Rafael Sabatini

“ Behind him, in that chamber furnished in dark oak and leather of a reign or two ago, sat Sir Richard Everard at a vast writing-table all a-litter with books and papers; and Sir Richard watched his adoptive son with fierce, melancholy eyes, watched him until he grew impatient of this pause.
“Well?” demanded the old baronet harshly. “Will you undertake it, Justin, now that the chance has come?” And he added: “You'll never hesitate if you are the man I have sought to make you.”
Mr. Caryll turned slowly. “It is because I am the man that you—that God and you—have made me that I do hesitate.” ”

“ And eyes—Lord! the glory of her eyes! They are eyes that would lead a man into hell and make him believe it heaven,
“'Love doth to her eyes repair To help him of his blindness.'”
Sir Richard watched him, displeasure growing in his face. “So!” he said at last. “Is that the reason?”
“The reason of what?” quoth Mr. Caryll, recalled from his sweet rapture.
“The reason of these fresh qualms of yours. The reason of all this sympathy for Ostermore; this unwillingness to perform the sacred duty that is yours.” ”

“ Had Ostermore been different, perhaps it had been easier. I cannot say. As it is, I see in him a weakling, a man of inferior intellect, who does not judge things as you and I judge them, whose life cannot have been guided by the rules that serve for men of stronger purpose.”
“You find excuses for him? For his deed?” cried Sir Richard, and his voice was full of horror now; he stared askance at his adoptive son.
“No, no! Oh, I don't know. On my soul and conscience, I don't know!” cried Mr. Caryll, like one in pain. He rose and moved restlessly about the room. ”

“ She had risen, and she towered there, a lean and malevolent figure, her head-dress nodding foolishly. “What does it matter that you be what you claim to be? Is it to weigh with you, Rotherby?”
Rotherby turned grave eyes upon her. He was, it seemed, not quite rotten through and through; there was still in him—in the depths of him—a core that was in a measure sound; and that core was reached. Most of all had the story weighed with him because it afforded the only explanation of why Mr. Caryll had spared his life that morning of the duel. ”

“ What?” demanded the baronet.
“I am marvelling, for one thing, that you should have waited thirty years.”
Sir Richard's fingers stirred the papers before him in an idle, absent manner. Into his brooding eyes there leapt the glitter to be seen in the eyes of the fevered of body or of mind.
“Vengeance,” said he slowly, “is a dish best relished when 'tis eaten cold.” He paused an instant; then continued: “I might have crossed to England at the time, and slain him. Should that have satisfied me? What is death but peace and rest?”
“There is a hell, we are told,” Mr. Caryll reminded him. ”

“ Better to go forth and brave it, and surely it should disarm the backbiters if she showed herself in the park with Lord Rotherby's own mother.
It never occurred to her that this seeming tenderness for her reputation might be but wanton cruelty on her ladyship's part; a gratifying of her spleen against the girl by setting her in the pillory of public sight to the end that she should experience the insult of supercilious glances and lips that smile with an ostentation of furtiveness; a desire to put down her pride and break the spirit which my lady accounted insolent and stubborn. ”

“ Though, faith, I find life endurable without the affection he should have consecrated to me.”
“Ay,” she said, looking up at him. “You are his son; too much his son, I fear. 'Tis why he dislikes you so intensely. He sees in you the faults to which he is blind in himself.”
“Sweet mother!” said his lordship, bowing.
She scowled at him. She could deal in irony herself—and loved to—but she detested to have it dealt to her.
He bowed again; gained the door, and would have passed out but that she detained him.
“'Tis a pity, on some scores, to dispose so utterly of this Caryll,” she said. ”

“ Where shall we find a husband for you?”
“I do not want a husband, madam,” answered Hortensia.
“Will ye lead apes in hell, then? Bah! 'Tis not what ye want, my fine madam; 'tis what we can get you; and where shall we find you a husband now?”
Her eye fell upon Mr. Caryll, standing by one of the windows, a look of profound disgust overplaying the usually immobile face. “Perhaps the gentleman from France—the gentleman who saved you,” she sneered, “will propose to take the office.”
“With all my heart, ma'am,” Mr. Caryll startled them and himself by answering. ”

“ Then he flung a hand out at Rotherby in a gesture of repudiation, of anathema. “But 'tis not the end on't for you, you knave! What I threatened, I will perform. I'll disinherit you. Not a penny of mine shall come to you. Ye shall starve for aught I care; starve, and—and—the world be well rid of a villain. I—I disown you. Ye're no son of mine. I'll take oath ye're no son of mine!”
Mr. Caryll thought that, on the contrary, Rotherby was very much his father's son, and he added to his observations upon human nature the reflection that sinners are oddly blessed with short memories. ”

“ Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held no tinge of mockery. “You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby,” he startled all by saying. “Let him approach,” he begged.
Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. “I am sorry,” he said thickly, “cursed sorry.”
“There's scarce the need,” said Mr. Caryll. “Lift me up, Tom,” he begged Gascoigne. “There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something that was plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor for—for that. It disposes of something I could never have disposed of had I lived.” He turned to the Duke of Wharton. ”

“ A word, a name—no more than that; a name that gives rise to a sentiment, and a sentiment is to stand between you and your clear duty; a sentiment is to set a protecting shield over the man who killed your mother!
“I think I shall despise you, Justin, if you fail me in this. I have lived for it,” he ran on tempestuously. “I have reared you for it, and you shall not fail me!”
Then his voice dropped again, and in quieter tones
“You hate the very name of John Caryll, Earl of Ostermore,” said he, “as must every decent man who knows the truth of what the life of that satyr holds. ”

“ A woman has arisen in your life, and this woman, seen but once or twice, unknown a week or so ago, suffices to eclipse the memory of your mother and turns your aim in life—the avenging of her bitter wrongs—to water. Oh, Justin, Justin! I had thought you stronger.”
“Your conclusions are all wrong. I swear they are wrong!”
Sir Richard considered him sombrely. “Are you sure—quite, quite sure?”
Mr. Caryll's eyes fell, as the doubt now entered his mind for the first time that it might be indeed as Sir Richard was suggesting. He was not quite sure.
“Prove it to me, Justin,” Everard pleaded. ”

“ It was on an excursion into Normandy that they had met Mademoiselle de Maligny, the daughter of an impoverished gentleman of the chetive noblesse of that province. Both had loved her. She had preferred—as women will—the outward handsomeness of Viscount Rotherby to the sounder heart and brain that were Dick Everard's. As bold and dominant as any ruffler of them all where men and perils were concerned, young Everard was timid, bashful and without assertiveness with women. ”

“ Caryll perceived that he was dealing with one who never probed into the deeps of anything—himself and his own conduct least of all—and that a deplorable lack of perception, of understanding almost, deprived his lordship of the power to feel as most men feel, to judge as most men judge. And hence was it that Mr. Caryll thought him a subject for pity rather than contempt. Even in that other thirty-year-old matter that so closely touched Mr. Caryll, the latter was sure that the same pitiful shortcomings might be urged in the man's excuse. ”

“ Rotherby made him a leg with an excessive show of deference, arguing irony. “'Tis an unlooked-for pleasure to meet you here, sir,” said he in a tone that drew the attention of all present.
“No pleasures are so sweet as the unexpected,” answered Mr. Caryll, with casual amiability, and since he perceived at once the errand upon which Lord Rotherby was come to him, he went half-way to meet him. “Has your lordship been contracting any marriages of late?” he inquired.
The viscount smiled icily. “You have quick wits, sir,” said he, “which is as it should be in one who lives by them.” ”

“ Caryll succumbed to the wound he had taken. With some women, to suspect a thing is to believe that thing. Her ladyship was of these. She set too high value upon her acumen, upon the keenness of her instincts.
And if aught were needed to cement her present suspicions, Mr. Caryll himself afforded that cement, by seeming to betray the same eagerness to be alone with his lordship that his lordship was betraying to be alone with him; though, in truth, he no more than desired to lend assistance to the earl out of curiosity to learn what it was his lordship might have to say. ”

“ Her limbs seemed to fail her, and she sank down on her knees beside the settle. “We must save him,” she muttered fearfully. “We must save his life. Where is the doctor? He won't die! Oh, he must not die!”
They stood grouped about, looking on in silence, Rotherby in the background. Behind him again, on the topmost of the three steps that led up into the inner hall, stood Mistress Winthrop, white of face, a wild horror in the eyes she riveted upon the wounded and unconscious man. She realized that he was like to die. There was an infinite pity in her soul—and, maybe, something more. ”

“ Between the wink and the words his lordship was bewildered.
Mr. Caryll turned to the lady, bowing. Then he waved a hand over the downs. “A fine view,” said he airily, and she stared at him. “I shall treasure sweet memories of Maidstone.” Her stare grew stonier. Did he mean the landscape or some other matter? His tone was difficult to read—a feature peculiar to his tone.
“Not so shall I, sir,” she made answer. “I shall never think of it other than with burning cheeks—unless it be with gratitude to your shrewdness which saved me.”
“No more, I beg. It is a matter painful to you to dwell on. ”

“ Within the cool hall of Stretton House they were met by her ladyship and Mistress Winthrop, both pale, but the eyes of each wearing a vastly different expression.
“What's this?” demanded her ladyship, as they trooped in. “Why do you bring him here?”
“Because, madam,” answered Ostermore in a voice as hard as iron, “it imports to save his life; for if he dies, your son dies as surely—and on the scaffold.” ”

“ Then it broke upon his mind that were this to happen, Ostermore's blood would indirectly be upon his own head, since for the purpose of betrayal had he sought him out with that letter from the exiled Stuart—which, be it remembered, King James himself had no longer wished delivered.
It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let matters run their course. He must avert these discoveries if it lay within his power to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of remorse should Ostermore survive to be attainted of treason. ”

“ I do not believe that in all the world there is a single soul would weep his lordship's death—if we except, perhaps, Mistress Winthrop.”
“And do you pity him for that?” quoth Sir Richard coldly. “What right has he to expect aught else? Who sows for himself, reaps for himself. I marvel, indeed, that there should be even one to bewail him—to spare him a kind thought.”
“And even there,” mused Mr. Caryll, “it is perhaps gratitude rather than affection that inspires the kindness.” ”