DEVOTED TO VENGEANCE.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1418, 9 January 1885, Page 3

DEVOTED TO VENGEANCE.

Chapter I. " There is no hope," said Dr Leigh. He was standing by the mantelpiece—a wooden one, painted black, with a little shabby timepiece in the centre, and two china images of stooping angels, one at each end. The otherwise unoccupied portions of it were crowded with medicine bottles of every size and type, and on one of these the eye of the doctor was fixed with ptrange scrutiny. His elbow rested on an open book, which lay near the array of bottles; his attitnde was one of singular negligence in the presence of Death. The room in which he uttered his verdict was a small and meanly furnisue- one. It belonged to a " house," as the inhabitants called it, which was part of a huge dark tenement in one of those narrow, sombre, melancholy London streets, where the multitudinous tribes of " shabby genteel" do congregate. This " house " consisted of four apartments, and bore near one of its largest windows outside the legend, " Lodgings —To Letfor of those four rooms, Mrs Merriday, in which name their owner rejoiced, had only one let, and that was it in which Leigh now stood. Had Mrs Merriday's lodgers been of a particularly fastidious nature, or had they been possessed of sufficient " hard cash " *o help their fastidiousness, supposing they had any, this apartment would certainly have been the last in which they would have taken up their domicile. It was small ana stuffy; its two windows, with lozenge-shaped panes, and curtains whose original colour might have been white, looked out, one upon the long narrow street and dark tenements opposite, the other into a little patch of sunburnt grass, popularly supposed to serve as a common " bleaching green " to the inhabitants of No. 7 Apsley Terrace ; the furniture was stiff, hard, and uncomfortable ; the fireplace had the strange property of containing only a limited amout of fuel at a time, and if that were exceeded, took its revenge by smoking outrageously. In consequence, the room, on this cold, wet July day, was chilly and damp—per* haps also, partly with the chill of coming death. On the iron bedstead, between the two windows, lay the dying man. It was not a pleasant face to look at, even in death. The eyes were closed, but one could fancy the cold expression they could wear beneath those straight lines of black brows, which met now in the agoDy of the last pangs. The mouth was a bitter one—as that might be of a man who had fought with the world, and whom the world had conquered. The nose, slender and aquiline, with thin decisive nostrils, gave the face an almost classic refinement; and it was a classic face, but not a beautiful one. The man was young, stricken down in the hey-day of his youth and strength, it seemed; yet be looked like one who might have bsen striving for many years to attain something which he had missed at last. "There is no hope," said again Dr Leigh.

Dr Leigh also was a young man. But he did not look at the beautiful won an whom he addressed, his eyes fixed with an unwinking, unfaltering gaze upon his own medicine bottles on the mantelpiece. No hope!" repeated the wife of the dying man at last. It was the first time she had spoken for many hours; all day long she had sat by her husband's side, her hand, a very small and very white hand it was, resting upon his pillow, her wide open eyes, with that brooding, purple shadow in them, gazing upon his pallid, impassive face. She was bis only nurse, his only attendant, save when, now and then, more out of curiosity than anything else, Mrs Merriday came in to ask her to trust "the poor dear gentleman to her, (Mrs Merriday's) care for a few minutes, and go lie down on the parlour " sofy." But she bad only shaken her head. Even for that short time she would not leave him.

" I cannot think there is no hope> Dr Leigh." " There are in his case," proceeded Dr Leigh, " strange symptomsdoubtful symptoms —which I cannot account for. 1 do not fully understand the progress) of tho disease." He changed his position now, and looked full at her. She raised her wonderful eyes to meet his; her face as pale, as soft, as Undine-like as ever.

♦'Would you not have a consultation, Dr Leigh P" M No," he said, somewhat staggered, "there ie no use. The case is hopeless."

The white band, with its plain golden circlet, fell from the pillow into her lap. It was a gesture of infinite grace, infinite despair. "Then he is—dying?" The last word whispered. •' I tear so."

" Can you not save him f" wid the beautiful woman, speaking in her soft contralto voice, but hurriedly and passionately. '* Ah, for God's sake, help us ana save him! See, I kneel to you j I beg of you, in Heaven's name, to aid me!" She was upon her knees before Mm» clasped hands, and face upturned to his in agonised entreaty. " She ii a cunning fiend," Mid Mf Leigh to bioielf; * ibe tries to im»

pose on me; bat I am more than a match for her. She thinks me a soft fool to be wheedled inte believing mj own eyes and senses deceive me." " I can do nothing," be said aloud. "Eise, Mrs St. Leonard; you mast not kneel to me."

" I shall! I will! until you promise to do what you can to save him !" she cried. " You are a physician—a clever one, men Bay ; and trusted him to you, and you said you thought you could bring him through! and now he is dying, you say." "I say, Mrs Leonard," said Dr Leigh, slowly and emphatically, " that had I had to contend with the disease alone, I should have brought him through. But there are other agencies at work against which I have no power. It is not his disease which is killing your husband, it is—something else." Mrs St Leonard's eyes, with the shndow of a horror creeping into them, still regarded him intently. There was always a peculiar look in this woman's eyes which Dr Leigh did not like to meet; before it he felt himself nerveless and weak. He was haturally a strong-nerved and coolheaded man, free from weakness and superstition ; yet in his own mind he felt she knew of one weak point, and magnetised him through it. But now the look of horror froze him to the blood.

" What is killing him 1" she asked. "I cannot tell you," replied Dr Leigh, harshly. At that moment the eyes of the dying man opened slowly. Tliey gazed for a moment in vacancy before him, then turned and fixed themselves on his wife's face.

" VivianP the pallid lips forced themselves to mutter hoarsely. She was beside him in an instant, her little white hand on his again, as it had been before.

•' Is any one with us ?" the dying man asked. She beckoned Dr Leigh to come near.

" Only this dear friend Eaeton. Say what you have to say my darling." "-Nothing," said her husband, the words coming spasmodically, and struggling with his gasping breath. "Only that—you have been a good wife—loyal—to me. Let them say what they will —liars. My wife is good—true." " Dear Easton," she murmured softly. " And, Vivian—l have failed—in everything. Forgive me child. There is no light for me—l am in the dark abyss. Let me see your face—for the last time. Beautiful—beautiful P She let him see it; a face as fair as an angel's. He looked at it with dying eyes. "I have sinned—for it," he muttered at last, " May God have mercy on my soul P He spoke no more. Gradually the heavy eyes closed; the breath came more painfully, in half strangled sobs, then ceased altogether, and there waß a dead silence in the room. No cry, no sob, came from the kneeling woman. Had it come, T)r Leigh should have said it was simu lated ; but this terrible mute agonywas it real ? The queenly form cowered as if below a load too great to bear ; her face was hidden by the masses of waving golden hair, but the little hands wore clenched agonising together above her dead one. "Mrs St Leonard," said Dr Leigh at last. She turned her face to him as pale as her dead husband's. " Leave me for a while," she said, slowly, " alone with my dead, Dr Leigh." He went towards the door, not, knowing what to do. She added gently—- " Come back at night please, when —I am able to bear it." " Either she is an angel of light and I a demon," said Dr Leigh to himself, as he descended the flight of high and narrow stairs, " or she is the fiend incarnate. And what am Itodo in the matter P Is it my duty to make known my suspicions to the police, or to wait 1 If I let it pass, it may cost more than I can calculate on. But I shall wait until to-night." At night Dr Leigh's cab rolled up once more to the door of No. 7. The cab had become a well-known vehicle to the inhabitants of the various houses in that number, and tongues spoke freely from many windows over the H strangeness" of Dr Leigh's conduct, in coming now that the gentle man was dead. Mrs Merriday herself opened the door.

" May I take the liberty of basking you to step into the parlour—which it isn't tidy, but perhaps you'll excuse—for a hinetant, Dr Leigh?" said the lady with characterise volubility. " Certainly, Mrs Merriday, if you have anything of importance to say to me."

Mrs Merriday conducted him into the little parlour, asked him to be seated in the arm-chair, slowly and meditatively drew down the green Venetian blinds, dusted, with a corner of her apron, the window-sill and blew a speck of dust from a little vase on the tiantelpiece—all which proceedings Dr Leigh watched with manifest impatience. He was a busy man and nad no time to waste.

" Dr Leigh," said the lady of the house at last, these preliminaries over, " my mind is that uneasy, I don't know where Tm standing, which I wn't tell wot I ihoaid do, ojr where

turn; it's not to every one I would reveal my fears and suspicion, but you beia' a medical it's my dooty to let you know what's in my 'art." " Well, Mrs Merriday ?" " Well, «r, I'd be obliged to you if you would look after the room next to us,", and Mrs Men-id y nodded sieni ficantly in the direction of the bedroom ; " for this reason, that things has a most hextraordinary appearance there, for these two people are the queerest ever I set eyes on, and seem to me to be liker 'ethen than Christians, which I 'ave always been a good churchwoman, sir, and attends the church regular, and don't wish to 'arbour in my 'ouse those that may turn out Pagans, or Catholics, or wuss." "Mrs Merriday, can you explain yourself ?" said the doctor, in his cold professional way; for Mrs Merriday was waxing hot and excited. "Remember one of the persons of whom you speak is dead, and the other a new-made widow."

" Widow ? I've no love for widows, I have not," said Mrs Merriday, oblivious of the fact that she herself bplonged to the category. " But she's no widow, which if he's dead things is stranger still than if he wasn't, else why should I 'ear her myself as I passed the door talking to him and saying— 1 Sin for sin, Easton ; you sinned for me and I for you.' Though he gave no answer, and she might be speaking to the dead, as I believe Catholics and 'eathen does, but no respectable Christian, which I 'ope 'urnbly I may be, for I've been brought up a churchwoman, and a church voman I'll live and die!" declared Mrs Merriday in a spasm of religious fervour. " And to ear her laugh, an' the man there dead, made a cold shiver pass thnugh my 'a-t, at the 'orrid blasphemy, Dr Leigh!" " Are you sure of this, Mrs Merriday ?" asked Dr Leigh, with a harsh tone in his voice. " As sure as that 'eaven is above us," said Mrs Merriday, emphatically. " She's been to me like a serpient since first I saw her, and 'e was tbat glum and black you couldn't look at 'im for fear, which I never liked to enter his presence, though she was as sweet as honey. But she paid me well, that I'll say j but payment's not everything, though one must 'ave and hexact it in these 'ard times, but a 'ouse has a character to keep up, and I can't keep that up while she is iu it." " I snail go to Mrs St Leonard, now," said the doctor, standing up. " I've no time to spare, Mrs Merriday ; but I shall recommend her to leave as soon as she can." Mrs St Leonard herself opened the door of the little darkened bed-room before he knocked, and looked out. There were no traces of tears on her face, he observed, but it was pale, aud full of a dumb agony. " Come in," she said, giving him her hand. He went in, and she shut the door. The dead man was already laid out in the ghastly cerements of the tomb. His hands weie crossed on his breast; at his feet and head lay wreaths of flowers white lilies and camellias. Beneath his folded hands Dr Leigh observed a little locket. " it is mine," said Mrs St Leonard, softly. " He wished it next his heart in his long, last sleep—until I go to him, and then, if it is still there, it is to be laid on my breast." It seemed a strange, whimsical request ; but Dr Ljigh took no notice of it. He was watching the face of the woman who spoke—watching it, and feeling his own terrible weakness returning. But he bad vowed to do his duty. " Mrs St Leonard, have you made any arrangements as to what you have to do now ? I have no right to ask such a question, but——." He paused. She looked at him sadly. 44 You are very kind, Dr Leigh, to ask such a question; it shows there is one in the world to whom I am of some little interest, I have not many arrangements to make \ I have no frienas; Easton had none; we were utterly alone in the world. I shall take him to our own home far away in Cornwall; and he will lie beside the sea at rest; while I ■■" She covered her face with her hands. Dr Leigh began to pace backwards and forwards in the little room. His face was pale, drops of sweat stood on his forehead, he looked like a man undergoing some terrible mental strain, and suddenly his eyes rested upon the mantelpiece. " What have you done with all the medicine bottles?" he asked, in the same voice as before. Mrs St Leonard raised her head. " I don't know; did you want them? Oh yes, I ordered Mrs Merriday to throw them out, for they seemed to sicken me somehow. I am sorry if you needed them." " I needed them, said Dr Leigh, for a very special purpose." He walked over to her side and stood before her. M Mrs St Leonard, J am going to speak to you with brutal frankness; your husband was poisoned." He never forgot her look of horror. She started to her feet and stood facing him; even now she did not shriek or cry out, but stood like a statue of stone, her face unquivering but marble white. He felt like a brute indeed and a murderer himself. She spoke at last. All the music had gone out of her voice \ it sounded; strained an 4 hollow. ,

" Why did you not save him ?" " Because 1 knew it when it was too late," he answered. " Merciful heaven !" she cried, " and I could have saved him—l could have saved him!" u You could have saved him —how ?" " He was looking closely at her all the time yet he could detect nothing like guilt in her face. Guilt! How could he associate it with her wifely agony ? She made no reply for a long time, but sat down again in dumb grief. Dr stood beside her chair, waiting patiently. She looked fair and frail in her helpless youngs widowhood, and his heart beat fast as he looked at her. Yet somehow her attitude, the droop of the head, the grief-stricken bending of her figure, reminded him of the serpentine grace of her uamosake, the enchantress of Merlin. Stronger men than he had been bound by green fcithes by subtle Delilahs. After that long pause she looked up and asked—- " Dr Leigh, are you my friend ?" Taken by surprise, he could not answer at first; and she smiled sadly. <4 No," she said, " you are like them all. Yeu suspect me, even in his presence, who bore witness with his last breath, of my love for him. You suspect . Good heavens ! I read it in yonr face—that I—l—wished for his death!" Dr Leigh stood silent, consciencestricken. " Why should I blame you ?" she asked after another pause. " Others, who were not straDgers as you are, have misjudged me. It has always been my fate to be misread and misunderstood, except by him. But will you listen to me for a few minutes, Dr Leigh ? Sit down here, and I shall tell you what I dare of my past —here, before him by whom I was loved so fondly, who lived only for me, and died, I believe for my sake. Dr Leigh sat down, still under the spell this woman cast over him. She looked at him meditatively for a moment, and then began to speak in her soft liquid tones, never moving her eyes from his face.

" I come from Cornwall, Dr Leigh, and all my people are Cornish. We are an old family—as old as Arthur, I believe—but very poor and very proud We had some land in early days, and were lords of the soil; but in my childhood our heritage was one of rocks and barrenness; our old feudal castle was a ruin, and we lived and died like the people around. I grew up among Cornish moors and mountains, close to the wild ocean; no companions but the seagalls and petrels; no love but the love of my people and home. " My father—" She paused suddenly. A change came over her face—-a change so sudnen and terrible that Dr Leigh was shocked and frightened. From its deathly pallor it flushed into a wild crimson like the red light a fiery setting sun sheds upon the wave« ; her steady lips quivered like an aspen leaf; her features were contracted with a terrible spasm; the light of her eyes blazed and burned as if with a strong passion. He could see the little hands clenched as if in endeavour to keep down the rising tempest, and in a moment it was over.

She resumed in the same voioe as before:—

14 When I was about fifteen my father—was killed accidentally. My mother and I were left in poverty. The land which had ouce belonged to us was then my husband's father's. Then my mother died. For a long time I was ill; it was a terrible shock. I was there for a while, and met Easton, who wished to marry me. Mr St Leonard would not allow him. But, after he died, Easton and I were married privately; for there was an elder brother who reigned at Trevellys. We came to London, Easton and I; Easton was an artist, and was very successful for a time; but he had peculiar habits, and, though we were taken into society for a time, Easton waa gradually dropped. I w»s made a pet of, and flattered, and became a belle; and, after the fashion of London society, I had a little coterie of admirers, who worshipped at my shrine, and behaved to me as if 1 were an unmarried woman. We met E<l- - St Leonard in society. He also was married, and his wife had once been a reigning belle, but she was passee then. She picked quarrels with me, and then told my husband I was untrue to him- lie refused to believe it; and, before Heaven, I was never anything but true to him. Then we left London, and came down to Cornwall, and my husband painted there. But strange fits came over him now and then, and I did not know what to do with him. He wished to see me Lady of Trevellys, and worked for it, night and day; but I did not wish for the hoour—why should II He tried to cheat Edmond out of it at last, by raising doubts as to his claims of heirship, and he failed. Then he became restless and moody, and I was frightened, and thought it safer to come to London again. He worked a little at painting, but was unsuccessful. Then a terrible despondency came over him, and he talked at times of ending his life. I was in terror. Oh, how 1 have Buffered ' I dared not leave him alone for 10 minutes, lest evil gliould come ol it. We were reduced at last to taking these miserable lodgings, and here his illness attacked him." S ; I.*eji*rd again, Dr

Leigh sat silent, yet feeling a great relief at his heart. She was guiltless. He had been a demon himself to doubt her. She rose presently and went over to the bedside of the dead man. From beneath the pillow supporting the lifeless head she drew a little white paper, and brought it to Dr Leigh. " To-day I found this, and kept it for you; but, oh Heaven! I suspected nothing! It was not there yesterday, for I made up his bed with my own hands."

He unfolded the paper, which was made up like a powder. There was nothing in ic now, but from it arose a peculiar soft sweet odour. Dr Leigh put it in his pocket. u ltis aB I suspected. This is a virulent poison, acting not like other poisons, but gradually and almost painlessly, though swiftly and surely. She threw herself on her knees by the bedside. "Easton, Easton! had I but known!" Dr Leigh stood for a few minutes silently debating in himself what he should do. " Do you know, he said at last, "it is my dnty to report a case like this, Mrs St Leonard? Otherwise, it may be a very serious matter to me." She gave him a quick, terrified look. " For Heaven's sake, Dr Leigh, do not drag my dead darling's name into publicity! I could not bear it;" and she shuddered involuntarily. " If it should come out afterwards," said Dr Leigh slowly, " I would be said to have committed an act highly culpable, and lose all honour in my profession." " Who is to know anything of it ?" she asked, eagerly. "Itis a secret known only to you and me and the dead. Who would gain anything by having this blazoned about ? and to me," she shuddered again, "it would be worse than death." He made no reply. Mrs St Leonard rose, and, going to him, laid her hand on his. " Will you have mercy on me ? I am in your power. But it seems as if the burden laid upon me were already so heavy that I have not strength to bear more. Oh, be my friend, and have pity upon me!" "For your sake, then," he said abruptly. He was M holden with the cords."

The next day she was to take her dead away with her to Cornwall. For the last time Dr Leigh went up to see her.

" What are your plans ?" he asked. May I know if you have any ?" " Plans, she said vaguely. " What plans could I have 1 Since he is gone, all wish or hope to live is gone with him."

Suddenly Dr Leigh's iron face relaxed and flushed.

"We are in the presence of the dead," he said, " and it is sin to speak of it before him. Bat it is the last time, perhaps, I shall ever see you; and say it I must, though you should hate me for it ever after. I love you, Vivian St Leonard, and my love is sin." She was standing by the fire-place, her back to him, and he could not see the blaze of triumph in her eyes. " It is sin," she said, ooldly, " in his presence as much as if he were alive. What can I say but that?" " Can there ever be hope f" he asked, presently She turned towards him. " I cannot tell —perhaps—some day. But I have a work to ao first, and it may take me all my life. Afterwards —God knows

" How shall I find you I" he asked. " Seek until you find me. Whereever there is sorrow, or anguish, or death—seek there. And now goodbye. Keep my secret." He did not understand her; but she would say no more, turning away from him to her dreary watching of the dead, and with that he was obliged to be content. (To be continued.)