Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  He trudged on again, but slowly and with ever-increasing weariness, — his limbs ached, and a throbbing pain began to beat in his head like a small sharp hammer hitting nails into every nerve. Yet so little would he admit to himself that drink was the cause of his physical suffering, that if he could have found another public-house open at that time of night, he would have sold the coat off his back for the worth of one or two more glasses of criminally adulterated whisky. His thoughts still jumped about restlessly like busy and officious demons, suggesting this, denying that, and calling to mind half-forgotten episodes of his youth, before he had, through the pernicious example of other fellow-workmen, fallen step by step into the degrading vice which now dominated him body and soul, — and burning waves of heated blood surged up to his face and temples like blown flame from a furnace as he tramped doggedly on, without any consciousness of his own intentions, and without any actual regret for the crime he had committed. Presently his swarming fancies took a new and violent turn, and he could have sworn he saw Jacynth Miller standing right in his path beckoning to him! As he went forward, she moved backward, with a tantalizing, floating grace, — and he madly stretched out his arms to catch and clasp the ever elusive phantom of a lost delight.

  “Jacynth! Jacynth!” he cried, hoarsely, — and he hastened his steps — but the delicate shape still retreated, with a laughing light in the large, lovely eyes and a mocking smile on the red mouth. He ran and stumbled, — and ran and stumbled again.

  “Jacynth! Jacynth!”

  Then he stopped, breathless; the entrancing vision stopped also and held out slim, white appealing hands. Its draperies shimmered like moonlight and dew, and through them his burning eyes could discern the outline of fair nude limbs and snowy bosom over which the glorious waves of loosened hair fell in a glossy bronze-brown shower! —

  Pie uttered a savage cry, and made an equally savage rush at the exquisitely beautiful figure that seemed to invite and wait for his approach — he almost touched it as he thought, when lo! — it vanished into the dark air, and he fell prone in the dust, torn by such a sudden and wild delirium as caused him to roll there on the ground in a kind of convulsion in which he actually set his teeth in the flesh of his hands, instinctively seeking to counteract and relieve the terrible agony and tension of his body and brain. The paroxysm passed, leaving him as weak as a child and quite exhausted; — he huddled himself up on the spot where he had fallen, trembling and afraid to move. His eyes were hot and heavy, — each separate hair on his scalp pricked him as though it were burning iron, — he was utterly, forlornly ill and miserable, — and putting his hands before his face, the huge hulking brute gave way to maudlin tears.

  “Jacynth, my gerl, you’re main ‘ard on me!” he sobbed abjectly— “Main ‘ard y’are, an’ I doan’t care now what ‘appens to me, — let ’em take me up an’ put me to prison — it’s all one to poor old Dan! Poor old Dan! He worn’t ‘arf a bad chap, ’e worn’t— ’e was real mad with love for ye, Jacynth, an’ ye knows it! Stark starin’ mad! Poor Dan! ‘E’d a’ gone through all the bloomin’ ‘ell fire as ever parsons preached of to please ye, ’e would! That’s true! That’s God A’mighty true! ‘E’d a’ stole anythin’ an’ killed anythin’ just for a kiss from your little mouth of ‘oney, ye knows ’e would! Ye could a’ druv’ ’im anywheres like a bull to market, ye knows ye could! Ah! an’ I’d a’ made short work o’ Jennie too if ye’d said the word — but ye wouldn’t a’ married me if I ‘ad! Ye wanted yer own way allus, — free as a bird! An’ Dan let ye ‘ave it — an’ now ye runs away from ‘ini an’ ’e doan’t want nothin’ — poor old Dan! — nothin’ but a good sleep — a good sound sleep — an’ ‘e’ll dream ye’re in ’is arms, Jacynth! — goin’ hush-a-bye! — dream ye’re in his arms — comfortable an’ lovin’— ‘e’ll ‘ave a good sound sleep—”

  His broken and querulous accents trailed away into unintelligible murmurs — his limbs gradually relaxed, and presently rolling over on his back he lay helplessly half across-the road in a lethargic slumber, his arms spread out on either side of him and his bloated face upturned to the quiet stars.

  The night paced on for an hour or more in unbroken silence.

  Countless millions of mysterious unknown worlds swung in their golden and silver orbits above the wretched creature who, though endowed with powers of speech, thought and action, had found nothing better to do with those gifts than to willfully degrade all three. The silent forces of the universe, patiently doing their work in obedience to Divine ordinance, had, so far as this one miserable unit of life was concerned, taught him no lesson. And there are swarms of such miserable units — horrible thousands of them, breeding other horrible thousands! We hear, and we read, of Law and Government, — and the hopes of the world spring up elated at the fair promises made of betterment, — hopes only doomed to be crushed again by the depressing discovery that the very dispensers of Law and Government are frequently more corrupt than those they would essay to govern, and are too often found among the vilest sinners against moral and physical uprightness. Between Dan Kiernan and the ‘gentleman’ member of Parliament who daily and nightly fuddles his brain with innumerable whisky-sodas, is there a difference? Not much, if any! The victims of the filthy drinking-vice are on the same base level, whether they be of low-class or high quality. Both are grossly inferior to the beasts, and both are the shame and despair of nations.

  Midnight had passed, and the road was still deserted save for that extended figure stretched flat upon it and breathing stertorously in a drunken sleep. The skies were perceptibly darker, — many of the stars were veiled in a gloom of drifting cloud and a few drops of rain fell slowly. The blackness of the atmosphere had grown deeper and denser, — the wind had dropped, and the stillness was more profound.

  All at once from the far-off distance there crept the faint echo of a low burring noise, measured and monotonous like the whirr of a monster spinning-wheel. It clove the silence with a persistent hum, and went on steadily increasing in depth and volume of sound. Nearer and nearer it boomed and rumbled, till the reverberation was like the first muttered hint of an earthquake, — yet all up and down the road, looking backward or forward, there was nothing to be seen. Still closer and closer came the thrumming beat as of swiftly rolling wheels — with louder and louder resonance it swept through space like muffled thunder, — then — a sudden yellow flare lit up the scene, and two great lights, giant eyes of fire that sent long searching rays of blazing brilliancy through the darkness, gleamed into space and came flaming onward at full speed. Awake, Dan Kiernan! Awake, drunken criminal fool! If the gods of the past and future see any remaining worth in that besotted, drugged and miserable life of thine, let them intervene and save it now before it is too late! Awake, awake!

  On, still on, and the great lights glowed more brightly and fiercely, showing plainly the vehicle their radiance helped to guide — a huge closed traveling motor-car of some seventy-five horse-power, which tore along the road like an express train. On — on — with a deadly smoothness and swiftness it rushed — till — just at that dark mass which blotted the gray level line of the highway like a neglected rubbish heap, there was a sudden sickening jolt. The car leaped forward and caught at something, dragging it along for several paces, — something that gave a ghastly groan and then was silent. The chauffeur uttered a score of oaths in French as his machine swerved and oscillated dangerously — then by dexterous handling and with scarce a moment’s pause, he righted it, and again started his dashing pace onward, when a woman’s voice cried out —

  “Stop! Stop!”

  “Madame, I beg of you—”

  “Stop, I say! I will be obeyed!”

  With a discordant grinding noise the car came to a halt, its engines throbbing clamorously. An old man with pallid wrinkled features and a gray goatee beard, looked out of the window.

  “What’s the matter, Antoine?”

  The chauffeur, thus appealed to, dismounted from his seat
and came to the door of the car, touching his hat.

  “But a little nothing, Monsieur! Some one or something in the road — a dog or a sheep. The car jumped over, — it is not possible that anything is hurt — we ought to go on at once and quickly, but Madame—”

  Madame here settled matters by opening the door on the side opposite to that where the chauffeur stood, and stepping into the road. Madame was tall and slim, and rich sables clothed her from head to heel.

  “You have run over something, you stupid Antoine!” she said, her eyes shining through the muffling web of the gauzy veil she wore— “I felt it rise up under me! What is it?” —

  The chauffeur shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in deprecation.

  “Madame, it is just behind. See!” And he pointed to a shapeless blur in the road some paces away from the back of the car— “Let me advise Madame that whatever it is, it is best to leave it!”

  Madame gathered her sables round her and proceeded to walk towards the ‘it’ in question. The old man who was her companion in the car, stretched out his head and yelled at her —

  “Come back! Where are you going?”

  “To see what we have killed!” she replied calmly —

  “There is blood on our wheels.”

  “Blood!” And his weak falsetto voice rose to a kind of shriek— “Antoine! Do your hear? Blood! She says there is blood on our wheels! Get it off at once! — I will not travel with it — no — no! It must be cleaned off — cleaned directly — I will not travel with it!”

  He sank back in the car quite inarticulate with nervous excitement, and the chauffeur hastened to pacify him.

  “Monsieur! Monsieur, let me pray you to be calm! I will bring the light immediately and see what is wrong — but Madame is alone — Madame may be frightened at the thing in the road, — will you go with her, or shall I?”

  “I go with her? I?” And the wizened head peered out of the window again, its features livid with rage and fear— “Do you take me for a fool?” Here he called after the tall sable-coated woman’s figure that went slowly moving by; itself along the road— “Jacynth!”

  She turned her head and paused.

  “Jacynth! Come back!”

  She moved quietly on again.

  The chauffeur smiled covertly under the fringe of his dark mustache.

  “Monsieur, it is better I should attend Madame! A dead animal is not a pretty sight for ladies.”

  “Go then!” exclaimed his master snappishly— “Go and tell her to come back to me at once!”

  The chauffeur thereupon took a small lighted hand-lamp from the front of the car where it hung, and in a second was by his lady’s side.

  “Madame!” he said, in a low tone— “Monsieur Nordstein is very angry that you go to look at this thing, whatever it is — pray return to him!”

  She threw back her veil, and showed a pure oval face of dazzling beauty, illumined by large brilliant dark eyes, — the unforgettable face of Jacynth Miller — but an altogether lovelier Jacynth — a Jacynth of culture, refinement and grace, with a manner expressive of all the ease and elegance of the great world.

  “Monsieur Nordstein is angry!” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders— “What do I care for his anger?” The chauffeur looked at her somewhat dubiously.

  “You may not care, Madame — but there are penalties and punishments — and this thing we have run over—”

  “You — not we!” interrupted Jacynth— “You! You are the driver of the car and you were goings too fast. You must have killed something — here it is,” — and she suddenly halted— “See! It is not a dog or a sheep — it is a man!” At her words and gesture he stepped forward, holding up his lantern — then bent over the shapeless bundle that lay in front of them, springing back from it again in shuddering disgust.

  “Come away, Madame — come away!” he said— “It is terrible! It is some laborer — he is dead! — quite dead, and bleeding — bleeding horribly! How it has happened I know not, — I am sorry, — it was not my fault — he must have been drunk to lie there in the road — or perhaps he was dead before — but come, Madame — come! — come back to the carl — you must not look—”

  She, however, advanced resolutely.

  “I will look!” she said— “I have never seen a dead man.” She drew close to the body and stooped over it.

  “Bring the lamp here!” she commanded.

  The chauffeur, deadly pale and with chattering teeth, obeyed.

  She gazed intently at what presented the appearance of a mere heap of dirty and blood-stained clothes, without a tremor or an exclamation of pity. Putting out a small foot, cased in a dainty shoe on which the silver embroidery sparkled like gems, she moved the corpse with it, turning the head over so that the face could be seen. Then and then only she recoiled a little. For she recognized it. It was Dan Kiernan’s face — bruised, battered, gashed and bleeding, — Dan’s and no other. Its eyes were wide open, and protruded hideously, — in the light flung upon them by the wavering lantern they glistened and stared at her like living eyes — stared at her so straightly that she instinctively uttered a faint cry. Then, recovering herself at once, she gave them stare for stare — and smiled.

  “It is Dan!” she murmured under her breath— “Dan Kiernan! Killed! Crushed under the wheels of my car!”

  And with that she laughed — a silvery sweet laugh of triumph. The chauffeur started, thinking that the horror of the sight on which she was gazing had made her hysterical. But she was perfectly composed, and her attitude expressed the most absolute indifference.

  “Yes — it is some tramping laborer,” — she said, aloud, “No doubt he was lying drunk in the road. So it is not your fault, Antoine, — it is his own. Drink is the curse of all these kind of men! There’s no house near here — and we are some distance from a town, so we must leave him where he is. Go back to the car and tell my husband I am coming. Stay! Let me have your lantern.”

  “But, Madame,” — objected Antoine— “You will be alone with this corpse — your dress—”

  She smiled.

  “My dress is all right. I’ll take care it has no blood on it,” — she said— “And I’m not alone — the car is close by.” Here she drew the lantern away from his reluctant hold— “I am coming immediately. I just want to look at this lead thing again.”

  Antoine lifted his hands and eyes in wonderment.

  “Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!” he inwardly ejaculated— “Quel cœur de femme!”

  He hurried away to relate the nature, of the accident to his master, who could be seen gesticulating impatiently from the car, and Jacynth Miller, now Jacynth Nordstein, wife of one of the sharpest Jew millionaires that ever played with the money markets of the world, stood like some wondrous figure of Fate, lamp in hand, looking down upon the mangled remains of her girlhood’s lover with an expression that was neither sorrowful nor compassionate, but simply selfcomplacent.

  “Dan!” she breathed softly— “Listen, Dan! It is I — Jacynth! It is Jacynth whose car drove over you just now! Aren’t you glad? Isn’t it a fine way out of Life for you? — a way you would have wished? You’ve been wretched without me — you know you have! Not a glimpse of me for three years! — enough to break your heart, Dan! And I — I’ve been afraid of you sometimes! I’ve thought you might turn up any day with some story of the past, — the past which I have half forgotten and want altogether to forget. And now there you are! — out of my way for ever! That’s just my luck, — fortune always favors me! Out of my way for ever! I shall never have to trouble about you or think of you again! I wonder what you were doing here so far from Shadbrook? Tramping it? Perhaps to find me! Well! Your search is ended, Dan! You’ve found me! — for the last time! Good-night, Dan! — good-by!”

  She waved the lantern with quite a coquettish playfulness over the awful dead face upturned to her own, — and then, with a light step that betokened a light heart, turned her back upon the corpse and moved
away. Returning to the car she found her husband half out of it, his foot on the step, and his keen small eyes glittering with excitement.

  “Ah! At last!” he exclaimed— “I thought you were never coming! Antoine says it is a dead tramp you were looking at. What do you find in that to please you? And to keep me waiting?”

  Swinging the lantern in one hand, she looked up at him, laughing. Her expression and attitude were perfectly lovely, and Israel Nordstein, whose passion for her beauty dominated him even more than his passion for money, altered his vexed frown to a wrinkled smile.

  “Anything for a change, Isra!” she said— “To leave you for a moment makes you love me more for an hour!”

  Her eyes flashed provocatively, and he quickly put out his arms and lifted her into the car beside him. His pallid face had reddened with pleasure.

  “You wild girl!” he said, and kissed her; “You pretty tyrant! You know I could not love you more! Come close to me — sit so! — I like to feel you near! And now let us get on as fast as possible. You’ve had your way — now I must have mine. Antoine has seen to the wheels — they’re all right — and I’ve told him to drive at top speed.”

  “I’m afraid our car killed the poor man!” she said, nestling against him with a little affected shudder and sigh— “He was past all help!”

  “Well, he shouldn’t have gone to bed on the high-road,” — her husband replied cynically; “He was probably drunk. They say God always protects drunkards — a curious taste on the part of the Almighty! — but this time He appears to have been away on other business.” He laughed at what he considered a witticism, and just then the chauffeur came to the door.