THE LEGACY OF CAIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9172, 29 September 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE LEGACY OF CAIN.

BY WILKIF, COLLINS, Author of "The Woman in White," "The Evil Genius," &c., &c.

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]

CHAPTER LXlll.(Continued. )

Aftkk more than an hour of questions put without reserve, and of answers given without prevarication, I had travelled over the whole ground laid out by the narratives which appear in these pages, and had arrived at my conclusion. There was Philip Dunboyne before me, resignedly waiting for my decision. A man with nothing absolutely wicked in him—but with a nature so perilously weak, in many respects, that it might drift into wickedness unless a stronger nature was at hand to hold it back. Married to a wife without force of character, the probabilities would point to him as likely to yield to examples which might make him a bad husband. Married to a wife with a will of her own, and with true love to sustain her—a wife who would know when to take the command, and how to take the command ife who, finding him tempted to commit actions unworthy of his better self, would be far-sighted enough to perceive that her husband's sense of honour might sometimes lose its balance, without being on that account hopelessly depraved—then, and in these cases only, the probabilities would point to Philip as a man likely to be the better and t ie happier for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him. To the best of my ability I formed my judgment— and this, briefly stated, was the result. So I offered my hand to Philip, and told him that he might consider me as his friend —with Eunice's best interests always held in reserve. My next proceeding was to shut myself up in my room, and to seriously consider what course I should take, when I went to the farm-house 011 the next day. Knowing what I alone knew, I held the marriage of these two young people at my disposal. I had only to relate what had happened on the day when the Chaplain brought the Minister to the prison, and the one obstacle to their union would be removed. But, without considering Philip, it was simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice herself. What was Helena's disgrace compared with the infamy which stained the name of the poor girl's mother ? The man must have been a monster inched who would not have shrunk from that disclosure as I shrank from it. What was the other alternative ? To see it was easy enough ; but to decide on adopting it was more than I had the resolution to do. Rashly enough, nc doubt, I left my decision to be influenced by the coming interview with Eunice.

The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded me to let him be mj' companion, on tine condition—that he waited in the carriage while I went into the house.

I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding with the greatest caution, before I ventured on saying the all-important words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled. The worst of those anxieties, under which the delicate health of Mr. Gracedieu had broken down, was my anxiety now. Could I reconcile it to my conscience to permit a man, innocent of all knowledge of the truth, to marry the daughter of a condemned murderess, without honestly telling him what he was about to do ? Did I deserve to be pitied ? Did I deserve to be blamed ? —my mind was still undecided when I entered the house.

She ran to meet me as if she had been my daughter ; she kissed me as if she had been my daughter ; she fondly looked up at me as if she had been my daughter. At the sight of that sweet young face, so sorrowful, and so patiently enduring sorrow, all my prepared talk, all my doubts and hesitations, everything artificial about me with which I had entered the room, vanished in an instant. I was resolved come what might of it, that she should marry Philip. Impulse, in a man at the end of his lite Yes, impulse—and nothing else.

After she had thanked me for coming to see her, I saw her tremble a little. The uppermost interest in her heart was forcing its way outwards to expression, try as she might to keep it back. Have you serin Philip ?" she asked. r was utterly reckless ; I owned that he was outside, in the carriage. Before she could reproach me, I went on with what I had to say : "My child, I know what a sacrifice you have made; and I should honour you scruples, if you had any reason for feeling them." "Any reason for feeling them?" She turned pale as she repeated the words. An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to the carriage to tell Philip to come in. "My dear, lam not putting you to any unfair trial," I assured her ; "I am going to prove that I love you as truly as if you were my own child." When they were both present, I resolved that they should not suffer a moment of needless suspense. Standing between them I took Eunice's hand, and laid my other hand on Philip's shoulder, and spoke out plainly. - " I am here to make you both happy," I said. "I can remove the only obstacle to your marriage, and I mean to do it. But I must insist on one condition. Give me your promise, Philip, that you will ask for no explanations, and that you will be satisfied with the one true statement, which is all that I can offer you." He gave me his promise, without an instant's hesitation.

" Philip grants what I ask," I said to Eunice. "Do you grant it too ?" Her hand turned cold in mine; but she poke firmly when she said Yes." I gave her into Philip's care. It was his privilege to console and support her. It was my duty to say the decisive words: " Rouse your courage, dear Eunice ; you are no more affected by Helena's disgrace than I am. Your are not her sister. Her father is not your father ; her mother was not your mother. I was present, in the time of your infancy, when Mr. Gracedieu's fatherly kindness received, you as his adopted child. This, I declare to you both, on my word of honour, is the truth." How she bore it, I am not able to say. My foolish old eyes were filling with tears. I could just see plainly enough to find my way to the door, and leave them together. What had I done ?

That was not the question. I had done well, if their happiness justified me. What had I concealed?

I left Time to be my accomplice, and keep the secret; or to be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way, were perhaps equal. The deed was done.

CHAPTER LXIV.

The marriage was deferred, at Eunice's request, as an expression of respect to the memory of Philip's father. When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that the wedding ceremony should be held —after due publicaton of bannsat the parish church of the London suburb in which my house was situated. Miss Jillgall was bridesmaid, and I gave away the bride. Before we set out for the church, Eunice asked leave to speak with me for a moment in private. " Don't think." she said, "that I am forgetting my promise to be content with what you have told me about myself. I am not so ungrateful as that. But Ido want, before I consent to be Philip's wife, to feel sure that I am not quite unworthy of him. Is it because lam of mean birth that you told me I was Mr. Gracedieu's adopted child—and told me no more?"

I could honestly satisfy her, so far. " Certainly not !" 1 said. She put her arms round my neck. "Do you say that," she asked, "to make my mind easy ? or do you say it on your honour ?"

" On my word of honour." We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe the marriage, in her own inimitable way. "Nowedding breakfast, when you don't want to eat it. No wedding speeches, when nobody wants to make them, and nobody wants to hear them. And no false sentiment, shedding tears and reddening noses, on the happiest day in the whole year. ' A model marriage ! I could desire nothing better, it I had any prospect of being a bride myself." They went away for their honeymoon to a quiet place by the seaside, not very far from the town in which Eunice had passed some of the happiest and the wretchedest days in her life. She persisted in thinking it possible that Mr. Gracedieu might recover the use of his faculties at the 'ast, and might wish to see her on his death-bed. " His adopted daughter," she gently reminded me," is his only daughter now." The doctor shook his head when I told him what Eunice had said to me—and, the sad truth must be told, the doctor was right. Miss Jillgall returned, 011 the weddingday, to take care of the good man who had befriended her in her hour of need.

Before the end of the week, I heard from her, and was disagreeably reminded of an incident which we had both forgotten, absorbed as we were in other and greater interests at the time.

Mrs. Tenbruggen had again appeared on the scene ! She had written to Miss Jillgall, from Paris, to say that she had heard of old Mr. Dunboyne's death, and that she wished to have the letter returned, which she had left for delivery to Philip's father on the day when Philip and Eunice were married. I had my own suspicions of what that letter might contain ; and I regretted that Miss Jillgall had sent it back without first waiting to consult me. My misgivings, thus excited, were increased by more news of no very welcome kind. Mrs. Tenbruggen had decided on returning to her professional pursuits in England. Massage, now the fashion everywhere, had put money into her pocket among the foreigners ; and her husband, finding that she persisted in I keeping out of his reach, had consented to a compromise. He was ready to submit to a judicial separation ; in consideration of a little income which his wife had consented to settle on him, under the advice of her lawyer. Some days later I received a delightful letter from Philip and Eunice, reminding me that I had engaged to pay them a visit at the seaside. My room was ready for me, and I was left to choose my own day. I had just begun to write my reply, gladly accepting the invitation, when an ominous circumstance occurred. My servant announced " a lady and I found myself face to face with Mrs. Tenbruggen ! She was as cheerful as ever, and as eminently agreeable as ever. "I have heard it all from Selina," she said. " Philip's marriage to Eunice (I shall go and congratulate them, of course), and the catastrophe (how dramatic !) of Helena Gracedieu. I warned Selina that Miss Helena would end badly. To tell the truth, she frightened me. I don't deny that I am a mischievous woman when I find myself affronted, quite capable of taking my revenge in my own small spiteful way. But poison and murder—ah, the frightful subject ; let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn't make my hair (it's really my own hair) stand on end. Has Selina told you that I have got rid of my charming husband, on easy pecuniary terms? Oil) you know that? Very well. I will tell you something that you don't know. Mr. Governor, I have found you out." " May I venture to ask how ?" " When I guessed which was which of those two girls," she answered," and guessed wrong, you deliberately encouraged the

mistake. Very clever, bub you overdid it. From that moment, though I kept it to myself, I began to fear I might be wrong. Do you remember Low Lanes, my dear sir ? A charming old church. My lawyer consulted the register; and the date of Helena's birthday set me right at last. I know, as well as you do, that Philip has married the adopted child. He has had a mother-in-law who was hanged, and, what is more, he has the honour, through his late father, of being- otherwise connected with the murderess by marriageas his aunt!' :

Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of ray presence of mind. "How did you discover that?" I was foolish enough to ask.

" Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison ?" she said. " The father —as I mentioned at the timehad been a dear and valued friend of mine. No person could be better qualified to tell me who had married his wife's sister. If that lady had been living, I should never have been troubled with the charge of the child. Any more questions ?" " Only one. Is Philip to hear of this?" "Oh, for shame! I don't deny that Philip insulted me grossly, in one way ; and that Philip's late father insulted me grossly, in another way. But mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns good for evil, and wouldn't for the world disturb the connubial felicity of Air. and Mrs. Philip Dunboyna." The moment the woman was out of my house, I sent a telegram to Philip to say that he might expoct to see me that night. I caught the last train in the evening ; and I sat down to supper with those two harmless young creatures, knowing I must prepare the husband for what threatened them, and weakly deferring it, when I found myself in their presence, until the next day. Eunice was, in some degree, answerable for this hesitation on my part. No one could look at her husband, and fail to see that he was a supremely happy man. But I detected signs of care in "the wife's face. Before breakfast the next morning I was out on the beach, trying to decide how the inevitable disclosure might be made. Eunice joined me. Now, when we were alone, I asked if she was really and completely happy. Quietly and sadly she answered: "Not yet." I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed disappointment and surprise. "I shall never be quite happy," she resumed, "till I know what it is that you kept from me on that memorable day. I don't like having a secret from my husband —though it is not my secret." " Remember your promise," I said. "I don't forget it," she answered. "I can only wish that my promise would keep back the thoughts that come to me in spite of myself." '' What thoughts ?" "There is something, as I believe, in the story of my parents which you are afraid to confide to me. Oh, if you would only trust me ! I could bear anything better than my own dreadful doubts !"

" My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts, on the mors.ing of your marriage." " No. My mot/' —the doubt of her is the doubt that torments me now."

" What do you mean ?" She put her arm in mine, and held by it with both hands.

" The mock - mother !" she whispered. " Do you remember that dreadful Vision, that horrid whispering temptation in the dead of night? Was it a mock-mother? Oh, pity me ! I don't know who my mother was. 1 daren't ask myself if she was good or bad !"

Those word decided me at last. Could she suffer more than she had suffered already if I trusted her with the truth ? I ran the risk. There was a time of silence that filled me with terror. The interval passed. She took my hand, and put it to her heart. " Does it beat as if I was frightened?" she asked.

No ! It was beating calmly. "Does it tell you the truth?" she went

It told me that I had not surprised her. That unforgotten Vision of the night had prepared her for the worst. "I know," I said, "that these whispered temptations overpowered you again, when you and Helena met on the stairs, and you forbade her to enter Philip's room. And I know that love had conquered once more when you were next seen sitting by Philip's bedside. Tell me—have you any misgivings now ? Is there fear in your heart of the return of that tempting spirit in you, in the time to come ?"

" Not while Philip lives !" There, where her love was—there her safety was. And she knew it! She suddenly left me. I asked where she was going. " To tell Philip," was the reply. She was waiting for me at the door, when I followed her to the house. "Is it done ?" I said. " It is done," she answered. " What did he say ?" "He said: 'My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever, I should be fonder of you now.'" I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip the precious trust of Eunice's happiness. If that reply does not justify me, where is justification to be found ? POSTCKIPT. Later in the day Mrs. Tenbruggen arrived to offer her congratulations. She asked for a few minutes with Philip alone. As a cat elaborates her perparations for killing a mouse, so the human cat elaborated her perparations for killing Philip's happiness. He remained uninjured by her teeth and her claws. " Somebody," she said, " has told you of it already ?" And Philip answered : " Yes ; my wife." For some months longer Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he said to Eunice : " I want to teach you to knit Sit by me, and see me do it." His hands fell softly on his lap ; his head sank little by little on her shoulder. She could just hear him whisper : " How pleasant it is to sleep !" Never was Death's dreadful work more gently done. Our married pair live now on the paternal estate in Ireland ; and Miss Jillgall reigns queen of domestic affairs. lam still strong enough to pass my autumn holidays in that pleasant house.

At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu.

The reading of her diary had set her before me a self-painted fiend. How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with her, and thought she was the true child of her mother ! It was weak indeed to compare the mean little vices of Mrs. Gracedieu with the diabolical depravity of her daughter's nature! Here, the doctrine of hereditary transmission of moral qualities must own that it fails. Helena inherits nothing. The wickedness that originates in itself, is the wickedness that festers in that black soul.

She left the prison, on the expiration of her sentence, so secretly that it was impossible to trace her. Some months later Miss Jillgall received an illustrated newspaper published in the United States. She shadows me one of the potraits in it. '' Do you recognise the illustrious original ?" she asked, with indignant emphasis on the last two words. I recognised Helena. " Now read her new title," Miss Jillgall continued.

I read," The Reverend Miss Gracedieu."

The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: " This eminent lady, once the victim of a shocking miscarriage of justice, is now the distinguished leader of a new community Priestess of the Worship of Pure Reason."

"I once asked you," said Miss Jillgall, " what Helena would do when she came out of prison, and you said she would do very well. Oh, Mr. Governor, Solomon was nothing to you!" THE END. On Saturday, October 6, the opening chapters of a new and interesting story will be published in our columns. This story is of a class different from those given to our readers for some time past. It is entitled, "MEIKLE JOHN'S DETECTIVE EXPERIENCES," as related by himself. The story is one full of interest, and a record of daring that has seldom been equalled. The criminal is necessarily shown in his true character, and the lengthened experience of Inspector Meiklejohn has enabled him to get a full insight to the workings of the criminal mind. On Saturday, October 6, the first chanter of this story will be published. _ I