The Mystery of M. Felix

"You must not be too angry with people," he said, "for speaking against the young lady. We live in a frightfully ill-natured world."

"I know, I know," groaned Gerald, "and it makes it all the harder for my poor girl. It was I who thrust her into the position; she was insensible when I took her into the house. Can you not see there was nothing else to be done?"

"I see it of course, my boy, and I am sincerely sorry for the pair of you."

"She must be suffering agonies" —

"Be reasonable, Gerald," said Leonard with affectionate insistance; "it's a hundred to one she knows nothing of it. I must exercise my authority as an elder brother over you, and as more of a man of the world than you are. Now, what is it you want to do?"

"To find out where she has been taken to, and to insist upon her marrying me at once. That is the surest way to silence the slanderer. I have done her a wrong-not wilfully, Len, you know me too well for that-and I must repair it at the very earliest moment. Thank God she believes in me, and knows that I am faithful and true. Oh, Len, she is an angel, the sweetest, dearest woman that ever breathed! No man could help loving her."

"From what you tell me of her, Gerald, we must proceed carefully. A nature so sensitive as hers must be dealt with delicately. You see, my boy, there is no disguising that if people are speaking against her, you are the cause of it. I was wrong in saying that it's a hundred to one she knows nothing of it; I ought to have put it the other way. Very well, then. Your Emilia is an angel-granted; I believe every word you say of her. But she is a woman, nevertheless, and you are responsible for dragging her name through the mud."

"Good God!" exclaimed Gerald. "You put it strongly."

"I am bound to do so, as the sincerest friend you have. I hope you give me credit for being that, Gerald."

"Len, if you were not here I should go distracted."

"I am only too glad I have come in good time to assist you. To continue about Emilia. What does such a woman as she value most in the world? Her good name. You have jeopardized hers, Gerald, with the best intentions I admit, but jeopardized it is. Hearing the scandal she will naturally ask herself, 'Why did Gerald take me into his house when I was in a fainting condition, and unable to have a voice in the matter? Could he not have waited till I recovered? And now see what people are saying of me? He has degraded me; I shall never be able to look honest people in the face again.' Is it entirely unnatural, my boy, that she should not rush into your arms when you present yourself? Just think a bit."

"I have not thought of it in that light," said Gerald ruefully.

"Because you have considered it from your point of view, not from hers. Answer me candidly. If she had been in possession of her senses would she have consented to enter your house clandestinely with you at such an hour last night-you, a single man, and her lover?"

"No, I see it now. Wretch that I am! I deserved to be pilloried for it."

"Don't rush into the other extreme. You acted unwisely, but honestly." (Leonard had no more belief in the professions he was making than Mrs. Seaton would have had, but he knew the nature of the man he was playing upon.) "Now, what you want in this crisis is a friend like myself, who, a stranger to your Emilia, can explain everything to her in a considerate, sensible way. Otherwise she may refuse to have anything more to say to you."

This suggestion frightened Gerald. "What do you advise me to do?" he asked.

"To place yourself entirely in my hands, and let me bring this unfortunate matter to a satisfactory conclusion."

"I will do so, Len. Thank you a thousand, thousand times. I am eternally grateful to you."

"Nonsense. I love you, Gerald; our interests are one. Look at yourself in the glass; you are a perfect scarecrow."

"I have had no sleep since the night before last.

"Is that a fit condition in which to set about a task so delicate? It would be inviting failure. First, you must have some breakfast."

"I can't eat, Len."

"You must. A devilled bone and a glass or two of champagne." He rang the bell, and gave the order, and ordered also a warm bath to be prepared. "Now, Gerald. The bath first, the devilled bone and a pint of champagne next, and then to bed for two or three hours. When you awake, refreshed and with a clear mind, I will tell you all about Emilia."

"You will find out where she is?"

"I will-if it is to be found out."

"And you will explain everything to her?"

"I will."

"And you will tell her I love her more devotedly than ever?"

"I will; and that your only wish is to hear the wedding bells ring."

"You're a good fellow, Len. I can never repay you. You are my good angel. But what a selfish brute I am, to talk only of myself and my troubles. You cabled for money, Len, and it was sent to you. How's the exchequer?"

"Thank you for the inquiry, dear boy. It never was lower. I have been deucedly unfortunate; plunged into a land speculation which I thought was going to make my fortune, but which cleaned me out to the last sovereign. How on earth I made my way home I don't know. I was consoled by one reflection, that I was coming home to the dearest brother an unfortunate devil ever had."

Gerald took out his check-book and put his name to a check.

"Here is a blank check, Len. Fill it in for what you like."

"Good boy. I am in debt, Gerald."

"Never mind; there's a balance of over two thousand in the bank."

"May I fill in for a thou-?

"And welcome. I've a lot of money in securities."

"I won't thank you, Gerald," said Leonard, handing the pen to his step-brother; "you know what my feelings are toward you. Write the sum in yourself."

Gerald wrote, and gave the check back. Leonard just glanced at it, and saw that it was drawn out for twelve hundred pounds, payable to bearer. He passed his hand over his tearless eyes, and turned his head. A very skilful actor indeed was Leonard Paget; he knew to a nicety the value of a light touch. The waiter entered and said the bath was ready.

"Don't bring up breakfast till I ring for it," said Leonard to the man. "Off with you, Gerald. I give you just twenty minutes."

Gerald gone, he looked at the check again. "It is only an instalment," he murmured. "Every shilling he has belongs to me; and I mean to have it. As for this girl-bah! They must never come together again."

Upon Gerald's appearance from the bath he greeted him with a smile. "You look twice the man you were. Now for breakfast. Tuck in, Gerald."

In any other circumstances Gerald would not have been able to eat, but with such a friend and counsellor by his side he made a tolerably good meal. Then Leonard saw him to his bedroom, and did not leave it till the honest fellow was in bed, and had drank another glass of champagne into which Leonard had secretly poured a dozen drops Of a tasteless narcotic which he was in the habit of carrying about with him to insure sleep.

"That will keep him quiet for six or seven hours," he said. "I must have a little time to myself to settle my plans."

The first thing he did when he went from the hotel was to cash the check. He was a man again, his pockets well lined, and he was ready for any villainy. He had little difficulty in discovering where Emilia was, and in ascertaining the character of the ladies who had given her shelter. This knowledge conveyed with it a difficulty; the character for kind-heartedness which he received of the maiden sisters was not favorable to his schemes, and he deemed it best to take no definite step on this day. But he was not idle; he learned all there was to be learned of Emilia, and, reading between the lines, found himself confronted with fresh difficulties. It would not be easy to deceive such a girl-a girl who might have committed an imprudence, but who was not the artful creature he had supposed her to be. He came to the conclusion that the love which existed between her and Gerald was a genuine, honest love. "I must trust a little to chance," he thought. In the afternoon he returned to the hotel. Gerald was still asleep; he waited till the evening, and then heard Gerald moving. He went into the bedroom as Gerald jumped out of bed.

"At last!" he exclaimed, before the young man could utter a word. "I have been trying these last three hours to rouse you. How thoroughly dead beat you must have been to have slept so long!"

Gerald looked round in dismay; evening was fast deepening into night.

"What time is it, Len?"

"Nearly eight o'clock. Do you feel refreshed?"

"I'm a new man. How about Emilia? Have you seen her? Can I go to her?" He dressed rapidly as he spoke.

"I am sorry to say," continued Leonard, "that I can obtain no news of her. Wait yet a little while; I will go out again and endeavor to find her."

"I cannot wait I will go with you."

"I forbid it, Gerald. You will spoil all if you don't mind. I should not be here now, but I was getting alarmed about you. I will return in an hour."

He hastened away before Gerald could reply. "What am I to do now?" he thought. "If Gerald makes inquiries himself he will be certain to learn where she is. I have twelve hundred pounds in my pocket. If the devil would range himself on my side I would give him half of it with pleasure."

He little knew how near he was to the accomplishment of his wishes. At that moment Mrs. Seaton was making her way to the house of the maiden sisters. He himself was wending his course toward the house, moodily debating how he could drive Emilia from it, and from the town forever. He knew all about Mrs. Seaton and her animosity against Emilia; the woman had been pointed out to him early in the day, and her face was familiar to him. He walked slowly, she quickly; thus she overtook and passed him, but he had seen and recognized her. He quickened his steps, and paused as she paused, before the house of the maiden sisters. With unerring intuition he guessed her errand.

"Are you going to see the ladies who live here, madam?" he asked in his most respectful tone.

"I am, sir," she replied with asperity. "Who are you, may I inquire?"

"I am a stranger in the town, madam," he said, speaking with the greatest deference. "Is it not to this place that the young person was taken who was found in Mr. Gerald Paget's house last night?"

"It is, and my business is to expose her. Have you any objections?"

"Not the slightest, madam. I think you are performing a Christian duty."

"I am not obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Seaton, haughtily. "I am in the habit of doing my duty without being prompted. The creature who is harbored there shall be turned adrift before many hours are over. She is a disgrace to the neighborhood, and I will see that she is hunted out of it."

"Madam," said Leonard, "the whole town will be in your debt if you rid it of the person in question, and I myself shall be deeply grateful to you."

He raised his hat and walked away, thinking, with a blithe laugh, "The devil is on my side and I have the twelve hundred pounds safe in my pocket." After this agreeable reflection he idled an hour, singing little snatches of song to himself, and then returned to the hotel with a plausible tale which he had invented to put Gerald off the scent till the following day, by which time he hoped that Emilia would be gone and all traces of her lost. He was a keen judge of human nature, and knew what effect Mrs. Seaton's calumnies would have upon a young and sensitive girl. Her first impulse would be to fly from a spot where she was known-to hide her face anywhere so long as it was among strangers. With a strong, determined woman it would be different; she would brazen it out, and, give back scorn for scorn, and although she could not hope for victory she would have the satisfaction of saying bitter things to her revilers. Emilia was not this kind of woman; Gerald's descriptions of her had enabled Leonard to gauge her correctly, and to forecast how she would act in the face of an accusation so vile and degrading. Believing firmly in the judgments he formed of matters in which he was personally concerned, he had, therefore, reason to congratulate himself upon the course which events had taken, and he skipped up the steps of the hotel with a mind at ease. Its balance, however, was disturbed when he was informed that Gerald was gone.

"Did he say where he was going?" he asked.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"Nor when he would return?"

"No, sir."

"But he left a message for me?"

"No, sir."

"Can you tell me which direction he took?"

"No, sir."

These unsatisfactory iterations produced no outward effect upon Leonard; he was a man who never showed his hand. With a pleasant smile he left the hotel thinking, "Now where the devil has the young fool gone? To make inquiries for his goddess, no doubt. Does that indicate impatience merely, or that he cannot trust me? I must no lose my hold on him. If it is necessary to humor him, humored he shall be. There is more than one way out of a wood." As a measure of precaution he walked in the direction of the house of the maiden sisters, and reaching it, walked slowly back toward the hotel. This was done with the intention of intercepting Gerald, and learning whether the young man had discovered Emilia's refuge-in which event he was prepared to disclose that he himself had at length discovered it, and was hurrying to his dear brother to communicate the welcome intelligence. "By the Lord Harry," he muttered, as he stood at the corner of the street, "here comes the young fool! It is lucky I am prepared." He strode rapidly toward Gerald, and almost upset him in his haste.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE FALSE FRIEND

"Hallo, Gerald!" he cried. "I meet you by the most fortunate chance. I have been hunting for you everywhere."

"I could not wait for you at the hotel," said Gerald, "and had to go out and make inquiries for myself. What is the name of this street?"

"Never mind the name of the street," said Leonard, jumping at the safe conclusion. "The house is the important thing, and I have discovered it."

"Where my Emilia is?"

"Yes, where your Emilia is."

"I also have been told where she was taken to, and I was hurrying to her. Have you seen her, Len, have you seen her?"

"I have not, and have not attempted to do so. You see, Gerald, it is night, and I am a stranger to her and to the people who have taken care of her. It will be best, after all, for you to go first, especially as you are no longer the scarecrow you were, and will not alarm her by your haggard appearance."

"I am quite fresh now. Are we going to the house?"

"Yes, I am taking you there. Oh, Gerald, how I have hunted for your Emilia! If I had been in love with her myself, if she were my sweetheart instead of yours, I could not have worked harder to find her."

"I am sure you could not. You are a true friend. Forgive me for leaving the hotel; I could not bear the suspense."

"You acted naturally, Gerald-as I should have done in your place. I am something more than a friend, I am your loving brother, dear boy, ready to go through fire and water to serve you."

"God bless you, Len! Are we near the house?"

"There it is, Gerald, on the opposite side, just beyond the lamp-post."

"Come, then, come!"

They had scarcely started to cross the road when the street-door was opened, and the maiden sisters appeared on the threshold, peering up and down the street.

"Which is Emilia?" asked Leonard, grasping Gerald's arm, detaining him a moment.

"Neither. Let us go to them."

"It is hard to say to so devoted a lover," said Leonard, "but be a little prudent. Any appearance of violent haste might cause them to shut the door in our faces."

Thus advised Gerald curbed his impatience, and crossed the road in a more leisurely manner. The maiden sisters started back as the two gentlemen halted before them.

"I beg your pardon," said Leonard, raising his hat; Gerald was so agitated that he could scarcely speak; "but we have been directed here to see a young lady who was rescued from the fire last night, and who found a refuge in your hospitable house."

"We brought Miss Braham home with us," said the elder lady, "and are now in great distress about her. I presume you are friends of hers."

"We are her most devoted friends," said Leonard, "and have been searching for her the whole of the day. My name is Leonard Paget; this is my brother Gerald."

The sisters were standing hand in hand, and at the mention of these names their fingers fluttered, then tightened in their clasp. Gerald found his voice.

"Is she ill?" he exclaimed. "Do not hide anything from me, I beg!"

The sisters looked nervously at each other; the elder was first to speak.

"Are you aware that we have received a visit from a lady well known in the town?"

"No," said Gerald. "Who is the lady and what has her visit to do with Miss Braham?"

There was a ring of genuine honesty in his voice, and it made its impression. The elder lady touched his arm gently.

"Tell me," she said, "In what special manner are you interested in Miss Braham?"

"Madam," replied Gerald, "I hope very soon to have the happiness of calling her my wife."

The sisters gave each other a bright look, and the younger lady said, "It is cold standing here, and my sister is not strong. Will you not walk into the house?"

They accepted the invitation, Gerald gladly, Leonard with curiosity as to what the sisters meant when they said they were in great distress about Emilia.

"Excuse my impatience," said Gerald, "but I implore you to allow me to see Miss Braham at once."

Their pity for him would not admit of Emilia's departure being immediately communicated to him; it must be led up to gently. But Gerald's indignation would not be restrained; before the conclusion of Mrs. Seaton's visit was recounted he interrupted the maiden sisters with the truthful version of Emilia's misfortunes and of the unhappy circumstances which compelled him to take her to his house a few hours before the fire. He blamed himself bitterly for the indiscretion, but asked them what else he could have done; and they, completely won over by his indignation and by the manifest honesty of his professions, threw aside for once all reserve and hesitation, and boldly declared that he could not have acted otherwise.

"Sister," said the elder to the younger, "the sweet young lady deserves our deepest pity, and is worthy of our love. Mr. Paget" – turning to Gerald-"Miss Braham will find a home here, and if she will consent, shall be married from our house."

"You are angels of goodness," said the young man, "but do not keep her from me any longer. If you do not think right that I should see her alone, let me see her in your presence."

"Alas!" said the elder lady; "she must first be found."

"Found!" echoed Gerald, in bewilderment.

"Do not alarm yourself. The dear child cannot have gone far. We have not finished what we have to tell you. Listen patiently to the end."

When all was related Gerald stood stupefied for a few moments, holding in his hands the pathetic vindication of her innocence which Emilia had left behind her. Leonard was secretly exultant. Emilia was gone, and if he assisted in the search for her she should never be found. He was confident that she had flown from the neighborhood, and that her one desire would be to hide herself and her shame among strangers. It was not in his nature to believe in womanly purity, and it was not likely that he would make an exception in Emilia's favor. She was his enemy; she stood in his path; she barred his way to affluence; let her sink into the obscurity she was seeking.

These sentiments were not expressed in his eyes, which were full of sympathy.

"Come, Gerald," he said, passing his arm around the young man's neck, "be a man. As these good ladies say, it will not be difficult to find Emilia. Let us seek her; in an hour or two all your troubles will be over."

"Your brother is right," said the elderly lady, "no time should be lost, for the poor child must be suffering. We rejoice that you have so true a friend to assist you. Do not desert him, sir; he is not fit to be left alone."

"Desert Gerald!" cried Leonard. "Desert my dear brother in the hour of his distress! No, indeed. He will find me true to the last."

The ladies pressed his hands, and gazed at him approvingly and admiringly. His face beamed with earnestness and enthusiasm. He had in him a touch of the actor's art; he was playing a part in a fine comedy of manners and intrigue, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, and commended himself for his masterly performance.

The maiden sisters saw the brothers to the street door, and impressed upon them that Emilia should be brought to their house at the earliest opportunity, and that her room would be ready for her.

Then commenced Gerald's search for Emilia, a search not only without a clue to guide him, but with a cunning man at his elbow, suggesting that they should go here and there, where he was certain there was chance of finding her. There were times, however, when Gerald himself said he would go to such and such a house and make inquiries, and Leonard never opposed him. It was his one wish to keep Gerald in the town, and he breathed no hint of his conviction that Emilia had flown from it. Everything was against Gerald; it was late when the search commenced, and at an hour past midnight he and Leonard stood in the quiet streets, gazing at each other, Gerald helplessly, Leonard inquiringly.

"Where now, Gerald?"

"God knows! I think I am losing my mind."

"May I make a suggestion, dear boy?"

"Yes, Len."

"You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a little common-sense into our sad position?"

"How can I blame you, Len-you, the truest friend that a man ever had? Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life-to find Emilia. I can think of nothing but her."

"Then I may make my suggestion?"

"Yes."

"Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests."

"I do, Len."

"Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed-"

"Len!"

"There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable."

"I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia."

"All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall we turn?"

Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of pathetic weariness.

"You are tired, Len."

Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy! Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow. Let's be moving."

"No, Len, I don't see much use in it."

"It is not I who say that, Gerald."

"No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?"

Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the bells.

"Two o'clock, Gerald."

"What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to his companion.

"She is asleep, I should say."

"No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me, as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear brother; have you ever been in love?"

"Yes, Gerald," replied Leonard, quietly.

"And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it end?"

"Do not ask me, Gerald."

"Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?"

Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated,

"She is dead? I am sorry, very sorry."

"You need not be. She lives."

"How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure."

"For heaven's sake, Gerald, do not force me to answer you. Let us talk of something else."

"I open my heart to you," said Gerald, with sad insistence, "and you close yours to me."

"You cut me to the quick. Yes, I was true to her, but she was not true to me. There is the tragedy or the comedy-which you like, Gerald-related in less than a dozen words. It is a story which all men live to tell-all men, I mean, with the exception of yourself."