"Then bring me a cross, and nail me to it--in my senses while I live, and while I bleed to death--you"ll drag her here to see me--so that I may curse her as I die!"
"The man is mad!" he gasped, "mad as a March hare!"
"Keep your word!" furiously I hissed. "I bind you to your word!"
Sir Charles exchanged fearful glances with the negroes. I watched him, frowning like a thunder-cloud.
"Come, come!" he said at last. "You must sleep over this, Hume! You must not set me a task beyond my power--I----"
But I broke in upon him with a curse. "What!" I shrieked. "You bragged and bleated of the torture you had in store for me--and when I bid you kill me as I wish to die, you shrink and blanch and mouth your feminine humanity. But you"ve given me your promise--and you"ll keep it or by--"
I finished with a storm of maledictions so blasphemously horrible, and which I delivered with such wild and awful force, that even the stolid negroes staggered back and rolled their eyes. As for Sir Charles, he turned sheet white before I was half through, and with a look of something marvellously resembling terror, he turned and simply rushed out of the room.
I screamed my curses after him, straining and tugging at my bonds like one possessed. But at length, thoroughly outworn with the exertion, I stopped and feigned to swoon.
Next moment the cellar was in darkness, and I heard the negroes stumble out and bolt the door behind them.
I"ll not relate the anguish I endured that night, more than to say it made an old man of me--in mind, if not in body. I did not sleep. I could not if I would, for I was companied with memories sharp enough to sting a soul from torpor deep as death. And I would not, if I could, because I feared that those were by me who might take advantage of my slumber to extend my sleep beyond mortality.
But none came near me, and through the dragging hours I heard no sound.
Morning came without the black dark lessening one whit, until the negro, Beudant, brought a candle with some breakfast. He was plainly afraid of me at first, and without doubt I was not a pleasant thing to gaze upon. But his fears faded as he fed me and saw me grateful for the food.
"You are in a gentler mood, monsieur, than overnight," he presently remarked. "It is better so, believe me. If I were you, I would not die upon a cross."
"Just so," I answered quickly. "I do not wish to die at all, would you like to make yourself a rich man, M. Beudant?"
"Why, yes, monsieur."
"Then help me to escape, and I shall fill your hands with gold."
"But in that case I should incur my patron"s enmity."
"And in the other you will run a very certain risk of being hanged."
"Even so, monsieur."
"You fear your patron more keenly than the law!" I cried. "Believe me, you are wrong."
"Pardon!" he interrupted, "you mistake, monsieur. I fear no man. Sir Charles Venner is my patron and my teacher. But he is also my friend. I would suffer death for him, if need arose."
I sighed. "Will he really kill me, do you think?" I asked.
The negro pursed out his thick, black lips. "I feel sure of it," he muttered. "As soon as once the jewels that he seeks are in his hands, you"ll die."
"Then my hours are numbered," I said gloomily, "for that will be to-day."
"But then, can it be, you told him truly, yesternight, monsieur?"
"I was mad!" I groaned aloud. "Mad. Last night I cared for nothing! I was torn apart with rage and with despair. But now it is different." I groaned again. "Ah! M. Beudant, is there no hope for me? You do not look inhuman! Would you have the murder of a fellow being on your soul.
Help me to live, if only for a little while--a few short hours? One other day? I am not fit to die, Beudant. Great G.o.d, no! I am not fit to die!"
"What can I do for you, monsieur?"
"Oh! it is not much I ask. Go to your patron and persuade him that I lied last night."
"Impossible, monsieur! He has already left the house."
"Then follow him, Beudant. I am bound or I would beseech you on my knees. Beudant for the love of G.o.d----"
"Monsieur, monsieur!"
"Kind, sweet Beudant!" I wailed. "Beautiful, excellent Beudant, do this little thing for me. See it is a dying man entreats you. Sweet Beudant, pretty Beudant."
The poor negro looked the picture of distress. His eyes rolled in his head, and he knew not what to do or say.
"I cannot deceive my patron!" he cried at last.
But at that I shrieked aloud and drove him from the room with venomous blood-curdling curses. In his agitation he forgot to take with him the candle, which he had set upon the floor, and that circ.u.mstance gave me an occupation for some hours which in some degree alleviated my dark mood of bitterness. I thought that by dint of great stress and labour I might work my chair beside the flame and sear through some or other of my bonds. In four hours of constant effort I had moved a foot perhaps, but then I gave up in despair, for I had still a yard to go and already the candle guttered in its socket.
Jussieu was the next to visit me, bearing on a tray my mid-day meal.
After eating heartily, I tested him in much the fashion I had tried on Beudant. He gave me similar replies, and I rewarded him with similar maledictions. But instead of flying from my oaths as the other negro had, to my astonishment, he quelled me with a rolling sermon, delivered in the finest Lutheran style. Texts quivered from his tongue, like shafts of lightning in a storm, and the black canting hypocrite, who was ready at his master"s nod to murder me, dared preach to me of penitence, and summoned me in thunderous tones to prepare my soul for death.
At first rage and indignation held me speechless; but when the humour of the situation struck me properly, I yelled with laughter, and laughed and laughed until my ribs ached and the tears trickled down my cheeks.
When I had sobered he was gone, and I was glad, despite the dark. I am too good a hypocrite myself to endure a man whose hypocrisy may be pierced with a pin. And though I had laughed at him, too much of Jussieu would have made me sick.
Seven hours later Sir Charles Venner entered my prison cellar with his ebony attendants, who bore between them a small table spread with lamps, and one or two strange ugly looking implements.
The surgeon wore a gloomy look, and he made no answer to my courteous greeting. But bidding Beudant shut the door, he turned to me and said:--
"Hume, after all you lied to me!"
"What!" I cried as if dumbfounded. Then quickly recovering my countenance, I exclaimed. "Oh, yes, yes. You have discovered it. Yes, yes, I lied to you. The jewels are really hidden behind the second volume of Bruton"s "Anatomy of Melancholy" in the bookshelf on the eastern wall of Sir William Dagmar"s library."
Sir Charles favoured me with a black frown. "You are such an accomplished liar!" he said coldly, "that I can no longer rely upon your unsupported word."
"What would you do?" I cried.
"Persuade you to be honest with a foretaste of d.a.m.nation!"
At that I felt my blood turn cold within me, and yet strange to say a hot sweat broke out on my forehead and my face.
"You monster!" I gasped. "You would really torture me?"
"I shall," he retorted. "Jussieu, will you please to operate."
"But certainly, monsieur," replied the brutal preacher, with a grin of malice which showed me that my laughter had not failed to p.r.i.c.k his vanity.
He seized one of the implements that I had noted and immediately approached my chair. In another moment my left hand was encased in a curious steel glove, which held the fingers widely separated in rigid iron stalls. I tremulously a.s.sured myself this was a farce to try my nerve; and resolving not to watch the leering villain at his work, I looked up at Sir Charles, who met my eyes as impa.s.sively as ever.