Armadale

nothing but gratitude on the other, is destined to lead to an evil end. Judge, you who are a clergyman, between the dead father, whose word is in these pages, and the living son, whose word is now on his lips! What is it appointed me to do, now that I am breathing the same air, and living under the same roof with the son of the man whom my father killed—to perpetuate my father's crime by mortally injuring him, or to atone for my father's crime by giving him the devotion of my whole life? The last of those two faiths is my faith, and shall be my faith, happen what may. In the strength of that better conviction, I have come here to trust you with my father's secret, and to confess the wretched story of my own life. In the strength of that better conviction, I can face you resolutely with the one plain question, which marks the one plain end of all that I have come here to say. Your pupil stands at the starting-point of his new career, in a position singularly friendless; his one great need is a companion of his own age on whom he can rely. The time has come, sir, to decide whether I am to be that companion or not. After all you have heard of Ozias Midwinter, tell me plainly, will you trust him to be Allan Armadale's friend?'

Mr. Brock met that fearlessly frank question by a fearless frankness on his side.

'I believe you love Allan,' he said, 'and I believe you have spoken the truth. A man who has produced that impression on me is a man whom I am bound to trust. I trust you.'

Midwinter started to his feet, his dark face flushing deep; his eyes fixed brightly and steadily, at last, on the rector's face. 'A light!' he exclaimed, tearing the pages of his father's letter, one by one, from the fastening that held them. 'Let us destroy the last link that holds us to the horrible past! Let us see this confession a heap of ashes before we part!'

'Wait!' said Mr. Brock. 'Before you burn it, there is a reason for looking at it once more.'

The parted leaves of the manuscript dropped from Midwinter's hands. Mr. Brock took them up, and sorted them carefully until he found the last page.

'I view your father's superstition as you view it,' said the rector. 'But there is a warning given you here, which you will do well (for Allan's sake and for your own sake) not to neglect. The last link with the past will not be destroyed when you have burned these pages. One of the actors in this story of treachery and murder is not dead yet. Read those words.'

He pushed the page across the table, with his finger on one sentence. Midwinter's agitation misled him. He mistook the indication, and read, 'Avoid the widow of the man I killed, if the widow still lives.'

'Not that sentence,' said the rector. 'The next.'

Midwinter read it: 'Avoid the maid whose wicked hand smoothed the way to the marriage, if the maid is still in her service.'

'The maid and the mistress parted,' said Mr. Brock, 'at the time of the mistress's marriage. The maid and the mistress met again at Mrs. Armadale's residence in Somersetshire last year. I myself met the woman in the village, and I myself know that her visit hastened Mrs. Armadale's death. Wait a little, and compose yourself; I see I have startled you.'

He waited as he was bid, his color fading away to a gray paleness and the light in his clear brown eyes dying out slowly. What the rector had said had produced no transient impression on him; there was more than doubt, there was alarm in his face, as he sat lost in his own thought. Was the struggle of the past night renewing itself already? Did he feel the horror of his hereditary superstition creeping over him again?

'Can you put me on my guard against her?' he asked, after a long interval of silence. 'Can you tell me her name?'

'I can only tell you what Mrs. Armadale told me,' answered Mr. Brock. 'The woman acknowledged having been married in the long interval since she and her mistress had last met. But not a word more escaped her about her past life. She came to Mrs. Armadale to ask for money, under a plea of distress. She got the money, and she left the house, positively refusing, when the question was put to her, to mention her married name.'

'You saw her yourself in the village. What was she like?'

'She kept her veil down. I can't tell you.'

'You can tell me what you did see?'

'Certainly. I saw, as she approached me, that she moved very gracefully, that she had a beautiful figure, and that she was a little over the middle height. I noticed, when she asked me the way to Mrs. Armadale's house, that her manner was the manner of a lady, and that the tone of her voice was remarkably soft and winning. Lastly, I remembered afterward that she wore a thick black veil, a black bonnet, a black silk dress, and a red Paisley shawl. I feel all the importance of your possessing some better means of identifying her than I can give you. But unhappily —'

He stopped. Midwinter was leaning eagerly across the table, and Midwinter's hand was laid suddenly on his arm.

'Is it possible that you know the woman?' asked Mr. Brock, surprised at the sudden change in his manner.

'No.'

'What have I said, then, that has startled you so?'

'Do you remember the woman who threw herself from the river steamer?' asked the other—'the woman who caused that succession of deaths which opened Allan Armadale's way to the Thorpe Ambrose estate?'

'I remember the description of her in the police report,' answered the rector.

'That woman,' pursued Midwinter, 'moved gracefully, and had a beautiful figure. That woman wore a black veil, a black bonnet, a black silk gown, and a red Paisley shawl—' He stopped, released his hold of Mr. Brock's arm, and abruptly resumed his chair. 'Can it be the same?' he said to himself in a whisper. 'Is there a fatality that follows men in the dark? And is it following us in that woman's footsteps?'

If the conjecture was right, the one event in the past which had appeared to be entirely disconnected with the events that had preceded it was, on the contrary, the one missing link which made the chain complete. Mr. Brock's comfortable common sense instinctively denied that startling conclusion. He looked at Midwinter with a compassionate smile.