The Bond of Black

by William Le Queux

repentant, then that, indeed, would be proof conclusive that shewere something more than human. I had implored of Muriel to give mehope, and had used upon her all the persuasive power at my command toinduce her to think more kindly of me, yet without avail. An influencewhich would cause her to return to my side must be irresistible, andtherefore an exercise of the all-ruling power of evil.

  "And when may I expect her to relinquish this man?" I inquired eagerly.

  She rose slowly, a strange, rather tragic-looking figure, so slim,pale-faced and fragile that she seemed almost as one from whom the flushof life had faded. Her brows contracted, her thin lips twitched, andthe magnificent marquise ring of turquoises and diamonds upon herungloved hand seemed to glitter with an iridescence that was dazzling.

  She raised her hand with an imperious gesture, describing a semicircle,while I stood aghast watching her.

  "I have commanded!" she said a moment later, in that curious far-offtone. "At this instant the change is effected. She no longer lovesthat man who came between you!"

  "And she loves me?" I cried, incredible that she could at will effectsuch changes in the affections of any person. Truly her power wasdemoniacal.

  "Yes," she answered. "She will be penitent."

  "And she will come to me?"

  "Wait in patience," the mysterious woman answered. "You must allow timefor the thoughts of regret now arising within her to mature. When theyhave done so, then will she seek your forgiveness."

  "Why have you done me this service, Aline?" I asked, utterly mystified."It is a service which I can never repay."

  "We are friends," she responded simply. "Not enemies."

  Then for the first time the terrible thought flashed upon me that bymaking the agreement I had made with her I might be aiding the murdererof poor Roddy to escape. She had set a seal upon my lips.

  Next day was Sunday, and as Jack Yelverton had not called upon me, and Idid not know his address, I suddenly, early in the evening, resolved togo down to Walworth and see whether I could find him.

  Having no idea where the church of St Peter was situated, I took a cabthrough Newington to a point halfway along the Walworth Road, that greatartery of Transpontine London, and there alighted. Some of those whoread these lines may know that road, one of the busiest in the wholemetropolis. Even on a Sunday evening, when the shops are closed, thetraffic in that broad thoroughfare never ceases. From the overcrowdeddistricts of Peckham and Camberwell, districts which within my ownmemory were semi-rural, this road is the main highway to the City, andwhile on week-days it is crowded with those hurrying thousands of dailyworkers who earn their bread beyond the river, on Sunday evenings thosesame workers take out their wives and families for a breath of air onCamberwell Green, Peckham Eye, or some other of those open spaces whichhave aptly been termed "the lungs of London." Only the worker knows thefelicity of the Sunday rest. People of means and leisure may talk ofthe pleasure and brightness of the Continental Sunday, but for theworker in the great city it would be a sad day indeed if the presentcustom were altered. It is now a day of rest; and assuredly rest andrelaxation are required in the ceaseless, frantic hurry of the life ofLondon's toilers. The opening of places of amusement would be but thethin end of the wedge. It would be followed, as in France and Italy, bythe opening of shops until noon, and later, most probably, by thehalf-day working of factories.

  The leisure of the English Sunday was well illustrated in the WalworthRoad, that centre of lower and middle-class life, on that evening, as Iwalked alone until, by direction, I entered a narrow, ratheruninviting-looking turning, and proceeding some distance came to alarge, old-fashioned church with pointed spire, surrounded by aspacious, disused burying-ground, where the gravestones were blackening.The bell, of peculiarly doleful tone, was quite in keeping with thecharacter of the neighbourhood, for the houses in the vicinity weremostly one-storied, dingy abodes, little more than cottages, let out infloors, many of their inhabitants being costermongers and factory hands.The old church, cracked and smoke-blackened, was a substantial andimposing relic of bygone times. Once, as was shown by the blackened,rain-stained tombstones in God's-acre, the residents in that parish werewell-to-do citizens, who had their rural residences in that quarter; butduring the past half-century or so a poor, squalid parish had sprung upin the market gardens which surrounded it, one of those gloomy,miserable, mean, and dreary districts wherein life seems so full ofsadness, and disease stalks hand-in-hand with direst poverty.

  I was shown by the verger to a pew well in front, and found that thecongregation was by no means a small one, comprising many who appearedto be tradespeople from the Walworth Road. Yet there was about theplace a damp, mouldy smell, which rendered it a very depressing place ofworship.

  As I had hoped, my friend, Yelverton, conducted the service, andafterwards preached a striking sermon upon "Brotherliness," a discourseso brilliant that he held his not too educated congregation breathlessin attention.

  At length, when the Benediction had been pronounced, and thecongregation rose to leave, I made my way into the vestry, where I foundhim taking off his surplice.

  "Hulloa, Clifton!" he cried, welcoming me warmly, "so you've found meout, eh?"

  "Yes," I answered. "Why haven't you called, as you promised?"

  I simply uttered the first words that arose to my lips, for truth totell, I had a moment before made a surprising and unexpected discovery.As I had risen from my seat I saw behind me a tall, thin lady in deepmourning, wearing a veil.

  I could not see the face, but by her figure and her gait as she turnedto make her way out I recognised her.

  It was Aline Cloud. She had come there to listen to the preaching ofthe man she loved. Once again, then, had she come into the life of thisman who had fled from her as from a temptress.

  The verger went back into the church, and my friend pushed to the doorin order that whoever remained should not witness us, then answered--

  "I've been busy--terribly busy, my dear fellow. Forgive me."

  "Of course," I answered. "But it was a surprise to me to hear that youhad left Duddington, although, of course, we couldn't expect you to buryyourself down there altogether."

  "Well, I had this offer," he answered, hanging up his surplice in thecupboard, "and being so much interested in the work here, I couldn'trefuse."

  "It seems a dismal place," I observed, "a terribly dismal place."

  "Yes," he sighed. "There's more misery and poverty here than even inthe East End. Here we have the deserving poor--the people who are tooproud to throw themselves on the parish, yet they haven't a few coppersto get the bare necessaries of life with. If you came one round withme, Clifton, you'd witness scenes which would cause your heart to bleed.And this in London--the richest city in the world! While at the CafeRoyal or Jimmy's you will cheerfully give a couple or three pounds for adinner with a friend, here, within fifty yards of this place, are peopleactually starving because they can't get a herring and a pennyworth ofbread. Ah! you who have had no experience in the homes of these peoplecan't know how despairing, how cheerless, is the life of the deservingpoor."

  "And you live here?" I asked. "You prefer this cramped, gloomy placeto the fresh air and free life of the country? You would rather visitthese overcrowded slums than the homely cottages of the agriculturallabourer?"

  "Certainly," he responded simply. "I entered the Church with the objectof serving the Master, and I intend to do so."

  "And the lady who was once a parish-worker here," I said, with somehesitancy. "Have you seen her?"

  "Ah!" he sighed, as a dark shadow crossed his thoughtful brow, and hislips compressed. "You alone know my secret, old fellow, you alone areaware of the torment I am suffering."

  "What torment?" I inquired, surprised.

  At that instant, however, the old verger, a man who spoke with apronounced South London drawl, interrupted by dashing in alarmed andpale-faced, saying--

  "There's been a robbery, sir--an awful s
acrilege!"

  "Sacrilege!" echoed Yelverton, starting up.

  "Yes, sir. The chalice you used this morning at Communion I put in theniche beside the organ, meaning to clean it to-night. I've always putit there these twelve years. But it's gone."

  My friend went forth into the church, and I followed until we came tothe niche which the old verger indicated.

  There was no chalice there, but in its place only white ashes and a fewpieces of metal melted out of all recognition.

  All three of us stood gazing at the fused fragments of the sacramentalcup, astonished and amazed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  THE RESULT OF THE COMPACT.

  "There's some Devil's work been performed here!" gasped thenewly-appointed vicar, turning over the ashes with trembling hands,while at the same time I, too, bent and examined the fused fragments ofthe Communion cup.

  The recollection of the miraculous changes effected in my own room wasfresh within my memory, and I stood amazed. The agency to which was duethe melting of the chalice was still a mystery, but had I not seenAline, the Woman of Evil, leave the church?

  It was apparent that Yelverton had not detected her presence, or hewould most probably have referred to it. He loved her with anall-absorbing love, yet, like myself, he seemed to hold her in somemysterious dread, the reason of which I always failed to discover. Histheory that the clergy should not marry was, I believe, a mere cloak tohide his terror of her. This incident showed me that now he had comeback to his old parish she haunted him as she had done in the past,sometimes unseen, and at others boldly greeting him. That night she hadsat a few pews behind me listening to his brilliant discourse, veiledand unrecognised in the half-lighted church, and had escaped quickly, inorder that none should be aware of her presence.

  But I had caught a glimpse of her, and knowledge of her visit had beenimmediately followed by this astounding discovery. Her evil influencehad once more asserted itself upon a sacred object and destroyed it.

  Truly her power was Satanic. Yet she was so calm, so sweet, soeminently beautiful, that I did not wonder that he loved her. Indeed, Irecollected how enthusiastically I once had fallen down and worshippedher.

  And now had I not a compact with her? Had I not given myself over toher, body and soul, to become her puppet and her slave?

  I shuddered when I recollected that hour of my foolishness. This Womanof Evil held me irrevocably in her power.

  "How strange!" I exclaimed at last, when I had thoroughly examined theashes. I would have told him of Aline's presence, but, with my lipssealed by my promise, I feared to utter a word, lest I might be strickenby her deadly hate, for she certainly was something more than human.

  "Strange!" he cried. "It's marvellous. Feel! The ashes are quitewarm! The heat required to melt and fuse a heavy vessel like that wouldbe enormous. It couldn't have been done by any natural means."

  "How, then, do you account for it?" I inquired quickly.

  "I can't account for it," he answered in a hoarse voice, gazing aboutthe darkened church, for the lights had been nearly all extinguished,and the place was weird and eerie. Then, with his lips compressed for amoment, he looked straight at me, saying in a strange, hard voice:"Clifton, such a change as this could not be effected by any humanmeans. If this had happened in a Roman Catholic church, it would havebeen declared to be a miracle."

  "A miracle wrought by the Evil One!" I said.

  And he bowed his head, his face ashen, his hands still trembling.

  "I cannot help thinking," he said after a pause, "that this is a badaugury for my ministry here. It is the first time I have, as vicar,administered the Sacrament, and the after result is in plain evidencebefore us--a result which absolutely staggers belief."

  "Yes," I said pensively. "It is more than extraordinary. It is anenigma beyond solution; an actual problem of the supernatural."

  "That the chalice should be thus profaned and desecrated by an invisibleagency is a startling revelation indeed," he said. "A hellish influencemust be at work somewhere, unless," and he paused, "unless we have beentricked by a mere magician's feat."

  "But are not the ashes still hot?" I suggested. "See here!" and I tookup some of the fused metal. "Is not this silver? There seems no doubtthat the cup was actually consumed here in the spot where the vergerplaced it, and that it was consumed by an uncommonly fierce fire."

  Without responding, he stood gazing blankly upon the ashes. I saw thathis heart was torn by a thousand doubts and fears, and fell to wonderingwhether he had ever had any cause to suspect the woman he feared ofpossessing the power of destruction.

  Again he glanced round the cavernous darkness of the silent church, anda shudder went through him.

  "Let's go, my dear fellow," he said, endeavouring to steady himself."I'm utterly unnerved to-night. Perhaps the efforts of my sermon havebeen a little too much for me. The doctor told me to avoid all undueexcitement."

  "Keep yourself quiet," I urged. "No doubt some explanation will beforthcoming very soon," I added, endeavouring to reassure him.

  But he shook his head gloomily, answering--

  "The Prince of this World is all-powerful. The maleficent spirit iswith us always, and evil has fallen upon me, and upon my work."

  "No, no!" I cried quickly. "You talk too hopelessly, my dear old chap.You're upset to-night. To-morrow, after a rest, you'll be quite fitagain. You've excited yourself in your sermon, and this is thereaction."

  He shrugged his shoulders, and together we left the church. I walkedwith him across to his lodgings in a poorish-looking house in LiverpoolStreet, facing the disused burial-ground. He had not entered uponresidence at the vicarage, for, as he explained to me, his wants werefew, and he preferred furnished apartments to the worries of anestablishment of his own. As I entered the small, rather close-smellinghouse, I could not help contrasting it with Mrs Walker's clean, homelycottage in Duddington, where the ivy covered the porch, and thehollyhocks grew so tall in the little front garden. He took me into hisshabby little sitting-room, the window of which overlooked thechurchyard, and I saw how terribly dreary was his abode.

  I remarked that the place was scarcely so open and healthy as atDuddington, but as he sank into his chair exhausted, he answeredsimply--

  "My work lies here among the poor, and it is my duty to live among them.Many men in London live away from their parishes because the localityhappens to be a working-class one, but such men can never carry on theirwork well. To know the people, to obtain their confidence, and to beable to assist them, one must live among them, however dismal is thelife, however dreary the constant outlook of bricks and mortar."

  With this theory I was compelled to agree. Surely this man must bedevout and God-fearing if he could give up the world, as he had done, todevote himself to the poor in such a locality, and live the dismal lifeof the people among whom his work lay.

  Yet in his acquaintanceship with Aline there was some strange mystery.His hiding from her, and her clandestine visit to Duddington, weresufficient in themselves to show that their friendship had beenstrained, and his words, whenever he had spoken of her, were as thoughhe held her in fear. Mystery surrounded her on every side.

  I sat with my friend for a long time smoking with him in that dingy,cheerless room. Once only he referred to the curious phenomenon whichhad occurred in the church, and noticing that I had no desire to discussit, he dropped the subject. He was enthusiastic over his work, tellingme sad stories of the poverty existing there on every side, andlamenting that while London gave liberally to Mansion House Funds forthe relief of foreigners, it gave so little to the deserving poor athome.

  Suddenly, glancing at the clock, he rose, saying that he had a visit tomake.

  "It's late," I exclaimed, seeing that it was after ten o'clock.

  "Not too late to do my duty," he answered.

  Then we passed out, and in silence threaded our way back through thenarrow alleys until we gained the Walwort
h Road, where we parted, afterI had promised to call soon and see him again.

  When he had left me, I turned once to look after him. His tall,athletic figure was disappearing in the darkness of the slums. Trulythis man, who had been my old college chum, was a devoted servant of theMaster.

  Several days went by, during which I reflected a good deal upon thestrange occurrence at St Peter's, and the promise made me by Aline.Would Muriel return to me? Was the influence possessed by the Woman ofEvil sufficient to cause her to abandon her newly-found lover and cravemy forgiveness?

  She had told me to possess myself in patience, and I, in obedience toher command, neither sought Muriel or wrote to her.

  A week passed. It was Saturday evening. I had been dining early overat the club, and on entering my chambers with my latch-key about eighto'clock, having returned there before dropping in at the Alhambra, Iperceived through the crack of the half-open door that some one was inmy sitting-room.

  I held my breath, scarcely believing my eyes. It was Muriel.

  Slowly she rose to meet me with a majestic but rather tragic air, andwithout a word stretched forth her hand.

  "Why, Muriel!" I cried gladly. "You're the very last person Iexpected!"

  "I suppose so," she said, adding in a low, strained voice, "Close thedoor. I have come to speak with you."

  I obeyed her; then, returning to her side, stood eager for her words.The