"You insisted upon knowing it, Miss Carvel," said the professor quietly.
"You must not blame me for telling you. After all, it was as well that you should know it."
"Yes--it was as well." She turned away, and with bent head left the room. So it came about that both Chrysophrasia and Cutter on the same evening struck a blow at the new-found happiness of the cousins, raising between them, as it were, the spectre of the lost man.
After what had occurred in the afternoon, Paul had intended to seek a formal interview with John Carvel. He had no intention of keeping his engagement a secret, and indeed he already felt that, according to his European notions, he had done wrong in declaring his love to Hermione before asking her father"s consent. It had been an accident, and he regretted it. But after the scene at the dinner-table, he felt that he must see Hermione again before going to her father. Chrysophrasia"s remarks had been so evidently directed against him that he had betrayed himself, and he knew that Hermione had noticed his expression, as well as the momentary stupefaction which had chilled the whole party. He had no idea whether Hermione had ever heard his story or not. She had of course never referred to it, and he thought it was now his duty to speak to her, to ascertain the extent of her information, and, if necessary, to tell her all the circ.u.mstances; honestly avowing that, although he had never been accused openly of his brother"s death except by his mother, he knew that many persons had suspected him of having been voluntarily concerned in it. He would state the case plainly, and she might then decide upon her own course. But the question, "Where is your brother?" had been asked again, and he was deeply wounded,--far more deeply than he would acknowledge to himself. As we three sat together in the smoking-room, keeping up a dry, strained conversation, the old expression returned to his face, and I watched him with a kind of regret as I saw the cold, defiant look harden again, where lately there had been nothing but gentleness.
Hermione left the drawing-room, and glided through the hall towards the pa.s.sage which led to Madame Patoff"s rooms. She had formed a desperate resolution,--one of those which must be carried out quickly, or not at all. Mrs. North, the nurse, opened the door at the end of the corridor, and admitted the young girl.
"Can I see my aunt?" asked Hermione, trying to control her voice.
"Has anything happened, Miss Carvel?" inquired Mrs. North, scrutinizing her features and noticing her paleness.
"No--yes, dear Mrs. North, something has happened. I want to see aunt Annie," answered Hermione. "Do let me go in!"
The nurse did not suppose that anything Hermione could say would rouse Madame Patoff from her habitual apathy. After a moment"s hesitation, she nodded, and opened the door into the sitting-room. Hermione pa.s.sed her in silence, and entered, closing the door behind her. Her aunt sat as usual in a deep chair near the fire, beneath the brilliant light, the rich folds of her sweeping gown gathered around her, her face pale and calm, holding a book upon her knee. She did not look up as the young girl came in, but an uneasy expression pa.s.sed over her features.
Hermione had never believed that Madame Patoff was mad, in spite of Professor Cutter"s a.s.surances to the contrary. On this occasion she resolved to speak as though her aunt were perfectly sane.
"Dear aunt Annie," she began, sitting down beside the deep chair, and laying her hand on Madame Patoff"s apathetic fingers,--"dear aunt Annie, I have something to tell you, and I am sure you will listen to me."
"Yes," answered the lady, in her mechanical voice.
"Aunt Annie, Paul is still here. I love him, and we are going to be married."
"No," said Madame Patoff, in the same tone as before. Hermione"s heart sank, for her aunt did not seem to understand in the least. But before she could speak again, a curious change seemed to come over the invalid"s face. The features were drawn into an expression of pain, such as Hermione had never seen there before, the lip trembled hysterically, the blood rushed to her face, and Madame Patoff suddenly broke into a fit of violent weeping. The tears streamed down her cheeks, bursting between her fingers as she covered her eyes. She sobbed as though her heart would break, rocking herself backwards and forwards in her chair.
Hermione was frightened, and rose to call Mrs. North; but to her extreme surprise her aunt put out her hand, all wet with tears, and held her back.
"No, no," she moaned; "let me cry."
For several minutes nothing was heard in the room but her pa.s.sionate sobs. It seemed as though they would never stop, and again Hermione would have called the nurse, but again Madame Patoff prevented her.
"Aunt Annie,--dear aunt Annie!" said the young girl, trying to soothe her, and laying her hand upon the thick gray hair. "What is the matter?
Can I do nothing? I cannot bear to see you cry like this!"
Gradually the hysteric emotion spent itself, and Madame Patoff grew more calm. Then she spoke, and, to Hermione"s amazement, she spoke connectedly.
"Hermione, you must not betray my secret,--you will not betray me? Swear that you will not, my child!" She was evidently suffering some great emotion.
"Aunt Annie," said Hermione in the greatest excitement, "you are not mad! I always said you were not!"
Madame Patoff shook her head sorrowfully.
"No, child, I am not mad,--I never was. I am only unhappy. I let them think so, because I am so miserable, and I can live alone, and perhaps die very soon. But you have found me out."
Again it seemed as though she would burst into tears. Hermione hastened to rea.s.sure her, not knowing what she said, in the anxiety of the moment.
"You are safe with me, aunt Annie. I will not tell. But why, why have you deceived them all so long, a year and a half,--why?"
"I am the most wretched woman alive," moaned Madame Patoff. Then, looking suddenly into Hermione"s eyes, she spoke in low, distinct tones.
"You cannot marry Paul, Hermione. You must never think of it again. You must promise me never to think of it."
"I will not promise that," answered the young girl, summoning all her courage. "It is not true that he killed his brother. You never believed it,--n.o.body ever believed it!"
"It is true--true--truer than anything else can be!" exclaimed Madame Patoff, lowering her voice to a strong, clear whisper.
"No," said Hermione. "You are wrong, aunt Annie; it is an abominable lie."
"I tell you I know it is true," retorted her aunt, still whispering, but emphasizing every word with the greatest decision. "If you do not believe it, go to him and say, "Paul, where is your brother?" and you will see how he will look."
"I will. I will ask him, and I will tell you what he says."
"He murdered him, Hermione," continued Madame Patoff, not heeding the interruption. "He murdered him in Constantinople,--he and a Turkish soldier whom he hired. And now he has come here to marry you. He thinks I am mad--he is the worst man that ever lived. You must never see him again. There is blood on his hands--blood, do you hear? Rather than that you should love him, I will tell them all that I am a sane woman. I will confess that I have imposed upon them in order to be alone, to die in peace, or, while I live to mourn for my poor murdered boy,--the boy I loved. Oh how I loved him!"
This time her tears could not be controlled, and at the thought of Alexander she sobbed again, as she had sobbed before. Hermione was too much astonished and altogether thrown off her mental balance to know what to do. Her amazement at discovering that her aunt had for more than a year imposed upon Professor Cutter and upon the whole household was almost obliterated in the horror inspired by Madame Patoff"s words.
There was a conviction in her way of speaking which terrified Hermione, and for a moment she was completely unnerved.
Meanwhile, Madame Patoff"s tears ceased again. In the strange deception she had practiced upon all around her for so long, she had acquired an extraordinary command of her features and voice. It was only Hermione"s discovery which had thrown her off her guard, and once feeling that the girl knew her secret, she had perhaps enjoyed the luxury of tears and of expressed emotion. But this stage being past, she regained her self-control. She had meditated so long on the death of her eldest son that the mention of his name had ceased to affect her, and though she had been betrayed into recognizing Paul, she had cleverly resumed her play of apathetic indifference so soon as he had left her. Had Hermione known of the early stages which had led to her present state, she would have asked herself how Madame Patoff could have suddenly begun to act her part so well as to deceive even Professor Cutter from the first.
But Hermione knew nothing of all those details. She only realized that her aunt was a perfectly sane woman, and that she had fully confirmed the fearful accusation against Paul.
"Go now, my child," said Madame Patoff. "Remember your promise. Remember that I am a wretched old woman, come here to be left alone, to die.
Remember what I have told you, and beware of being deceived. You love a murderer--a murderer--remember that."
Hermione stood a moment and gazed at her aunt"s face, grown calm and almost beautiful again. Her tears had left no trace, her thick gray hair was as smooth as ever, her great dark eyes were deep and full of light.
Then, without another word, the young girl turned away and left the room, closing the door behind her, and nodding a good-night to Mrs.
North, who sat by her lamp in the outer room, gray and watchful as ever.
If her aunt was sane, was she human? The question suggested itself to Hermione"s brain as she walked along the pa.s.sage; but she had not time to frame an answer. As she went out into the hall she saw Paul standing by the huge carved, fireplace, his back turned towards her, his tall figure thrown into high relief by the leaping flames. She went up to him, and as he heard her step he started and faced her. He had finished his cigar with us, and was about to go quietly to his room in search of solitude, when he had paused by the hall fire. His face was very sad as he looked up.
"Paul," said the young girl, taking both his hands and looking into his eyes, "I believe in you,--you could not do anything wrong. People would never suspect you if you answered them, if you would only take the trouble to defend yourself."
"Defend myself?" repeated Paul. "Against what, Hermione?"
"When people say, "Where is your brother?"--or mean to say it, as aunt Chrysophrasia did this evening,--you ought to answer; you ought not to turn pale and be silent."
"You too!" groaned the unhappy man, looking into her eyes. "You too, my darling! Ah, no! It is too much." He dropped her hands, and turned again, leaning on the chimney-piece.
"How can you think I believe it? Oh, Paul! how unkind!" exclaimed Hermione, clasping her hands upon his shoulder, and trying to look at his averted face. "I never, never believed it, dear. But no one else must believe it either; you must make them not believe it."
"My dearest," said Paul, almost sternly, but not unkindly, "this thing has pursued me for a long time. I thought it was dead. It has come between you and me on the very day of our happiness. You say you believe in me. I say you shall not believe in me without proof. Good-by, love,--good-by!"
He drew her to him and kissed her once; then he tried to go.
"Paul," she cried, holding him, "where are you going?" She was terrified by his manner.
"I am going away," he said slowly. "I will find my brother, or his body, and I will not come back until then."
"But you must not go! I cannot bear to let you go!" she cried, in agonized tones.
"You must," he answered, and the color left his cheeks. "You cannot marry a man who is suspected. Good-by, my beloved!"