Jasper County Democrat, Volume 3, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 August 1900 — Twixt Life and Death [ARTICLE]

Twixt Life and Death

BY FRANK BARRETT

CHAPTER IV. It was past ten when Redmond entered the hoiise. Leaving his gun in the long hall, he opened the door of the 11- ’ brary, that served now as a living room, and walked in with as good an air of carelessness as he could assume. The lamp light fell upon his wife, stretched at full length on a coueh, and in particular lit up her tine eyes, which were fixed on himself. “Hope I haven’t woke you up,” he said, lightly. “No.” “Are"you alone?" “Yes." “Where Is Miss Grahame?” “Gone to bed.” “Sorry she’s gone," he said: “I wanted to make it all right with her. You know I wanted to send her back to Lullingford, because I thought she would be such a bother to you, as we have only one servant here." “She will not give me any trouble.” “I should have come home before, but I met that Johnson, don't you know, and he would have me go home with him.” “I knew you wouldn't come home till you thought the coast was clear. You Dever do when you're afraid.” “Afraid! You don’t suppose I fear that girl!” His voice rose. “If you don't fear her yet a while, you do me.” Her voice rose also. “May I ask what reason I have to fear you ?” “You fear me because you have not a great Mock of courage. If you cannot imagine any other reason, it’s not worth the trouble of talking about.” “Oh, of course, you are angry because I didn’t tell you of the existence of this girl. What was the use of telling you? You would only have worried about it." “There, we will say no more about it.” And by a considerable effort of self-con-trol she maintained a silence that perplexed and troubled her husband. “Well, by the way," he added, rising, “I think I shall go over to the Moor for three or four days’ shooting.” “You needn’t stay away so long. Miss Grahame is going away to-morrow.” “Where’s she going?" “To London with me.” “What are you going there for?” “To see your wife's will at Somerset House.”

Redmond’s hands dropped into his pockets, and he stared at bis wife in silent astonishment. She was looking now placidly at her toes, which she kept tapping together as her heels rested on the couch. “You know what’s in that will?” he said, with difficulty steadying his voice. “I know what was in the will you showed me when your wife was dying. She left everything to her ‘dear husband, James Redmond.’ But that does not agree with the copy Miss Grahame showed me this evening, in which your wife leaves everything to her ‘dear daughter, Vanessa Grahame.’ I’m going to find out the truth with my young friend.” He sank down on the chair, looking aghastt at his wife. When she languidly turned her eyes toward him, he shifted his chair that the light of the lamp might not fall on his face. She laughed at his discomfiture. There was no getting out of it; he wanted now to know the worst. “And what shall we do," he asked, with an effort, “supposing the will is in favor of that girl?” “Supposing it is!" she said, dropping her feet to the ground quickly. "Supposing it is!” she replied, rising and coming toward him with slow steps that kept time to her words. "You lying, cowardly, mean, miserable, crawling cad—you know it is! And you ask me what I shall do, as if I were fool enough to Aow my hand to such a shuffling trickster as you. One thing you may be sure of —F shan't stay to go down in a sinking ship with you. And go down you will, as surely as any other fool who puts out in a rotten shell. I shall see you in rags, whining for charity to the girl you have robbed—if you are not sent to prison for robbing .'hildren in the streets; that's the only crime you have the courage for.” He did not attempt to defend himself. She looked at him, the supine villain, in mute disgust for a minute; then her rage rising again with the sense that she had been deceived by such a creature, she continued:

“The will you showed me when, your wife was dying was a forgery—you admit it’’—he did not deny it, but sat in stolid silence—“yon forged it to hoodwink me. I believed it was a forgery, but I gave you credit for enough courage to stand by the forgery for your own sake. VVhy didn't you let the will stand, you fool?" "I should have been found out; she| had aheady made a will—the will that exists. It was too obvious; and I—l—l couldn't get the signature right. I—l couldn’t sleep until it was burnt." “You thought only of your own comfort—of sleeping easily. You never thought of me. You were content with having tricked me—with taking me out of the profession to satisfy your wretched jealousy, with leading me to throw away a dosen chances of settling well. I might have had any man F chose to look at." “You preferred me.” “Why? Not for your virtues. You know it was for a fortune I accepted you. And having got me to believe in your promise, you did nothing to fulfill it.” “Yes, I did. I took her brother’s name out of the codicil and put in my own. That was safe. It gave us twelve thousand pounds—and you've had your share of it. I didn't do that without risk. The will would have been disputed If the brother hadn't died in the very nick of time.” “How much is there left of that money Y’ “Not a penny. Pm cutting the trees to pay your debts. It’s you who have spent it ail. I am a careful man.” He wiped the perspiration from his face - with his trembling hand. ’T’ve done everything for the beet,” he whined. "Heaven knows I haven’t got much pleasure out by it. It was all for you. I shouldn't have done it for myaelf.

You won't hunt me down for that, will you?” She had seated herself, and sat tapping the ground impatiently with her feet. Her silence encouraged him to hope faintly. “It's no use flogging a dead horse,” he muttered. She turned her shoulder upon him with a jerk, and an exclamation of disgust and contempt. “Dead horse! If you had the spirit of a cur I could hate you less." “You can do yourself no good; she can’t touch a farthing of her fortune for three years. Why not let things go on til! the worst comes?” “Do you think the girl will wait passively while you rob her for three years? Not she. She doesn't need my help—doesn't want it. If I help her, it is »lmply to help myself.” “She can do nothing without money. You have not lent her anything?" "No.” “Then what can she do? She has no friends.” “None?” “Not a soul. She can’t go to London without money; and, if she could, what lawyer would open a suit in chancery without seeing his fees? You have not promised to take her to a lawyer?” “It wouldn’t matter what I had promised if I altered my purpose.” “You won’t take her, Maud?" he entreated. “Can you suggest anything more to my advantage?" She turned about and looked him steadily in the face as she slowly put the question. He tried to meet her eyes, that he might learn from them what it was she expected of him. “We have been a long while coming to the point; but I thought it might be worth while," he continued, in the same slow, suggestive undertone. "I should have sat up all night to speak to you on the subjwt.” She paused again, giving him time to get the idea she had led up to. He blinked under her fixed regard, and then faltered. "Of course I will do all I can for you. Three years is a good, long timeA And the timber is valuable.” "Bah!” she exclaimed, turning away once more in impatient disgust. “You are only fit to be a pickpocket.” And then, as quickly turning back upon him, “Do you think I am to be satisfied with despicable pilfering? Do you think a few pounds—a few thousands, if you like —do you think that will recompense me for the best years of my life that have been thrown away upon yon?” “What can I do?” he asked, in a piteous tone of helplessness. “What can you do?” she repeated. “Why, get me the whole of that fortune for which I married you.” “How can I—how can I? The money can only come to me, even by that codicil, in the event of the girl’s death.” Mrs. Redmond rose from her chair and crossed noiselessly to the door. She opened it quickly, and glanced up and down the hall; then she closed it, and, returning to her husband, said: “You've got it at last! That’s it! The girl must die!” •

CHAPTER V. Nessa awoke suddenly. In the confusion of Ideas and impressions at that moment she was conscious of a shapeless dream, of a brusque movement, of a light dazzling her eyes, and of a voice murmuring unintelligibly in her ear. Then, as her intelligence awakened, she perceived that she was crouching on the floor beside a bed, that the dazzling light was nothing more than a chamber candle, and that somebody was supporting her, whom she presently recognized as Mrs. Redmond. “What is it? Where am I?” she gasped, in bewilderment. “It’s all right, dear. You are in your own room. See, this is your bed. Don’t be frightened. You're awake now, aren’t you? You know who I am?” Nessa yose to her feet, and, still dazed, looked about her. She recognized the deep dormer windows—the leaded panes of the casement she had put open, on which the light of the moon was now reflected. It was Mrs. Redmond by her side, with the long plait of shining yellow hair falling over her shoulders on the crimson dressing gown. “When did 1' come here—l don't understand?" she said. "Why, you came here last evening. Oh, dear, what a fright you have given me!” , Mrs. Redmond sank down on the side of the bed, putting her hand on her heart. The candle on the floor, where Mrs. Redmond had set it, flared in the current of night air frbm the open window. "What have I been doing?” asked Nessa. now wide nwake. “You have been walking in your sleep; that's all; but you scared me out of my Wits.” “Walking in my sleep!”. Nessa repeated, incredulously. “Yes, dear—you were half way down the great stairs. When I heard the stairs creak I thought it must be my husband come home. Oh, you can't tell what a turn it gave me when I caught sight of you there in your white night dress! Don’t you remembef?” “I don’t remember anything!” exclaimed Nessa—"not anything. Oh, I am so sorry I frightened you.” “Don’t say a word about that. I am only too happy to have heard you. Heaven only knows what might have happened in a horrid old den like this if I had not discovered you. There’s a door somewhere that opens into the tower, where the floor has rotted away. If you had gone through there nothing could have saved you, and you must have been killed. Get into bed, dear.” After a little half-hearted persistence on Mrs. Redmond's part—they said “good night” with an exchange of kisses, and Mrs. Redmond went down to her bedroom on the floor below.

Redmond was waiting there In the dark, his hands in his pockets thumbing a piece of paper into pellets, in anxious suspense. He raised his eyebrows Interrogatively as his wife entered with her finger raised; she replied with a nod. signifying that the prepared scene had been acted satisfactorily. “She was lying on the edge of the bed,” whispered Mrs. Redmond, after closing the door carefully. “I pushed her down to the floor, and when she woke up, staring about her like a fool, I made 'her believe I had found her half way downstairs. walking in her ‘sleep. Remember that it won’t do to tell two stories.” “I won’t forget,” muttered Redmond, approvingly. “Now, as Pve made a beginning, we’ll just settle clearly what’s to be done next, and what part you are to play.” Redmond nodded, they sat down together and plotted the destruction of the young girl who slept over their heads. Nessa awoke early the following morning, invigorated by her long sleep, -and feeling not a pin the Worse for what had happened in the night. It returned to her memory, as she crossed the room to look out of the dormer window, and then only aroused a pleasant self-interest. Most young persons feel flattered by the discovery that they are distinguished from the rest of young persons by some peculiarity. The sun shone brightly on the dark oaks; a gray veil of mist hung over the valley, making it look like a lake; a drop of dew glittered like a jewel on a blade of grass, springing out of the moss-covered parapet. These things were observed by the young girl as she stood by the open window, and gave her a new zest for life. She wrote some letters and then went below. How fresh and sweet and bracing the morning breeze seemed! She got her feet wet in the yank grass crossing to have a full view of the house. It was a grand old building—that it was. No wonder she exulted in the knowledge that ’t belonged to her; that she would Ite sole mistress there in a few years, with the possession of all the grounds about, with their magnificent acres. Mrs Redmond was astonished io find her so fresh and bright after what had happened in the night. She was disposed to regard it as a very serious matter. Nessa laughed at it. “You must lock me up, and then I shan’t frighten you any more,” she said. But Mrs. Redmond would not treat the affair lightly. She knew so many instances—mostly drawn from works of fiction—in which sleep walking h«.d l°d to fatal consequences; and gave them in such 'engthy detail that it seemed she could think of nothing else. Nessa would have givers anything for a slice of bread and butter. “Is Mr. Redmond coming down to breakfast?” she asked on the first opportunity, by way of changing the subject. “My dear, I haven’t seen him since we met in the park yesterday,” Mrs. Redmond replied, with the utmost coolness. “When there's anything unpleasant at home he generally finds business to keep him away. And knowing what he has'to expect from us, it’s very likely that he won’t show his face here for a week. We certainly will not wait for breakfast for him.” She rang the bell, to Nessa’s hearty satisfaction. Mrs. Redmond’s solicitude took a new channel -when the girl brought in the tea and eggs.

“How’s your head this morning, Emma?” she asked. The heavy, sallow-skinned young woman passed the back of her hand over her dull eyes, and replied that it was still “a-splitting fit to bust,” and attributed her disorder to “the boil.” “It is nothing of the kind,” said Mrs. Redmond, decisively. “The doctor must see you. Tell Denis to get the chaise ready for me. I shall want It in an hour. I am sure that dreadful girl is sickening for something,” she added to Nessa. “It may be scarlet fever or smallpox. We will go over to Lullingford and call upon Dr. Shaw, if you would like the drive. I have a perfect horror of illness. Have you |ny letters for the post?” “Yes; all these.” “Give them to me. and I will put them in the bag, dear.” Then there was some discussion about what they should wear, and Nessa ran up to her room to dress. (To be continued.)