Time was going on, and still Walter did not look up from the book. It was long past two before he, finished. Then with a firm step and a determined3 air he went up to the little library where Lord Ravenspur was busy writing letters. The latter looked up, and demanded to know what his nephew wanted.
"I want you to look at this," Walter said quietly. "It is a diary written by your late friend Count Flavio, whose handwriting you will, of course, recognise. The diary came into the hands of Silva after his master's death. Now Silva told me some time ago--in fact, during that memorable4 interview in your studio--that he had in his possession documentary evidence which would prove that his mistress was an injured woman, and his master a scoundrel of the deepest dye. When I asked him why he did not produce this book at the trial, he shrugged5 his shoulders, and said that it would have been useless. Public opinion against the Countess ran so high that nobody would have believed that it was anything but a forgery6. But that will be for you to judge. Before we go any further, I want your assurance that this is your dead friend's own handwriting."
Lord Ravenspur turned over the leaves of the manuscript, more or less languidly. One leaf after another he fluttered over; then he handed the book back to Walter again.
"I am not going to contest the point," he said. "Beyond question, this is my unfortunate friend's handwriting; though the letters are quite plain, the writing could not be easily forged. Indeed, to forge such an amount as that would be the work of half a lifetime. But what do you want me to do?"
Walter signified that he would like his uncle to read the whole of the volume, but Lord Ravenspur shook his head.
"I am afraid I cannot," he said. "I can speak Italian fairly enough, as you know, but that is merely colloquial7, and I had never time really to master the language. But, seeing that you spent three years of your life there, don't you think that you had better read it out to me. I suppose it is interesting?"
"I never read anything that fascinated me more," Walter said. "Mind you, this is the secret diary of Count Flavio. He had no idea that anybody would ever read it. I have gone through the volume from start to finish, and I am forced to the conclusion that your friend was the poisonous scoundrel that Silva declares him to be. I tell you, if this book was published, it would cause a great sensation from one end of Europe to the other. It is the work of a brilliant man with a fine style and an imaginative mind--the history of an attempt to deprive a woman of her will, and of her reason. For the three years during which the Count and Countess Flavio lived together the woman's life was one long, incessant8 torture. Mind you, there was no actual violence, but the tortures were exquisite9 and cruel all the same. And here we have them in the Count's own words. It is absolutely necessary that you should listen to some extracts from this amazing work."
"Go on," Ravenspur said quietly; "I am all attention."
Walter bent10 back the book, and began to read:
"February 17th, 1887. What man is there who has ever succeeded in penetrating11 the unfathomable depths of a woman's mind? What fools we men are to assume a knowledge of the sex until we are married, and have the object lesson before us day by day! There is Carlotta, for example. Carlotta's prevailing12 trouble is that she is jealous of me. She seems to think that because she cut herself off from her family for my sake, I am to be at her beck and call henceforth and for ever. This peculiar13 form of jealousy14 interests and amuses me. It is a pleasure to study it from a scientific basis. This morning I told her I was going to Florence for a day or two, and she wept because I would not allow her to accompany me. I could see that she does not trust me, wherefore I caused a friend of mine who can imitate a woman's writing excellently, to write me a passionate15 love-letter, which fell quite naturally into Carlotta's hands.
"The scene which followed was exquisitely16 amusing. I have never seen a woman weep to such an extent before. Positively17 my charming Carlotta was enchanting18. I was quite sorry at length when she assumed a mantle19 of dignity, and left me. Still, this is only the first of many such scenes if I engineered them properly. I see that Carlotta is in possession of all the emotions, so that, by studying her alone, I shall be in a position to add some really extraordinary chapters to my great book on women and their ways.
"March 19th, 1887. Carlotta has afforded me a month of absolute enjoyment20. Why do people pay money to sit in stuffy21 theatres and watch comedies and tragedies when they can see and hear the real, palpitating thing for nothing? Outwardly, Carlotta and myself are at daggers22 drawn24. She thinks I am unrepentant and angry, but, as to myself, I have never been more cheerful and happy in my life. And when Carlotta threatens to leave me, I ask her why she is going, knowing perfectly25 well that she has not the slightest intention of leaving me. Women are very much like cats in these matters--they will make many sacrifices for the sake of the domestic hearth26. I was talking to Dr. Sacci, the great surgeon, the other day, and he was telling me of the fierce joy that comes through some new discovery which has been the outcome of vivisection. But, then, Sacci is only working in the interests of humanity, whereas my vivisection allows me to see the exquisite suffering of the patient. I can study the nerves, and the palpitating wound, at the very moment when the knife enters.
"December 21st, 1887. The last chapter in my book is by far the most brilliant and searching which I have yet added to that fascinating volume. Whatever Carlotta suffers in the present, she shall go down to posterity27 as the martyr28 of her sex. I will place her on a pinnacle29 as high as my own. Indeed, I was almost sorry when I had to tell her the story of the love-letter, and how I had been playing on her feelings all these months. At the same tune30, I looked forward to the explanation, because I knew that it would open up to me a fresh phase of womanly nature. And I confess that it did with a vengeance31. Carlotta turned pale. She stood there looking as if she were filled with the greatest physical agony, her eyes filled with tears which did not fall. I don't know how many days it is since she spoke32 to me last, but certainly it must be upwards33 of a fortnight. This is not exactly what I expected. It is only when a woman talks that one can judge of how the experiment is progressing. Tomorrow, all being well, I am going to adopt a new scheme which I hope will have the desired effect.
"December 22nd, 1887. Our little Vera has disappeared. Evidently she has been kidnapped with a view to a reward. The whole neighbourhood is up in arms, and my wife is distracted. It has often been a favourite theory of mine that every man takes a second place in a woman's affections as soon as her first child is born. I look back now with a vivid recollection of the early days when I first met Carlotta. I look back to her passionate love scenes, and her declarations that I should be first with her, then and always. Even though I was very much enamoured, I had my doubts when I was alone, and in a position to debate the matter clearly. The time has come to put the question to a test, and thus it became necessary for Vera to disappear. I might say at once that my theory has been vindicated34 to the letter. I now know that Carlotta cares far more for Vera than she does for me. The reflection is not soothing35 to one's vanity, but there it is. There is a wildness and intensity36 in her grief, which she never would have experienced had I been brought home to her in the last stage of dissolution. I must keep this up. I must work this phase as long as it lasts, which will not be an indefinite time, because I must not drive my patient too far. She begins to show signs of collapse37 already. I think at the end of a week I must have Vera brought back again. By the expiration38 of that time, I fancy I can add another chapter to my remarkable39 book."
Walter stopped for a moment, his voice was full of loathing40 and disgust. An honest indignation almost choked him. He saw now that his anger and contempt were reflected on the face of Ravenspur.
"Do you want me to read any further," he said, "or is that sufficient? Shall I tell you, for instance, what happened after this inhuman41 wretch42 brought his child home again? Shall I tell you of other tortures and tyrannies, and how this scoundrel rejoices in the fact that his neighbours like him and pity him because he is married to a bad-tempered43 woman, who makes his life a burden? That is the note that runs all through this extraordinary diary. The man uses it as a weapon to play upon the feelings of his wife. If you are not yet satisfied I will pick out----"
"No, no," Ravenspur cried, as he rose to his feet. "I have heard enough and more than enough. Flavio must have been a madman; and yet I regarded him as one of the best and noblest of men. I never dreamt he had an enemy. I never knew anybody say a word against him. And to think that a man of the world like myself should be deceived in this way! Everything is now growing wonderfully clear before my eyes, Walter. I can even understand why the Countess left her daughter behind her. Fancy suffering all that trouble and humiliation44 to find, later on, that the child you had done so much for was likely to turn out as her father had done! In the last ten minutes you have proved that I was wrong, and the Countess was right; and yet it seemed to me that I was justified45 in my actions. I don't know what I am going to do. I don't know what steps I can take to convince that unhappy woman that I acted for the best. At any rate, I must make a beginning before I go to bed tonight."
Ravenspur took up the volume and went down the stairs. In the drawing-room, the Countess, Mrs. Delahay, and Vera were still seated, talking earnestly together. Ravenspur crossed the room to the Countess's side and held out the book.
"Do you know what this contains?" he asked. "I suppose you have read it from cover to cover?"
"Once," said the Countess, with a shudder46, "but never again."
"I can quite understand your feelings," Ravenspur said. "I have only heard extracts, but they have been quite sufficient for me. And now let me do my best to try and convince you that I acted in what I conceived to be the true interests of your child. I know now how wrong I was. I know that you have been made the victim of a scoundrel and a madman; and if you can forgive me for what I have done, I will be your grateful servant in the future."
"One moment," the Countess said. "There is another, and yet more painful thing to confess. I understand from your nephew that the police think that they have a most important clue to the murder of Louis Delahay. The police are all wrong. It is incredible to me that they have not discovered the truth before; that they have not blundered on it. Surely you can guess who it is who is responsible for the death of my poor sister's husband?"
"I am afraid," Ravenspur murmured, "that I cannot----"
"Not even after it was known that you were at work in the studio that night?"
"No, unless, perhaps--good heavens, you don't mean to say Silva?"
"Nobody else. The man tracked you to Fitzjohn Square. There was not one of your movements that he did not know. But come this way. I dare say the nurse will not mind us talking to the patient for a few moments alone. You shall hear Silva confirm what I have said to you."
Ravenspur stumbled to his feet. He was dazed and numbed47 with surprise; and yet the more he came to think of it, the more plausible48 it seemed. No, the nurse had no objection, it would not harm the patient. He was very near to his end now. Weak as he was, his eyes gleamed as he caught sight of Lord Ravenspur, the old wolfish look was on his face.
"We have been mistaken, my dear Silva," the Countess said. "Lord Ravenspur has been one of my best friends if I had only known it. He was deceived by my husband, as hundreds of others were. His lordship was led to believe that the Count was a martyr to a dreadful wife, a woman incapable49 of looking after a child. The kidnapping of my daughter was part of his vengeance upon me, so that he could reach me from the other side of the grave. Everything has been explained, the diary has been read by Lord Ravenspur; and he has forgiven you, he has come to your bedside to say so before you--you----"
"Die," Silva said, with an effort. "Curse his forgiveness. If I could stand up now----"
He could say no more, the malignant50 hate, the fire of madness, still gleamed in his dark eyes. He would hold the same tradition to the end. There was no chance of anything like a reconciliation51 here.
"I expected nothing else," the Countess said sadly. "Only a Corsican could understand his feelings. It is his blood, his religion. But if you can't forgive, my poor Silva, you can confess. It may be the means of saving an innocent life. It was you who were responsible for the death of Mr. Delahay?"
Silva nodded quite coolly. There was an upward heave of his shoulders that was very expressive52. It was like one who confesses to a mistake.
"I understand," the Countess resumed. "It was a misunderstanding. You had traced Lord Ravenspur to the studio. You were going to kill him there. Only Mr. Delahay and myself interrupted you. You were probably hiding somewhere outside, waiting for your opportunity, when we arrived. You did not see us, you were not aware of anything till the lights were out. I may make errors in details, but in the main I am quite correct. No, don't try and talk--a nod is sufficient. When Mr. Delahay returned to the studio, after Lord Ravenspur was driven away, and after I had gone, you were in the studio. You mistook Mr. Delahay for Lord Ravenspur, and killed him with a glass Corsican dagger23. You did not know till you saw the papers the next day that you had made a mistake?"
Silva nodded again. He did not appear to feel the least remorse53, but his hungry eyes testified how he regretted that he had so signally failed. The old wild spirit was still there, even the approach of death could not quench54 it. Ravenspur turned away, filled with disgust and sadness.
"Really, there is nothing more to be said," he murmured. "I should like to put the heads of the confession55 down and get the unhappy man to sign it."
Silva affixed56 a straggling signature to the confession. Then he turned over on his side and refused to listen any more. Evidently he was going to die as he had lived--hard, unfeeling, carrying his bitter hatred57 to the grave.
"According to his lights," Ravenspur murmured, "let us hope that he will not be judged too harshly where he is going so soon."
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1
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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colloquial
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| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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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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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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bad-tempered
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| adj.脾气坏的 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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49
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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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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51
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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52
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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53
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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54
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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55
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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56
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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