Berrington

“ Berrington was past protest and past flight, for the moment. He seemed to be sick to the soul. There came back to him the vivid recollection of the time when he had lain out in the jungle all night, with a bullet through his lungs, waiting wearily for death in the morning. He flung himself exhaustedly into a chair and gasped for breath. Sartoris watched him as some cold-blooded scientist might have watched the flaying of a live animal.
"Your heart is not nearly so bad as you think," he said. "When the pressure goes from your lungs you will be much better. ”

“ Berrington reflected. "It's ten chances to one that my little scheme does not come off, yet the tenth chance may work in my favour. I'll wait till it gets dark—no use trying it before."
Berrington dozed off in his chair, and soon fell into a profound sleep. When he came to himself again, a clock somewhere was striking the hour of eleven. There was no stream of light through the little round ventilator in the shutter, so that Berrington did not need to be told that the hour was eleven o'clock at night. ”

“ Here Edgar Berrington, clothed in white canvas and oil, finds genial companionship. He dotes on the great crank. It is a sympathetic thing. It represents his feelings wonderfully. Returning from the deck after inhaling a little fresh air, he leans against the iron bulkhead in these clanking depths and gazes gloomily and for prolonged periods at the crank while it grinds with a sort of vicious energy that seems in strange harmony with his soul. ”

“ But Sartoris scowled at him furiously, and he turned his watery gaze in another direction. The table was clear now, and the Rajah, with the help of the man called Reggie, and Richford, raised some inanimate object from the trunk. It was limp and heavy, it was swathed in sheets, like a lay figure or a mummy. As the strange thing was opened out it took the outlines of a human body, a dread object, full of the suggestion of crime and murder and violence. Berrington breathed hard as he watched. ”

“ Young Conyers' face had not been pretty before, but, at sound of his enemy's name, it became uglier still.
"Michael Berrington," he screamed. "What! the son of that foul coward, Stephen Berrington? Faugh! I would have sent the lackeys to beat you from the place had I known it."
The colour crept up in a dull flush under Michael's tan. "I can't hit a man who is down," he growled; "but be careful of your words, sir, or I'll cram them down your throat another day."
But Morice Conyers had risen slowly to his feet, white of cheek, swollen of feature, but scornful-eyed. ”

“ He comforted himself with the thought that Peter Berrington, while merciless to an opponent, was merciless merely to acquire that opponent’s business. He believed the great man to be entirely without sentiment, and therefore surmised he would not seek revenge when an act was once completed and done with. ”

“ Berrington made no reply for a moment. It seemed hopeless to try to cope with the little fiend who appeared to have all the powers of hell behind him. He looked down at the floor as if to find evidence of magic there, but the pattern of the turkey carpet was intact, the big brass-headed nails were in the corners and along the fireplace.
"'There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" Sartoris quoted. "As a rule your soldier is a dull man and not gifted with much imagination. ”

“ So, in passionate, impulsive natures, love sometimes dawns, with no warning murmurs, no slowly stirring desire, but swift and warm as the King of Day himself.
Thus surely came love to Michael Berrington, as he gathered primrose-posies in the sunshine of a spring day, and looked long into a young maid's laughing eyes. Yet he did not call this strange new sweetness, love, but was content to feel it thrilling and animating his whole being. So lonely he had been since old Sir Henry's death, haunted with ghosts as the old Manor seemed,—ghosts of living and dead, which remorselessly pursued him. ”

“ Berrington exclaimed, with an angry laugh. 'You have ideas that when I was a girl——' She paused, and her sister saw that she had not the assurance to finish her sentence on that particular note.
'Don't talk about my innuendoes and my ideas—you might remember those in which I have heard you indulge! Ideas? what ideas did I ever have before I came here?' Laura Wing asked, with a trembling voice. 'Don't pretend to be shocked, Selina; that's too cheap a defence. You have said things to me—if you choose to talk of freedom! What is the talk of your house and what does one hear if one lives with you? ”

“ One does not usually attach a romantic interest to a well-dressed military man in a hansom cab during broad daylight in London. But Berrington could have told otherwise.
"Poor little girl," he muttered to himself. "Sad as her fate is, I did not think it was quite so sad as this. We must do something to save her. What a fortunate thing it is that I have always had a love for the study of underground human nature, and that I should have found out so much that appears only normal to the average eye. That innocent patch of salt in the shape of a bullet, for instance. ”

“ With a gesture Richford motioned the waiter away. Then he rose unsteadily from the table, and finished the rest of his brandy without any water at all. He crossed the room like a ghost. Directly he had passed the swinging doors Berrington rose and followed. He saw Richford in the distance entering a hansom; he called one himself. Evidently he had no desire for Richford to see him.
"Where shall I drive, sir?" the cabman asked.
"Keep that cab in sight without being seen," Berrington said hastily. "Do your work well, and it will be a sovereign in your pocket. Now drive on." ”

“ Field?" Berrington asked.
"Well, I think it is pretty obvious, if you care to see it. We are engaged, just for the present, on looking for a private hansom, painted black, in which is seated a lame gentleman. The rest of our investigation does not matter just now, because we have beyond doubt actually traced the parties who conveyed the body of Sir Charles from the hotel. When the lame gentleman is spoken of you say something about No. 100, Audley Place. It is quite obvious that you know something of the man, or at any rate you think you do. ”

“ A strong, lean hand was gently drawing back the bed curtain.
"Ah, Michael."
The tremulous voice spoke a hundred unuttered welcomes in the brief sentence.
"Grandfather."
It was not weakness which shook the other tones.
Sir Henry smiled. How good the touch and clasp of warm young fingers is on those that grow cold and chill!
For a moment the shadows have gone, as blue eyes look into the clear depths of grey. This is a Berrington who will hold honour high—a Berrington whom he can trust to remember all that is due to the name. ”

“ So far it merely tended to prove the almost diabolical cleverness of the people with whom the police had to deal. The Rajah himself could be seen standing moodily in the doorway chewing a cigar between his strong, yellow teeth. Berrington observed him very carefully.
As one who knew India, Berrington was in a position to judge the man fairly well. As a matter of fact, the newcomer did not look in the least like an Eastern potentate. True, his skin was dark, but not more sallow than that of many a European. ”

“ If my brother had not been misled by a designing woman——"
"Mary," Berrington said with firmness. "You are utterly wrong. I have had the story from Field only to-night, who has heard it from the lips of Miss Decié herself. She is a girl as good and pure as yourself. From first to last she was deceived. If Frank Leviter, the man who sacrificed his life for her sake and whom she loved, had lived, the mask would have fallen from your eyes. Your brother treated Violet Decié as he treated you, as he treated everybody. ”

“ In some vague way it seemed to her that her host was making fun of her, there was just a faint suggestion of mockery in his tones. Was there any plot against her on foot, Beatrice wondered. But nobody could possibly know of the diamonds in her pocket; besides, she had received the letter before she had thought of removing those diamonds from the custody of the hotel people. Again, as to the genuineness of Berrington's letter she did not entertain the shadow of a doubt. Nobody, not even an expert, could succeed in making a successful forgery of the dashing hand-writing of Berrington. ”

“ Berrington said in a low voice. He shot a quick glance of dislike at Richford's heavy jowl. "One sees things, quiet men like myself always see things. And I understand exactly what you mean. If I am in England I will come to you. ”

“ Why, Constance Berrington, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your face makes every other in the world insipid. I’m not going to try and persuade you that I love you, because you know it. You knew it last night. You saw it in my eyes, and I saw the knowledge in yours. Curse the money! I’ll make all the money I need if I have you by my side. What is money, anyhow? I’ve made it and lost it, and I can make it again and lose it again. Constance, let us take that yacht, go to Duluth, and be married before a magistrate for ten dollars, like a lumberman and his girl. ”

“ Have you discovered anything further?"
"Oh, yes," said Berrington, "this collar, for instance. I am in a position to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Sir Charles wore it on the night of the dinner party. I found that down here in this very vault. No further proof is wanted that the body was here. But what puzzles me is this: we were so quickly on the spot that those rascals had not the slightest chance of disposing of the corpse. ”

“ The boys were very fond of him, and, for the few hours they were every day engaged in their studies, they worked most diligently. He also afforded Mrs Berrington considerable help in instructing the girls, so that they were fully as well educated, at all events, as the generality of young ladies.
Mrs Hugh Berrington received a letter from her husband, saying that his brother Frank and family had arrived, including a Miss Emily Saville, the younger sister of Mrs Berrington, and that they proposed setting out directly the ladies should have recovered the effects of the sea-voyage. ”

“ Field asked with pardonable curiosity.
"Never. There are mysteries in India that puzzle us as much as they did in the good old days of John Company. What's that noise?"
There was a sound like the rumble of wheels along the hall, and presently appeared a kind of invalid chair, self-propelled by its occupant, a little man with a pale face and dark eyes. He paused before the dining-room door and rattled the handle.
"Evidently the master of the house," Berrington suggested. "The lame man who can't walk. It was he who sent the message to Richford." ”

“ Berrington nodded approval. There was an exulting gleam in his eyes that betokened the discovery of something out of the common. Mary crossed the room rapidly and threw herself in an utter abandonment of grief at her brother's feet.
"Oh, why don't you tell them everything?" she cried. "Why don't you tell the whole truth and save yourself? I have friends here, more than one, who care for me, and who for my sake would do much to save you from the shame and humiliation that lie before you. I know much, but I do not know all. For the sake of the old name——"
"Burn the old name," Sartoris said. ”

“ But the blush became her, rendering her more enchanting than ever.
Michael, however, had paled, for he knew now that this was the little Brown Fairy of other days, grown into lovelier girlhood.
Yet was not her name Gabrielle Conyers, daughter to the man whom his father had betrayed?
Instinct and impulse ofttimes help a woman better than long training in worldly wisdom. Gabrielle had heard the story of Stephen Berrington. ”

“ Sartoris laughed.
"Cautious man," he said. "Always be on the safe side. Hang the girl, is she going to stay here all night? Go, I tell you; take your white face from me. Go."
The door closed behind Mary Sartoris, and something like a sob came from the hall. With a sudden fury and new strength Berrington darted to the table again. Once more he might have been successful, but the keen eye of Sartoris was upon him; the cripple seemed to read his thoughts. Like a flash the invalid chair caught Berrington on the shin, and sent him sprawling across the floor ”

“ Berrington cut the cord around the victim's head and bathed his forehead with water. A little brandy seemed to effect something in the way of a cure.
"My God, that was awful, awful," Sartoris moaned. "A second more and I should have died. Would you mind shutting the front door? The cold air makes [Pg 192] me feel like death. That's better. I dare say you wonder what those fellows were doing here?"
There was just a touch of slyness in the question. Berrington smiled to himself. He wondered what Sartoris would say if he only knew how much the listener had overheard. ”

“ Force himself though he would, Sir Henry's hand trembled as he drew back the velvet folds.
And Michael, looking, saw the picture of a young man, dressed in the extravagant fashion of a period twenty years earlier. Rich setting to rich beauty.
Stephen Berrington, aged twenty-two, was a son any mother might have been proud of. ”