A Dead Man’s Vengeance.

Fair Play, Volume I, Issue 17, 24 February 1894, Page 22

A Dead Man’s Vengeance.

By EDGAR FAWCETT.

[Copyright. All rights read veil.]

“1 clicl not know it!" she burst out, clinching both her slim hands as they hung at hei- sides. “1 never dreamed he was dying! [low should 1 dream so? He had been ill and ailing—he had had such attacks before, and 1 wished a New York doctor of reputation to see him instead of some —some mere country ignoramus.’’ Here she sank into one of the bamboo chairs that were scattered about the piazza, and looked at Gerald with a mixture of imperiousness and malice. “1 have only this to tell you, Gerald Ravelow,” she continued; “you may be as much in love with Brenda Bond as you please, but if my husband has left you an executor of his estate —and I dare say that lie has—then I shall demand that a full settlement of it shall be made as speedily as possible, giving me the share to which 1 am entitled, for 1 wish to leave this country and cscapo from all further insolence at tho hands of this arrogant sister. Yes, 1 wish to go back to England”— “With Archibald?” asked Gerald, making the two sharp words cut her unfinished sentence like tho swift stroke of a knife. She stari.ial terribly, and then stared at him. “How do you know?- What do you know?" she began to stammer. He gave a brief, cold laugh. “Oh, I'm a great deal more ignorant than 1 should like to be,” he answered. And jfchen, feeling that to stay and talk with jher like this might bo to place within filler power some hint, of a certain secret ■* it was both his duty anil his desire jealously to guard for the present, he 'slightly lifted his hat, murmured “Good and passed at a rapid pace |down the piazza steps.

“To-morrow will bo time enough for action,” he thought, as he hurried across the twilight lit lawns. A dread which he could not dismiss, however, assailed him with regard to Brenda. Was it safe for her to pass another night at Shadyshore, with the hatred of Natalie vigilant and asserted. But soon Gerald smiled at his own fears. Whatever evil this widow of Louis Bond might already have done it was sure that she would put no future obstacle between herself and the possession of a noble fortune. Policy would be the potent motive to keep her from all immediate mischief. For the first time in his life Gerald felt beset by a sense of “nerves.” Fie would almost rather have lost a hand than violate his oath to the dead, but this oath had of bite entered his memory with an altogetherno vel series of thrills. By 11 o'clock that evening ha found himself in a most perturbed condition. Flis own home, so closely adjoining the larger estate of the Bonds', had been left in charge of an old couple whom his sudden appearance had greatly surprised After doing what they could for his entertainment these two custodians had retired to bed at Gerald's urgent behest. The evening outside was full of soft breezes and scintillant starlight—summer darkness, with just the least-autum-nal touch to it. To reach the Shadyshore vault would require a walk of not more than ten or fifteen minutes. Gerald had secured the key. having long ago placed it in a certain drawer, which he had now but to open for the purpose of laying his hands on what they sought. He had supplied himself with two or three candles and a box of matches. All was ready. His heart beat queerlv as he began bis little journey across lots and by dark clusters of lonely foliage. The ghastly character of his undertaking was not its only drawback. He seemed to see, again and again, before be reached the vault forms dart out upon him with vetoing gestures, accusative eyes. And how could he explain his trespassing presence in case any such arrest should occur? But, in reality, he gained the vault quite unobserved, it was built of solid granite in the side of a slight hill. He listened for a moment, and then descended the small flight of steps leading inward to a large metal door. Then he inserted bis key in the lock. It fitted perfectly, and quite soon afterward he nad passed within the interior of the vault, leaving the mciai door behind him just enough ajar to admit a certain quantity of air, yet not enough so as to attract tho notice of any possible passer. He now stood in pitchy darkness. A heavy smell as of fresh cut flowers at ouce oppressed him. Fie had ceased to feel trepidation; his old magnificent courage and coolness had come back to him. Slowly he struck a match_ and

lighted one of his tapers. As the flame straggled from intense dimness into comparative brightness the solemn, stone brought chamber became clearly visible. It contained but three coffins, each laid in a separate niche. One was that of Louis Bond’s mother, one that of his father and one was his own. The last laj 7 heaped over with wreaths and crosses. All the niches were large, and in a manner took from the usual grimness of such receptacles by being uncramped and commodious of aspect. Gerald had brought a small sconce for his candle, and now set both on the edge of the empty niche, just above the casket of his friend. He waited some time in awed silence. To open the coffin was an act from which he shrank most reluctantly. And yet his sacred oath compelled him to perform this act. There was only the usual lock to be pried asunder, and for this purpose he had brought with him a capable instrument. Presently he banished his repulsion. “How can there be the least desecration,” he thought, “when 1 am only following out Louis' own earnest wishes? Besides the vow he once exacted from me there is a new stimulus ia Brenda’s account of that hidden paper.” And yet to spend three mortal hours in this dismal vault! He began already to feel that his nerve power, strong and trustworthy as i l was, could scarcely endure so drastic an ordeal. Still he must make the effort. Lookiug at his watch he discovered that only (ifteeu minutes of the allotted time had already passed. And yet they had seemed far more than an hour. Une stout wrench with his chisel and the coffin was pried apart. He soon looked upon the calm, waxen face of Louis. How like, and yet how completely soulless and irresponsive! What hope of any vital resurrectional sign could possibly be drawn from this pallor and apathy. He leaned closer above the still features, familiar and yet utterly changed. He forgot the concealed paper of which Brenda had told him, while he parted from the dead man’s breast and chin the thick masses of flowers which lay there. But he remembered, and with a piercing force of recollection, what he had hound himself of old to use every mental effort in desiring and yearning after. Some of the flowers fell over upon th 9 stone flooring of the vault —loose camellias and white roses, with perhaps a few glossy leaves of either. He meant to stoop and pick them up, when suddenly a strange and horrible tiling occurred. The light went out, and it seemed to him that as it did so a sharp metallic sound rang through the dead, abrupt darkness. And then something struck him, with a light, yet distinct, contact, full on the breast. Ho lifted his hand and caught a stiff square of glazed paper. “The hidden letter!” flashed through his brain. “He has given it to me him-

self!” For the first time in all his brave young life Gerald Ravelow knew what it was to he dazed and half mad with terror. Ee reeled backward in the dense darkness, clutching the letter. Bow he found his way out of the vault he never afterward remembered. Everything seemed to him a blank until he found himself on the grounds of his own estate, with well known trees and paths gleaming all about him, and the tae’it, inscrutable stars glittering down upon him from the mighty conclave of the midnight heaven. j CHAPTER V. Brenda wondered for three or four hours the next morning why Gerald did not keep his promise and appear. Natalie passe 1 her ouoe or twice in the halls wit| a pale, supercilious face. Repeatedlj Brenda went out on the piazza and looked with longing eyes toward Gei lid’s home, whose roofs were just faintly seen above masses of greenery. At last, to her surprise, she saw him coming up tl e lawn from the outer road with a man on either side of him. She slipped into the house again, and watched the approaching figures from one of the drawing room windows. While she did so Natalie entered the room. “I see Gerald Ravelow coming here,” she broke out, “with two men in his company. Who are they?” ”1 have no idea,” answered Brenda, turning from the window. “Why should l have?” Natalie gave a slight laugh that was like a sneer made into sound. Just then steps were heard on the piazza. Moved by a sudden impulse, Brenda flung open the blinds of the window uear which she had been standing. “This way, Gerald,” she said. Gerald entered soon afterward alone. But Brenda saw that his two companions waited just outside. The young man put out kis hand toward Brenda while he fixed a hard and cold stare at Natalie. i “I have a paper,” he said, “written a day or two before his death by your late husband. In that paper he accuses you of trying to poison him. He defected you, but said nothing. He preferred to dio by your hand, since he had loved jjpu so well that to live on would have been a horror. I quote almost his exact words. And there is no doubt about the authenticity of this paper that he left. Brenda, here, received it from him and placed it secretly within his breast after he had been laid in his coffin. I found it there. Lu it he also states that not long ago he forced from you a certain confession regarding a man named Archibald Clay, and that he has reason to believe you hide at the present time a packet of letters from this man and one or bottles of poison as well

within a particular cabinet upstairs. I have secured a search warrant and must therefore” At the word “search warrant” Natalie darted toward the door. Gerald followed her, after a swift sign through the wide piazza window. He sprang up stairs, knowing the house so well that the cabinet to which his friend’s letter had alluded and the apartment in which it 6tood were both well remembered by him. But quick as he had been. Natalie reached the cabinet before him. He.saw her kneeling at ono of its open drawers. The next instant ho saw her lift something to her lips. Almost immediately after that she fell heavily backward. There had lain a swifter poison here in thercabinet than that stealthy one which had doubtless wrought her husband’s death. She was quite lifeless when they picked her up. Afterward, when rigid examinations were made as to her previous life, it seemed slight wonder that such a woman should have preferred to end by suicide the final collapse of her evil hopes. She had undoubtedly been the wife of a certain disreputable Englishman called “Capt." Clay, and one of whose aliases was Loveridgo, long before her marriage with poor infatuate 1 Louis Band. Emm some of the letters from this man found in the cabinet it was only too evident that she had planned Louis' murder with his fall knowledge, and that the two expected at some future day to enjoy the wealth which would thus vilely have been secured. During the following autumn occurred Gerald's m iiviage with Brenda, greatly to the delight of ?.l”s. Lave low. whose health laid uow regained its usual gentle state of invalidism Some time before this event Brenda had visited the vault where her brother lay. and had lire: ordered with tier own hand vrliat dim may had been caused by Gerald's weird visit, and afterward quietly obtained aid for the restoration of the injured coffin. But Gerald could never be induce.! to accompany her on either of the several little pilgrimages which her task involved. “No, Brenda.” he would say, “there are memories connected with that place which will haunt me till 1 die. No need of making them more vivid than they are sure to be already.” But once Brenda said: “Perhaps you are quite wrong in believing. Gerald, that anything supernatural really occurred that night. In my hurry and agitation, seizing a moment when she was not present, 1 thrust the paper within poor Louis’ breast. It may bo that I lodged it insecurely, and that the movement of the coffin afterward displaced it still more. When, as yon say, yon disparted the fiowers that lay on the breast of Louis, the paper may have been half coactaled by these, while its whiteness corresponded to that of the

flowers themselves, all being Keen in u dim light. Hence, when the candle fell” “Foil?” interrupted Gerald. “Why do you state that it fell?" Bremla smiled over so faintly. “Because you had sot it, in itssoonce, at the edge of one of the stono uiches. That it should fall would have boon nothing rumarkablo. And when, as it scorned to you, the paper was almost put into your outstretched hand, this may merely have been the natural result ol* its having slid to the floor like some of the flowers that 1 found there." Gerald listened intently, und then shook his head with an unwonted gravity. “No, Brenda," ho said. "Nothing can ever shako my faith that the ilodd man miraculously made mo an ngont of his veugounco beyond the grave.” “Perhaps he did,” answered Brenda; “1 don’t deny it. I'm not attempting to explain any deep spiritual -truth; Ptn only socking to account for material facts. The last —who knows?-—may often be but the blind, obedient servants of the first.” “1 dare say that is true," returned Cl.‘raid, musingly. But fur many years afterward he adhered to liia own private opiuious, nevertheless tiiic