fallacy. What proof havewe of the existence of a Supreme Being? None. What proof of a lifehereafter? None. Religion is a mere sentimental pastime for women andfools. For priests to try and convert convicts is a sorry, miserablefarce. There is no God!"
Several minutes elapsed, during which he thought seriously upon the madwords that had escaped him. The recollection of the religious teachinghe had received at his mother's knee came back to him. He had oftenjested at holy things, but never before had he been smitten byconscience as now.
"Suppose--suppose, after all, there is an Almighty Power," he saidthoughtfully, in an awed voice. "Suppose it is enabled to directcircumstances and control destiny. In that case God could give mefreedom. He could give Valerie back to me, and I should return home andresume the perfect happiness that was so brief and so suddenlydispelled. Ah! if such things could be! And--why not? My mother--didshe not believe in God? Were not the words she uttered with her dyingbreath a declaration of implicit trust in Him? Did she not diepeacefully because of her firm, unshaken faith?"
Jumping to his feet with a sudden resolution, he stretched forth hishands in supplication to heaven, exclaiming, in a hoarse, half-chokedwhisper--
"I--I believe--yes, I believe there's a Ruling Power. No! I'll notabandon all hope yet."
His arms dropped listlessly to his side again, and he sank upon theboulder where he had been sitting, silent and thoughtful, wonderingwhether freedom would ever again be his.
"Hulloa," exclaimed a voice in French. "Why, what's the matter? Anyone watching you from a distance, as I've been doing, would think you'dtaken leave of your senses."
Glancing up quickly, he saw it was a bearded, unkempt prisoner who,condemned to a sentence _a perpetuite_, worked in the mine in the samelabour gang as himself.
"I hope you've enjoyed the entertainment," he said, in annoyance.
"Entertainment," echoed the other. "There is scarcely entertainment inthe _mauvais quart-d'heure_, is there? Bah! we all of us in thismalarial death-trap have periods of melancholy, more or less. Formyself, I'm never troubled with them. When you've been here a few yearsyou'll see the folly of giving way to gloomy thoughts, and the utteruselessness of entertaining any anticipation of either escape orrelease."
"But we may still hope."
"Hope! What's the use? What can we hope for--except death?" he askedbitterly. Then, without waiting for a reply, he said, "Let's forget itall; we shall die some day, and then we shall obtain rest and peace,perhaps."
"We cannot all forget so easily."
"There, don't talk so dismally. Come, we must be going."
"Where?"
"To the cage," he replied, indicating the prison by the sobriquetbestowed upon it by the convicts. "The gun has sounded. Did you nothear it? Come, we must hasten, or you know the penalty."
Hugh sighed again, rose to his feet, took up his pickaxe, and, placingit upon his shoulder, walked with heavy wearied steps beside hiscompanion in misfortune. Both trudged on in dogged silence, broken onlyby the clanking of their leg-irons, for nearly a quarter of a mile alongthe rough beach path, until they came to a broader path leading inland,with dense forests on either side.
Here they were met by two armed warders, who roundly abused them fortheir tardy appearance, and who escorted them within the grim portals ofthe long, low stone building which stood upon the side of the bare,rugged mountain overlooking Noumea.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
GILDED SORROW.
"Good heavens! Why, it can't be true."
The exclamation escaped Jack Egerton's lips as he sat in his studioenjoying his matutinal pipe, and glancing through the _Daily News_ priorto commencing work.
The paragraph he had read contained nothing startling to the ordinarynewspaper reader. It was merely an announcement that the will had beenproved of the late Mr. Hugh Trethowen, of Coombe Hall, Cornwall, whodied suddenly at the Hotel du Nord, Antwerp, and that the whole of theestate, valued at 112,000 pounds, had been left to his wife Valerie.
"Dead! Dead! And I knew nothing of it, poor fellow!" he cried,starting up, and, after re-reading the words, standing motionless."Died suddenly," he reflected bitterly. "An ominous expression whereValerie Dedieu is concerned. More than one person who has enjoyed heracquaintance has _died suddenly_. If I thought he had met with foulplay, and could prove it, by Heaven! I'd do so--even at the risk of myown liberty. Poor Hugh," he added in a low, broken voice. "We havebeen almost brothers. God! shall I ever forgive myself for not warninghim of his danger? Yet I did tell him she was not fit to be his wife,but he took no heed. No; he was infatuated by her fatally seductivesmiles and accursed beauty."
Pushing the hair from his forehead he flung the paper from him with agesture of despair.
"Dead," he murmured. "How much I owe to him. In the days when Iscarcely earned enough to keep body and soul together, we shared oneanother's luck, Bohemians that we were, often living from hand to mouth,and not knowing whence the next half-crown was to come. Always mywarmest friend from that time until his marriage: he was anirrepressible, genial, good fellow, whom everybody held in high esteem.Always merry, always light-hearted; in many a dark hour, when I've beenon the verge of despair, it has been his perfect indifference tomelancholy that has cheered and given me heart; nay, it was by hisadvice and encouragement that, instead of going out to the Transvaal asI intended, I remained here to work and win fame."
He sighed deeply, and tears welled in his eyes.
"I have no brother; he was one--and--and I've lost him. I should haveliked to have been at the funeral to have paid a last tribute to hismemory. Had I placed a wreath upon the grave, it would have been withhands more tender than any of those persons who showed outwardbereavement. Where was the widow, I wonder?"
As he paused, his face grew stern and he clenched his hands.
"Bah! The widow who, by his death, has gained one hundred and twelvethousand pounds--the woman who, staking life for gold, held him in herfatal toils until death severed the bond. I wonder--I wonder, if I wentto Antwerp, whether I could discover evidence of foul play? Is it notmy duty to try? If he has met the same terrible fate as--"
"Good-morning, Jack!" exclaimed Dolly Vivian brightly, tripping into theroom.
"Good-morning," he assented sullenly, without looking up at her.
"How disagreeable you are to-day," she observed, as she commencedunbuttoning her glove. "Anything wrong?"
"Yes, a good deal. I shan't want you; I can't work to-day," he repliedsadly.
"What's the matter?" she asked in alarm, advancing towards him andplacing her hand upon his arm.
Turning with a sigh, he looked into her face and said, in a low, earnesttone--
"Dolly, I've received bad news."
"What is it--tell me? Don't keep me in suspense."
"It is about some one you know."
"News of Hugh?" she cried, her thoughts at once reverting to the man sheloved.
He nodded, but did not reply.
"What of him? Where is he?"
"Dolly," he said hesitatingly,--"he is dead."
"Dead!" she gasped, clutching at a chair for support.
She would have fallen had he not rushed to her and placed his arm aroundher waist. In a few moments, however, she recovered herself.
"You--you tell me he is dead. How do you know?"
"By the newspaper."
"Dead! Hugh dead! I can't--no, I won't believe it," she cried wildly."There must be some mistake."
"He died suddenly at Antwerp," Jack said mechanically.
"You mean he has been killed--that his wife is a murderess."
"Hush, Dolly," he exclaimed quickly; "you cannot prove that, remember."
"Oh, can't I? If he has been murdered, I will discover the truth. Herpast is better known to me than she imagines. I'll denounce ValerieDuvauchel as the woman who--"
"Why, how did you know that was her name?" he asked in amazement andundisguised alarm.
She knew she had said too much, and tried to hide her confusion in theintense grief which his announcement had caused.
"You said her name was Duvauchel?" he said quietly.
"Did I? Well, what of that?"
"You are acquainted with incidents of her past. What is it you know?Tell me."
She hesitated. Her face was white and agitated, but she had shed notears. Her heart was stricken with grief, yet she strove to
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