Though there was but little in Mr. S———‘s public life which I did not know, I had little or no knowledge of his domestic relations beyond the fact that he was a widower4 with one child. I did not even know where he lived. But inquiry5 at police headquarters soon settled that, and in half an hour after leaving the doctor’s office I was at his home.
It was a large, old-fashioned dwelling6, of comfortable aspect; too comfortable, I thought, for the shadow of doom7, which, in my eyes, overlay its cheerful front, wide-open doors and windows. How should I tell my story here! What credence8 could I expect for a tale so gruesome, within walls warmed by so much sunshine and joy. None, possibly; but my story must be told for all that.
Ringing the bell hurriedly, I asked for Mr. S———. He was out of town. This was my first check. When would he be home? The answer gave me some hope, though it seemed to increase my difficulties. He would be in the city by eight, as he had invited a large number of guests to his house for the evening. Beyond this, I could learn nothing.
Returning immediately to Miss Calhoun, I told her what had occurred, and tried to impress upon her the necessity I felt of seeing Mr. S——— that night. She surveyed me like a woman in a dream. Twice did I have to repeat my words before she seemed to take them in; then she turned hurriedly, and going to a little desk standing9 in one corner of the room, drew out a missive, which she brought me. It was an invitation to this very reception which she had received a week before.
“I will get you one,” she whispered. “But don’t speak to him, don’t tell him without giving me some warning. I will not be far from you. I think I will have strength for this final hour.”
“God grant that your sacrifice may bear fruit,” I said, and left her.
To enter, on such an errand as mine, a brilliantly illuminated10 house odoriferous with flowers and palpitating with life and music, would be hard for any man. It was hard for me. But in the excitement of the occasion, aggravated11 as it was by a presage12 of danger not only to myself but to the woman I had come so near loving, I experienced a calmness, such as is felt in the presence of all mortal conflicts. I made sure that this was reflected in my face before leaving the dressing-room, and satisfied that I would not draw the attention of others by too much or too little color, I descended13 to the drawing-room and into the presence of my admired host.
I had expected to confront a handsome man, but not of the exact type that he presented. There was a melancholy14 in his expression I had not foreseen, mingled15 with an attraction from which I could not escape after my first hurried glimpse of his features across the wide room. No other man in the room had it to so great a degree, nor was there any other who made so determined an effort to throw off care and be simply the agreeable companion. Could it be that any other warning had forestalled16 mine, or was this his habitual17 manner and expression? Finding no answer to this question, I limited myself to the duty of the hour, and advancing as rapidly as possible through the ever-increasing throng18, waited for the chance to speak to him for one minute alone. Meantime, I satisfied myself that the two detectives sent from police headquarters were on hand. I recognized them among a group of people at the door.
Whether intentionally19 or not, Mr. S ——— had taken up his stand before the conservatory20, and as in my endeavors to reach him I approached within sight of this place, I perceived the face of Miss Calhoun shining from amid its greenery, and at once remembered the promise I had made her. She was looking for me, and, meeting my eyes, made me an imperceptible gesture, to which I felt bound to respond.
Slipping from the group with which I was advancing, I stole around to a side door towards which she had pointed21, and in another moment found myself at her side. She was clothed in velvet22, which gave to her cheek and brow the colorlessness of marble.
“He is not as ignorant of his position as we thought,” said she. “I have been watching him for an hour. He is in anticipation23 of something. This will make our task easier.”
“You have said nothing,” I suggested.
“No, no; how could I?”
“Perhaps the detectives I saw there have told him.”
“Perhaps; but they cannot know the whole.”
“No, or our words would be unnecessary.”
“Mr. Abbott,” said she, with feverish24 volubility, “do not try to tell him yet; wait for a few minutes till I have gained a little self-possession, a little command over myself; but no—that may be to risk his life—do not wait a moment—go now, go now, only——” She started, stumbled and fell back into a low seat under a spreading palm. “He is coming here. Do not leave me, Mr. Abbott; step back there behind those plants. I cannot trust myself to face him all alone.”
I did as she bade me. Mr. S——, with a smile on his face—the first I had seen there—came in and walked with a quick step and a resolved air up to Miss Calhoun, who endeavored to rise to meet him. But she was unable, which involuntary sign of confusion seemed to please him.
“Irene,” said he, in a tone that made me start and wish I had not been so amenable25 to her wishes, “I thought I saw you glide26 in here, and my guests being now all arrived, I have ventured to steal away for a moment, just to satisfy the craving28 which has been torturing me for the last hour. Irene, you are pale; you tremble like an aspen. Have I frightened you by my words—too abrupt29, perhaps, considering the reserve that has always been between us until now. Didn’t you know that I loved you? that for the last month—ever since I have known you, indeed—I have had but the one wish, to make you my wife?”
“Good God!” I saw the words on her lips rather than heard them. She seemed to be illumined and overwhelmed at once. “Mr. S———,” said she, trying to be brave, trying to address him with some sort of self-possession,
“I did not expect—I had no right to expect this honor from you. I am not worthy30—I have no right to hear such words from your lips. Besides——” She could go no further; perhaps he did not let her.
“Not worthy—you!” There was infinite sadness in his tone. “What do you think I am, then? It is because you are so worthy, so much better than I am or can ever be, that I want you for my wife. I long for the companionship of a pure mind, a pure hand——”
“Mr. S———” (she had risen, and the resolve in her face made her beauty shine out transcendently), “I have not the pure mind, the pure hand you ascribe to me. I have meddled31 with matters few women could even conceive of. I am a member—a repentant32 member, to be sure—of an organization which slights the decrees of God and places the aims of a few selfish souls above the rights of man, and——”
He had stooped and was kissing her hand.
“You need not go on,” he whispered; “I quite understand. But you will be my wife?”
Aghast, white as the driven snow, she watched him with dilating33 eyes that slowly filled with a great horror.
“Understand!—you understand! Oh, what does that mean? Why should you understand?”
“Because”—his voice sunk to a whisper, but I heard it, as I would have recognized his thought had he not spoken at that moment—“because I am the chief of the organization you mention. Irene, now you have my secret.”
I do not think she uttered a sound, but I heard the dying cry of her soul in her very silence. He may have heard it, too, for his look showed sudden and unfathomable pity.
“This is a blow to you,” he said. “I do not wonder; there is something hateful in the fact; latterly I have begun to realize it. That is why I have allowed myself to love. I wanted some relief from my thoughts. Alas34! I did not know that a full knowledge of your noble soul would only emphasize them. But this is no talk for a ballroom35. Cheer up, darling, and——”
“Wait!” She had found strength to lay her hand on his arm. “Did you know that a man was condemned36 to-day?”
His face took on a shade of gloom.
“Yes,” he bowed, casting an anxious look towards the room from which came the mingled sounds of dance and merriment. “The bell which announces the fact rang during my absence. I did not know there was a name before the society.”
She crouched37, covering her face with her hands. I think she was afraid her emotion would escape her in a cry. But in an instant they had dropped again, and she was panting in his ear:
“You are the chief and are not acquainted with these matters of life and death? Traitors38 are these men and women to you—traitors! jealous of your influence and your power!”
He looked amazed; he measured the distance between himself and the door and turned to ask her what she meant, but she did not give him the opportunity.
“Do you know,” she asked, “the name of the person for whom the bell rang to-day?”
He shook his head. “I am expecting a messenger with it any moment,” said he, looking towards the rear of the conservatory. “Is it any one who is here to-night?”
The gasp39 she gave might have been heard in the other room. Language and motion seemed both to fail her, and I thought I should have to go to her rescue. But before I could move, I heard the click of a latch40 at the rear of the conservatory, and saw, peering through the flowers and plants, the wicked face of the man with the receding41 forehead whom I had seen at madame’s, and in his arms he held THE BOX.
It was a shock which sent me further into concealment42. Mr. S——, on the contrary, looked relieved. Exclaiming, “Ah, he has come!” he went to the door leading into the drawing-room, locked it, took out the key and returned to meet the stealthy, advancing figure.
The latter presented a picture of malignant43 joy, horrible to contemplate44. The lips of his large mouth were compressed and bloodless. He came on with the quiet certainty and deadly ease of a slimy thing sure of its prey45.
As I noted46 him I felt that not only Mr. S——‘s life but my own was not worth a moment’s purchase. But I uttered no cry and scarcely breathed. Miss Calhoun, on the contrary, gave vent27 to a long, shivering sigh. The man bowed as he heard it, but with looks directed solely47 to Mr. S——.
“I was told,” said he, “to deliver this box to you wherever and with whomsoever I should find you. In it you will find the name.”
“This is irregular,” said he. “Why was I not made acquainted with the fact that a name was up for consideration, and why have you removed the box from its place and broken the connection which was made with so much difficulty?”
As he said this he looked up through the glass of the conservatory to a high building I could see towering at the end of the garden. It was the building in which I had first seen that box, and I now understood how this connection had been made.
Mr. S——‘s movement had been involuntary.
Dropping his eyes, he finished by saying, with an almost imperceptible bow, “You may speak before this lady; she is the holder50 of a key.”
“The connection was broken because suspicion was aroused; to your other question you will find an answer in the box. Shall I open it for you?”
Mr. S———, with a stern frown, shook his head, and produced a key from his pocket. “Do you understand all this?” he suddenly asked Miss Calhoun.
For reply, she pointed to the box.
“Open!” her beseeching51 looks seemed to say.
Mr. S—— turned the key and threw up the lid. “Look under the hand,” suggested the man.
Mr. S—— leaned over the box, which had been laid on a small table, discovered a paper somewhere in its depth, and drew it out. It was no whiter than his face when he did so.
“How many have subscribed53 to this?” he asked.
“You will observe that there are five rings on the hand,” responded the man.
Miss Calhoun started, opened her lips, but paused as she saw Mr. S—— unfold the paper.
“The name of the latest traitor,” murmured the man, with a look of ferocity the like of which I had never seen on any human face before.
It was not observed by either of the actors in the tragedy before me. Mr. S—— was gazing with a wild incredulity at the note he had unfolded; she was gazing at him. From the room beyond rose and swelled54 the sweet strains of the waltz.
Suddenly a low, crackling sound was heard.
“So the society has decreed my death,” he said, meeting the man’s steel-cold eye for the first time. “Now I know how the men whose doom preceded mine have felt in a presence that leaves no hope to mortal man. But you shall not be my executioner. I will meet my fate at less noxious56 hands than yours.” And, leaning forward, he whispered a few seemingly significant words into the messenger’s ear. The man, grievously disappointed, hung his head, and with a sidelong look, the venom57 of which made us all shudder58, he hesitated to go.
“To-night?” he said.
“To-night,” Mr. S—— repeated, and pointed towards the door by which he had entered. Then, as the man still hesitated, he took him by the arm and resolutely59 led him through the conservatory, crying in his ear, “Go. I am still the chief.”
The man bowed, and slipped slowly out into the night.
A burst of music, laughter, voices, joy, rose in the drawing-room. Mr. S—— and Irene Calhoun stood looking at each other.
“You must go home,” were the first words he uttered. Then, in a half-reproachful, half-pitiful tone, as if on the verge60 of tears, he added: “Was I so bad a chief that even you thought me a hindrance61 to the advancement62 of the society and the cause to which we are pledged?”
It was the one thing he could say capable of rousing her.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is all a mistake, all a cheat. Did you not get the letter I sent to my chief this morning, written in the usual style and directed in the usual way?”
“No,” he answered.
“Then there is worse treason than yours among the five. I wrote to say that my ring had been stolen; that I did not subscribe52 to the condemnation63 of the man under suspicion, and that, if it was made, it would be through fraud. That was before I knew that the suspected one and the man I addressed were one and the same. Now——”
“Well, now?”
“You have but to accuse the woman called Madame. The man you have just sent away would forgive you his disappointment if you gave him the supreme64 satisfaction of carrying doom to the still more formidable being who prophesies65 death to those for whom she has already prepared a violent end.”
“Irene!”
But her passion had found vent and she was not to be stilled. Telling him the whole story of the last twenty-four hours, she waited for the look of comfort she evidently expected. But it did not come. His first words showed why.
“Madame is inexorable,” said he; “but Madame is but one of five. There are three others—true men, sound men, thinking men. If they deem me unworthy—and I have shown signs of faltering66 of late—Madame’s animosity or your loving weakness must not stand in the way of their decree. It shall never be said I sanctioned the doom of other men and shrank from my own. I would be unworthy of your love if I did, and your love is everything to me now.” She had not expected this; she had not at all reckoned upon the stern quality in this man, forgetting that without it he could never have held his pitiless position.
“But it is not regular; it is not according to precedent67. Five rings are required, and only four were fairly placed. As an honest man, you ought to hesitate at injustice68, and injustice you will show if you allow them to triumph through their own deceit.”
But even this failed to move him.
“I see five rings,” said he, “and I see another thing. Never will I be permitted to live even if I am coward enough to take advantage of the loophole of escape you offer me. A man who is once seen to tremble loses the confidence of such men as call me chief. I would die suddenly, horribly and perhaps when less prepared for it than now. And you, my darling, my imperial one! you would not escape. Besides, you have forgotten the young man who, with such unselfishness, has lent himself to your schemes in my favor. What could save him if I disappointed the malignancy of Madame. No; I have destroyed others, and must submit to the penalty incurred69 by murder. Kiss me, Irene, and go. I command it as your chief.”
With a low moan she gave up the struggle. Lifting her forehead to his embrace, she bestowed70 upon him a look of indescribable despair, then tottered71 to the door leading into the garden. As it closed upon her departing figure, he uttered a deep sigh, in which he seemed to give up life and the world. Then he raised his head, and in an instant was in the midst of a throng of beautiful women and dashing men, with a smile on his lips and a jest on his tongue.
I made my escape unnoticed. The next morning I was in Philadelphia. There I read the following lines in the leading daily:
“Baltimore, Md.—An unexpected tragedy occurred here last evening. Mr. S——, the well-known financier and politician, died at his supper-table, while drinking the health of a hundred assembled guests. He is considered to be a great loss to the Southern cause. The city is filled with mourning.”
And further down, in an obscure corner, this short line:
“Baltimore, Md.—A beautiful young woman, known by the name of Irene Calhoun, was found dead in her bed this morning, from the effects of poison administered by herself. No cause is ascribed for the act.”
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收听单词发音
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1
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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presage
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| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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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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forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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54
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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57
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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58
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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prophesies
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的第三人称单数 ) | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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68
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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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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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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