Chapter 63
"Yonder gray old fabric has looked on the scarred ruins of many a life, but never a funeral that has pa.s.sed down its aisles was so sad as this parting. Good-bye, dearest wife, good-bye!"
"Good-bye, Paul!"
He struck his breast and drew his breath audibly, "I must go. The thing is not to be thought of and endured!"
"Good-bye, Paul!" Her face was buried in his breast, to hide it from his eyes.
"They say that the day a dear friend is lost to us is purer and calmer in remembrance than the day before. May it be so with us!"
"Hus.h.!.+ You will soon be back to take me away." And Greta nestled closer to his breast.
"If not--if not"--his hot breathing beat fast on her drooping head--"if not, then--as the world is dead to both without the other's love--remain here--in this house--forever. Good-bye! Good-bye!"
He disengaged her clinging arms. He pressed her cold brow with his quivering lips. Her fears conquered her brave heart at last. A mist was fast hiding her from him.
"Good-bye! good-bye!"
A moment's silence, a breaking sigh, a rising sob, a last lingering touch of the inlaced fingers, and then the door closed behind him. She was alone in the empty hall; her lips were cold; her eyes were shut. The rosy hues of morning were floating in the air, now rich and sweet and balmy and restful, with the full, pure, holy harmonies of the choir.
CHAPTER X.
It was merely a momentary vexation which Hugh Ritson felt when the course that Paul had taken falsified his prescience. "No matter," he said, "it is only a question of a day, more or less. The thing must be done."
Drayton made no attempt to conceal his relief when the door closed and the fly drove off. "I ain't sorry the fence is gone, and that's flat!"
"Only, being gone, you will have a bigger risk to run now, my friend,"
said Hugh Ritson, with undisguised contempt.
Drayton looked up with a glance half of fear, half of suspicion. "You ain't gone and rounded on a fellow, after all? You ain't told him as I'm here?"
"Don't be a fool!
"Here? In the morning? No!"
"When they asked for his address, he gave them the name of this house.
They'll not forget it. Men of that sort don't forget."
"I'll pound if they don't."
"They have memories for other things besides addresses. Consider if they have any other reason to remember the landlord of your house."
"No criss-crossing! you don't do me the same as the old woman."
"No matter. You know best. Take care of yourself, Mr. Drayton."
Drayton b.u.t.toned his coat as near to the throat as the torn lapel would allow. "That's what I mean to do. I ain't going to be lagged. It's a lifer this time, and that would take the stiff'ning out of a man."
"Where are you going?"
"No criss-crossing, I say."
"Leave this house, and they'll have you in twenty-four hours."
"Stay here, and they'll lag me in twelve. Being as that's twelve to the good, I'm off."
Drayton's hand was on the door-handle. Hugh Ritson s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. "An idiot like you deserves to be taken. Such men ought to be put away."
Drayton lifted his fist. "Damme, but I'll put you away if--if--"
Hugh Ritson did not flinch. "What if I show you how to escape the consequences of to-night's work altogether?"
Drayton's uplifted hand fell. "I ain't objecting to that," he growled.
"How?"
"By putting another man in your place."
Drayton's eyes opened in a stare of blank amazement.
"And what about me?" he asked.
"You," said Hugh Ritson, and a scarcely perceptible sneer curled his lip--"you shall stand in his shoes."
A repulsive smile crossed Drayton's face. He fumbled the torn lapel with restless fingers. His eyes wandered to the door. There was a moment's silence.
"Him?" he said, with an elevation of the eyebrows.
Hugh Ritson bent his head slightly. Drayton stood with mouth agape.
Old Mrs. Drayton was pottering around the bar preparatory to going to bed.
"I'll be a-bidding you good-night, sir. Paul, you'll lock up after the gentleman."
"Good-night, Mrs. Drayton."
The landlady hobbled away. But from midway up the stairs her querulous voice came again. "The poor young thing--I declare she's a-crying her eyes out."
"Why d'ye mean to do?" asked Drayton.
"To get him here."
"How'll ye track him? He's gone to London, ain't he? That's a big haystack to find a needle in, ain't it?"
"London is not a haystack, Mr. Drayton. It's a honey-comb, and every cell is labeled. On getting out of the train at St. Pancras Station they will either hire a cab or they will not. If they hire one, then the number will be taken at the lodge. By that number the cabman can be found. He will know where he drove his fare. If my brother left his wife at one place, and settled himself at another, the cabman will know that also. If they do not hire a cab, then, as the hour is late, and one of them is a lady, they must be somewhere in the vicinity of the station.
Thus, in that vast honey-comb, their particular cells are already marked out for us. That's enough for the present. Who sleep in this house beside yourselves--and the girl?"