CHAPTER XXXV. THE TREACHERY OF THE PIPE.
Alban took Mrs. Ellmother at her word. "I am going to venture on aguess," he said. "You have been with Miss de Sor to-night."
"Quite true, Mr. Morris."
"I am going to guess again. Did Miss de Sor ask you to stay with her,when you went into her room?"
"That's it! She rang for me, to see how I was getting on with myneedlework--and she was what I call hearty, for the first time sinceI have been in her service. I didn't think badly of her when she firsttalked of engaging me; and I've had reason to repent of my opinion eversince. Oh, she showed the cloven foot to-night! 'Sit down,' she says;'I've nothing to read, and I hate work; let's have a little chat.' She'sgot a glib tongue of her own. All I could do was to say a word now andthen to keep her going. She talked and talked till it was time to lightthe lamp. She was particular in telling me to put the shade over it. Wewere half in the dark, and half in the light. She trapped me (Lord knowshow!) into talking about foreign parts; I mean the place she lived inbefore they sent her to England. Have you heard that she comes from theWest Indies?"
"Yes; I have heard that. Go on."
"Wait a bit, sir. There's something, by your leave, that I want to know.Do you believe in Witchcraft?"
"I know nothing about it. Did Miss de Sor put that question to you?"
"She did."
"And how did you answer?"
"Neither in one way nor the other. I'm in two minds about that matterof Witchcraft. When I was a girl, there was an old woman in our village,who was a sort of show. People came to see her from all the countryround--gentlefolks among them. It was her great age that made herfamous. More than a hundred years old, sir! One of our neighbors didn'tbelieve in her age, and she heard of it. She cast a spell on his flock.I tell you, she sent a plague on his sheep, the plague of the Bots. Thewhole flock died; I remember it well. Some said the sheep would have hadthe Bots anyhow. Some said it was the spell. Which of them was right?How am I to settle it?"
"Did you mention this to Miss de Sor?"
"I was obliged to mention it. Didn't I tell you, just now, that I can'tmake up my mind about Witchcraft? 'You don't seem to know whether youbelieve or disbelieve,' she says. It made me look like a fool. I toldher I had my reasons, and then I was obliged to give them."
"And what did she do then?"
"She said, 'I've got a better story of Witchcraft than yours.' And sheopened a little book, with a lot of writing in it, and began to read.Her story made my flesh creep. It turns me cold, sir, when I think of itnow."
He heard her moaning and shuddering. Strongly as his interest wasexcited, there was a compassionate reluctance in him to ask her to goon. His merciful scruples proved to be needless. The fascination ofbeauty it is possible to resist. The fascination of horror fastensits fearful hold on us, struggle against it as we may. Mrs. Ellmotherrepeated what she had heard, in spite of herself.
"It happened in the West Indies," she said; "and the writing of a womanslave was the writing in the little book. The slave wrote about hermother. Her mother was a black--a Witch in her own country. There wasa forest in her own country. The devil taught her Witchcraft in theforest. The serpents and the wild beasts were afraid to touch her.She lived without eating. She was sold for a slave, and sent to theisland--an island in the West Indies. An old man lived there; thewickedest man of them all. He filled the black Witch with devilishknowledge. She learned to make the image of wax. The image of wax castsspells. You put pins in the image of wax. At every pin you put, theperson under the spell gets nearer and nearer to death. There was a poorblack in the island. He offended the Witch. She made his image in wax;she cast spells on him. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't eat; he was sucha coward that common noises frightened him. Like Me! Oh, God, like me!"
"Wait a little," Alban interposed. "You are exciting yourselfagain--wait."
"You're wrong, sir! You think it ended when she finished her story, andshut up her book; there's worse to come than anything you've heard yet.I don't know what I did to offend her. She looked at me and spoke to me,as if I was the dirt under her feet. 'If you're too stupid to understandwhat I have been reading,' she says, 'get up and go to the glass. Lookat yourself, and remember what happened to the slave who was under thespell. You're getting paler and paler, and thinner and thinner; you'repining away just as he did. Shall I tell you why?' She snatched off theshade from the lamp, and put her hand under the table, and brought outan image of wax. _My_ image! She pointed to three pins in it. 'One,'she says, 'for no sleep. One for no appetite. One for broken nerves.' Iasked her what I had done to make such a bitter enemy of her. She says,'Remember what I asked of you when we talked of your being my servant.Choose which you will do? Die by inches' (I swear she said it as I hopeto be saved); 'die by inches, or tell me--'"
There--in the full frenzy of the agitation that possessed her--there,Mrs. Ellmother suddenly stopped.
Alban's first impression was that she might have fainted. He lookedcloser, and could just see her shadowy figure still seated in the chair.He asked if she was ill. No.
"Then why don't you go on?"
"I have done," she answered.
"Do you think you can put me off," he rejoined sternly, "with such anexcuse as that? What did Miss de Sor ask you to tell her? You promisedto trust me. Be as good as your word."
In the days of her health and strength, she would have set him atdefiance. All she could do now was to appeal to his mercy.
"Make some allowance for me," she said. "I have been terribly upset.What has become of my courage? What has broken me down in this way?Spare me, sir."
He refused to listen. "This vile attempt to practice on your fears maybe repeated," he reminded her. "More cruel advantage may be taken of thenervous derangement from which you are suffering in the climate of thisplace. You little know me, if you think I will allow that to go on."
She made a last effort to plead with him. "Oh sir, is this behavinglike the good kind man I thought you were? You say you are Miss Emily'sfriend? Don't press me--for Miss Emily's sake!"
"Emily!" Alban exclaimed. "Is _she_ concerned in this?"
There was a change to tenderness in his voice, which persuaded Mrs.Ellmother that she had found her way to the weak side of him. Her oneeffort now was to strengthen the impression which she believed herselfto have produced. "Miss Emily _is_ concerned in it," she confessed.
"In what way?"
"Never mind in what way."
"But I do mind."
"I tell you, sir, Miss Emily must never know it to her dying day!"
The first suspicion of the truth crossed Alban's mind.
"I understand you at last," he said. "What Miss Emily must neverknow--is what Miss de Sor wanted you to tell her. Oh, it's useless tocontradict me! Her motive in trying to frighten you is as plain to menow as if she had confessed it. Are you sure you didn't betray yourself,when she showed the image of wax?"
"I should have died first!" The reply had hardly escaped her before sheregretted it. "What makes you want to be so sure about it?" she said."It looks as if you knew--"
"I do know."
"What!"
The kindest thing that he could do now was to speak out. "Your secret isno secret to _me_," he said.
Rage and fear shook her together. For the moment she was like the Mrs.Ellmother of former days. "You lie!" she cried.
"I speak the truth."
"I won't believe you! I daren't believe you!"
"Listen to me. In Emily's interests, listen to me. I have read of themurder at Zeeland--"
"That's nothing! The man was a namesake of her father."
"The man was her father himself. Keep your seat! There is nothing to bealarmed about. I know that Emily is ignorant of the horrid death thather father died. I know that you and your late mistress have kept thediscovery from her to this day. I know the love and pity which pleadyour excuse for deceiving her, and the circumstances that favored thedeception. My good creature, Emily's peace of
mind is as sacred to meas it is to you! I love her as I love my own life--and better. Are youcalmer, now?"
He heard her crying: it was the best relief that could come to her.After waiting a while to let the tears have their way, he helped her torise. There was no more to be said now. The one thing to do was to takeher back to the house.
"I can give you a word of advice," he said, "before we part for thenight. You must leave Miss de Sor's service at once. Your health will bea sufficient excuse. Give her warning immediately."
Mrs. Ellmother hung back, when he offered her his arm. The bare prospectof seeing Francine again was revolting to her. On Alban's assurancethat the notice to leave could be given in writing, she made no furtherresistance. The village clock struck eleven as they ascended the terracesteps.
A minute later, another person left the grounds by the path which ledto the house. Alban's precaution had been taken too late. The smell oftobacco-smoke had guided Francine, when she was at a loss which way toturn next in search of Mrs. Ellmother. For the last quarter of an hourshe had been listening, hidden among the trees.
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