The Malefactor

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  "LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW"

  Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingeringwas gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himselfdesperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which wasto all effects and purposes concluded.

  "I will do my best, Sir Wingrave," he said, reverting to the subject oftheir interview, "to study Miss Lundy's interests in every way. I willalso see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight daysfrom now. But if you could see you way to leave some sort of address sothat I should have a chance of communicating with you, if necessary, Ishould assume my responsibilities with a lighter heart."

  Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoyance.

  "My dear sir," he said, "surely I have been explicit enough. I have toldyou that, within a week from now, I shall be practically dead. I shallnever return to England--you will never see me again. I have given lifehere a fair trial, and found it a failure. I am going to make a newexperiment--and it is going to be in an unexplored country. You couldnot reach me there through the post. You, I think, would scarcely careto follow me. Let it go at that."

  Mr. Pengarth took up his bag with a sigh.

  "Sir Wingrave," he said, "I am a simple man, and life with me has alwaysbeen a very simple affair. I recognize the fact, of course, that I amnot in a position to judge or to understand the mental attitude of onewho, like yourself, has suffered and passed through great crises. But Icannot help wishing that you could find it possible to try, for a time,the quiet life of a countryman in this beautiful home of yours."

  Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.

  "Mr. Pengarth," he said, "no two men are born alike into this world.Some are blessed with a contented mind, some are wanderers by destiny.You will forgive me if I do not discuss the matter with you more fully.My journey, wherever and whatever it is, is inevitable."

  Mr. Pengarth was braver than he had ever been in his life.

  "Sir Wingrave," he said, "there is one journey which we must all takein God's good time. But the man who starts before he is called finds nowelcome at the end. The greatest in life are those who are content towait!"

  "I am not in the least disposed to doubt it, Mr. Pengarth," Wingravesaid calmly. "Now I must really send you away."

  So Mr. Pengarth went, but Wingrave was not long destined to remainin solitude. There was a sound of voices in the hall, Morrison'sprotesting, another insistent. Then the door opened, and Wingrave lookedup with darkening face, which did not lighten when he recognized theintruder.

  "Aynesworth!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing here? What do you wantwith me?"

  "Five minutes," Aynesworth answered, "and I mean to have it. You may aswell tell your man to take his hand off my shoulder."

  Wingrave nodded to Morrison.

  "You can go," he said. "Come back when I ring."

  They were alone! Aynesworth threw down his hat and crossed the roomuntil he was within a few feet of Wingrave.

  "Well, sir?"

  Aynesworth laughed a little unnaturally.

  "I had to come," he said. "It is humiliating, but the discipline is goodfor me! I was determined to come and see once more the man who has madean utter and complete fool of me."

  Wingrave eyed him coldly.

  "If you would be good enough to explain," he began.

  "Oh, yes, I'll explain," Aynesworth answered. "I engaged myself to youas secretary, didn't I, and I told you the reason at the time? I wantedto make a study of you. I wanted to trace the effect of your long periodof isolation upon your subsequent actions. I entered upon my duties--howyou must have smiled at me behind my back! Never was a man morecompletely and absolutely deceived. I lived with you, was always by yourside, I was there professedly to study your actions and the method ofthem. And yet you found it a perfectly simple matter to hoodwink mewhenever you chose!"

  "In what respect?" Wingrave asked calmly.

  "Every respect!" Aynesworth answered. "Let me tell you two things whichhappened to me yesterday. I met a young New York stockbroker, namedNesbitt, in London, and in common with all London, I suppose, by thistime, I learnt the secret of all those anonymous contributions to thehospitals and other charitable causes during the last year."

  "Go on," Wingrave said.

  "I have come here on purpose to tell you what I think you are,"Aynesworth said. "You are the greatest hypocrite unhanged. You affect tohate your fellows and to love evil-doers. You deceived the whole world,and you deceived me. I know you now for what you are. You conceived yourevil plans, but when the time came for carrying them out, you funkedit every time. You had that silly little woman on the steamer in yourpower, and you yourself, behind your own back, released her with thatMarconigram to her husband, sent by yourself. You brought the boyNesbitt face to face with ruin, and to his face you offered him nomercy. Behind his back you employ a lawyer to advance him your own moneyto pay your own debt. You decline to give a single penny away in charityand, as stealthily as possible, you give away in one year greater sumsthan any other man has ever parted with. You decline to help the poorlittle orphan child of the village organist, and secretly you have herbrought up in your own home, and stop the sale of your pictures for thesake of the child whom you had only once contemptuously addressed. Canyou deny any one of these things?"

  "No!" Wingrave answered quietly, "I cannot."

  "And I thought you a strong man," Aynesworth continued, aggrieved andcontemptuous. "I nearly went mad with fear when I heard that it was youwho were the self-appointed guardian of Juliet Lundy. I looked upon thisas one more, the most diabolical of all your schemes!"

  Wingrave rose to his feet, still and grave.

  "Aynesworth," he said, "this interview does not interest me. Let usbring it to an end. I admit that I have made a great failure of my life.I admit that I have failed in realizing the ambitions I once confided toyou. I came out from prison with precisely those intentions, and I wasconscious of nothing in myself or my nature to prevent my carrying themout. It seems that I was mistaken. I admit all this, but I do not admityour right to force yourself into my presence and taunt me with myfailure. You served me well enough, but you were easily hoodwinked, andour connection is at an end. I have only one thing to say to you. Iam leaving this part of the world altogether. I shall not return. Thatchild has some foolish scruples about taking any more of my money. Thatarises through your confounded interference. She is poor, almost inwant. If you should fail her now--"

  Aynesworth interrupted with a hoarse little laugh.

  "Wingrave," he said, "are you playing the simpleton? If Juliet will nottake your money, why should she take mine?"

  Wingrave came out from his place. He was standing now between Aynesworthand the door.

  "Aynesworth," he said, "do I understand that you are not going to marrythe child?"

  "I? Certainly not!" Aynesworth answered.

  Wingrave remained quite calm, but there was a terrible light in hiseyes.

  "Now, for the first time, Aynesworth," he said, "I am glad that you arehere. We are going to have a complete understanding before you leavethis room. Juliet Lundy, as my ward, was, I believe, contented andhappy. It suited you to disturb our relations, and your excuse for doingso was that you loved her. You took her away from me, and now you saythat you do not intend to marry her. Be so good as to tell me what thedevil you do mean!"

  Aynesworth laughed a little bitterly.

  "You must excuse me," he said, "but a sense of humor was always myundoing, and this reversal of our positions is a little odd, isn't it?I am not going to marry Juliet Lundy because she happens not to care forme in that way at all. My appearance is scarcely that of a joyous lover,is it?"

  Wingrave eyed him more closely. Aynesworth had certainly fallen awayfrom the trim and carefully turned out young man of a few months back.He was paler, too, and looked older.

  "I do not understand this," Wingrave said.

  "I do!" Aynesworth answered bitterly. "There is someone
else?"

  "Someone whom I do not know about?" Wingrave said, frowning heavily."Who is he, Aynesworth?"

  Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders. He said nothing. Wingrave came a stepnearer to him.

  "You may as well tell me." he said quietly, "for I shall postpone myjourney until I know the whole truth."

  "It is not my secret," Aynesworth answered. "Ask her yourself!"

  "Very well," Wingrave declared, "I will. I shall return to Londontonight."

  "It is not necessary," Aynesworth remarked.

  Wingrave started.

  "You mean that she is here?" he exclaimed.

  Aynesworth drew him towards the window.

  "Come," he said, "you shall ask her now."

  Wingrave hesitated for a moment. An odd nervousness seemed to have takenpossession of him.

  "I do not understand this, Aynesworth," he said. "Why is she here?"

  "Go and ask her your question," Aynesworth said. "Perhaps you willunderstand then."

  Wingrave went down the path which led to the walled garden and thesea. The tall hollyhocks brushed against his knees; the air, as mild asspringtime, was fragrant with the perfume of late roses. Wingrave tookno note of these things. Once more he seemed to see coming up the paththe little black-frocked child, with the pale face and the great sadeyes; it was she indeed who rose so swiftly from the hidden seat. ThenWingrave stopped short for he felt stirring within him all the longrepressed madness of his unlived manhood. It was the weakness againstwhich he had fought so long and so wearily, triumphant now, so that hisheart beat like a boy's, and the color flamed into his cheeks. And allthe time she was coming nearer, and he saw that the child had become awoman, and it seemed to him that all the joy of life was alight in herface, and the one mysterious and wonderful secret of her sex wasshining softly out of her eager eyes. So that, after all, when they met,Wingrave asked her no questions. She came into his arms with all thegraceful and perfect naturalness of a child who has wandered a littleaway from home....

  "I am too old for you, dear," he said presently, as they wandered aboutthe garden, "much too old."

  "Age," she answered softly, "what is that? What have we to do withthe years that are past? It is the years to come only which we needconsider, and to think of them makes me almost tremble with happiness.You are much too rich and too wonderful a personage for a homelessorphan like me; but," she added, tucking her arm through his with acontented little sigh, "I have you, and I shall not let you go!"