"More than any thing else," replied he.
"There is a sand-bank," began the stranger, "three hundred miles south of the island of Java, which goes by the name of Coffin Island. It is so called on account of a rock of peculiar shape at the eastern extremity.
I was coming from the East, on my way to England, when a violent storm arose, and I was cast ash.o.r.e alone upon that island. This may seem extraordinary to you, but what I have to tell is still more extraordinary. I found food and water there, and lived for some time. At last another hurricane came and blew away all the sand from a mound at the western end. This mound had been piled about a wrecked vessel--a vessel wrecked twenty years ago, twenty years ago," he repeated, with startling emphasis, "and the name of that vessel was the _Vishnu_."
"The _Vishnu_!" cried Despard, starting to his feet, while his whole frame was shaken by emotion at this strange narrative. "_Vishnu_!"
"Yes, the _Vishnu_!" continued the stranger.
"You know what that means. For many years that vessel had lain there, entombed amidst the sands, until at last I--on that lonely isle--saw the sands swept away and the buried ship revealed. I went on board. I entered the cabin. I pa.s.sed through it. At last I entered a room at one corner. A skeleton lay there. Do you know whose it was?"
"Whose?" cried Despard, in a frenzy of excitement.
"_Your father"s_!" said the stranger, in an awful voice.
"G.o.d in heaven!" exclaimed Despard, and he sank back into his seat.
"In his hand he held a ma.n.u.script, which was his last message to his friends. It was inclosed in a bottle. The storm had prevented him from throwing it overboard. He held it there as though waiting for some one to take it. I was the one appointed to that task. I took it. I read it, and now that I have arrived in England I have brought it to you."
"Where is it?" cried Despard, in wild excitement.
"Here," said the stranger, and he laid a package upon the table.
Despard seized it, and tore open the coverings. At the first sight he recognized the handwriting of his father, familiar to him from old letters written to him when he was a child--letters which he had always preserved, and every turn of which was impressed upon his memory. The first glance was sufficient to impress upon his mind the conviction that the stranger"s tale was true.
Without another word he began to read it. And as he read all his soul became a.s.sociated with that lonely man, drifting in his drifting ship.
There he read the villainy of the miscreant who had compa.s.sed his death, and the despair of the castaway.
That suffering man was his own father. It was this that gave intensity to his thoughts as he read. The dying man bequeathed his vengeance to Ralph Brandon, and his blessing to his son.
Despard read over the ma.n.u.script many times. It was his father"s words to himself.
"I am in haste," said the stranger. "The ma.n.u.script is yours. I have made inquiries for Ralph Brandon, and find that he is dead. It is for you to do as seems good. You are a clergyman, but you are also a man; and a father"s wrongs cry to Heaven for vengeance."
"And they shall be avenged!" exclaimed Despard, striking his clenched hand upon the table.
"I have something more before I go," continued the stranger, mournfully--"something which you will prize more than life. It was worn next your father"s heart till he died. I found it there."
Saying this he handed to Despard a miniature, painted on enamel, representing a beautiful woman, whose features were like his own.
"My mother!" cried Despard, pa.s.sionately, and he covered the miniature with kisses.
"I buried your father," said the stranger, after a long pause. "His remains now lie on Coffin Island, in their last resting-place."
"And who are you? What are you? How did you find me out? What is your object?" cried Despard, eagerly.
"I am Mr. Wheeler," said the stranger, calmly; "and I come to give you these things in order to fulfill my duty to the dead. It remains for you to fulfill yours."
"That duty shall be fulfilled!" exclaimed Despard. "The law does not help me: I will help myself. I know some of these men at least. I will do the duty of a son."
The stranger bowed and withdrew.
Despard paced the room for hours. A fierce thirst for vengeance had taken possession of him. Again and again he read the ma.n.u.script, and after each reading his vengeful feeling became stronger.
At last he had a purpose. He was no longer the imbecile--the crushed--the hopeless. In the full knowledge of his father"s misery his own became endurable.
In the morning he saw Langhetti and told him all.
"But who is the stranger?" Despard asked in wonder.
"It can only be one person," said Langhetti, solemnly.
"Who?"
"Louis Brandon. He and no other. Who else could thus have been chosen to find the dead? He has his wrongs also to avenge."
Despard was silent. Overwhelming thoughts crowded upon him. Was this man Louis Brandon?
"We must find him," said he. "We must gain his help in our work. We must also tell him about Edith."
"Yes," replied Langhetti. "But no doubt he has his own work before him; and this is but part of his plan, to rouse you from inaction to vengeance."
CHAPTER XLVIII.
WHO IS HE?
On the morning after the last escape of Beatrice, Clark went up to Brandon Hall. It was about nine o"clock. A sullen frown was on his face, which was pervaded by an expression of savage malignity. A deeply preoccupied look, as though he were altogether absorbed in his own thoughts, prevented him from noticing the half-smiles which the servants cast at one another.
Asgeelo opened the door. That valuable servant was at his post as usual.
Clark brushed past him with a growl and entered the dining-room.
Potts was standing in front of the fire with a flushed face and savage eyes. John was stroking his dog, and appeared quite indifferent. Clark, however, was too much taken up with his own thoughts to notice Potts. He came in and sat down in silence.
"Well," said Potts, "did you do that business?"
"No," growled Clark.
"No!" cried Potts. "Do you mean to say you didn"t follow up the fellow?"
"I mean to say it"s no go," returned Clark. "I did what I could. But when you are after a man, and he turns out to be the DEVIL HIMSELF, what can you do?"
At these words, which were spoken with unusual excitement, John gave a low laugh, but said nothing.
"You"ve been getting rather soft lately, it seems to me," said Potts.
"At any rate, what did you do?"