Miss or Mrs.?

by Wilkie Collins

  ELEVENTH SCENE.

  Outside the House

  The evening was chilly, but not cold for the time of year. There was nomoon. The stars were out, and the wind was quiet. Upon the whole, theinhabitants of the little Somersetshire village of Baxdale agreed thatit was as fine a Christmas-eve as they could remember for some yearspast.

  Toward eight in the evening the one small street of the village wasempty, except at that part of it which was occupied by the public-house.For the most part, people gathered round their firesides, with an eye totheir suppers, and watched the process of cooking comfortably indoors.The old bare, gray church, situated at some little distance from thevillage, looked a lonelier object than usual in the dim starlight. Thevicarage, nestling close under the shadow of the church-tower, threwno illumination of fire-light or candle-light on the dreary scene. Theclergyman's shutters fitted well, and the clergyman's curtains wereclosely drawn. The one ray of light that cheered the wintry darknessstreamed from the unguarded window of a lonely house, separated fromthe vicarage by the whole length of the church-yard. A man stood at thewindow, holding back the shutter, and looking out attentively over thedim void of the burial-ground. The man was Richard Turlington. The roomin which he was watching was a room in his own house.

  A momentary spark of light flashed up, as from a kindled match, in theburial-ground. Turlington instantly left the empty room in which he hadbeen watching. Passing down the back garden of the house, and crossinga narrow lane at the bottom of it, he opened a gate in a low stone wallbeyond, and entered the church-yard. The shadowy figure of a man ofgreat stature, lurking among the graves, advanced to meet him. Midwayin the dark and lonely place the two stopped and consulted together inwhispers. Turlington spoke first.

  "Have you taken up your quarters at the public-house in the village?"

  "Yes, master."

  "Did you find your way, while the daylight lasted, to the desertedmalt-house behind my orchard wall?"

  "Yes, master."

  "Now listen--we have no time to lose. Hide there, behind that monument.Before nine o'clock to-night you will see me cross the churchyard, asfar as this place, with the man you are to wait for. He is going tospend an hour with the vicar, at the house yonder. I shall stop shorthere, and say to him, 'You can't miss your way in the dark now--I willgo back.' When I am far enough away from him, I shall blow a call onmy whistle. The moment you hear the call, follow the man, and drop himbefore he gets out of the church-yard. Have you got your cudgel?"

  Thomas Wildfang held up his cudgel. Turlington took him by the arm, andfelt it suspiciously.

  "You have had an attack of the horrors already," he said. "What doesthis trembling mean?"

  He took a spirit-flask from his pocket as he spoke. Thomas Wildfangsnatched it out of his hand, and emptied it at a draught. "All rightnow, master," he said. Turlington felt his arm once more. It wassteadier already. Wildfang brandished his cudgel, and struck a heavyblow with it on one of the turf mounds near them. "Will that drop him,captain?" he asked.

  Turlington went on with his instructions.

  "Rob him when you have dropped him. Take his money and his jewelry. Iwant to have the killing of him attributed to robbery as the motive.Make sure before you leave him that he is dead. Then go to themalt-house. There is no fear of your being seen; all the people will beindoors, keeping Christmas-eve. You will find a change of clothes hiddenin the malt-house, and an old caldron full of quicklime. Destroy theclothes you have got on, and dress yourself in the other clothesthat you find. Follow the cross-road, and when it brings you into thehighroad, turn to the left; a four-mile walk will take you to the townof Harminster. Sleep there to-night, and travel to London by the trainin the morning. The next day go to my office, see the head clerk, andsay, 'I have come to sign my receipt.' Sign it in your own name, and youwill receive your hundred pounds. There are your instructions. Do youunderstand them?"

  Wildfang nodded his head in silent token that he understood, anddisappeared again among the graves. Turlington went back to the house.

  He had advanced midway across the garden, when he was startled by thesound of footsteps in the lane--at that part of it which skirted one ofthe corners of the house. Hastening forward, he placed himself behind aprojection in the wall, so as to see the person pass across the streamof light from the uncovered window of the room that he had left. Thestranger was walking rapidly. All Turlington could see as he crossed thefield of light was, that his hat was pulled over his eyes, and that hehad a thick beard and mustache. Describing the man to the servant onentering the house, he was informed that a stranger with a large beardhad been seen about the neighborhood for some days past. The account hehad given of himself stated that he was a surveyor, engaged in takingmeasurements for a new map of that part of the country, shortly to bepublished.

  The guilty mind of Turlington was far from feeling satisfied withthe meager description of the stranger thus rendered. He could not beengaged in surveying in the dark. What could he want in the desolateneighborhood of the house and church-yard at that time of night?

  The man wanted--what the man found a little lower down the lane, hiddenin a dismantled part of the church-yard wall--a letter from a younglady. Read by the light of the pocket-lantern which he carried with him,the letter first congratulated this person on the complete success ofhis disguise--and then promised that the writer would be ready at herbedroom window for flight the next morning, before the house was astir.The signature was "Natalie," and the person addressed was "DearestLaunce."

  In the meanwhile, Turlington barred the window shutters of the room, andlooked at his watch. It wanted only a quarter to nine o'clock. He tookhis dog-whistle from the chimney-piece, and turned his steps at once inthe direction of the drawing-room, in which his guests were passing theevening.

  TWELFTH SCENE.

  Inside the House.

  The scene in the drawing-room represented the ideal of domestic comfort.The fire of wood and coal mixed burned brightly; the lamps shed a softglow of light; the solid shutters and the thick red curtains kept thecold night air on the outer side of two long windows, which opened onthe back garden. Snug arm-chairs were placed in every part of theroom. In one of them Sir Joseph reclined, fast asleep; in another, MissLavinia sat knitting; a third chair, apart from the rest, near a roundtable in one corner of the room, was occupied by Natalie. Her head wasresting on her hand, an unread book lay open on her lap. She looked paleand harassed; anxiety and suspense had worn her down to the shadow ofher former self. On entering the room, Turlington purposely closed thedoor with a bang. Natalie started. Miss Lavinia looked up reproachfully.The object was achieved--Sir Joseph was roused from his sleep.

  "If you are going to the vicar's to-night. Graybrooke," said Turlington,"it's time you were off, isn't it?"

  Sir Joseph rubbed his eyes, and looked at the clock on the mantel-piece."Yes, yes, Richard," he answered, drowsily, "I suppose I must go. Whereis my hat?"

  His sister and his daughter both joined in trying to persuade him tosend an excuse instead of groping his way to the vicarage in the dark.Sir Joseph hesitated, as usual. He and the vicar had run up a suddenfriendship, on the strength of their common enthusiasm for theold-fashioned game of backgammon. Victorious over his opponent on theprevious evening at Turlington's house, Sir Joseph had promised to passthat evening at the vicarage, and give the vicar his revenge. Observinghis indecision, Turlington cunningly irritated him by affecting tobelieve that he was really unwilling to venture out in the dark. "I'llsee you safe across the churchyard," he said; "and the vicar's servantwill see you safe back." The tone in which he spoke instantly rousedSir Joseph. "I am not in my second childhood yet, Richard," he replied,testily. "I can find my way by myself." He kissed his daughter on theforehead. "No fear, Natalie. I shall be back in time for the mulledclaret. No, Richard, I won't trouble you." He kissed his hand to hissister and went out into the hall for his hat: Turlington following himwith a rough apology, and asking as a favor to be permitted
to accompanyhim part of the way only. The ladies, left behind in the drawing-room,heard the apology accepted by kind-hearted Sir Joseph. The two went outtogether.

  "Have you noticed Richard since his return?" asked Miss Lavinia. "Ifancy he must have heard bad news in London. He looks as if he hadsomething on his mind."

  "I haven't remarked it, aunt."

  For the time, no more was said. Miss Lavinia went monotonously on withher knitting. Natalie pursued her own anxious thoughts over the unreadpages of the book in her lap. Suddenly the deep silence out of doors andin was broken by a shrill whistle, sounding from the direction of thechurch-yard. Natalie started with a faint cry of alarm. Miss Lavinialooked up from her knitting.

  "My dear child, your nerves must be sadly out of order. What is there tobe frightened at?"

  "I am not very well, aunt. It is so still here at night, the slightestnoises startle me."

  There was another interval of silence. It was past nine o'clock whenthey heard the back door opened and closed again. Turlington camehurriedly into the drawing-room, as if he had some reason for wishing torejoin the ladies as soon as possible. To the surprise of both of them,he sat down abruptly in the corner, with his face to the wall, and tookup the newspaper, without casting a look at them or uttering a word.

  "Is Joseph safe at the vicarage?" asked Miss Lavinia.

  "All right." He gave the answer in a short, surly tone, still withoutlooking round.

  Miss Lavinia tried him again. "Did you hear a whistle while you wereout? It quite startled Natalie in the stillness of this place."

  He turned half-way round. "My shepherd, I suppose," he said aftera pause--"whistling for his dog." He turned back again and immersedhimself in his newspaper.

  Miss Lavinia beckoned to her niece and pointed significantly toTurlington. After one reluctant look at him, Natalie laid her headwearily on her aunt's shoulder. "Sleepy, my dear?" whispered the oldlady. "Uneasy, aunt--I don't know why," Natalie whispered back. "I wouldgive the world to be in London, and to hear the carriages going by, andthe people talking in the street."

  Turlington suddenly dropped his newspaper. "What's the secret betweenyou two?" he called out roughly. "What are you whispering about?"

  "We wish not to disturb you over your reading, that is all," said MissLavinia, coldly. "Has anything happened to vex you, Richard?"

  "What the devil makes you think that?"

  The old lady was offended, and showed it by saying nothing more. Natalienestled closer to her aunt. One after another the clock ticked offthe minutes with painful distinctness in the stillness of the room.Turlington suddenly threw aside the newspaper and left his corner."Let's be good friends!" he burst out, with a clumsy assumption ofgayety. "This isn't keeping Christmas-eve. Let's talk and be sociable.Dearest Natalie!" He threw his arm roughly round Natalie, and drew herby main force away from her aunt. She turned deadly pale, and struggledto release herself. "I am suffering--I am ill--let me go!" He was deafto her entreaties. "What! your husband that is to be, treated in thisway? Mustn't I have a kiss?--I will!" He held her closer with one hand,and, seizing her head with the other, tried to turn her lips to him. Sheresisted with the inbred nervous strength which the weakest woman livinghas in reserve when she is outraged. Half indignant, half terrified, atTurlington's roughness, Miss Lavinia rose to interfere. In a moment morehe would have had two women to overpower instead of one, when a noiseoutside the window suddenly suspended the ignoble struggle.

  There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-walk which ran between thehouse wall and the garden lawn. It was followed by a tap--a single fainttap, no more--on one of the panes of glass.

  They all three stood still. For a moment more nothing was audible. Thenthere was a heavy shock, as of something falling outside. Then a groan,then another interval of silence--a long silence, interrupted no more.

  Turlington's arm dropped from Natalie. She drew back to her aunt.Looking at him instinctively, in the natural expectation that he wouldtake the lead in penetrating the mystery of what had happened outsidethe window, the two women were thunderstruck to see that he was, toall appearance, even more startled and more helpless than they were."Richard," said Miss Lavinia, pointing to the window, "there issomething wrong out there. See what it is." He stood motionless, as ifhe had not heard her, his eyes fixed on the window, his face livid withterror.

  The silence outside was broken once more; this time by a call for help.

  A cry of horror burst from Natalie. The voice outside--rising wildly,then suddenly dying away again--was not entirely strange to _her_ ears.She tore aside the curtain. With voice and hand she roused her aunt tohelp her. The two lifted the heavy bar from its socket; they opened theshutters and the window. The cheerful light of the room flowed out overthe body of a prostrate man, lying on his face. They turned the manover. Natalie lifted his head.

  Her father!

  His face was bedabbled with blood. A wound, a frightful wound, wasvisible on the side of his bare head, high above the ear. He looked ather, his eyes recognized her, before he fainted again in her arms.His hands and his clothes were covered with earth stains. He musthave traversed some distance; in that dreadful condition he must havefaltered and fallen more than once before he reached the house. Hissister wiped the blood from his face. His daughter called on himfrantically to forgive her before he died--the harmless, gentle,kind-hearted father, who had never said a hard word to her! The fatherwhom she had deceived!

  The terrified servants hurried into the room. Their appearance rousedtheir master from the extraordinary stupor that had seized him. He wasat the window before the footman could get there. The two lifted SirJoseph into the room, and laid him on the sofa. Natalie knelt by him,supporting his head. Miss Lavinia stanched the flowing blood with herhandkerchief. The women-servants brought linen and cold water. The manhurried away for the doctor, who lived on the other side of the village.Left alone again with Turlington, Natalie noticed that his eyes werefixed in immovable scrutiny on her father's head. He never said a word.He looked, looked, looked at the wound.

  The doctor arrived. Before either the daughter or the sister of theinjured man could put the question, Turlington put it--"Will he live ordie?"

  The doctor's careful finger probed the wound.

  "Make your minds easy. A little lower down, or in front, the blow mighthave been serious. As it is, there is no harm done. Keep him quiet, andhe will be all right again in two or three days."

  Hearing those welcome words, Natalie and her aunt sank on their knees insilent gratitude. After dressing the wound, the doctor looked round forthe master of the house. Turlington, who had been so breathlessly eagerbut a few minutes since, seemed to have lost all interest in the casenow. He stood apart, at the window, looking out toward the church-yard,thinking. The questions which it was the doctor's duty to ask wereanswered by the ladies. The servants assisted in examining the injuredman's clothes: they discovered that his watch and purse were bothmissing. When it became necessary to carry him upstairs, it was thefootman who assisted the doctor. The foot man's master, without a wordof explanation, walked out bare headed into the back garden, on thesearch, as the doctor and the servants supposed, for some trace of therobber who had attempted Sir Joseph's life.

  His absence was hardly noticed at the time. The difficulty of conveyingthe wounded man to his room absorbed the attention of all the personspresent.

  Sir Joseph partially recovered his senses while they were taking him upthe steep and narrow stairs. Carefully as they carried the patient, themotion wrung a groan from him before they reached the top. The bedroomcorridor, in the rambling, irregularly built house rose and fell ondifferent levels. At the door of the first bedchamber the doctor asked alittle anxiously if that was the room. No; there were three more stairsto go down, and a corner to turn, before they could reach it. The firstroom was Natalie's. She instantly offered it for her father's use. Thedoctor (seeing that it was the airiest as well as the nearest room)accepted the proposal. Sir Jos
eph had been laid comfortably in hisdaughter's bed; the doctor had just left them, with renewed assurancesthat they need feel no anxiety, when they heard a heavy step belowstairs. Turlington had re-entered the house.

  (He had been looking, as they had supposed, for the ruffian who hadattacked Sir Joseph; with a motive, however, for the search at which itwas impossible for other persons to guess. His own safety was now boundup in the safety of Thomas Wildfang. As soon as he was out of sight inthe darkness, he made straight for the malt-house. The change of clotheswas there untouched; not a trace of his accomplice was to be seen.Where else to look for him it was impossible to tell. Turlington had noalternative but to go back to the house, and ascertain if suspicion hadbeen aroused in his absence.)

  He had only to ascend the stairs, and to see, through the open door,that Sir Joseph had been placed in his daughter's room.

  "What does this mean?" he asked, roughly.

  Before it was possible to answer him the footman appeared with amessage. The doctor had come back to the door to say that he would takeon himself the necessary duty of informing the constable of what hadhappened, on his return to the village. Turlington started and changedcolor. If Wildfang was found by others, and questioned in his employer'sabsence, serious consequences might follow. "The constable is mybusiness," said Turlington, hurriedly descending the stairs; "I'll gowith the doctor." They heard him open the door below, then close itagain (as if some sudden thought had struck him), and call to thefootman. The house was badly provided with servants' bedrooms. Thewomen-servants only slept indoors. The footman occupied a room over thestables. Natalie and her aunt heard Turlington dismiss the man for thenight, an hour earlier than usual at least. His next proceeding wasstranger still. Looking cautiously over the stairs, Natalie saw him lockall the doors on the ground-floor and take out the keys. When he wentaway, she heard him lock the front door behind him. Incredible as itseemed, there could be no doubt of the fact--the inmates of the housewere imprisoned till he came back. What did it mean?

  (It meant that Turlington's vengeance still remained to be wreaked onthe woman who had deceived him. It meant that Sir Joseph's life stillstood between the man who had compassed his death and the money whichthe man was resolved to have. It meant that Richard Turlington wasdriven to bay, and that the horror and the peril of the night were notat an end yet.)

  Natalie and her aunt looked at each other across the bed on which SirJoseph lay. He had fallen into a kind of doze; no enlightenment couldcome to them from _him_. They could only ask each other, with beatinghearts and baffled minds, what Richard's conduct meant--they could onlyfeel instinctively that some dreadful discovery was hanging over them.The aunt was the calmer of the two--there was no secret weighing heavilyon _her_ conscience. _She_ could feel the consolations of religion. "Ourdear one is spared to us, my love," said the old lady, gently. "God hasbeen good to us. We are in his hands. If we know that, we know enough."

  As she spoke there was a loud ring at the doorbell. The women-servantscrowded into the bedroom in alarm. Strong in numbers, and encouraged byNatalie--who roused herself and led the way--they confronted the riskof opening the window and of venturing out on the balcony which extendedalong that side of the house. A man was dimly visible below. He calledto them in thick, unsteady accents. The servants recognized him: he wasthe telegraphic messenger from the railway. They went down to speak tohim--and returned with a telegram which had been pushed in under thedoor. The distance from the station was considerable; the messenger hadbeen "keeping Christmas" in more than one beer-shop on his way to thehouse; and the delivery of the telegram had been delayed for somehours. It was addressed to Natalie. She opened it--looked at it--droppedit--and stood speechless; her lips parted in horror, her eyes staringvacantly straight before her.

  Miss Lavinia took the telegram from the floor, and read these lines:

  "Lady Winwood, Hertford Street, London. To Natalie Graybrooke, ChurchMeadows, Baxdale, Somersetshire. Dreadful news. R. T. has discoveredyour marriage to Launce. The truth has been kept from me till to-day(24th). Instant flight with your husband is your only chance. I wouldhave communicated with Launce, but I do not know his address. Youwill receive this, I hope and believe, before R. T. can return toSomersetshire. Telegraph back, I entreat you, to say that you are safe.I shall follow my message if I do not hear from you in reasonable time."

  Miss Lavinia lifted her gray head, and looked at her niece. "Is thistrue?" she said--and pointed to the venerable face laid back, white, onthe white pillow of the bed. Natalie sank forward as her eyes met theeyes of her aunt. Miss Lavinia saved her from falling insensible on thefloor.

  * * * * * * * * *

  The confession had been made. The words of penitence and the words ofpardon had been spoken. The peaceful face of the father still lay hushedin rest. One by one the minutes succeeded each other uneventfully in thedeep tranquillity of the night. It was almost a relief when the silencewas disturbed once more by another sound outside the house. A pebblewas thrown up at the window, and a voice called out cautiously, "MissLavinia!"

  They recognized the voice of the man-servant, and at once opened thewindow.

  He had something to say to the ladies in private. How could he say it?A domestic circumstance which had been marked by Launce, as favorableto the contemplated elopement, was now noticed by the servant as lendingitself readily to effecting the necessary communication with the ladies.The lock of the gardener's tool-house (in the shrubbery close by) wasunder repair; and the gardener's ladder was accessible to any one whowanted it. At the short height of the balcony from the ground, theladder was more than long enough for the purpose required. In a fewminutes the servant had mounted to the balcony, and could speak toNatalie and her aunt at the window.

  "I can't rest quiet," said the man, "I'm off on the sly to see what'sgoing on down in the village. It's hard on ladies like you to be lockedin here. Is there anything I can do for either of you?"

  Natalie took up Lady Winwood's telegram. "Launce ought to see this,"she said to her aunt. "He will be here at daybreak," she added, in awhisper, "if I don't tell him what has happened."

  Miss Lavinia turned pale. "If he and Richard meet--" she began. "Tellhim!" she added, hurriedly--"tell him before it is too late!"

  Natalie wrote a few lines (addressed to Launce in his assumed name athis lodgings in the village) inclosing Lady Winwood's telegram, andentreating him to do nothing rash. When the servant had disappeared withthe letter, there was one hope in her mind and in her aunt's mind, whicheach was ashamed to acknowledge to the other--the hope that Launce wouldface the very danger that they dreaded for him, and come to the house.

  They had not been long alone again, when Sir Joseph drowsily opened hiseyes and asked what they were doing in his room. They told him gentlythat he was ill. He put his hand up to his head, and said they wereright, and so dropped off again into slumber. Worn out by the emotionsthrough which they had passed, the two women silently waited for themarch of events. The same stupor of resignation possessed them both.They had secured the door and the window. They had prayed together. Theyhad kissed the quiet face on the pillow. They had said to each other,"We will live with him or die with him as God pleases." Miss Laviniasat by the bedside. Natalie was on a stool at her feet--with her eyesclosed, and her head on her aunt's knee.

  Time went on. The clock in the hall had struck--ten or eleven, theywere not sure which--when they heard the signal which warned them of theservant's return from the village. He brought news, and more than news;he brought a letter from Launce.

  Natalie read these lines:

  "I shall be with you, dearest, almost as soon as you receive this. Thebearer will tell you what has happened in the village--your note throwsa new light on it all. I only remain behind to go to the vicar (who isalso the magistrate here), and declare myself your husband. All disguisemust be at an end now. My place is with you and yours. It is even worsethan your worst fears. Turlington was at the bottom of the attack onyour father. Judge if
you have not need of your husband's protectionafter that!--L."

  Natalie handed the letter to her aunt, and pointed to the sentence whichasserted Turlington's guilty knowledge of the attempt on Sir Joseph'slife. In silent horror the two women looked at each other, recallingwhat had happened earlier in the evening, and understanding it now. Theservant roused them to a sense of present things, by entering on thenarrative of his discoveries in the village.

  The place was all astir when he reached it. An old man--a stranger inBaxdale--had been found lying in the road, close to the church, in afit; and the person who had discovered him had been no other than Launcehimself. He had, literally, stumbled over the body of Thomas Wildfang inthe dark, on his way back to his lodgings in the village.

  "The gentleman gave the alarm, miss," said the servant, describing theevent, as it had been related to him, "and the man--a huge, big oldman--was carried to the inn. The landlord identified him; he had takenlodgings at the inn that day, and the constable found valuable propertyon him--a purse of money and a gold watch and chain. There was nothingto show who the money and the watch belonged to. It was only when mymaster and the doctor got to the inn that it was known whom he hadrobbed and tried to murder. All he let out in his wanderings before theycame was that some person had set him on to do it. He called the person'Captain,' and sometimes 'Captain Goward.' It was thought--if youcould trust the ravings of a madman--that the fit took him while hewas putting his hand on Sir Joseph's heart to feel if it had stoppedbeating. A sort of vision (as I understand it) must have overpoweredhim at the moment. They tell me he raved about the sea bursting into thechurch yard, and a drowning sailor floating by on a hen-coop; a sailorwho dragged him down to hell by the hair of his head, and such likehorrible nonsense, miss. He was still screeching, at the worst of thefit, when my master and the doctor came into the room. At sight of oneor other of them--it is thought of Mr. Turlington, seeing that he camefirst--he held his peace on a sudden, and then fell back in convulsionsin the arms of the men who were holding him. The doctor gave it alearned name, signifying drink-madness, and said the case was hopeless.However, he ordered the room to be cleared of the crowd to see what hecould do. My master was reported to be still with the doctor, waiting tosee whether the man lived or died, when I left the village, miss, withthe gentleman's answer to your note. I didn't dare stay to hear how itended, for fear of Mr. Turlington's finding me out."

  Having reached the end of his narrative, the man looked round restlesslytoward the window. It was impossible to say when his master might notreturn, and it might be as much as his life was worth to be caught inthe house after he had been locked out of it. He begged permission toopen the window, and make his escape back to the stables while therewas still time. As he unbarred the shutter they were startled by a voicehailing them from below. It was Launce's voice calling to Natalie. Theservant disappeared, and Natalie was in Launce's arms before she couldbreathe again.

  For one delicious moment she let her head lie on his breast; then shesuddenly pushed him away from her. "Why do you come here? He will killyou if he finds you in the house. Where is he?"

  Launce knew even less of Turlington's movements than the servant."Wherever he is, thank God, I am here before him!" That was all theanswer he could give.

  Natalie and her aunt heard him in silent dismay. Sir Joseph woke, andrecognized Launce before a word more could be said. "Ah, my dear boy!"he murmured, faintly. "It's pleasant to see you again. How do you comehere?" He was quite satisfied with the first excuse that suggesteditself. "We'll talk about it to-morrow," he said, and composed himselfto rest again.

  Natalie made a second attempt to persuade Launce to leave the house.

  "We don't know what may have happened," she said. "He may have followedyou on your way here. He may have purposely let you enter his house.Leave us while you have the chance."

  Miss Lavinia added her persuasions. They were useless. Launce quietlyclosed the heavy window-shutters, lined with iron, and put up the bar.Natalie wrung her hands in despair.

  "Have you been to the magistrate?" she asked. "Tell us, at least, areyou here by his advice? Is he coming to help us?"

  Launce hesitated. If he had told the truth, he must have acknowledgedthat he was there in direct opposition to the magistrate's advice. Heanswered evasively, "If the vicar doesn't come, the doctor will. I havetold him Sir Joseph must be moved. Cheer up, Natalie! The doctor will behere as soon as Turlington."

  As the name passed his lips--without a sound outside to prepare themfor what was coming--the voice of Turlington himself suddenly penetratedinto the room, speaking close behind the window, on the outer side.

  "You have broken into my house in the night," said the voice. "And youdon't escape _this_ way."

  Miss Lavinia sank on her knees. Natalie flew to her father. His eyeswere wide open in terror; he moaned, feebly recognizing the voice.The next sound that was heard was the sound made by the removal of theladder from the balcony. Turlington, having descended by it, had takenit away. Natalie had but too accurately guessed what would happen. Thedeath of the villain's accomplice had freed him from all apprehensionin that quarter. He had deliberately dogged Launce's steps, and haddeliberately allowed him to put himself in the wrong by effecting asecret entrance into the house.

  There was an interval--a horrible interval--and then they heard thefront door opened. Without stopping (judging by the absence of sound)to close it again, Turlington rapidly ascended the stairs and tried thelocked door.

  "Come out, and give yourself up!" he called through the door. "I havegot my revolver with me, and I have a right to fire on a man who hasbroken into my house. If the door isn't opened before I count three,your blood be on your own head. One!"

  Launce was armed with nothing but his stick. He advanced, without aninstant's hesitation, to give himself up. Natalie threw her arms roundhim and clasped him fast before he could reach the door.

  "Two!" cried the voice outside, as Launce struggled to force her fromhim. At the same moment his eye turned toward the bed. It was exactlyopposite the door--it was straight in the line of fire! Sir Joseph' slife (as Turlington had deliberately calculated) was actually in greaterdanger than Launce's life. He tore himself free, rushed to the bed, andtook the old man in his arms to lift him out.

  "Three!"

  The crash of the report sounded. The bullet came through the door,grazed Launce's left arm, and buried itself in the pillow, at the veryplace on which Sir Joseph's head had rested the moment before. Launcehad saved his father-in-law's life. Turlington had fired his first shotfor the money, and had not got it yet.

  They were safe in the corner of the room, on the same side as thedoor--Sir Joseph, helpless as a child, in Launce's arms; the womenpale, but admirably calm. They were safe for the moment, when the secondbullet (fired at an angle) tore its way through the wall on their righthand.

  "I hear you," cried the voice of the miscreant on the other side of thedoor. "I'll have you yet--through the wall."

  There was a pause. They heard his hand sounding the wall, to find outwhere there was solid wood in the material of which it was built, andwhere there was plaster only. At that dreadful moment Launce's composurenever left him. He laid Sir Joseph softly on the floor, and signed toNatalie and her aunt to lie down by him in silence. Their lives dependednow on neither their voices nor their movements telling the murdererwhere to fire. He chose his place. The barrel of the revolver gratedas he laid it against the wall. He touched the hair trigger. A faint_click_ was the only sound that followed. The third barrel had missedfire.

  They heard him ask himself, with an oath, "What's wrong with it now?"

  There was a pause of silence.

  Was he examining the weapon?

  Before they could ask themselves the question, the report of theexploding charge burst on their ears. It was instantly followed by aheavy fall. They looked at the opposite wall of the room. No sign of abullet there or anywhere.

  Launce signed to them not to mov
e yet. They waited, and listened.Nothing stirred on the landing outside.

  Suddenly there was a disturbance of the silence in the lower regions--aclamor of many voices at the open house door. Had the firing of therevolver been heard at the vicarage? Yes! They recognized the vicar'svoice among the others. A moment more, and they heard a generalexclamation of horror on the stairs. Launce opened the door of the room.He instantly closed it again before Natalie could follow him.

  The dead body of Turlington lay on the landing outside. The charge inthe fourth barrel of the revolver had exploded while he was looking atit. The bullet had entered his mouth and killed him on the spot.

  DOCUMENTARY HINTS, IN CONCLUSION.

  First Hint.

  (Derived from Lady Winwood's Card-Rack.)

  "Sir Joseph Graybrooke and Miss Graybrooke request the honor of Lordand Lady Winwood's company to dinner, on Wednesday, February 10, athalf-past seven o'clock. To meet Mr. and Mrs. Launcelot Linzie on theirreturn."

  Second Hint.

  (Derived from a recent Money Article in morning Newspaper.)

  "We are requested to give the fullest contradiction to unfavorablerumors lately in circulation respecting the firm of Pizzituti,Turlington, and Branca. Some temporary derangement in the machinery ofthe business was undoubtedly produced in consequence of the sudden deathof the lamented managing partner, Mr. Turlington, by the accidentaldischarge of a revolver which he was examining. Whatever temporaryobstacles may have existed are now overcome. We are informed, on goodauthority, that the well-known house of Messrs. Bulpit Brothers has aninterest in the business, and will carry it on until further notice."