Ancestors: A Novel

by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

  XVI

  The young Marquess of Strathland and Zeal sat alone in the smoking-roomat Capheaton--the guests, with the exception of Flora Thangue and IsabelOtis had departed six days ago--sunk in a melancholy so profound thathis brain was mercifully inactive: if the history of the past week wasdully insistent the future was not.

  He had witnessed the descent of his grandfather and cousin into thevault of the chapel at Strathland Abbey two days before, and after thenecessary interviews with stewards and family solicitors had returnedthis afternoon to Capheaton with his mother. Lady Victoria, even herdauntless soul sick with grief and horrors, had gone to bed at once, andafter a funereal dinner, where he had made no response whatever to thefeeble efforts of the girls to illuminate the darkness in which hemoved, had gone to the smoking-room alone, wishing to think and plan,yet grateful that he could not.

  He had known nothing of the weakness of his grandfather's heart, and theold gentleman, as ruddy and debonair as ever, had just come in from thecoverts when he arrived at the Abbey a few hours after Zeal's departurefrom Capheaton. Always vain of his health and appearance since hiscomplete recovery, now many years ago, Lord Strathland had turned ahaughty back upon the one physician that had dared to warn him; not evenhis valet was permitted to suspect that he had been forced to pay toTime any debt beyond bleaching hair and an occasional twinge of gout.The care he had taken of himself in his delicate youth had given him afiner constitution than he would have been likely to enjoy had he beenable to go the wild way of many of his family; and it was his familiarboast that he intended to live until ninety.

  Elton's visit roused no curiosity in his complacent breast, for thefavorite seldom announced his coming, and it was quite in order that heshould run down for congratulations, and delight his affectionate ifdisapproving relative with personal details of the great fight. He hadcome with the intention of being the one to break the news of hiscousin's death to his grandfather, should it be necessary; but hepermitted himself to hope that Zeal would rise above his type. He haddriven him to the station himself, dispensing with the groom as well,and pleaded with him to wait at least a month; to consider the mattermore coolly and carefully than had hitherto been possible; begged him toreturn to Capheaton; offered to travel with him if he preferred to leaveEngland. Whatever might threaten in the future there could be noimmediate danger of arrest, for if the shot had carried beyond theprivate rooms of the Club there would have been evidence of the fact atonce, and if the undertakers had suspected the truth and delayed givinginformation, their purpose was blackmail and could be dealt with.

  And while he argued and pleaded he wondered, as he had during the hourshe watched beside his cousin sleeping, if, in spite of certainprinciples which he had believed to be immutable, he could have foundany other solution himself. Honor has many arbitrary inflections, andZeal's act, being wholly abominable, there must seem, in his code, to beno place for him among men. To walk among them unscathed, punished onlyby a conscience that time would inevitably dull, and the loss of a smallfortune that his promised wife would more than replace, while somepassionate creature without powerful friends or money for blackmail wentto the noose, was an outrage abroad in the secret regions of the spiriteven if it made no assault upon public standards. He deservedextinction, one way or another, and it would be almost as great anoutrage were he to cover his family with his own disgrace. Certain menmight, after such a lesson, live on to devote their lives to repentanceand beneficent works, but not Zeal; and Gwynne had no great respect fora character made over after some terrifying explosion among its baserparts. And the question would always remain if the highest honor wouldnot have commanded confession.

  He made a deliberate effort to put himself in Zeal's place, and afterseveral failures accomplished the feat. He was willing to believe thathis first impulse would have been to destroy himself, not so muchthrough fear as through a blind sense of atonement, for when heendeavored to argue that the crime belonged to the law and the public,he swore at himself for a prig. Either way was suicide, and if the moredeliberate might damn a man's soul, no doubt he deserved nothing less,and at least he had done his duty by his family and his class. Gwynnehad in the base of his character a puritanical stratum by no means minedas yet, but with too many outcroppings to have been overlooked. But thevery strength it gave him served to confuse the simplicity of thereligious instinct; and duty, like the code of honor, endures manyinterpretations in complex minds. He was quite sure that ultimately hewould have decided with his cold intelligence; and he was equally surethat if he had doggedly determined to conquer life and be conquered bynothing, that the best part of his mental existence would have gone intothe grave with his ideals.

  Although there was still some confusion in his mind, he kept it out ofhis words, and as he drove home from the station he was sanguine enoughto hope that he had at least dissuaded Zeal from precipitancy; for hiscousin, flippant, cynical, appeared to be quite his usual self, and ashe nodded from the window of the train bore little resemblance to thedemoralized wretch of the night.

  Nevertheless, he hastened to his grandfather, for he knew how little themood of the moment may presage that of an hour hence; although he wasreasonably sure that if Zeal lived until the following morning it wouldbe some time before he brought himself to the sticking-point again. Heannounced to his mother and his guests that it was his duty to spendtwenty-four hours with his grandfather, promising to return in time fortwo hours' shooting on the morrow.

  He took for granted that Zeal had gone to London. What then was hisforeboding horror when Lord Strathland, as they sat alone atluncheon--the unmarried aunts were visiting--remarked with acerbity:

  "Zeal arrived on the train before yours--went straight to his room,giving orders he was not to be called until dinner--has not honored mewith so much as an intimation that he was in the house--Where are yougoing?"

  Gwynne had half risen. He sat down hastily.

  "I was afraid he might be ill," he replied, coolly. "But doubtless hemerely had a bad night and wants sleep."

  In a flash he had understood. It was like Zeal's cynicism to die asclose to the family vault as possible.

  No meal had ever seemed as long as that last luncheon with hisgrandfather, who promptly dismissed the subject of his detested heir andasked a hundred questions about the campaign. A fierce sense ofprotecting the two men he loved best enabled Gwynne to answer ascollectedly as if he had not been possessed with the sickening idea thatthe very bones had gone out of him. When luncheon was over heaccompanied his grandfather to the library, then after smoking a thirdof a cigar, left him to his nap, frankly stating that he thought he hadbetter look up Zeal, who had been rather seedy of late; he would riskbeing unwelcome.

  He walked slowly up the stair and along the corridor to his cousin'ssuite; he was in no hurry to reach it, but neither could he wait for thepossible discovery of the servants at the dinner-hour.

  He knocked at the door of the sitting-room. There was no answer. Heturned the handle. The door was locked. Then he pounded and called. Hewas about to fling himself against the door when he heard a quick stepin the corridor, and before he could retreat Lord Strathland was besidehim. There was no defect in the old gentleman's eyesight nor in hisperceptions. Zeal's abrupt arrival without servant or luggage, and hismore than usual rudeness, had charged him with vague suspicions as wellas annoyance. When Gwynne, in spite of his self-control, had turnedlivid upon hearing that Zeal was in the Abbey, and had risen as if tofly to his rescue, a dark if undefined foreboding had entered hisgrandfather's mind. But Lord Strathland respected the reserve of hisguests, no matter how nearly related, and, dismissing the subject, hadforgotten his apprehension until Gwynne revived it by his untimelypilgrimage. Then Lord Strathland thought the time had come to hear thetruth.

  "Well?" he demanded, sharply. "What is it? What's up? Why doesn't Zealopen? I saw him in Piccadilly on Saturday and he stared at me as if hehad never seen me before. I thought at the moment it was some of hisdamned impe
rtinence, but concluded that he had something on his mind. Helooked more dead than alive."

  Gwynne's back was to the light, and he controlled his voice, althoughhis heart was thumping. "Well, he has been, poor chap--awfully seedy--Iam really worried. He may have anticipated a final hemorrhage, andcrawled home to die." He cherished the hope that Zeal had been at painsto procure an untraceable drug.

  "Ah! Well--I hope that is it if the poor fellow is dead. He looked as ifhe had more than ill-health on his mind. I thought he had pulled up, butno doubt he went to pieces over some wretched woman again. Come, let usget in. I don't want the servants to know anything of this at present."

  They threw themselves against the door. The old gentleman was heavy andGwynne sound and wiry in spite of his delicate appearance. The door wasstout but its hinges were old, and after several attempts they drove itin. Lord Strathland's face was pale and he was panting, but he led theway rapidly through the sitting-room into the bedroom.

  Zeal had undressed, extended himself on the bed, and covered his bodywith an eider-down quilt. Lord Strathland jerked it off, and both sawwhat they had expected to see, for a faint odor of burnt powder lingeredin the rooms.

  Lord Strathland's face was ghastly, almost blue. He had anticipateddeath, not with the imagination of the young, but dully, through theatrophied faculties of his age, and the shock could hardly have beengreater had he found his grandson without warning.

  "What does this mean?" he demanded, thickly. "You know and I will know."

  Gwynne took him firmly by the arm and turned him about. "Not here," hesaid. "Come to the library. I will tell you, but I am no more fit totalk just now than you are to listen."

  His grandfather submitted, and Gwynne dropped his arm and rearranged thequilt over his cousin's body. At the same moment Lord Strathland's eyeslit on a sealed letter addressed to himself. Before Gwynne couldinterfere he had broken the seal. It ran:

  MY LORD,--I murdered Brathland. In cold blood--saving the fact that I was drunk. My entire private fortune has gone for purposes of blackmail. Even that might not have saved me eventually from the hangman, we have grown so damned democratic. All things considered, I am sure you will agree that it is quite proper I should make the exit of a gentleman while there is yet time. Jack will give you further particulars, should you care to listen to them. ZEAL."

  He too had known nothing of the condition of his grandfather's heart,and it had amused him to plan a last shock to the perennial optimismand complacency of the person he disliked most on earth. The smile wasstill on his frozen lips that expressed the amused anticipation of hisbrain. Death, to do him justice, he had met with none of the cowardicehe had vaunted, and consistently with his arid cynical soul.

  "Don't read it! Don't!" Gwynne had exclaimed, in agony, and forgettingthe awful figure on the bed in his alarm at the sight of hisgrandfather's face. "If you must know the truth let me tell it in my ownway."

  But Lord Strathland read, and fell at his feet like a bundle of oldclothes.