The Cords of Vanity

it was very horrible,” he said. “Oh, I would like you, first of all, to comprehend how horrible it was. She was always calling⁠—no, not calling exactly, but just moaning one name, and over and over again. He had been so cruel, she said. He didn’t really care for anything, she said, except to write his hateful books. And I had loved her, you understand. And for three whole days I must sit there and hear her tell of what another man had meant to her! I have not been wholly sane, I think, since then, for I had loved her for a long time. And her throat was so little that I often thought how easy it would be to stop the moaning and talking, but somehow I did not like to do it. And it isn’t my honour that I mean to avenge. It is Gillian that I must avenge⁠—Gillian who died because a coward had robbed her of the will to live. For it was that in chief. Why, even you must understand that,” he said, as though he pleaded with me.

And yonder Bettie played⁠—with lithe fingers which caressed the keys rather than struck them, I remembered. And always at the back of my mind some being that was not I was taking notes as to how unruffled the man was; and I smiled a little, in recognition of the air, as Bettie began “The Funeral March of a Marionette.”⁠ ⁠…

“Yes,” I said; “I think I understand. There is something to be advanced upon the other side perhaps; but that scarcely matters. You act within your rights; and, besides, you have a pistol, and I haven’t. I am getting afraid, though, Jasper. I can’t stand this much longer. So for God’s sake, make an end of this!”

Jasper Hardress said: “I mean to. But they told me he was here? Yes, I am sure that someone told me he was here.”

I think I must have reeled a little. I know my brain was working automatically. Gillian Hardress had always called me Jack; and Jasper Hardress was past reason; and yonder was Bettie, who had made life too fine and dear a thing to be relinquished.⁠ ⁠…

“Jasper,” someone was saying, and that someone seemed to laugh, “we aren’t living in the Middle Ages, remember. No, just as I said, I cannot stand this nonsense any longer, and you must make an end of this foolishness. Just on a bare suspicion⁠—just on the ravings of a delirious woman⁠—! Why, she used to call me Jack⁠—and I write books⁠—Why, you might just as logically murder me!”

“I thought at first it was you. Oh, only for a moment, boy. I was not quite sane, I think, for at first I suspected you of such treachery as in my sober senses I know you never dreamed of. And I had forgotten you were just a child⁠—But she was conscious at the end,” said Jasper Hardress, “and when I⁠—talked with her about what she had said in delirium, she told me it was Charteris whose son we christened Jasper Hardress some two years ago⁠—”

I said: “I never knew there was a child.” But I was thinking of a hitherto unaccounted-for photograph.

“He only lived three months. I had always wanted a son. You cannot fancy how proud I was of him.” Hardress laughed here.

“And she told you it was Charteris! in the moment of death when⁠—when you were threatening me, she told you it was Charteris!”

“It is different when you are dying. You see⁠—Gillian knew that eternity depended on what she said to me then⁠—” He spoke as with difficulty, and he kept licking at restless lips.

“Yes⁠—she did believe that. And she told you⁠—!” I comprehended how Gillian Hardress had loved me, and my shame was such that now it was the mere brute will to live which held me. But it held me, none the less. Besides, I saw the least unpleasant solution.

“I suppose I can’t blame you,” I said⁠—“for if she told you, why, of course⁠—” Then I barked out: “He was here a moment ago. You must have come around one corner, in fact, just as he turned the other. You will find him at Willoughby Hall, I suppose. He said he was going straight home.”

For I knew that Charteris was at King’s College, a mile away from Willoughby Hall; and, I assured myself, there would be ample time to warn him. Only how much must now depend upon the diverting qualities of Lucian! For should the Samosatan flag in interest, John would be leaving the College presently; and there is but one street in Fairhaven.

IV

I had my hand upon the garden-gate, and Hardress had just turned the corner below, going toward Cambridge Street, when Bettie came upon the porch.

“Well,” she said, “and who’s your fat friend, Mr. Sheridan?”

“I can’t stop now, dear. I forgot to tell John about something which is rather important⁠—”

“Gracious!” Bettie Hamlyn said; “that sounds like shooting. Why, it is shooting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said I.

“⁠—Quite as though the Monnachins and the Massawomeks and all the other jawbreakers were attacking Fairhaven as they used to do on alternate Thursdays, and affording both of us an excellent opportunity to get nicely scalped in time for dinner. So I don’t mind confessing that it was against precisely such an emergency I declined to turn out an elaborate suite of hair; and now I expect the world at large to acknowledge that I acted very sensibly.”

“It is much more likely to be some drunken countryman on his monthly spree⁠—” I was reflecting while Bettie talked nonsense that there had been no less than four shots. I was wondering whom the last was for. It would be much pleasanter, all around, if Hardress had sent it into his own disordered brain. Yes, certainly, three bullets ought amply to account for an unprepared and unarmed and puny Charteris.⁠ ⁠…

So I said: “Well, I suppose my business with John must wait for a