The House of the White Shadows

"Admirable!" exclaimed the Advocate. "You interest me, Gautran. How did you obtain admission into the grounds?"

"Over the wall at the back. It is a mercy I did not break my bones."

"And into this room-how did you enter?"

"Through the window."

"Knowing it was my room?"

"Yes, master."

"How did you gain that knowledge?"

"I was told-and told, as well, that you lived in this house."

"By whom were you told?"

"As I ran from Madeline-she has left me forever, I hope-I came upon a man who, for some purpose of his own, was lingering on a hill a little distance from here. I sought company, and was glad of his. I made up my mind to pass my night near something human, and did not intend to leave him. But when he said that yonder was the house in which the great Advocate lived, and when he pointed out your study window, I gave him the slip, knowing I could do better than remain with him. That is the truth, master."

"Are you acquainted with this man?"

"No, I never saw him before; I saw but little of him as it was, the night was so dark; but I know voices when I hear them. His voice was strange to me."

"How happened it, then, that you conversed about me?"

"I can't remember exactly how it came about. He gave me some brandy out of a flask-not such liquor as yours, master, but I was thankful for it-and I asked him if he had ever been followed by the spirit of a dead woman. He questioned me about this woman, asking if she was fair and beautiful, whether she had met her death in the Rhone, whether her name was Madeline. Yes, he called her up before me and I was spellbound. When I came to my proper senses he was talking to himself about a great Advocate in the house he was staring at, and I said there was only one great Advocate-you who set me free-and I asked him if you lived in the house. He said yes, and that the lights I saw were the lights in your study windows. Upon that I left him, suddenly and secretly, and made my way here."

"Was the man watching this house?"

"It had the look of it. He is no friend of yours, that I can tell you. When he spoke of you it was with the voice of a man who could make you wince if he pleased. You have served him some trick, and he wants to be revenged, I suppose. But you can take care of yourself, master."

"That will do. Leave me and leave this house, and as you value your life, enter it no more."

"Then, you will see me elsewhere. Where, master, and when?"

"I will see you in no place and at no time. I understand the meaning of looks, Gautran, and there is a threat in your eyes. Beware! I have means to punish you. You have escaped the penalty of your crime, but there is no safety for you here. You do not wish to die; the guilt of blood is on your soul, and you are afraid of death. Well may you be afraid of it. Such terrors await you in the life beyond as you cannot dream of. Live, then, and repent; or die, and be eternally lost! Dare to intrude yourself upon me, and death will be your portion, and you will go straight to your punishment. Here, and at this moment only, you have the choice of either fate. Choose, and swiftly."

The cold, stern, impressive voice, the commanding figure, had their effect upon Gautran. He shook with fear; he was thoroughly subdued.

"If I am not safe here, master, where shall I find safety?"

"In a distant part of the country where you are not known."

"How am I to get there? I have no money."

"I will give you sufficient for flight and subsistence. Here are five gold pieces. Now, go, and let me never see your murderous face again."

"Master," said Gautran humbly, as he turned the money over in his hand and counted it. "I must have more-not for myself, but to pay for masses for the repose of Madeline's soul. Then I may hope for forgiveness-then she will leave me in peace!"

The Advocate emptied his purse into Gautran's open palm, saying, "Let no man see you. Depart as secretly as you came."

But Gautran lingered still. "You promised me some more brandy, master."

The Advocate filled the glass, and Gautran, with fierce eagerness, drank the brandy.

"You will not give me another glass, master?"

"No, murderer. I have spoken my last word to you."

Gautran spoke no more, but with head sunk upon his breast, left the room and the house.

"A vulgar expedient," mused the Advocate, when he was alone, "but the only one likely to prove effective with such a monster. It is perhaps best that it has happened. This man watching upon the hill is none other than John Vanbrugh. I had almost forgotten him. He does not come in friendship. Let him watch and wait. I will not see him."

CHAPTER XVI

PIERRE LAMONT SEEKS THE HOSPITALITY OF THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS

The following day Pierre Lamont did not leave his bed, and was visited in his room by the Advocate and Christian Almer. To the Advocate he said:

"I trust I shall not incommode you, for I am compelled to throw myself upon your hospitality."

"Get well, then," said the Advocate, "and enjoy it-which you cannot do, thus confined."

"I do not know-I do not know," said the old lawyer, gazing at the Advocate, and wondering how it was possible that this profound thinker and observer could be blind to the drama which was being acted at his very door, "one can still follow the world. Have you read the papers this morning?"

"No-I have not troubled myself to look at them."

"Here is one that will interest you. What is called the freedom of the press is growing into a scandal. Editors and critics abuse their charter, and need some wholesome check. But you are not likely to be moved by what they say."

He handed a newspaper to the Advocate, who walked to the window and read the editorial comments upon the trial and the part he had played in it.

"The trial of Gautran is over, and the monster whom all believe to be guilty of a foul murder is set free. The victim, unavenged, is in her grave, and a heavy responsibility lies not only upon the city, but upon the nation. Neither for good nor ill can the words we write affect the future of Gautran. Released, by the law, he is universally condemned. Justice is not satisfied. In all Switzerland there is but one man who in his soul believes the degraded wretch to be innocent, and that this man should be right and all others wrong we refuse to believe. Never in a cause so weighty have we felt it our duty to raise our voice against a verdict reluctantly wrung from the citizens whose lot it was to judge a human being accused-and we insist, righteously accused-of a horrible crime. The verdict cannot be disturbed. Gautran is free! There is a frightful significance in these words-Gautran is free!

"Removed from the feverish excitement of the court in which the trial took place, the report of the proceedings reads more like a stage drama than an episode of real life. All the elements which led to the shameful result are eminently dramatic, and were, without doubt, planned by the great Advocate who defended the accused with an eye to dramatic effect. It would scarcely surprise us were the climax now reached to be followed by an anti-climax in which Gautran's champion of yesterday would become his accuser of to-day. Our courts of justice are becoming accustomed to this kind of theatrical display. Consider the profound sensation which would be produced by the great lawyer coming forward and saying, 'Yesterday, after a long and exciting struggle, I proved to you that Gautran was innocent, and by my efforts he was let loose upon society. To-day I propose to prove to you that he is guilty, and I ask you to mete out to him his just punishment.' A dangerous temptation, indeed, to one who studies effect. But there is a safeguard against such a course. It would so blacken the fame of any man who adopted it, however high that man might stand in the estimation of his peers and the people, that he could never hope to rise from the depths of shame into which his own act had plunged him.

"Many persons who believe that way will doubtless argue that there is something providential in the history of this ruthless murder of an unfortunate innocent being. She is slain. Not a soul comes forward to claim kinship with her. None the less is she a child of God. Human reason leads to the arrest and imprisonment of Gautran. Providence brings upon the scene a great lawyer, who, unsolicited, undertakes the defence of a monster, association with whom is defilement. The wretch is set free, and Justice stands appalled at what has been done in the name of the law. But this is not the end. Providence may have something yet in store which will bring punishment to the guilty and unravel this tangled skein. What, then, will the great Advocate have to say who deliberately and voluntarily brought about a miscarriage of justice so flagrant as to cause every honest heart to thrill with indignation?"

The Advocate did not read any further, but laid the paper aside and said:

"Men who take part in public matters are open to attacks of this kind. There is nothing to complain of."

"And yet," thought Pierre Lamont, when the Advocate left him, "there was in his face, as he read the article, an expression denoting that he was moved. Well, – well-men are but human, even the greatest."

Later in the day he was visited by Christian Almer, to whom he repeated his apologies.

"I have one of my bad attacks on me. They frequently last for days. At such times it is dangerous for me to be moved about."

"Then do not be moved about," said Almer, with a smile.

But despite this smile. Almer was inwardly disquieted. He had not been aware on the previous night that Pierre Lamont occupied the next room to his. After the departure of the Advocate, Adelaide had not been careful; her voice had been frequently raised, and Almer was anxious to ascertain whether it had reached the old lawyer's ears.

"You slept well, I hope," he said.

"Yes, until the early morning, a little after sunrise. I am a very deep sleeper for four or five hours. The moment I close my eyes sleep claims me, and holds me so securely that, were the house on fire, it would be difficult to arouse me. But the moment the sunshine peeps into my room, my rest is at an end. When I had the use of my limbs I was an early riser."

Almer's mind was relieved. "Sleeping in a strange bed is often not conducive to repose."

"I have slept in so many strange beds." And Pierre Lamont thought as he spoke: "But never in a stranger bed than this."

"You can still find occupation," said Almer, pointing to the books on table and bed.

"Ah, books, books, books!" said Pierre Lamont. "What would the world do without them? How did it ever do without them? But I am old, and I am talking to a young man."

"My father was a bookworm and a student," said Almer. "Were he alive, he would be disappointed that I do not tread in his footsteps."

"Perhaps not. He was a wise man, with a comprehensive mind. It would not do for us all to be monks."

CHAPTER XVII

FRITZ THE FOOL RELATES A STRANGE DREAM TO PIERRE LAMONT

Half-a-dozen times in the course of the day Pierre Lamont had sent in search of Fritz the Fool, and it was not till the afternoon that Fritz made his appearance.

"You should have come earlier, fool," said Pierre Lamont with a frown.

"I was better engaged," said Fritz coolly. "You fired me with those love-verses last night, and I have been studying what to say to my peach."

"The pretty Dionetta! Rehearse, then; I am dull."

"Ah, I have much to tell you. I am thinking of saying to the peach, 'Dionetta, place your hand in mine, and we will both serve Pierre Lamont. He will give us a home; he will pay us liberally; and when he dies he will not leave us unprovided for.'"

"And if the peach should laugh in your face?"

"I would reason with it. I would say, 'Look you now; you cannot be always ripe, you cannot be always mellow and luscious. Do not waste the precious sunshine of life, but give yourself to a clever fool, who cares quite as much for your fair face and beautiful skin as he does for the diamond baubles in your ears.'"

"Diamond earrings, Fritz! Are you dreaming?"

"Not at this moment-though I had a dream last night after I left you which I may tell you if I don't repent of it before I disclose it. Yes, Master Lamont, diamond earrings-as I'm a living fool, diamonds of value. See, Master Lamont, I don't want this peach to be gathered yet. It is well placed, it is in favour; it is making itself in some way useful, not to finer, but to richer fruit. Heaven only knows what may be rained upon it when the very first summer shower brings a diamond finger-ring, and the second a pair of diamond earrings. A diamond brooch, perhaps; money for certain, if it will take a fool's advice. And of course it will do that if, seeing that the fool is a proper fool, the peach says kindly, 'I am yours.' That is the way of it, is it not, Master Lamont?"

"I am waiting to hear more, Fritz," said Pierre Lamont, with a full enjoyment of Fritz's loquacity.

"Behind the summer-house, Master Lamont, lies a lovely lake, clear as crystal in parts where it is not covered with fairy lilies. I am as good as a pair of eyes to you to tell you of these beauties. The water is white and shining and at one part there is a mass of willows bending over; then there is a break, clear of the shadow of branch and leaf; then there is another mass of willows. From a distance you would think that there was no break in the foliage; you have to go close to it to make the discovery, and once you are there you are completely hidden from sight. Not more than two hours ago I was passing this spot at the back of the willows, when I heard a voice-a girl's voice, Master Lamont-saying quite softly, 'Oh, how lovely! how beautiful-how beautiful!' It was Dionetta's voice; I should know it among a thousand. Through the willows I crept with the foot of a cat till I came to the break, and there was Dionetta herself, bending over the water, and sighing, 'Oh, how lovely! how beautiful!' She could not see me, for her back was towards me, and I took care she did not hear me. She was shaking her pretty head over the water, and I shouldn't deserve to be called a fool if I had not felt curious to see what it was in the lake that was so lovely and beautiful. Perhaps it was her own face she was admiring. Well, she had a perfect right, and I was ready to join in the chorus. I crept up to her as still as a mouse, and looked over her shoulder. She gave a great scream when she saw my face in the lake, and I caught hold of her to prevent her from falling in. Then I saw what almost took away my breath. In her ears there flashed a pair of diamond earrings, the like of which I never in my life beheld in our village. Her face got as red as a sunset as I gazed at her. 'How you frightened me, Fritz!' she said. I set the earrings swinging with my fingers and said, 'Where did you get these wonderful things from?' She answered me pat. 'My lady gave them to me.' 'They are yours, then?' I asked. 'Yes, Fritz,' she said, 'they are mine, and I came here to see how I look in them. They are so grand that I am ashamed to put them on unless I am alone. Don't tell anybody, will you, Fritz? If grandmother knew I had them, she would take them from me. She would never, never let me wear them. Don't tell anybody.' Why, of course I said I would not, and then I asked why my lady gave them to her, and she said it was because my lady loved her. So, so! thought I, as I left my peach-I would like to have given her just one kiss, but I did not dare to try-so, so! my lady gives her maid a pair of diamond earrings that are as suitable to her as a crown of gold to an ass's head. There is something more than common between lady and maid. What is it, Master Lamont, what is it?"

"A secret, fool, which, if you get your peach to tell, will be worth much to you. And as you and I are going to keep our own counsel, learn from me that this secret has but one of two kernels. Love or jealousy. Set your wits at work, Fritz, set your wits at work, and keep your eyes open. I may help you to your peach, fool. And now about that dream of yours. Were you asleep or awake at the time?"

Fritz stepped cautiously to the door, opened it, looked along the passage, closed the door, and came close to the bedside.

"Master Lamont," he said, "what I dreamt is something so strange that it will take a great deal of thinking over. Do you know why I tell you things?"

"I might guess wrong, Fritz. Save me the trouble."

"You have never been but one way with me; you have never given me a hard word; you have never given me a blow. When I was a boy-twenty years ago and more, Master Lamont-you were the only man who spoke kind words to me, who used to pat my head and pity me. For, if you remember, Master Lamont, I was nothing but a castaway, living on charity, and everybody but you made me feel it. Cuffed by this one and that one, kicked, and laughed at-but never by you. Even a fool can bear these things in mind."

"Well, well, Fritz, go on with your dream. You are making me hungry."

"It came nearly two hours after midnight. At that time I was in the grounds. All was dark. There was nobody about but me, until the Advocate came. Then I slipped aside and watched him. He walked up and down, like a machine. It was not as if a man was walking, but a figure of steel. It was enough to drive me crazy, it was so like clockwork. Twice he almost discovered me. He looked about him, he searched the grounds, still with the same measured step, he called aloud, and asked if anybody was near. Then he went into the house and into the study. I knew he was there by the shifting of the lights in the room. Being alone with the shadows, your love-verses came into my mind, and you may believe me, Master Lament, I made my way to the window of the room in which Dionetta sleeps, and stood there looking up at it. I should have been right down ashamed of myself if I hadn't been dreaming. Is it the way of lovers, Master Lamont? 'Faster than bees to flowers they wing their way;' that is how the line runs, is it not? Well, there stood I, a bee, dreaming in the dark night, before the window of my flower. An invisible flower, unfortunately. But thoughts are free; you can't put chains on them. So there stood I, for how many minutes I cannot say, imagining my flower. Now, if I had known that her pretty head was lying on the pillow, with great diamond earrings in her ears-for that is a certainty-I might not perhaps have been able to tear myself away. Luckily for my dream, that knowledge had still to come to me, so I wandered off, and found myself once more staring at the lights in the Advocate's study windows. Now, what made me step quite close to them, and put my eye to a pane which the curtains did not quite cover? I could see clear into the room. Imagine my surprise, Master Lamont, when I discovered that the Advocate was not alone! Master Lamont, you know every man in the village, but I would give you a thousand guesses, and you would not hit upon the name of the Advocate's friend. From where I stood I could not hear a word that was said, but I saw everything. I saw the Advocate go to a cupboard, and give this man liquor; he poured it out for him himself. Then they talked-then the Advocate brought forward a silver basket of biscuits, and the man ate some, and stuffed some into his pockets. They were on the very best of terms with each other. The Advocate gave his friend some money-pieces of gold, Master Lamont; I saw them glitter. The man counted them, and by his action, asked for more; and more was given; the Advocate emptied his purse into the man's hand. Then, after further conversation, the man turned to leave the room. It was time for me to scuttle from my peep-hole. Presently the man was in the grounds stepping almost as softly as I stepped after him. For I was not going to lose him, Master Lamont; my curiosity was whetted to that degree that it would have taken a great deal to prevent me from following this friend of the Advocate's. 'How will he get out?' thought I; 'the gates are locked; he will hardly venture to scale them.' Two or three times he stopped, and looked behind him; he did not see me. He arrived at the wall which stretches at the back; he climbed the wall; so did I, in another and an easier part; he dropped down with a thud and a groan; I let myself to the ground without disturbing a leaf. Presently he picked himself up and walked off, with more haste than before. I followed him. He stopped; I stopped; he walked on again, and so did I. Again he stopped and cried aloud: 'I hear you follow me! Is not one killing enough for you?' And then he gave a scream so awful that the hair rose on my head. 'She is here!' he screamed; 'she is here, and is driving me to madness!' With that he took to his heels and tore through field and forest really like a madman. I could not keep up with him, and after an hour's running I completely lost sight of him. There was nothing for me to do but to get back to the villa. I returned the way I came-I had plenty to think about on the road-and I was once more before the windows of the Advocate's study. The lights were still there. The Advocate, I believe, can live without sleep. I peeped through the window, and there he was, sitting at his table reading, with an expression of power in his face which might well make any man tremble who dared to oppose him. That is the end of my dream, Master Lamont."

"But the man, Fritz, the man!" exclaimed Pierre, Lamont. "I am still in ignorance as to who this strange, nocturnal visitor can be."

"There lies the pith of my dream. If I were to tell you that this man who makes his way secretly into the grounds in the darkness of the night-who is closeted with the Advocate for an hour at least-who is treated to wine and cake-who is presented with money, and grumblingly asks for more, and gets it-if I were to tell you that this man is Gautran, who was tried for the murder of Madeline, the flower-girl, and who was set free by the Advocate-what would you say, Master Lamont?"

"I should say," replied Pierre Lamont with some difficulty controlling his excitement, "that you were mad, fool Fritz."

"Nevertheless," said Fritz with great composure, "it is so. I have related my dream as it occurred. The man was Gautran and no other. Can you explain that to me in one word?"

"No," said Pierre Lamont, gazing sharply at Fritz. "You are not fooling me, Fritz?"

"If it were my last word it would make no difference. I have told you the truth."

"You know Gautran's face well?"

"I was in the court every day of the trial, and there is no chance of my being mistaken. See here, Master Lamont. I can do many things that would surprise people. I can draw faces. Give me a pencil and some paper."

With a few rapid strokes he produced the very image of Pierre Lamont, sitting up in bed, with thin, cadaverous face, with high forehead and large nose; even the glitter of the old lawyer's eyes was depicted. Pierre Lamont examined the portrait with admiration.

"I am proud of you, Fritz," he said; "you have the true artist's touch."

Fritz was busy with the pencil again. "Who may this be?" he asked, holding another sketch before Pierre Lamont.

"The Advocate. To the life, Fritz, to the life."

"This is also to the life," said Fritz, producing a third portrait. "This is Gautran. It is all I can draw, Master Lamont-human faces; I could do it when I was a boy. There is murder in Gautran's face; there was murder in the words I heard him speak as I followed him: 'Is not one killing enough for you?' There is only one meaning to such words. I leave you to puzzle it all out, Master Lamont. You have a wise head; I am a fool. Mother Denise may be right, after all, when she said-not knowing I was within hearing-that it was an evil day when my lady, the Advocate's wife, set foot in the grounds of the House of White Shadows. But it is no business of mine; only I must look after my peach, or it may suddenly be spirited away on a broomstick. Unholy work, Master Lamont, unholy work! What do you say to letting Father Capel into the mystery?"

"Not for worlds!" cried Pierre Lamont. "Priests in such matters are the rarest bunglers. No-the secret is ours, yours and mine; you shall be well paid for your share in it. Without my permission you will not speak of it-do you hear me, Fritz?"

"I hear you, and will obey you."

"Good lad! Ah, what would I give if I had the use of my limbs! But you shall be my limbs and my eyes-my second self. Help me to dress, Fritz-quick, quick!"