The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack

by Anna Katharine Green

  “The horror in her eyes deepened. The grasp on my arm became like that of a man.

  “‘You are mad,’ she cried. ‘You do not know what you are doing. What has happened to drive you to a deed like this? I—I thought—’ and here she stammered and lost for the moment her self-control—’that you seemed very happy last night.’

  “‘I was,’ I cried. ‘I did not know then what a blighted creature I was. I thought someone might be brought to love me, even with this frightful, hideous scar on my face. But I know now that I am mistaken; that no man will ever overlook this; that I must live a lonely life, a suffering life; and I have not the strength or the courage to do so. I—I might have been beautiful,’ I cried, ‘but—’

  “Her face, suddenly distorted by the keenest pain, drew my attention, even at that moment of immeasurable woe, and made me stop and say in less harsh and embittered tones:

  “‘No one will miss me very much, so do not seek to stop me.’

  “Her head fell forward, her eyes sought the ground, but she did not loosen her hold on my arm. Instead of that, it tightened till it felt like a band of steel.

  “‘You have left a letter there,’ she murmured, allowing her eyes to wander fearfully towards it. ‘Was it to me? to our father?’

  “‘No,’ I returned.

  “She shuddered, but her eyes did not leave the spot. Suddenly her lips gave a low cry; she had seen the word Sellick.

  “‘Yes,’ I answered in response to what I knew were her thoughts. ‘It is that traitor who is killing me. He has visited me day by day, he has followed me from place to place; he has sought me, smiled upon me, given me every token of love save that expressed in words; and now, now I hear him, when he does not know I am near, speak disrespectfully of my looks, of this scar, as no man who loves, or ever will love, could speak of any defect in the woman he has courted.’

  “‘You did not hear aright,’ came passionately from her lips. ‘You are mistaken. Dr. Sellick could not so far forget himself.’

  “‘Dr. Sellick can and did. Dr. Sellick has given me a blow for which his fine art of healing can find no remedy. Kiss me, Emma, kiss me, dear girl, and do not hold me so tight; see, we might tumble into the water together.’

  “‘And if we did,’ she gasped, ‘it would be better than letting you go alone. No, no, Hermione, you shall never plunge into that pool while I live to hold you back. Listen to me, listen. Am I nothing to you? Will you not live for me? I have been careless, I know, happy in my own hopes and pleasures, and thinking too little, oh, much too little, of the possible griefs or disappointments of my only sister. But this shall be changed; I promise you shall all be changed. I will live for you henceforth; we will breathe, work, suffer, enjoy together. No sister shall be tenderer, no lover more devoted than I will be to you. If you do not marry, then will not I. No pleasure that is denied you shall be accepted by me. Only come away from this dark pool; quit casting those glances of secret longing into that gruesome water. It is too awful, too loathsome a place to swallow so much beauty; for you are beautiful, no matter what any one says; so beautiful that it is almost a mercy you have some defect, or we should not dare to claim you for our own, you are so far above what any of us could hope for or expect.’

  “But the bitterness that was in my soul could not be so easily exorcised.

  “‘You are a good girl,’ I said, ‘but you cannot move me from my purpose.’ And I tried to disengage myself from her clasp.

  “But the young face, the young form which I had hitherto associated only with what was gay, mirthful, and frivolous, met me with an aspect which impressed even me and made me feel it was no child I had to deal with but a woman as strong and in a state of almost as much suffering as myself.

  “‘Hermione,’ she cried, ‘if you throw yourself into that pool, I shall follow you. I will not live ten minutes after you. Do you know why? Because I—I caused you that scar which has been the torment of your life. It was when we were children—babes, and I have only known it since last night. Auntie Lovell told me, in her sympathy for you and her desire to make me more sisterly. The knowledge has crushed me, Hermione; it has made me hate myself and love you. Nothing I can do now can ever atone for what I did then; though I was so young, it was anger that gave me strength to deal the blow which has left this indelible mark behind it. Isn’t it terrible? I the one to blame and you the one to suffer!—But there must be no dying, Hermione, no dying, or I shall feel myself a murderess. And you do not want to add that horror to my remorse, now that I am old enough to feel remorse, and realize your suffering. You will be a little merciful and live for my sake if not for your own.’

  “She was clinging to me, her face white and drawn, upturned towards mine with pitiful pleading, but I had no words with which to comfort her, nor could I feel as yet any relenting in my fixed purpose. Seeing my unmoved look she burst into sobs, then she cried suddenly:

  “‘I see I must prepare to die too. But not today, Hermione. Wait a month, just one month, and then if you choose to rush upon your fate, I will not seek to deter you, I will simply share it; but not today, not in this rush of maddened feeling. Life holds too much—may yet give you too much, for any such reckless disregard of its prospects. Give it one chance, then, and me one chance—it is all I ask. One month of quiet waiting and then—decision.’

  “I knew no month would make any difference with me, but her passionate pleading began to work upon my feelings.

  “‘It will be a wretched time for me,’ said I, ‘a purgatory which I shall be glad to escape.’

  “‘But for my sake,’ she murmured, ‘for my sake; I am not ready to die yet, and your fate—I have said it—shall be mine.’

  “‘For your sake then,’ I cried, and drew back from the dangerous brink upon which we had both been standing. ‘But do not think,’ I added, as we paused some few feet away, ‘that because I yield now, I will yield then. If after a month of trying to live, I find myself unable, I shall not consult you, Emma, as to my determination, any more than I shall expect you to embrace my doom because in the heat of your present terror you have expressed your intention of doing so.’

  “‘Your fate shall be my fate, as far as I myself can compass it,’ she reiterated. And I, angry at what I thought to be an unwarrantable attempt to put a check upon me, cried out in as bitter a tone as I had ever used:

  “‘So be it,’ and turned myself towards home.”

  XXI

  IN THE LABORATORY

  “But Emma, with a careful remembrance of what was due to my better nature, stopped to pick up the letter I had left lying under a stone, and joining me, placed it in my hand, by which it was soon crumpled up, torn, and scattered to the wind. As the last bits blew by us, we both sighed and the next minute walked rapidly towards home.

  “You will say that all this was experience enough for one day, but fate sometimes crowds us with emotions and eventful moments. As we entered the house, I saw auntie waiting for us at the top of the first stairs; and when she beckoned to Emma only, I was glad—if I could be glad of anything—that I was to be left for a few minutes to myself. Turning towards a little crooked staircase which leads to that part of the house containing my own room and my father’s laboratory, I went wearily up, feeling as if each step I took dragged a whole weight of woe behind it.

  “I was going to my own room, but as I passed the open laboratory door, I perceived that the place was empty, and the fancy took me, I know not why, to go in. I had never liked the room, it was so unnaturally long, so unnaturally dismal, and so connected with the pursuits I had come to detest. Now it had an added horror for me. Here Dr. Sellick had been accustomed to come, and here was the very chair in which he had sat, and the table at which he had worked. Why, then, with all this old and new shrinking upon me did I persistently cross the threshold and darken my already clouded spirit with the torturing suggestions I found there? I do not know. Perhaps my evil spirit lured me on; perhaps—I am beginning to believe in a Provid
ence now—God had some good purpose in leading me to fresh revelations, though up to this time they have seemed to cause me nothing but agony and shame.

  “No one was in the room, I say, and I went straight to its middle window. Here my father’s desk stood, for he used the room for nearly every purpose of his life. I did not observe the desk; I did not observe anything till I turned to leave; then I caught sight of a letter lying on the desk, and stopped as if I had been clutched by an iron hand, for it was an open letter, and the signature at the bottom of the sheet was that of Edgar Sellick.

  “‘Can I never escape from that man?’ thought I, and turned passionately away. But next minute I found myself bending over it, devouring it first with my eyes, and then taking it to my heart, for it was an expression of love for the daughter of the man to whom it was addressed, and that man was my father.

  “This language as I now know referred to Emma, and she was under no error in regard to it, nor was my father nor my aunt. But I thought it referred to me, and as I read on and came upon the sentence in which he asked, as I supposed, for my hand and the privilege of offering himself to me at the coming ball, I experienced such a revulsion of feeling that I lost all memory of the words I had overheard him speak, or attributed them to some misunderstanding on my part, which a word or look from him could easily explain.

  “Life bloomed for me again, and I was happy, madly happy for a few short moments. Even the horrible old room I was in seemed cheerful, and I was just acknowledging to myself that I should have made a great mistake if I had carried out my wicked impulse toward self-destruction, when my father came in. He shrank back when he saw me; but I thought nothing of that; I did not even wonder why Emma was closeted with aunt. I only thought of the coming ball, and the necessity of preparing myself for it right royally.

  “I had come from the desk, and was crossing the floor to go out. My happiness made me turn.

  “‘Father,’ said I, taking what I thought to be an arch advantage of the situation; ‘may I not have a new dress for the ball?’

  “He paused, cast a glance at his desk, and then another at me. He had been, though I did not know it, in conversation with Emma and my aunt, and was more alive to the matters of the hour than usual. It was therefore with some display of severity that he confronted me and said:

  “‘You are not going to the ball, Hermione.’

  “Struck as by a blow, the more severely that it was wholly unexpected, I gasped:

  “‘Not going to the ball when you know what depends upon it? Do you not like Dr. Sellick, father?’

  “He mumbled something between his lips, and advancing to the desk, took up the letter which he thus knew I had read, and ostentatiously folded it.

  “‘I like Dr. Sellick well enough,’ was his reply, ‘but I do not approve of balls, and desire you to keep away from them.’

  “‘But you said we might go,’ I persisted, suspecting nothing, seeing nothing in this but a parent’s unreasonable and arbitrary display of power. ‘Why have you changed your mind? Is it because Dr. Sellick has fixed upon that time for making me the offer of his hand?’

  “‘Perhaps,’ his dry lips said.

  “Angry as I had never been in all my life, I tried to speak, and could not. Had I escaped suicide to have my hopes flung in this wanton way again to the ground, and for no reason that I or any one else could see?’

  “‘But you acknowledge,’ I managed at last to stammer, ‘that you like him.’

  “‘That is not saying I want him for a son-in-law.’

  “‘Whom do you want?’ I cried. ‘Is there any one else in town superior to him in wit or breeding? If he loves me—’

  “My father’s lip curled.

  “‘He says he does,’ I flashed out fiercely.

  “‘You should not have read my letters,’ was all my father replied.

  “I was baffled, exasperated, at my wits’ end; all the more that I saw his eye roaming impatiently towards the pneumatic trough where some hydrogen gas was collecting for use.

  “‘Father, father,’ I cried, ‘be frank to me. What are your objections to Dr. Sellick? He is your friend; he works with you; he is promising in his profession; he has every qualification but that of wealth—’

  “‘That is enough,’ broke in my father.

  “I looked at him in dismay and shrank back. How could I know he was honestly trying to save me from a grief and shame they all thought me unequal to meeting. I saw nothing but his cold smile, heard nothing but his harsh words.

  “‘You are cruel; you are heartless,’ burst from me in a rage. ‘You never have shown the least signs of a mercenary spirit before, and now you make Dr. Sellick’s lack of money an excuse for breaking my heart.’

  “‘Hermione,’ my father slowly rejoined, ‘you have a frightful temper. You had better keep down the exhibitions of it when you are in this room.’

  “‘This room!’ I repeated, almost beside myself. ‘This grave rather of every gentle feeling and tender thought which a father should have towards a most unfortunate child. If you loved me but half as well as you love these old jars—’

  “But here his face, usually mild in its abstraction, turned so pale and hard that I was frightened at what I had said.

  “‘Hermione,’ he cried, ‘there is no use trying to show you any consideration. Know the truth then; know that—’

  “Why did he not go on? Why was he not allowed to tell me what I may have been but little fitted to hear, but which if I had heard it at that time would have saved me from many grave and fatal mistakes. I think he would have spoken; I think he meant to tell me that Dr. Sellick’s offer was for Emma, and not for me, but Emma herself appeared just then at the door, and though I did not detect the gesture she made, I gather that it was one of entreaty from the way he paused and bit his lip.

  “‘It is useless to talk,’ he exclaimed. ‘I have said that you are to stay home from the ball. I also say that you are not to accept or refuse Dr. Sellick’s addresses. I will answer his letter, and it will not be one of acceptance.’

  “Why did I not yield to his will and say nothing? When I saw how everything was against me, why did I not succumb to circumstances, and cease to maintain a struggle I knew then to be useless? Because it was not in my nature to do so; because Providence had given me an indomitable will which had never been roused into its utmost action till now. Drawing myself up till I felt that I was taller than he, I advanced with all the fury of suppressed rage, and quietly said the fatal words which, once uttered, I never knew how to recall:

  “‘If you play the tyrant, I will not play the part of submissive slave. Keep me here if you will; restrain me from going where my fancy and my desires lead, and I will obey you. But, father, if you do this, if you do not allow me to go to the ball, meet Dr. Sellick, and accept his offer, then mark me, I will never go out of this house again. Where you keep me I will stay till I am carried out a corpse, and no one and nothing shall ever make me change my mind.’

  “He stared, laughed, then walked away to his pneumatic trough. ‘Suit yourself about that,’ said he, ‘I have nothing to do with your whims.’ Probably he thought I was raving and would forget my words before the day was out.

  “But there was another person present who knew me better, and I only realized what I had done when I beheld Emma’s slight body lying insensible at my feet.”

  XXII

  STEEL MEETS STEEL.

  Up to this point Frank had read with an absorption which precluded the receiving of all outward impressions. But the secret reached, he drew a long breath and became suddenly conscious of a lugubrious sound breaking in upon the silence with a gloomy iteration which was anything but cheering.

  The fog-horn was blowing out on Dog Island.

  “I could have done without that accompaniment,” thought he, glancing at the sheets still before him. “It gives me a sense of doom.”

  But the fog was thick on the coast and the horn kept on blowing.

 
Frank took up the remaining sheets.

  “Life for me was now at an end indeed, and not for me only, but for Emma. I had not meant to involve her in my fate. I had forgotten her promise, forgotten. But when I saw her lying there I remembered, and a sharp pang pierced me for all my devouring rage. But I did not recall my words, I could not. I had uttered them with a full sense of what they meant to me, and the scorn with which they were received only deepened my purpose to keep the threat I had made. Can you understand such a disposition, and can you continue to love the possessor of it?

  “My father, who was shocked at Emma’s fall, knowing better than I did perhaps the real misery which lay behind it, cast me a look which did not tend to soften my obduracy, and advanced to pick her up. When he had carried her to her own room, I went proudly to mine, and such was the depth of my anger and the obstinate nature of my will that I really felt better able to face the future now that I had put myself into a position requiring pride and purpose to sustain it. But I did feel some relenting when I next saw Emma—such a change was visible in her manner. Meekness had taken the place of the merriment which once made the house to ring, and the eye which once sparkled now showed sadness and concern. I did not, however suspect she had given up anything but freedom, and though this was much, as I very soon began to find, I was not yet by any means so affected by her devotion, that I could do more than beg her to reconsider her own determination and break a promise from which I would be only too happy to release her.

  “But the answer with which she always met my remonstrances was, ‘Your fate shall be my fate. When it becomes unbearable to us both you will release me by releasing yourself.’ Which answer always hardened me again, for I did not wish to be forced to think that the breaking up of our seclusion rested with me, or that anything but a relenting on my father’s part could make any change in my conduct.

  “Meanwhile that father maintained towards me an air of the utmost indifference. He worked at his experiments as usual, came and went through the sombre house, which was unrelieved now by Emma’s once bright sallies and irrepressible laughter, and made no sign that he saw any difference in it or us. Aunt Lovell alone showed sympathy, and when she saw that sympathy accomplished nothing, tried first persuasion and then argument.