Part 16 (1/2)

No, he would not be the first jealous husband who had taken revenge for his wrongs; he had loved her, and been all that it was his duty to be; but he had been betrayed, tricked, and cheated by the false-hearted woman whom he thought he had won. Such a proceeding would be but an act of justice; but the law said such acts should be done by the law alone-- that man, however injured, should not arrogate to himself the right to punish, hence it must be done secretly, by some cunning device that should blind men's eyes to the truth, and while amply bringing down retribution on the heads of the guilty, his honour should be unstained, the family s.h.i.+eld untarnished.

But would not such a step be cold, blackhearted, premeditated murder?

The question seemed to flash across his brain as if prompted by some better angel.

No: only justice, was whispered again to his ear--only justice, and then he would be at rest. It was not right that he should die, but the destroyer of his happiness; and then his mind would be at ease--there would be peace for him for many years to come.

He smiled now: it was like comfort in a dire hour of need; and when the upbraidings of conscience would have made themselves heard, they were crushed down and stifled; for Sir Murray Gernon had been keeping his house swept and garnished for the reception of the wicked spirits, and they had now fully seized upon the offered abode. He smiled, for he thought that he now saw a way out of his difficulties, and that he had but to design some means for removing his false wife from his path to commence a new life.

How should it be? he thought. Should he contrive a boating party upon the great lake? Boats had before now been upset, and their occupants drowned. Such accidents were not at all uncommon. Or there might be some terrible catastrophe with the spirited horses of the carriage; the part of the Castle where her ladys.h.i.+p slept might catch fire at a time when a hampered lock and fastened window precluded escape; or, better still, there was poison!

The evil spirit must at that time have had full possession of the citadel, for it was with a baleful glare in his eyes that Sir Murray Gernon strode up and down his room, stepping softly, as if fearing to interrupt the current of his thoughts--thoughts that, in his madness, seemed to refresh the thirsty aridity of his soul. After all these months of misery, had at last, then, come the solution of his difficulty? and he laughed--and laughed savagely--as he sat down once more to plan.

Mercy? What had he to do with mercy? What mercy had they had upon his life? Had they not blighted it when he was a calm, trusting, loving man, searing his spirit with something more burning and corroding than the hottest iron--the sharpest acid? Let them seek for mercy elsewhere: his duty was to dispense justice, and he would be just!

Who could gainsay it? Was it not written in the Book that the punishment for the crime was death--that the sinners should be stoned with stones until they died? Not that he would stone them: his should be a quiet, insidious vengeance--one that the world should not suspect, and he would plot it out in time.

But what if she were, after all, innocent?

He tore that thought from his heart, accusing himself of cowardice, and of seeking a way out of what would be the path to a new life. No; there was no innocence there. His would be a crusade against guilt; and he vowed a fearful vow that he would carry out his vengeance to the end.

Should it be by poison?

”Tap! tap! tap!” Three distinct, sharp touches as of a nail upon the window-pane made Sir Murray start, s.h.i.+vering, from his guilty reverie.

What was that? Some ghostly warning for or against his plots?--or was he so distempered by his broodings that this was but the coining of imagination?

”_Tap! tap! tap_!”

There it was again, and for a moment a strange sense of terror pervaded him, and he could not stir. But only for a moment; the next minute a feeling of grim satisfaction prevailed. This, then, was to be a night of enlightenment--here was a new revelation--this, then, was the means of communication? Evidently some mistake of the bearer, and he had but to go to the window, stretch forth his hand, and take a letter; or--the thought sent a thrill through him as he stepped forward--was it the keeping of an a.s.signation? The window was many feet above the ground, and if he dashed back the ladder--

He paused, for there was the slight darkening of the blind as if a shadow were pa.s.sing over it, and now, half-mad with rage, Sir Murray Gernon felt that all his suspicions were confirmed, as, springing forward, he tore the blind aside, just as again, loudly and distinctly, came the blows upon the gla.s.s.

End of Volume I.

Book 1, Chapter XXVI.

NOCTURNAL.

”Perhaps, after all, it's just as weel that he did not come,” mused Alexander McCray, as he stood one morning upon the long wooden bridge which connected, at the narrowest part, the two sh.o.r.es of the fine piece of water lying between the park of Merland Castle and the pleasure-grounds. He was leaning over the rail, and gazing down into the clear depths below, where, screened by the broad leaves of the water-lilies, which here and there bore some sweet white chalice, the huge carp were floating lazily, now and then giving a flip with their broad tails to send themselves a few feet through the limpid medium in which they dwelt.

”Perhaps, after all, it's just as weel that he did not come any more, but if he had, I would have pitched him in here as freely as have looked at him, and he wouldn't have hurt neither--a bad chiel. Them that's born to be hanged will never be drowned, and he'll come to the gallows sure enough, and deserves it, too, for ill-using that poor bairn as he did.”

”Weel, this winna do,” he said, starting from his reverie, and shouldering the broom with which he had been sweeping the bridge. ”I'll just e'en go and do the paths under the bedroom windows; the la.s.sie might happen to give a look out.”

The gardener walked on, thoughtfully gazing up at the windows, and thinking the while of the nights when he had watchfully made his way, stealthy as a burglar, from bush to bush, or crouched beneath the shrubs. Few nights had pa.s.sed without his seeing Jane Barker's light extinguished, but there had been no further visit from John Gurdon.

”He didn't like the flat of my spade,” said McCray, with a grin, and this seemed to be the case--the ex-butler never from that night having been heard of. Still, more now from habit than anything, the gardener continued his nocturnal rounds, telling himself that he could not sleep without one peep at the la.s.sie's window before going to bed.

But Alexander McCray seemed to make but little progress in his love affairs. Whenever he met Jane she had always a pleasant smile for him, but he knew in his heart that it was not the smile he wished to see.