CHAPTER IV.

THE RED BOOK.

Dermoyne flung his cloak over his arm, drew his cap over his forehead, and grasped the iron bar with his right hand.

"Come with me," he said, in a low voice, to Barnhurst. He drew the key from his pocket, and led the way to the door. As though fascinated by his look, Herman followed him,--followed him trembling and with terror stamped on every line of his face.

"At ten o'clock, to-morrow morning, remember!" said Dermoyne, turning his face over his shoulder. He turned the key in the lock, and stood upon the threshold. "Come with me," he said, quietly, to Barnhurst. "Nay, take the light and walk before me."

Herman, with a quivering hand, seized a lighted lamp and led the way from the room, along the passage. He dared not turn his head. He heard Dermoyne's footsteps at his back, and shook with fright. "Does he intend to murder me?" and then he thought of the iron bar; of the strong hand of Dermoyne; and of his own defenseless head.

"Herman, don't, don't desert me," muttered Alice, in her delirium, as they crossed the threshold.

Dermoyne turned and saw the fixed eyes, the sunny hair, the lips white with foam; saw the writhing form and the hands clasped madly over the half-bared bosom; and then he looked no more.

Along the passage, Herman led the way and down the stairs, Dermoyne following silently at his heels. Thus they descended to the second floor.

"The Madam has a room where she keeps her papers and arranges her most important affairs. Conduct me there."

And Herman, scarce knowing what he did, led the way to the small room in the rear of the second floor,--the small room in which we first beheld the Madam. He entered, followed by Dermoyne, who carefully closed the door, and then, at a glance, surveyed the place. It looked the same as when we first beheld the Madam. The shaded lamp stood on the desk, describing a brief circle of light around it, while the rest of the place was vailed in twilight. On the desk was the seal and the pearl-handled pen, and beside it, was the capacious arm-chair.

"Come here," said Arthur, still in that low voice, but with the face unnaturally pale, and the eyes flashing with steady and ominous light; and he led the way to the desk. Barnhurst obeyed him without a word.

"To-morrow, at ten o'clock, we will return to this mansion," said Dermoyne, fixing his eyes upon the affrighted visage of Barnhurst. "We will return together, and if Alice yet lives, we will go away together; but," he laid his right hand upon the forehead of the wretch,--or rather placed his thumb upon the right temple, and his fingers on the left,--"but, if Alice is dead, I will kill you at her bedside."

There was a determination in his tone,--in his look,--nay, in the very pressure of the hand which touched Barnhurst's forehead; which gave a force to his brief words, that no pen can depict.

Barnhurst fell on his knees, and his head sank on his breast. He had no power to frame a word. He appeared conscious that he was in the hands of his fate.

"Get up, get up, _my friend_!" and Arthur raised him from his knees and placed him in a chair. (Now well we know that it would have been more in accordance with the rules provided for novel writers, for Arthur to have said, "Arise! villain!" but as he simply said, "Get up, _my friend_!" applying a singular emphasis to the italicized words: we feel bound to record his words just as he spoke them).

"I have a few words to say to you," said Arthur; "there's no use of your shuddering when I speak to you, and of crying when I touch you. You must listen to me and listen with all your senses about you. Why, you were courageous enough to blaspheme God, when you used his religion as the instrument of that poor girl's ruin: don't be afraid of me."

"When you leave this place, _my friend_, I will go with you. I will put no restraint upon your actions; you can go where you please, but wherever you go, I will go with you. I will not lose sight of you, until the life or death of Alice Burney is assured. Yes, you can go where you please, talk with whom you please, sleep, eat, drink where it suits you, but everywhere _I will go with you_. We will be together, side by side, until the life or the death of Alice is certain,--together, always together, like twin souls,--do you understand, my friend? Until we are assured of the fate of Alice, I will be your _shadow_? Do you comprehend?"

Herman _did_ comprehend. The full force of Arthur's determination crowded upon him, impressing every fiber of his soul.

"No,--no,--this cannot be," he faltered,--"If you must wreak your vengeance on me, kill me at once. But, to be thus accompanied, I will not consent--"

"Kill you?" and there was a sad smile on Dermoyne's face; "do you suppose that the mere act of physical death can atone for the moral and physical death of poor Alice? You commit a wrong, that is murder in a sense, that the basest physical murder can never equal; and you think the sacrifice of your life will atone for that wrong? Faugh! If Alice dies, I will kill you,--be assured of that--I will crush the miserable life which now beats within your brain,--but, first, I will make you die a thousand deaths--I will kill you in soul as well as in body--for every throb which you have made her suffer, you shall render an exact, a fearful account--yes, before I kill your miserable body, I will kill you in reputation, in all that makes life dear, in everything that you hold sacred, or that those with whom you are connected by all or any ties, hold sacred. To do this, I must _know all about you_, and to know all about you, I must go with you and be your shadow."

"Oh, this is infernal!" groaned Barnhurst, dropping his hands helplessly on his knees, while his head sank back against the chair, "Have you no mercy?"

"A preacher appeared as a demi-god, to the eyes of a sinless girl,--clad in the light of religion, he appeared to her as something more than mortal--aware of this fact, he passed from the pulpit where she heard him preach to her father's home, and there dishonored her. When her dishonor was complete, and a second life throbbed within her, so far from thinking of hiding her shame under the mantle of an honorable marriage, he calmly plotted the murder of his victim and her unborn child. And this preacher now crouches before his executioner, and falters, 'Have you no mercy?'"

"But I could not marry her," groaned Barnhurst, "it was impossible! impossible!"

"Why?"

Barnhurst buried his face in his hands, but did not answer.

"You killed her to save your _reputation_," whispered Arthur, "and now I have your life and reputation in my grasp. In the name of Alice, I will use my power. Come! Let us be going. I am ready to attend you."

He took the hat and cloak of the clergyman, from a chair, (where Barnhurst had left them before he ascended to the chamber of Alice) and exclaimed with a low bow--

"Your hat and cloak, sir. I am ready."

Barnhurst rose, trembling and livid,--he placed the hat upon his sleeked hair, and wound the cloak about his angular form. For a moment his coward nature seemed stirred, by the extremity of his despair, into something like courage. His eyes (the dark pupils of which you will remember covered each eyeball) flashed madly from his _blonde_ visage, and he gazed from side to side, as if in search of some deadly weapon. At that moment he was prepared for combat and for murder.

Dermoyne caught his eye: never lunatic cowered at the sight of his keeper, as Barnhurst before Dermoyne.

"It won't do. You haven't the 'pluck,'" sneered Arthur,--"if it was a weak girl, there's no knowing what you might do; but as it is a man and an--_executioner_."

"I am ready," was all that Barnhurst could reply.

"One moment, dear friend, and I'll be with you," as he spoke, Dermoyne advanced toward the Madam's Desk. "_I must have a_ PLEDGE _before I go_."

Before the preacher had time to analyze the meaning of these words, Dermoyne, with one blow of the iron bar, had forced the lock of the Madam's desk. He raised the lid and the light fell upon packages of letters, neatly folded, and upon a large book, square in shape and bound in red morocco.

"The red book!" the words were forced from Barnhurst's lips, as he saw Arthur raise the volume to the light and rapidly examine its contents. THE RED BOOK! Well he knew the character of that singular volume!

"Yes, this will do," said Arthur, as he placed the book under his cloak. "I wanted a pledge,--that is to say, a _sure hold_ upon the Madam and her friends. And I have one!"

He took the clergyman by the arm and they went forth together from the private chamber,--the holy place--of the Madam. Went forth together, and descending the stairs, passed in the darkness along the hall. The key was in the lock of the front door. Arthur turned it, and in a moment, they passed together over the threshold of that mansion of crime, and stood in the light of the wintery stars.

"Who," whispered Arthur, as side by side, and arm in arm, they went down the dark street, "who to see us walk so lovingly together, would imagine the real nature of those relations which bind us together?"

He felt Barnhurst shudder as he held him to his side--

"The red book!" ejaculated the clergyman, with accent hard to define, whether of fear, or wonder, or of horror.

And by the light of the midnight stars, they went down the dark street together.