Between them, the driver and Holder got the burden out of the carriage and up the steps. The light from the hallway confirmed the rector"s fear.
"It"s Preston Parr," he said.
The next moment was too dreadful for surprise, but never had the sense of tragedy so pierced the innermost depths of Holder"s being as now, when Horace Bentley"s calmness seemed to have forsaken him; and as he gazed down upon the features on the pillow, he wept.... Holder turned away. Whatever memories those features evoked, memories of a past that still throbbed with life these were too sacred for intrusion. The years of exile, of uncomplaining service to others in this sordid street and over the wide city had not yet sufficed to allay the pain, to heal the wound of youth. Nay, loyalty had kept it fresh--a loyalty that was the handmaid of faith...
The rector softly left the room, only to be confronted with another harrowing scene in the library, where a frantic woman was struggling in Sally Grover"s grasp. He went to her a.s.sistance... Words of comfort, of entreaty were of no avail,--Kate Marcy did not seem to hear them. Hers, in contrast to that other, was the unmeaning grief, the overwhelming sense of injustice of the child; and with her regained physical strength the two had all they could do to restrain her.
"I will go to him," she sobbed, between her paroxysms, "you"ve got no right to keep me--he"s mine... he came back to me--he"s all I ever had...."
So intent were they that they did not notice Mr. Bentley standing beside them until they heard his voice.
"What she says is true," he told them. "Her place is in there. Let her go."
Kate Marcy raised her head at the words, and looked at him a strange, half-comprehending, half-credulous gaze. They released her, helped her towards the bedroom, and closed the door gently behind her... The three sat in silence until the carriage was heard returning, and the doctor entered.
The examination was brief, and two words, laconically spoken, sufficed for an explanation--apoplexy, alcohol. The prostrate, quivering woman was left where they had found her.
Dr. Latimer was a friend of Mr. Bentley"s, and betrayed no surprise at a situation which otherwise might have astonished him. It was only when he learned the dead man"s name, and his parentage, that he looked up quickly from his note book.
"The matter can be arranged without a scandal," he said, after an instant. "Can you tell me something of the circ.u.mstances?"
It was Hodder who answered.
"Preston Parr had been in love with this woman, and separated from her.
She was under Mr. Bentley"s care when he found her again, I infer, by accident. From what the driver says, they were together in a hotel in Ayers Street, and he died after he had been put in a carriage. In her terror, she was bringing him to Mr. Bentley."
The doctor nodded.
"Poor woman!" he said unexpectedly. "Will you be good enough to let Mr.
Parr know that I will see him at his house, to-night?" he added, as he took his departure.
IV
Sally Grower went out with the physician, and it was Mr. Bentley who answered the question in the rector"s mind, which he hesitated to ask.
"Mr. Parr must come here," he said.
As the rector turned, mechanically, to pick up his hat, Mr. Bentley added,
"You will come back, Hodder?"
"Since you wish it, sir," the rector said.
Once in the street, he faced a predicament, but swiftly decided that the telephone was impossible under the circ.u.mstances, that there could be no decent procedure without going himself to Park Street. It was only a little after ten. The electric car which he caught seemed to lag, the stops were interminable. His thoughts flew hither and thither. Should he try first to see Alison? He was nearest to her now of all the world, and he could not suffer the thought of her having the news otherwise. Yes, he must tell her, since she knew nothing of the existence of Kate Marcy.
Having settled that,--though the thought of the blow she was to receive lay like a weight on his heart,--Mr. Bentley"s reason for summoning Eldon Parr to Dalton Street came to him. That the feelings of Mr.
Bentley towards the financier were those of Christian forgiveness was not for a moment to be doubted: but a meeting, particularly under such circ.u.mstances, could not but be painful indeed. It must be, it was, Hodder saw, for Kate Marcy"s sake; yes, and for Eldon Parr"s as well, that he be given this opportunity to deal with the woman whom he had driven away from his son, and ruined.
The moon, which had shed splendours over the world the night before, was obscured by a low-drifting mist as Hodder turned in between the ornamental lamps that marked the gateway of the Park Street mansion, and by some undiscerned thought--suggestion he pictured the heart-broken woman he had left beside the body of one who had been heir to all this magnificence. Useless now, stone and iron and gla.s.s, pictures and statuary. All the labour, all the care and cunning, all the stealthy planning to get ahead of others had been in vain! What indeed were left to Eldon Parr! It was he who needed pity,--not the woman who had sinned and had been absolved because of her great love; not the wayward, vice-driven boy who lay dead. The very horror of what Eldon Parr was now to suffer turned Hodder cold as he rang the bell and listened for the soft tread of the servant who would answer his summons.
The man who flung open the door knew him, and did not conceal his astonishment.
"Will you take my card to Miss Parr," the rector said, "if she has not retired, and tell her I have a message?"
"Miss Parr is still in the library, sir."
"Alone?"
"Yes, sir." The man preceded him, but before his name had been announced Alison was standing, her book in her hand, gazing at him with startled eyes, his name rising, a low cry, to her lips.
"John!"
He took the book from her, gently, and held her hands.
"Something has happened!" she said. "Tell me--I can bear it."
He saw instantly that her dread was for him, and it made his task the harder.
"It"s your brother, Alison."
"Preston! What is it? He"s done something----"
Hodder shook his head.
"He died--to-night. He is at Mr. Bentley"s."
It was like her that she did not cry out, or even speak, but stood still, her hands tightening on his, her breast heaving. She was not, he knew, a woman who wept easily, and her eyes were dry. And he had it to be thankful for that it was given him to be with her, in this sacred relationship, at such a moment. But even now, such was the mystery that ever veiled her soul, he could not read her feelings, nor know what these might be towards the brother whose death he announced.
"I want to tell you, first, Alison, to prepare you," he said.
Her silence was eloquent. She looked up at him bravely, trustfully, in a way that made him wince. Whatever the exact nature of her suffering, it was too deep for speech. And yet she helped him, made it easier for him by reason of her very trust, once given not to be withdrawn. It gave him a paradoxical understanding of her which was beyond definition.
"You must know--you would have sometime to know that there was a woman he loved, whom he intended to marry--but she was separated from him. She was not what is called a bad woman, she was a working girl. I found her, this summer, and she told me the story, and she has been under the care of Mr. Bentley. She disappeared two or three days ago. Your brother met her again, and he was stricken with apoplexy while with her this evening. She brought him to Mr. Bentley"s house."
"My father--bought her and sent her away."
"You knew?"
"I heard a little about it at the time, by accident. I have always remembered it.... I have always felt that something like this would happen."
Her sense of fatality, another impression she gave of living in the deeper, instinctive currents of life, had never been stronger upon him than now.... She released his hands.
"How strange," she said, "that the end should have come at Mr.
Bentley"s! He loved my mother--she was the only woman he ever loved."
It came to Hodder as the completing touch of the revelation he had half glimpsed by the bedside.