Part 35

The few intimate friends, or the servants not of the household, who saw her occasionally, noticed nothing unusual about her, except the delicacy and languor consequent upon a severe illness; Mrs. Bergan being always present to turn the conversation away from every dangerous point, and guide it through safe channels. To the rest of the world, it was simply known that Carice had suddenly been stricken down, on her wedding night, by a fever, supposed to be of the same nature as the one which had lately prostrated her father; and that she was not yet sufficiently strong to show herself abroad, or see much company at home. Doctor Remy, meanwhile, came and went, and spent as much time at the cottage as could reasonably be expected of a physician with a large area of practice, and an office three miles away from his nominal home. Not a person, outside of the limited household, supposed that he never saw Carice, except when she was fast asleep, and totally unconscious of his presence.

So the months rolled away, and the year drew near to its close. Doctor Remy had prosecuted his abstruse study, by the dim light of the science of that day, with characteristic energy and acuteness. He had slowly felt his way, from the premise that each faculty of the mind had its appropriate seat in the brain, to the conclusion that every local injury or disease would affect mainly the faculty corresponding to the injured or diseased portion, thereby not only indicating the seat of the impaired faculty, but suggesting the possibility of a local remedy for the local disturbance,--probably a delicate and difficult surgical operation, to remove pus, slivers of bone, or other foreign matter pressing upon, piercing, or otherwise irritating the sensitive cellular tissue of the brain. Now, he only longed for an opportunity to test his conclusions by experiment, and would certainly have attempted to use Carice for this purpose, except that on her slender thread of life hung his only chance of Bergan Hall. It would not do to sacrifice the immense future advantage to the small immediate gain.

Nature, meanwhile, was laboring in her slow, gentle way, to effect the same end contemplated by the doctor's science. With the beginning of November, a change was observable in Carice. Her sweet face lost its look of happy anticipation, and grew weary and anxious. There were tokens that she was beginning to reason again, in a fitful, fragmentary way, and to notice some of the many discrepancies between the facts and the theories of her life; sometimes she put her hand to her head with a piteous expression of doubt and bewilderment. By and by, she became possessed of a spirit of restlessness by day, and of sleeplessness by night; making the care of her--hitherto an easy and a pleasant task--a sufficiently onerous charge. Thus it happened that she had made her escape to the Hall, as heretofore narrated. Her night had been restless, beyond all previous precedent, keeping Rosa constantly on the watch. Toward dawn, she had fallen into a light slumber, during which the weary attendant, sitting quietly by the bedside, had suddenly been overcome by a profound sleep. Waking ere long, and not wishing to disturb her tired maid, Carice stole softly to the window, to look out, as usual, for Bergan's coming, and saw the light shining again from the window of his room in the old Hall. The broken links in the chain of association were stirred, if not reunited,--perhaps a dim reminiscence of her former attempt to reach him woke within her,--she wrapped herself in the first shawl that came to hand, thrust her feet into a pair of slippers, and noiselessly made her way out of the house and down to the river, exactly as she had done a year before. At the gap in the foot-bridge, through which she had fallen, she stopped and put her hand to her brow, in a momentary perplexity. Here, her memory of the former expedition, which had led her thus far on her way, failed her;--what was she to do next?

Lifting her eyes, she again caught sight of the light from the Hall, which had recently been hidden by the trees. Her lips parted in a smile; her hesitation was at an end. Clinging to the hand-rail of the bridge, and sliding her feet carefully along the great beam underneath, she safely passed the gap,--though she lost a slipper in the transit,--and then hurried to the Hall, to meet with the accident lately described.

All of the foregoing history--or at least as much of it as was known to him--Mr. Bergan recounted to his nephew, in a long conversation held in the parlor, after Carice had been soothed by her father's promise that she should be compelled to do nothing but what was right and agreeable in her own eyes, and left to the care of her mother and Rosa. Now, too, the loss of Bergan's letters to his uncle and Carice was discovered; the false or distorted statements in those of Doctor Remy to himself were brought to light and discussed; finally, Mr. Bergan was glad to listen to a succinct recital of Doctor Trubie's reasons for believing Felix Remy to be identical with Edmund Roath.

In the course of the conversation, all reserve between the uncle and nephew insensibly melted away, and the last topic was discussed upon terms of the most cordial confidence and sympathy. Bergan's high reputation in Savalla had not failed to reach his uncle's ears, and sometimes to make him doubt if all his old prejudice was well founded; and now, there was so much dignity and gentleness in his bearing, his words were so full of unselfish consideration for others, he showed himself so ready still, as heretofore, to sacrifice every merely personal feeling to Carice's welfare, that Mr. Bergan's heart, softened and humbled as it had been by adversity, was irresistibly won. He was glad to feel that he had so dispassionate a judgment, so wise a counsellor, and so kind a friend, to lean upon, in this moment of perplexity.

The talk was broken in upon by a message from Mrs. Bergan. Carice, after her manifold questions in regard to the circumstances in which she found herself had been answered or evaded, had sunk into a deep, but apparently natural sleep. Still, her mother could not but be extremely anxious about her; and she suggested that Doctor Remy, or some one else, should be immediately sent for, to provide against the contingency of her waking.

Mr. Bergan looked anxiously at his nephew. "After what you have told me," said he, "I do not feel that I can allow that man to enter Carice's room again, even when she is sleeping. Yet, be he what or whom he may, his professional skill is undeniable, and her life or reason may turn on those waking moments. What is to be done?"

"Do you know where he is to be found?" asked Bergan.

"No. He merely told me that he had a critical case on hand, which would keep him out all night, and perhaps we should not see him before noon to-day. I suppose he can be heard of at his office."

Bergan reflected for a moment. "By this time," said he, "Doctor Gerrish must be on his way to the Hall. From what I have known and heard of him, I believe him to be both a promising physician and an honorable man. Send Bruno to intercept him, on the plea that the dead can wait for his services better than the living. Then tell him, in strict confidence, enough of Carice's condition to make him understand the case; but you need say nothing of Doctor Remy, except that he is not at hand, and you feared to wait. Finally, ask, as a special favor, that he will not mention his visit to Doctor Remy, lest the latter be annoyed. He will think you weak and overscrupulous, but he will promise."

This advice was acted upon. Doctor Gerrish, after listening to Mr. Bergan's statement and examining Carice as she lay asleep, decided that the recent wound, which was in the neighborhood of the former one, had, in some mysterious way, relieved the inflammation, or counteracted the injury, caused by that--in short, had done precisely what Doctor Remy proposed to do by means of an operation. He furthermore believed that Nature was making her final effort at restoration through the deep sleep which held Carice in bonds so gentle and so firm; and he gave strict orders that nothing should be suffered to break it. It would doubtless last some hours, perhaps the whole day; or if she woke, it would be merely to swallow a little nourishment, which should be given her, and then to fall asleep again.

Bergan had waited to hear this decision, and he now requested Doctor Gerrish to ride on to the Hall, where he would join him almost immediately, by the shorter way of the foot-bridge. His uncle detained him longer than he expected, however, for a final consultation about several important matters; and he was conscious that Doctor Gerrish must have been kept waiting for a considerable time, when he finally quitted the house. Hurrying to the foot-bridge, he saw two rough-looking men crossing it from the direction of the Hall. At sight of him, they interchanged a few words, and then came to meet him.

"Mr. Arling, I believe," said one, touching his hat. "We have been asking at the Hall for you, and a doctor that we saw there told us that you were coming this way, and asked us to say, if we met you, that he begged you would hurry."

"Thank you," said Bergan. "That is what I am doing."

"Not so fast," interrupted the other, who was a tall, muscular fellow with a sinister countenance. "You are that Lawyer Arling, I reckon, who got my brother sentenced to state prison last month for burglary."

"I did my duty as prosecuting attorney for the State, if that is what you mean," replied Bergan, coolly.

"You did, did you? Well, I'm going to do mine, which is to knock you down for it."

With these words, the man raised his powerful fist. Bergan instinctively threw himself into the attitude of defence; but the ruffian's companion, who had edged behind him, caught hold of both his arms; and the unparried blow felled him senseless to the ground.

II.

SWIFT FEET.

However cold a man's temperament may be by nature, however complete the subjection of his passions to his reason and his will, he is nearly certain, in the sudden excitement and confusion of detected guilt, to be betrayed into some act instantly condemned by his better judgment. Such had been the case with Doctor Remy, in his encounter with Hubert Arling at the "Rat-Hole." Mistaking Hubert for Bergan, and believing him to be there only to spy out his actions and thwart his designs, it had been his first impulse to draw the pistol, which he habitually carried, according to the custom of the times and locality, and free himself at once and forever from interference that he conceived to be so dangerous. His chagrin at finding that he had mistaken one brother for the other, was only equalled by his surprise at his calm dismissal and friendly warning, at Bergan's hands. It did not take him long to fix upon the hidden motive of this conduct,--to decide, with a bitter smile, that he had been spared for the sake of Carice.

Yet he had no idea of the extent of Bergan's forbearance toward him on this head. It must be remembered that he never received the slightest intimation of Doctor Trubie's suspicions, or of Bergan's visit to Oakstead, on the night of the wedding. Godfrey Bergan had omitted any mention of either; first, because he had been prevented from doing so by the overwhelming distress and anxiety that had come upon him so suddenly; and afterward, because it had seemed wiser, on the whole, to say nothing. Doctor Remy, therefore, had no suspicion of the mine over which he had been standing, on that night, nor how its explosion had been averted. From his point of view, Bergan's sudden removal to Savalla, in consideration of the prospect there opened to him, was the most natural thing in the world. Nor did he know any reason why himself and his former friend should not meet on the old terms, upon occasion, except that the gain of the one had been the loss of the other, in respect to Carice. Even here, however, he held himself to be ostensibly blameless, inasmuch as womankind was proverbially fickle, and Bergan had no reason to suppose that he was aware of any relation between him and Carice other than the outward one. He deeply regretted, therefore, that in a moment of surprise and confusion, he should have put himself in a false position. It would have been far better to have met Bergan with the careless ease of a conscience void of offence. But, since he had not done so, it was well that Carice was his sufficient safeguard against retaliation.

Yet one word had fallen from Bergan's lips, which had startled him at the moment, and haunted him on his way homeward. The young man had seriously bidden him be thankful that he was saved from "_another_ crime." Was the phrase accidental, or did it imply some knowledge of the affair of the will? In the latter case, was it likely that Bergan would submit to the loss of what he had been encouraged, at one time, to consider his lawful inheritance, without a most rigid scrutiny and investigation of the document by which, while the property was apparently given to Carice, it was done in such a way as to place it absolutely in her husband's control. Would Bergan's forbearance toward her and hers be likely to extend as far as this? Judging by himself, and his experience of men in general, and especially of heirs, he did not hesitate to affirm that it would not. For, though Bergan had seemed to be possessed of some unusually Quixotic notions of honor, independence, and disinterestedness, during the period of their intimate association, he had doubtless seen enough of life since then, to grow more sensible. What, then, had he not to dread from his natural acuteness and legal skill, when both of these, sharpened by interest, should be brought to bear on the false will?

Absorbed in these reflections, he had allowed his horse to choose his own pace, which had gradually slackened, from a gallop to a trot, and then into a walk, until, at last, he was easily overtaken by Dick Causton, in whose eyes there still shone a humorous twinkle.

"Those Arlings seem to be pretty much of a piece," said he; "they both give better than they take, when it comes to blows. However, the Italians say, _Tutto s'accommoda, eccetto l'osso del collo_,--that means, Everything can be mended except the neck-bone. Yours has come safe out of this fray, but there's no telling how long 'twill stay so, if you're so ready with your pistol."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Doctor Remy, angrily. "I am in no mood for jesting. Do you suppose that Arling got any clue to our business in that den?"

"How should he?--'A man doesn't look behind the door unless he has been there himself.' Besides, Mr. Arling minds his own business,--which I wish I did!--then I shouldn't have run from him like a dog caught stealing. By the way, Doctor, if the Major makes another will, which cuts the throat of this one of ours, I suppose the forgery goes for nothing?"

Doctor Remy looked at him darkly. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Is he thinking of making another?"

"Not that I know of," replied Dick. "But, 'At the game's end, see who wins.' There is time for him to make a dozen before he dies."

"We will see about that!" muttered the doctor.

"And if he does," persisted Dick, "our will goes for naught, of course,--won't even be looked at, I suppose. They'll 'trust to the label of the bag,' seeing there's no necessity for opening it!"

Doctor Remy stopped short, and eyed his companion suspiciously, "See here, Dick," said he, in a low, determined tone, "you had better not venture to try any double dealing with me. I will have you to know that I can put you in prison, any day; and I will do it, too, even though I have to go along with you, if you falter one step in the course I have marked out for you. Having begun with me in this business, you will find it for your interest, in more senses than one, to help me through with it."

"That is to say," muttered Dick, ruefully, "_Die met den duivel ingescheept is, moet met hem overvaren_,--Having embarked with the Devil, you have got to sail with him."

The sound of that word "prison" was by no means agreeable in his ears. He had all a vagabond's love for open air and sunshine, and liberty to go and come at his own fitful will. He sickened at the bare idea of prison walls between him and the sky, prison bars between him and the fresh, roving air, prison restraints upon his freedom of action.

Doctor Remy saw the impression that he had made, and proceeded:--"Wherefore, if you hear, or have heard, the Major express any intention of making a new will, I need not suggest the propriety of your giving me immediate warning." The form of the sentence was that of an assertion, but the tone was interrogative.

"_Dictum sapienti sat est_," answered Dick, sulkily, denying himself the pleasure of translating, and immediately closing his lips tight, as if he dared not trust himself to say another word.

In this mood, Doctor Remy thought it better not to press him further. He had been made to see that he was in his power, and had even yielded a reluctant assent to his will; this was gain enough for the present. So, having reached the point where the roads diverged, he bade Dick a smiling "Good-day," turned off toward the Hall; which, it occurred to him, it might be worth while to visit, for the chance of securing useful shreds of information, or of substituting the false will for the true one.

Dick Causton looked after him with a moody, discontented brow. "I am like a leek, a gray head, and all the rest green," he groaned to himself. "I thought I had made a mighty sharp bargain, but it turns out that I've only sold myself to the Devil, to fetch and carry at his bidding. I really gave myself credit for more sense; but, _Do entra beber, sale saber_, When the drink's in, the wit's out."

With the last words, Dick heaved a deep sigh. It was nothing new to find that his darling sin was an inclined plane, down which he continually slid into the grasp of divers other sins, less to his taste; but never before had it done him so unkind a trick as to fling him into the hands of a man quick to see, and unscrupulous to use, the chance of turning him to account. Yet so completely had all courage and energy of will died out of him, and so thoroughly was he scared at the idea of a prison as a possible termination of his career, that he dared propose to himself only a feeble and covert resistance to Doctor Remy's stern domination. There was present safety in outward submission; and as for the future!--he smiled in spite of his discomfiture.

At the Hall, Doctor Remy was a little startled to find Major Bergan in the clutch of so severe an attack of delirium tremens that death was likely to be the speedy result. It did not suit his plans that the Major's decease should follow so quickly upon the completion of the forged will; he wanted a little more time to mark out and make smooth his future course, and obliterate his more recent track. He therefore set to work, with right good will, and science considerably in advance of the times, to strengthen and quiet his patient, and so prolong his life; certain that, whenever the strong hand of medical authority was withdrawn, he would immediately drink himself into a relapse, which could be allowed to prove fatal. His efforts were not without a measure of success; in three hours, he had so far reduced the fever and excitement that he ventured to leave Rue in charge, while he paid a brief visit to another patient, who had sent for him four or five times during the evening. This desertion of his post was fatal to him. In spite of Rue's best endeavors, Major Bergan succeeded in getting possession of the brandy bottle, and draining it to the last drop. When Doctor Remy returned, it was to find him once more a raving maniac, and to learn to his consternation, that Bergan had been sent for. The Major would die, there was no help for that; but something must be done to prevent the arrival of his nephew until after the true will--and all other wills--had been found and destroyed, and the false one put in its place;--even, if possible, until after the funeral was over, the will read, and the property put into his own hands. Once in possession, he had reason to believe that he could not, or would not, be disturbed.

His stay at the Major's bedside was short, and principally spent in profound meditation; which was set down by the lookers-on to the account of his deep solicitude for the patient. His course was soon decided upon. In less than two hours he was back at the Rat-Hole, in deep conversation with the convalescent, who was known as "Big Ben." Its purport may be gathered from the closing remarks.

"You hit pretty hard, I suppose," said the doctor.

"Looks like it, don't it?" returned Big Ben, holding up his great fist for inspection, with a satisfied smile. "Make yourself easy; yonder lawyer won't trouble you with any cross-questions for a month to come, I'll promise you that. He won't know his head from a bread-and-milk poultice to-morrow morning, if he ever does."

"Take care!" replied the doctor, warningly; "you know I don't want him killed,--only laid up for two or three weeks, and indisposed to meddle with other people's affairs."

Big Ben smiled grimly. "I'll take care not to do more than stun him, on your account, doctor," he answered; "but I don't say what I shall do, on my brother's. A fellow don't always weight his blows exactly to suit the skull they hit; and if I should happen to put an end to him, without meaning it, you wouldn't take it much to heart, would ye?"

Doctor Remy did not move a muscle of his face, but his eyes sparkled, in spite of himself. Ben laughed, and nodded his head.

"Don't trouble yerself to answer," said he; "I understand you well enough without."

"But, Ben--" began the doctor, in a tone of remonstrance.

"Enough said," interrupted the ruffian, impatiently. "If it's me you're afeard for, I'll jest let you know that I've got everything fixed to leave these parts, to-morrow morning--I've heard of a better opening for my talents--so I shall be off before this affair leaks out. As for you, who knows that you've got anything to do with it? It's jest our own private squarin' of accounts; that's all. You saved my life; I squelch this lawyer for you. At the same time I settle up with him, for my brother. If I swing for't, I'm not such a scoundrel as to bring you in. Now, I'm off; there's scant time to fix things, and get to the Hall by day-break. It's too late, you think, to stop him on the way?"

"Most certainly; he must have started before this."

"And his room is on the south-east corner, you say?"

"Yes, with windows opening on the second piazza."