of him? You cannot tell me where to find him now?"
"I have no more knowledge of my cousin's whereabouts than you have, sir."
"How I have been mistaken! When I read the account of Lionel's extraordinary escape, I said to myself, 'This is Kester's doing. Kester knew that his cousin was innocent, and it is he who has helped him to escape.'"
"You honoured me in your thoughts far more highly than I deserved. I stated all along my belief in my cousin's innocence55, but I had certainly no hand in planning his escape."
"But, at all events, you saw him frequently while he was in prison? You were there as his friend, helper, and adviser56? How did he bear his imprisonment? Did he speak of me?"
Again Kester's colour came and went. "I never saw my cousin while he was in prison," he said, in a low voice. "I was suffering severely from illness during the whole time. I was confined to my own rooms, and forbidden to stir out of doors on any account."
"You were well enough, sir, to find your way to your club within a week of the date of your cousin's trial. You were not too ill to play whist with Colonel Lexington, and win fifty guineas from that gentleman by betting on the odd trick. You were not afraid of walking home afterwards through the cold streets with a cigar in your mouth." All this had been told General St. George by Colonel Lexington himself--an old military friend, who had called upon him two or three days previously.
Kester St. George glared at his uncle as if he would gladly have annihilated57 him. But the old soldier gave him back look for look, and the younger man's eyes quickly fell. With a muttered curse, he pushed aside his chair, and strode to the window. Then he turned.
"General St. George, I will be frank with you," he said. "There was never any love lost between Lionel Dering and myself. However deeply shocked I might be that such a foul crime should be laid to his charge, however strong might be my belief in his innocence, I could not--no, I could not--go near him when he lay in prison. He wanted no help or advice from me. He would not have thanked me for proffering58 them. I would not play the hypocrite's part, and I did not go near him."
"Your candour is really refreshing," answered the General. "Since you have no tidings to give me of my nephew, I am sorry to have brought you so far from home. If you will accept this little cheque in payment of your expenses, I shall esteem it a favour."
Kester came a step or two nearer and held out his hands appealingly. "Uncle--are we to part in this way?" he said, not without a ring of pathos59 in his voice.
"And why should we not part in this way, Mr. St. George?"
"I know, sir, that I was never a favourite, with you," answered Kester, bitterly. "I know that I can never hope to stand as high in your regards as my cousin Lionel stood; but I did not know till this moment that I should ever be insulted by an offer such as the one you have just made me. I did not know till now that I should be dismissed like the veriest stranger that ever crossed your threshold!"
Not a muscle of General St. George's face stirred in answer to this appeal: the hard, cold light in his eyes never wavered for a moment. He distrusted his nephew thoroughly60, and he dealt with him as he would have dealt with a wily Asiatic.
"If you feel that my offer of a cheque is an insult," he said, "I retract61 the insult by replacing the cheque in my pocket. As regards treating you like a stranger, I have no intention of doing that, although I might just remind you that you and I are, in fact, very little more than strangers to each other. Still, I do not forget that you are my nephew. I asked you to come and see me, in the expectation that you would be able to give me some tidings of Lionel Dering, just as I should have sent for Lionel Dering in the expectation that he would have been able to give me some tidings of you, had your position and his been reversed. You have not been able to give me the news I wanted, why then need I detain you here? Are you anxious to become a hanger-on to a querulous invalid? No, Kester St. George, that is not the kind of life that would suit you--or me either. Stay in Paris or go back to London, as may please you best. When I want you again, I will send for you. Meanwhile you may rest fully assured that I shall not forget you."
"I suppose it must be as you wish, sir," said Kester, humbly62. "May I ask whether it is your intention to make any very long stay in Paris?"
"If my strength increases as it has done during the last few days, I shall not stay here more than another fortnight at the most."
"When we get you back again in England, sir, I trust there will be no objection to my calling on you rather oftener than I shall be able to do while you stay abroad."
"My doctor tells me that I must not think of crossing the Channel before next summer. I shall winter either in the south of France or in Italy. Probably in the latter, if I can find a place to suit me. I shall not be alone. Richard Dering, Lionel's brother, is ordered to Europe for his health, and will join me through the winter. He has been with me in India, and understands my crotchety ways and queer temper."
Not without a bitter pang63 did Kester St. George hear this announcement. Hardly was one brother disposed of when another sprang up in his place. But he hid his disappointment under an admirable assumption of mingled64 affection and respect.
"At least, sir, there can be no objection to my having your address," he said, "when you are finally settled for the winter."
"None whatever--none whatever," answered the General.
"And should my vagrant65 footsteps lead me anywhere into your neighbourhood--although I don't think it at all likely that they will do so--and should I chance to drop in upon you about luncheon-time, I presume I should not be looked upon as an intruder?"
"Certainly not as an intruder. In fact, it was my intention to send for you before long, and ask you to stay with me. But not while my health is so bad. At present I am too nervous and out of sorts for company of any kind." This was said with more kindness of tone than the General had yet used in speaking to his nephew, but at the same time it was a plain intimation that their interview was at an end. Kester rose at once, and took his leave.
"That fellow's an arrant66 scamp, although he is my nephew," muttered the General to himself, as the door closed behind Kester. "He's no real St. George. There's a drop of sinister67 blood somewhere in his veins68 that has proved foul enough to poison the whole. Of course, I knew when I sent for him that he had nothing to tell me about Lionel, but I wanted to see him and talk with him. I wanted to ascertain whether the impression that I formed of him when I was in England several years ago would be borne out by the impression I should form of him now. It has been borne out most fully. The Kester St. George of to-day, with his scheming brain and shallow heart, is precisely69 the Kester St. George of ten years ago, only with more experience and knowledge of the world's hard ways. Could we but wring70 the truth out of that crafty71 heart of his, I wonder whether one would find there the secret of a certain terrible crime? But I have no right to accuse him even in thought; and Heaven, in its own good time, will surely bring the truth to light."
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1
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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scantiest
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| adj.（大小或数量）不足的，勉强够的( scanty的最高级 ) | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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unravelled
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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44
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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45
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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49
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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50
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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51
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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52
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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53
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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proffering
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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