in the first shock of the vision i did not realize to its full extent the profoundness of my brother’s villainy or of my own loss. indeed, for the moment i was so numbed with amazement as to find place for no darker sentiment in my breast.
“why, it’s renny!” said zyp, and my heart actually rose with a brief exultation to hear my name on her lips once more.
the game once taken out of his hands, jason, with characteristic sang froid, withdrew into the background, prepared to let the waters of destiny thunder over his head.
the very complication of the situation reacted upon him in such manner, i think, as to brace him up to a single defiance of fate. from the moment zyp appeared he was almost his brazen self again.
“zyp,” i muttered, “what are you doing here?”
“what a wife generally does in her husband’s house, old fellow—getting in the way.”
it was my brother who spoke, and in a moment the truth burst upon me.
“you are married?” i said.
“yes,” said zyp; “this is our baby.”
“you dog!” i cried—— i turned upon him madly. “you hound! you dog!”
zyp threw herself upon her knees on the threshold of the room.
“yes,” she cried, “he is, and i never knew it till two nights ago, when the girl found her way here. she didn’t know he had a wife and it broke her heart. i can understand that now. but you mustn’t hurt him, renny.”
“the girl has drowned herself, zyp.”
“and not for you, renny? he said it was you she loved and that he was the mediator. was that a lie?”
“it was a lie!”
“i thought then it was. i never believed him as i believed you. but tell me you won’t hurt him—he’s my husband. swear on this, renny.”
with an infinitely pathetic action she held toward me the little bundle she had clasped all through in her arms. it woke and wailed as she lifted it up.
“it cries to you, too,” she said; “my little zyp, that pleads for her daddy.”
jason gave a short, ironical laugh.
sick at heart, i motioned the young mother to rise.
“not till you swear,” she said.
“i swear, zyp.”
she got up then and led the way into the little dingy sitting-room from which she had issued. a cradle stood by the fire and an empty feeding bottle lay on the table. how strange it seemed that zyp should own them!
jason followed as far as the door, where he stood leaning.
then in the cold light of morning i saw how wan was the face of the changeling of old days; how piercing were her eyes; how sadly had the mere animal beauty shrunk to make way for the soul.
“you are brown, renny,” she said, with a pitiful attempt at gayety. “you look old and wise to us poor butterflies of existence.”
“oh,” said jason. “i see you are set for confidences and that i’m in the way. i’ll go out for a walk.”
“stop!” i cried, turning on him once more. “go, as far as i am concerned, and god grant i may never see your face again. but understand one thing. keep out of the way of the man i fought with just now for your sake. he promised, but even the promises of good and just men may fail under temptation. keep out of his way, i warn you—now and always.”
“i’m obliged to you,” he answered, in a high-strung voice; “it seems to be a choice of evils. i prefer evil anyway in the open air.”
i said not a word more and he left us, and i heard the front door close on him. then i turned to zyp with an agony i could not control, and she was crooning over her baby.
“zyp, i oughtn’t to say it, i know. but—oh, zyp! i thought all these years you might be waiting for me.”
“hush, renny! you wrote so seldom, and—and i was a changeling, you know, and longed for light and pleasure. and he seemed to promise them—he was so beautiful, and so loving when he chose.”
“and you married him?”
“dad wouldn’t hear of it. sometimes i think, renny, he was your champion—dad, i mean—and wanted to keep me for you; and the very suspicion made me rebellious. and in the end, we were married at a registrar’s office, there in winton, unknown to anybody.”
“how long ago was that?”
“it was last february and sometime in august dad found it out and there was a scene. so jason brought me to london.”
“why, what was he doing to keep a wife?”
“i know nothing about that. such things never enter my head, i think. he always seemed to have money. perhaps dad gave it to him. he was afraid of jason, i’m sure.”
“zyp, why didn’t you ever—why did none of you ever write to me about this?”
“why, dad wrote, renny! i know he did, the day we left. he wanted you to come home again, now he was alone.”
“to come home? i never got the letter.”
“but he wrote, i’m certain, and didn’t jason tell you?”
“he told me nothing—i didn’t even know he was married till yesterday.”
i bent over the young wife as she sat rocking her baby.
“zyp, i must go. my heart is very full of misery and confusion. i must walk it off or sleep it off, or i think perhaps i shall go mad.”
“did you love that girl, renny?”
“no, zyp. i have never had but one love in my life; and that i must say no more about. i have to speak to you, however, about one who did—a fierce, strong man, and utterly reckless when goaded to revenge. he is a fellow-workman of mine—he used to be my best friend—and, zyp, his whole unselfish heart was given to this poor girl. but it was her happiness he strove after, and when he fancied that was centered in me—not him—he sacrificed himself and urged me to win. and i should have tried, for i was very lonely in the world, but that jason—you know the truth already, zyp—jason came and took her from me; that was three months ago, and last night she drowned herself.”
zyp looked up at me. her eyes were swimming in tears.
“i suppose a better woman would leave such a husband,” she said, with a pitiful sigh, “but i think of the little baby, renny.”
“a true woman, dear, would remain with him, as you will in his dark hour. that is coming now; that is what i want to warn you about in all terrible earnestness. zyp, this fierce man i told you about came here this morning to kill your husband. i was in time to keep him back, but that was only once. a promise was forced from him that he would do nothing more until the inquest is over. that promise, unless he is dreadfully tempted, he will keep, i am sure. but afterward jason won’t be safe for an hour. you must get him to leave here at once, zyp.”
she had risen and was staring at me with frightened eyes. i could not help but act upon her terror.
“don’t delay. move now—this day, if possible, and go secretly and hide yourselves where he can’t find you. i don’t think jason will be wanted at the inquest. in any case he mustn’t be found. i say this with all the earnestness i am capable of. i know the man and his nature, and the hideous wrong he has suffered.”
i wrote down my address and gave it to her.
“remember,” i said, “if you ever want me to seek me there. but come quietly and excite the least observation you can.”
then gently i lifted the flannel from the tiny waxen face lying on her arm, and, kissing the pink lips for her mother’s sake, walked steadily from the room and shut the door behind me.
as i gained the hall, jason, returning, let himself in by the front door. he looked nervous and flustered. for all his bravado he had found, i suppose, a very brief ordeal of the streets sufficient.
“i should like a word with you,” i said, “before i go.”
“well,” he answered, “the atmosphere seems all mystery and righteousness. come in here.”
he preceded me into the front room and closed the door upon us. then i looked him full in the face.
“who killed modred?” i said.
he gave a great start; then a laugh.
“you’re the one to answer that,” he said.
“you lie, as you always do. my eyes have been opened at last—at last, do you hear? modred was never drowned. he recovered and was killed by other means during the night.”
his affectation of merriment stopped, cut through at a blow. a curious spasm twitched his face.
“well,” he muttered, looking down, away from me, “that may be true and you none the less guilty.”
“a hateful answer and quite worthy of you,” i said, quietly. “nevertheless, you know it, as well as i do, to be a brutal falsehood.”
i seized him by the shoulder and forced him to lift his hangdog face.
“my god!” i whispered, awfully, “i believe you killed him yourself.”
it burst upon me with a shock. why should he not have done it? his resentment over zyp’s preference was as much of a motive with him as with me—ten thousand times more so, taking his nature into account and the immunity from risk my deed had opened to him. i remembered the scene by the river, when zyp was drowning, and my hand shook as i held him.
he sprung from me.
“i didn’t—i didn’t!” he shrieked. “how dare you say such a thing?”
“oh,” i groaned, “shall i hand you over to duke straw, when the time comes, and be quit of you forever?”
“don’t be a cruel brute!” he answered, almost whimpering. “i didn’t do it, i tell you. but perhaps he didn’t die of drowning, and i may have had my suspicions.”
“of me?”
“no, no—not really of you, upon my oath; but some one else.”
“and yet all these years you have held the horror over my head and have made wicked capital out of it.”
“i wanted the changeling—that was why.”
i threw him from me, so that he staggered against the wall.
“you are such a despicable beast,” i said, “that i’ll pollute my hands with you no longer. answer me one thing more. where’s the letter my father wrote to me when you were leaving winton?”
“it went to your old lodgings. the man handed it to me to give to you when i called there.”
“and you tore it up?”
“yes. i didn’t want you to know zyp and i were married.”
“now, i’ve done with you. for zyp’s sake i give you the chance of escaping from the dreadful fate that awaits you if you get in that other’s way. i warn you—nothing further. for the rest, never come near me again, or look to me to hold out a finger of help to you. beyond that, if you breathe one more note of the hideous slander with which you have pursued me for years, i go heart and soul with duke in destroying you. you may be guilty of modred’s death, as you are in god’s sight the murderer of that unhappy child who has gone to his judgment.”
“i didn’t kill him,” he muttered again; and with that, without another word or look, i left him.
