THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2718, 26 December 1882, Page 4

THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS

BY B. L. FAEJEON. Author of “ Blades-o’-Grass,” “ Joshua Marvel,” “ Bread and Cheese and Kisses,” “ Grif,” “ London’s Heart,” &c., &c.

(Continued.) “ You steal sometimes from habit, to keep your hand in as it were, and you experience a certain satisfaction in having accomplished your theft in a workmanlike manner. We are all of us but gross and earthy patches. It is simply a question of degree, and it is because I am in an idle mood—indeed, I am grateful to you for this playful hour—that I make a confession to you which would not elevate me in the eyes of better men. You were anxious to know whether I have been paid for my services. I now acknowledge payment. I accept as my fee the recreation you have, afforded me.”

“ I shall be obliged to you, master, if you will leave your mysteries and come back to my trial.” “ I will oblige you. I read the particulars of the case for the first time on my arrival here, and it appeared to me almost impossible you could escape conviction. I examined you, and saw the-le’gal point which, villain as you are, proclaimed your innocence; but I am beginning to be dangerously shaken. I will do, I said, for this wretch what I believe no other man can do. I will perform a miracle.” “ You have done it,” cried Gautran, falling on his knees in a paroxysm of fear, and kissing the Advocate’s hand, which was instantly snatched away. “ You are great. You are the greatest! You know the truth! ” “ The truth ! ” exclaimed the Advocate, and had ho not been standing in darkness a sudden paleness would have been seen in his thoughtful face. “ Aye, the truth ! You can read the soul —nothing is hidden from you! Finish your work —finish it —and I will be your slave to the last hour of my life ! O master, master, finish your work, and save me entirely ! ” “ Save you P From what ? ” demanded the Advocate ; he was compelled to exercise great self control, for a horror of the victory he had gained was stealing upon him. The trembling wretch rose and pointed to the opposite roadside — “ From shadows—from dreams —from the wild eyes cf Madeline ! Look there —look there!” The Advocate turned in the direction of Gautran’s hand.

“ Nothing is visible but the shadows of the night,” he said, in a suppressed tone. " What are you gazing upon ?” " Upon Madeline —upon Madeline ! She dogs me like my shadow —I cannot shako her off. I have threatened her, but she does not heed me. She is waiting—there—there —to follow me when I am alone —to put her arms about me —to breathe upon my face, and turn my heart to ice ! Y r ou must have known her, you who can read what passes in a man’s soul! She will not obey me, but she will you. She came to me in prison, and laid down by my side —she stood by me in the Court-house, but only you and I could see her. Command her, compel her, to leave me, or she will drive me mad!” The wretch shook like a leaf in the wind as he made this appeal. With amazing strength the Advocate placed his hands on Gautran’s shoulders, and twisted the man's face so close to his own that not an inch of space divided them. Their eyes met, Gautran's wavering and dilating with fear, the Advocate’s fixed and stern, and with a cold fire in them terrible to behold. " Eecall,” said the Advocate, in a voice so clear that it rang through the darkness like a bell, “ what passed between you and Madeline on the last night of her life. Speak!" " I sought her in the Quartier St. Gervais, and found her at eight o’clock in the company of another nm-n. I watched them, and kept out of her sight. He was speaking to her softly, and some things he said to her made her smile, and every time she showed her white teeth I swore that no other man should have her but me. They kept together for an hour; then they parted, he going one way, Madeline another. I followed her along the banks of the river, and when I thought no one was near us I spoke to her. She was not pleased with my company, and told me to leave her, but I said I had something particular to say to her, and that I did not intend to leave her until it was spoken. It was a dark night; there was no moon. I told her I had been watching her ; that I knew she had another lover; and that I would kill him if she did not give him up. She laughed at me, and said I was always talking of killing, and that the man I spoke of could take care of himself. I asked her who he was, and she bade me find out for myself. I asked her if she intended to leave me, and she said yes, and that after that night she would never see me again. I said it might happen, and that it might bo the last night we should ever see each other. She asked me if I was going away, and I said no, it might be her who was going away on the longest journey she had ever taken. What j ourney ? she asked, and I answered, a journey with death for the coachman, ‘for I had sworn a dozen times that night that no man should have her but me, and that if she would not swear upon the cross to be true and faithful to me I would kill her. I said it twice, and some people passed, and turned to look at us, but there was not light enough to see us clearly. Madeline would have cried to them for help, but I pressed my knife against her skin, but not so as to draw blood, and whispered that if she uttered a word it would be her last; that she need not be frightened, for I loved her too well to do her any harm. But when wo were alone again, and no soul was near us, I told her again that, as sure as there was a sky above us, I would kill her unless she swore to give up her other lover and be true | to me. She said she would promise, and

she put her little hand in mine and pressed it, and said, ‘ Gautran, I will be only yours; now let us go back.’ But I said it was not enough; that she must kneel and swear upon the holy cross that she would have nothing to do with any man but me. I forced her upon her knees, and knelt by her side, and put the cross to her lips; and then she began to sob and tremble. She could not put her soul in peril, she said ; she did not love me —how could she swear to be faithful to me ? I said it was that, or death, and that it would be the blackest hour of my life to kill her, but that X meant to do it if she would not give in to mo. She threw her arms round my nock and kissed me, and said that she would do anything else in the world but that, and that she knew I was only trying to frighten her, and that I could not have the heart to kill her. I asked her for the last cime whether she would take the oath, and she said she daren’t. Then I told her to say a prayer, for she had not five minutes to live. She started to her feet and ran along the bank. I ran after her, and she stumbled and fell to the ground, and before she could rise again I had her in my arms to fling her into the river. She did not scratch or bite me, but clung to me and kissed me a hundred times, kissed my eyes, and my lips, and my neck, and my hands, while her tears fell ail about my face. I said to her, ' You love mo, kissing mo so ; swear, then ; it is not too late ! But she cried, ‘‘No, no! I kiss you so that you may not have the heart to kill me!’ and still she kissed and kissed mo. Soon she got weak, and her arms had no power in them, and I lifted her high into the air and flung her from me into the river. I waited a minute or two, and thought she was dead, but then I heard a bubbling and a scratching, and looking down I saw that by a miracle she had got back to the river’s brink, and that there was yet life in her. I pulled her out. and she clung to rue in a weak way, and whispered, nearly choked the while, that the Virgin Mary would not let me kill her. “ Will you take the oath ?” I whispered, and she shook her head from side to side.

“No! No! No!” ... , . I took my handkerchief and tied it tight round her neck, and she smiled in my face. Then I lifted her up, and threw her into the river again. I saw her no more that night. The Advocate removed his eyes, with a shudder, from the eyes of the wretch who had made this horrible confession, and who now sank to the ground, quivering in every limb, crying—- “ Save mo, master, save me !” "Monster!” exclaimed the Advocate, “live and die accursed !” But the terror-stricken man did not hear the words, and the Advocate, upon whoso features, during Gautran’s confession, a deep gloom had settled, strode swiftly from him through the peaceful narrow lane, fragrant with the perfume of the limes, at the end of which the lights in the House of White Shadows were shining a welcome to him.

Chapter XIII. PREPARATIONS FOR A VISITOR,

At noon of the same day the old housekeeper, Mother Denise, and her pretty granddaughter, Dionetta, were busily employed setting in order and arranging the furniture in a suite of rooms intended for an expected visitor. There were but two floors in the House of White Shadows, and the rooms in which Mother Denise and Dionetta were employed were situated on the upper floor. Three or four times in the course of the morning the Advocate’s wife had entered the room to look round and give new directions as to the disposal of the furniture.

“ I think it will do,” said Mother Denise, wiping imaginary dust away with a cloth. “ All but the flowers,” said Dionetta. “No, grandmother, that desk is wrong; it is my lady’s own desk, and it is to be placed exactly in this corner, by the window. There —it is right now.” “My lady is very particular,” said Mother Denise, in a voice far from amiable. “ Yes, she is. but she is so good and kind that it is a pleasure to obey her. ‘Be sure that everything is in its proper place, and make the rooms sweet and bright—be sure —be sure !’ She has said that twenty times this week.”

“ Ah,” said Mother Denise, testily, “as if butterflies ceuld teach bees how to make honey. My lady is turning your head, Dionetta, it is easy to see that; she has bewitched half the people in the village.” “No one can help loving her, grandmother ; even you do when she talks to you in her soft pleasant voice.” “ Yes, and when she goes away I come to my senses. I’ve lived and learnt, and that soft pleasant voice of hers can be' set to another tune, or I’m no woman. Here is father with the flowers. Haste, Martin, haste i” . “ Easy to say, hard to do,” grumbled Martin, entering slowly, with a basket of cut flowers, which Dionetta took from him. “My bones get more obstinate every day. Here’s my lady been worrying me out of life. ‘More roses, more roses, more roses! And these, and these, and these! And that, and that!’ She would have made the garden a wilderness, and have spoilt every bed, if I had let her; but I wouldn’t have it done —no, I wouldn’t, and so I told her.” “ And what did she say ?” “ Say! Smiled as sweet as honey, and showed all her white teeth at once. I never saw such teeth in my young days, nor such eyes, nor such hair, nor such hands — enough to drive a young man crazy.” “Or an old one foolish,” interrupted Mother Denise. “ She smiled as sweet as honey, did she ? Well, she can. You foolish old man, do you think she has fallen in love with you ?” “I don’t say that, I don’t say that,” said Martin, his mouth twisted into a gratified smirk, “ but she smiled at me and patted me on the sleeve."

" And wheedled you, and wheedled you,” said Mother Denise, in a snappish tone, " until she got what she wanted.” "Pretty well, pretty well. You see, Dionetta, there are two ways of getting a thing done, a soft way and a hard way ” " There —there —there!” cried _ Mother Denise, impatiently. “ Maudling and maudling, with your soft ways and your hard ways! Do your work with a still tongue, and let us do ours. Get back to the garden and repair the mischief. What does a man want with a room full of roses P” she muttered when Martin, quick to obey his domestic tyrant, had gone. "It is a welcome,” said Dionetta pleasantly. “If I were absent from my place for a long, long while it would make me glad when I returned to see my place as bright as this.” “ You are young,” said Mother Denise, “ and your thoughts go the way of roses. I can't blame you, Dionetta.” “ It is ten years since Mr Balcombe was here, you have told me, grandmother.” " Yes,. Dionetta, yes ; ten years ago this very summer.” Did I see him then P I don't remember.”

“ I think not; you were quite a little child at the time. Mr Balcombe did not sleep in the house.” “ How strange! Where, then ?” _ "At the inn of The Seven Liars. Dionetta, I will tell you a secret; Mr Balcombe hates this house. He is the master and the owner of it, and he hates it. And of all the rooms in the villa this is the room he would be most anxious to avoid.”

" Why, grandmother ?” asked Dionetta, her eyes growing larger and rounder with wonder ; " and does my lady know it ?”

" My lady is a headstrong woman; she would not listen to the story of what took place in this room, and she declares —in a light way, to be sure, but these are not things to be made light of—that she is very disappointed to find that the house is not haunted. Haunted! I have never seen anything, nor has Martin, nor you, Dionetta.” "O, grandmother,” said the girl, in a low timid voice, " I don’t know whether I have or I haven’t. Sometimes I have fancied —” “ Of course, of course you have fancied, and that is all; and you have woke up in the night, and been frightened by nothing, and mark me, Dionetta, if you do no wrong and think no wrong you never will see anything of the white shadows of this house.” " But Fritz says —” " Fritz is a fool, a cunning, lazy fool. If I were the master hero I would pack him off. What does he do but chatter like a magpie and idle about the place from morning till night ? And when there’s work to be done, as there has been this week, carrying furniture here and moving heavy things about, he must run away to the city and hang about the courthouse where that murderer is being tried. Dionetta, I am not in love with the Advocate or his lady ; there is no need for mo to tell them so, but I am not in love with them. I shall do my duty and hold my tongue while they are here; and when they go I shall be glad to see their backs. The Advocate is trying to get a murderer off; it may be the work of a clever man. but it is not the work of a good man. If I had a son I would sooner have him good than clever; and I would sooner you married a good man than a clever one.” “ O, grandmother, whoever thinks of marrying ?” “ Not you of course —would you have me believe that ? When I was your age I thought of nothing else, and, when you are

ray age you will see the folly of it. No, I am not in love with the Advocate, who could be, with a man on whoso face you never see a smile ?” “ Ah, you are mistaken, grandmother ; I have seen him smile at my lady, and then his face is quite handsome.” “ He is performing unholy work, Dionotta, down there in Genova.. The priest says as much ; and as lie is not doing it for money, ho must be urged to it by the Evil One. If that murderer escapes from justice, the guilt of blood will bo on the Advocate’s soul.” “O, grandmother! If my lady hoard you, she would never forgive you.” “ I am saying what the piiest says, and there is no fear of my saying it to my lady; if she hears it, which I don’t doubt but she will, it will not be from my tongue. Dionetta, it was a young girl who was murdered, about the same age as yourself. It might have been you—ah, you may well turn white; ’that is the way mothers think who have young daughters around them; and you are my daughter’s daughter, doubly dear to me, the only one left. This clever lawyer, this stranger it is, who comes among us to prevent justice being done upon a murderous wretch. He will be punished for it, mark my words. I shall be happy when I see him and his beautiful -wife fairly out of the house.” Dionotta, who know how useless it was to oppose her grandmother’s opinions, endeavored to change the subject by saying, “Tell me, grandmother, why Mr Balcombe should be more anxious to avoid this room than any other in the house. I think it is the prettiest of all.” Mother Denise did not reply immediately. She moved about the apartment, and looked around with the air of a woman recalling a picture of long ago. “ The story connected with this part of the house,” she presently said, “ gave to the old villa the name of the House of White Shadows. There are few who know the truth, and none so well as I. You shall hear it, Dionetta, but I advise you not to speak of it to another person. It is a family matter, and should not be made common. Let me see —lot mo see; Arthur Balcombe is now thirty-one years of age: yes, thirty-one on his last birthday. I remember well the day he was born.’ “ Hush, grandmother !” said Dionetta, holding up her hand. “My lady.” The Advocate’s wife had entered the room quietly, and was regarding the arrangement of the furniture and the flowers with eyes of approval. “ It is excellently done,” she said, “ precisely as I wished. It was you, Dionetta, who arranged the flowers ?” “ Yes, my lady.” “ You have exquisite taste, really exquisite taste. Mother Denise, lam really obliged to you.” “ I have done nothing,” said Mother Denise, “ that it was not my duty to do.” “ But there is a way of doing things.” “ Just what grandfather said,” cried Dionetta, gleefully, “ a hard way and a soft way.” And then, becoming suddenly aware of her rudeness in interrupting her mistress, she dropped a curtsey, and with a bright color in her face, said, “ I beg your pardon, my lady.” There’s no occasion, child,” said the Advocate’s wife graciously. “ Grandfather is quite right, and everything in this room has been done very beautifully.” She held a framed picture in her hand, a colored cabinet photograph of herself, and she looked around the walls to find a place for it. “ Ah, this will do,” she said, and she took down a picture of a child which hung immediately above her desk, and put her in its stead. “It is nice,” she remarked to Mother Denise, with a smile, “ to see the faces of old friends about us. Mr Balcombe and I are very old friends.” “The picture you have taken down,” said Mother Denise, “ is of Mr Balcombe as a child.” “ Indeed ! How old was he then ?”

“ Five years, my lady.” “He was a handsome hoy. His hair is darker now, and his eyes also. By-the-bye, Mother Denise, you were speaking of him when I came in. You were saying he was thirty-one last birthday, and that you remember the day he was born.” “ Yes, my lady.” “ And you were about to tell Dionetta why this villa is called the House of White Shadows. Give me the privilege of hearing it.” " I would rather not tell it, my lady.” “ Nonsense, nonsense ! Mr Balcombe would be quite angry if he knew you refused me so simple a thing.” “ Well, my lady, if you insist ” “ Of course I insist, you dear old creature! lam sure there is no one in the village who can tell a story half as well as you. Come and stand by me, Dionetta.” She seated herself by the desk, upon which she laid the picture of the lad, and Mother Denise, who was really not loth to recall reminiscences, and who, although she hesitated at first, soon began to derive great enjoyment from her narration, thus proceeded:

(To be continued on Thursday.)