A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"Kristel was affectionately and unfeignedly glad to see his brother.

"'Did you expect me?' asked Silvain.

"'No,' replied Kristel, 'but I hoped you would come.'

"He listened attentively while Silvain related his dream. Although he had received no forewarning that Silvain was coming to him, he expressed no surprise; he regarded it, also, as perfectly natural.

"Before I saw Kristel I had pictured him in my mind as resembling his twin-brother-dark, like Silvain, with black hair, and brown, melancholy eyes. I had said to myself, 'I shall know Kristel, if I meet him for the first time when his brother is not present.' Another surprise awaited me. There was no resemblance between Silvain and Kristel; there was scarcely a brotherly likeness. Kristel was fair, his hair was light, his eyes were blue, and his frame was larger and more powerful.

"They had much to relate to each other of their travels and adventures, and I frequently left them alone, in order that they might indulge freely in brotherly communion. I heard, however, from Kristel's lips the particulars of his accident, which tallied exactly with the account I had received from Silvain.

"'You must have dreamt of it,' he said to Silvain, 'at the precise moment of its occurrence.'

"Silvain nodded and smiled. He was happy because he was with Kristel, and because Kristel was recovering strength, slowly it was true, but surely.

"'Has Kristel,' I said to Silvain, 'ever spoken to you of the beautiful girl who presented herself to you in your dreams?'

"'No,' replied Silvain, 'he has not mentioned her.'

"'Is that not strange?' I asked.

"Silvain did not reply, and, gazing at him, I saw that he was lost in reverie. I had recalled the image of the girl, and he was musing upon it.

"At another time I asked Silvain whether he himself had referred to her in his conversations with his brother. He confessed that he had not. There was, then, a secret which these brothers held close in their hearts. I was not wise enough to fix instantly upon the correct solution of this secret which each was keeping from the other. It required, in a third party, a riper experience than was at my command, to read the riddle aright.

"Two months passed by, and Kristel hoped in a few days to be able to move out of the hut in which he had been so long confined, Silvain was in the habit of going to the post-office in the village, which lay at the foot of the mountain. He went one morning as usual for letters, and I was left with Kristel. We conversed freely, and Kristel asked me to bring his desk, which was on a table at a little distance from the couch upon which he was lying. I brought the desk, and he opened it. He took letters from it which he did not read, and then some drawings in water-colours, an art in which he was proficient. He glanced at them, and laid them singly aside, retaining one, upon which he gazed long and earnestly.

"'You are an artist,' I said, for, seeing that I had moved my chair from the bed, so that I should not intrude upon his private matters, he had called me closer, and invited me by a gesture to examine the sketches.

"'But a poor one,' he said, still gazing at the drawing in his hand. 'Still, this is not bad, I think.' And he held it out to me.

"He did not notice the start I gave when my eyes fell upon the sketch. It was that of a young girl, with most wonderful black hair which hung loosely down. She was standing on the upper gallery of a lighthouse, and the silver spray of wild waves was dashing upon the stone edifice. Her left hand was arched above her brows, and a scarlet kerchief was wound gracefully round her lovely head.

"I examined it in silence. The likeness to the description given by Silvain was unmistakable, and it was only by an effort of self-restraint that I prevented myself from disclosing that the figure was familiar to me. The right was not mine; the secret was not mine. A confidence had been reposed in me by Silvain, and, if he and Kristel had not spoken to each other of the girl, it was not for me to betray my knowledge of her.

"'A fancy sketch?' I asked.

"'No,' replied Kristel, 'from the life. Is she not beautiful?'

"'Very beautiful,' I said, with a sinking heart.

"I have spoken of the physical dissimilarity of Kristel and Silvain; but although, from the evidence of sight, a stranger would not have taken them for brothers, he could not have doubted of the close kinship, had he depended for his judgment upon his sense of hearing. Their voices were as one voice, In tone and inflection, so that, closing one's eyes, one could not with absolute certainty decide whether Kristel or Silvain were speaking. It was this that caused my heart to sink when Kristel asked me if the girl was not beautiful. In exactly the same tone had Silvain spoken of her, with fervid warmth and enthusiasm. My vague fears-which at that moment I should have felt a difficulty in explaining-were not dispelled by the action of Kristel, immediately following my reply. Silvain's footsteps were heard without, and Kristel, swiftly and hurriedly, took the sketch from my hand, and placed it in his desk, which he closed and locked.

"Silvain brought grave news to the hut. His head drooped, his features were suffused with sadness.

"'Kristel,' he said, in a tone of melancholy significance.

"'Silvain,' said Kristel, in a tone of indifference. The sorrowful note in his brother's voice had not reached his heart. He was thinking of the beautiful girl, with the wild waves dashing up to her feet.

"'Our father'-faltered Silvain, and stopped, unable to proceed.

"Even this did not arouse Kristel. He was lying now with his head on the pillow, and his hands, the fingers of which were interlaced, clasped behind it. Silvain came close to his brother's side, gently disengaged the clasped hands, and held one within his own. Kristel was awakened to reality by this action; and I, who had guessed the truth, stole softly from the room.

"When they called me in I found them both with tears in their eyes. The letters which Silvain had received at the post-office made them acquainted with the death of their father. Their grief was genuine, and they mourned with sincerity. Kristel was the first to recover his natural tone, and he drew Silvain to speak of the future. Silvain's desire was to return home immediately Kristel was strong enough to travel, but Kristel would not have it so.

"'No duty of instantly returning,' he said, 'devolves upon us, and by our remaining abroad a while, it will not be thought that we are wanting in affection. Our letters inform us that the last sad offices have been performed over the grave of our father; our affairs are in good hands, and no mother or sister awaits us to relieve her sorrow. We are alone, you and I, Silvain, with no ties beyond us to weaken or strengthen the affection which unites us and makes our hearts as one.'

"Silvain looked up with a loving light in his eyes; his nature was ever responsive to the call of affection.

"'Yes, Kristel,' he said, 'nothing can weaken the ties which unite us. They are perfect, complete. Our hearts truly are one.'

"'Then you will be guided by me, Silvain?'

"'Yes.'

"'Good! We will continue our travels, and nothing shall ever part us.'

"'Nothing can ever part us, Kristel,' said Silvain.

"Alas! If, upon the enthusiasm of the present, when men are indulging in dreams, the presentiment of what was to happen in the future were to intrude, how quickly the glowing embers would grow white and cold! When I heard the brothers exchange these professions of love, even I, who had some reasons for uneasiness respecting them, saw not the dread shadows which attended them and beckoned them onwards to their fate.

"The days passed slowly now until Kristel was sufficiently recovered to travel. He would have started long before he was fit, but Silvain would not allow him; and Kristel must have had some doubts of his strength, or he would not have allowed himself to be prevailed upon, so great was his impatience to start. At length the day was fixed, and we left the mountain and the village. I had solicited to be permitted to accompany them and they had readily consented. Their society was agreeable to me, and I loved Silvain. I looked upon Kristel, also, with affection, but my feelings towards him were weaker than those I entertained for his brother. Silvain appealed more closely to me; we had been longer in association, and our natures, in impulsive warmth and unreserve, were in unison. Kristel was colder, and sometimes suddenly checked himself when about to open his heart. I do not say that this should tell against a man, and I have no doubt that, in the telling of my story, I am influenced in my remarks by the strange events of which you will presently hear.

"At this point I am again silently reminded to be thoroughly sincere. Not alone because I was happy in the society of the brothers and loved Silvain was I desirous to accompany them. I had thought long and seriously over the beautiful girl by the sea whose picture Kristel kept concealed in his desk, and who held a place in the hearts of the brothers, and I was haunted by a foreboding that she was destined to play a part in their lives. By remaining with them I should perhaps make her acquaintance, and might help, for good, either one or the other. Of course, all this was but vaguely in my mind, and probably the most truthful explanation would be that I was prompted by curiosity pure and simple.

"Kristel had extracted a promise from Silvain, to the effect that Kristel was to assume the position of director of the route we were to take. I, also, was bound. We were to ask no questions, to offer no advice, but to go blindly wherever Kristel willed and wished.

"'It suits my humour exactly," said Silvain, merrily, 'and relieves us of responsibility. Eh, Louis?'

"'Yes,' I said, 'I am entirely agreeable.' But I wondered why Kristel had insisted upon this stipulation. That he had a distinct motive I was convinced. But what motive-and whither was he about to lead us?

"'Oh, I will take the responsibility,' said Kristel, 'and you shall find me the best of guides and couriers.'

"So we started gaily, and in a few days left Bavaria far behind us.

"In pursuance of the necessary scheme of brevity I had laid down for myself, I shall not pause in my story to give you an account of the places we visited under Kristel's guidance and direction. I will but say that I subsequently held the opinion-and I have no doubt it was correct-that, although Kristel had one distinct goal in view from the moment we started from the mountain-hut, It was a preconceived part of his plan that we should arrive at it by a devious route, and should, to a certain extent, be supposed to come to it by accident. Therefore we lingered here and there, and shared in the ordinary pleasures of a tour in the holiday of life. Between us existed a most agreeable amity and complaisance, and I inwardly confessed it to be a wise proceeding that one, whose word was law, should be elected captain of our wanderings. By land, and lake, and sea, over valley and mountain, we made pleasant progress, picking intellectual flowers by the waysides, until at length Kristel's design was unfolded to my view.

"We arrived at a village on the southwest coast of France, and there remained for several days. It was a village inhabited by fishermen, and on one pretext and another, Kristel kept us there. In pursuance of our promise of obedience we did not demur; and indeed there was much to interest us in the life of simplicity led by the good-hearted inhabitants. Their ancestors, for innumerable generations, had lived there before them, and the quaint and sweet crust of primitiveness lay upon the natures of the simple people, and invested them with a peculiar charm. They received us hospitably, and gave us of their best, freely and willingly. The weather was tempestuous and stormy when we arrived, and for a week there was no change in it. Fierce winds swept across the stormy sea, and roared and shrieked along the coast. This prevented the fishermen from following their usual avocation, but they were by no means idle. Sails were mended, boats were caulked and pitched and made sound; then there were the curing and smoking of fish, the repairing of huts, and all the industry of a busy leisure. To such as they inaction was worse than death; work, cheerfully performed, formed the greater part of the pleasure of life. Often and often have I thought of the sweetness of existence as it presented itself to me in that ancient village by the sea.

"A dangerous coast it was; and in the distance a lighthouse. Beyond the lighthouse treacherous silver sands, in which lurked sudden death when Nature was convulsed with passionate throes; at other times fairly safe, bathed in peace and beauty. Within the radius of a few miles many ships had been wrecked, and many a crew engulfed.

"We were young, strong, and in good health, and could afford to laugh at wind and rain. Wrapped in oilskins lent to us by the fishermen, we scaled high rocks, round the base of which the waves dashed furiously, and watched the wondrous effects of the raging tempest. At such times a man's soul is lifted up as it were. The littleness of the human life we live assumes its proper and just proportion, and we become sensible of the divine grandeur of Nature.

"At the end of a week the storm abated, and the sea became calm. When we arose in the morning the sun was shining upon a scene of loveliness and peace.

"'We are going to visit the lighthouse,' said Kristel.

"There was a glad and eager light in his eyes, and he was full of excitement.

"He had made arrangements with a party of boatmen, and after breakfast we went down to the shore, and took our seats in the boat. It was a long pull-six miles the boatmen said. From the village this watch-dog of the sea was only partially visible, the reason being that it stood on the other side of a promontory, which we now skirted. A gray, stately mass of stone, it reared beneficently to the clouds, an angel of warning to the toilers of the sea. Calm as was the day, the waves, broken up and lashed into anger by hidden rocks, were wild and turbulent around the edifice. Nearer and nearer we approached, and saw, but imperfectly as yet, the figure of a woman watching us from the topmost gallery.

"'Avicia,' said one of the rowers to his comrades.

"They nodded, and looked in her direction, and said, 'Yes, Avicia.'

"Avicia! A sufficiently attractive and unusual name. But it was not the name which compelled my breathless attention and observation; it was a simple bit of colour on her head, worn as a covering.

"What colour? Scarlet.

"I closed my eyes and became lost in reflection.

"First, of the description given to me by Silvain of a beautiful girl with raven hair, with parted lips and white teeth gleaming, and with a scarlet covering upon her head, looking out towards us, who were moving towards her upon the water.

"Next, of a coloured sketch of this beautiful girl, upon which Kristel was gazing, as he and I sat together in the mountain hut, with love in his eyes and in his heart. 'Is she not beautiful?' Kristel had asked; and when he heard the footsteps of his brother without, he had hurriedly and jealously hidden the sketch, so that Silvain should not see it. And Silvain had never set eyes upon it, neither at that nor at any other time. Of this I was convinced, although I had no positive knowledge of the fact.

"'Shall I ever see her in my waking life?' were Silvain's words. And when I asked him if he believed she lived, he answered, 'As surely as I live. If I knew where she is to be found I would go and seek her.' Well, without seeking her he was moving towards her; and Kristel and I were with him; and Avicia was watching and waiting for us.

"I opened my eyes and looked forward, in dumb amazement and apprehension. She had not moved from her point of observation. I turned towards Silvain and Kristel. They were both gazing at her like men entranced. For a moment I felt as if an enchantment had fallen upon us.

"'What name did you say?' I asked of the boatmen.

"A foolish and unnecessary question, for I had heard it distinctly, and it was already deeply rooted in my mind.

"'Avicia,' they replied.

"Silvain drew a long breath.

"'Kristel,' he said to his brother.

"'Yes,' said Kristel, in a dreamy tone.

"'She is no shadow.'

"'No, she lives.'

"'I have dreamt of her exactly as she is, exactly as she stands at the present moment.'

"'You have dreamt of her, Silvain!' exclaimed Kristel, in the same soft dreamy tone. 'Impossible.'

"'It is true. I described her to Louis.'

"'Yes,' I said, 'it is true.'

"Presently, after a pause, Silvain said, 'You knew she was here, Kristel?'

"'Yes,' replied Kristel, 'I knew she was here.'

"No further words were spoken till we reached the lighthouse, entrance to which was obtained by means of stone steps, on each side of which hung ropes and chains to guide and steady us. In a few moments we stood in the presence of Avicia.

"'I told you I would come, Avicia,' said Kristel. 'This is my brother Silvain.'"

XIII

"How Kristel and Avicia first met is soon explained. Her aunt, who was the only sister of her father, the keeper of the lighthouse, lay dying, as she believed, in a small hamlet in the Tyrol, and had written to her brother to allow Avicia to come to her. Avicia's father, a morose, avaricious man, had the idea that his sister possessed some treasure in money which, upon her death, should be his, and which would be lost were he or Avicia not with her when she died. His duties would not permit him to leave the lighthouse, therefore he sent Avicia to his sister, with careful instructions how to act. In no other circumstances would he have consented that his daughter should leave him, even for a short time, but the temptation was too strong to be resisted. To Avicia it was a trial to quit the strange place in which she had been born, and in which she had passed her life, but she obeyed her father's commands, and it was in the Tyrol that Kristel first came across her. Fascinated by her beauty he paid her marked attentions, and during the three weeks she remained with her aunt (who, instead of dying, recovered her health almost immediately upon the arrival of her niece) the young people were constantly together. What kind of encouragement Avicia gave Kristel I am not in a position to say. That he loved her with all the strength of his heart and soul is certain, and it could not but be that she was flattered by the adulation of a young man so handsome and well-born as Kristel. Despite the difference in their stations he wooed her honourably, and she, simple and unsophisticated, knew not how to reply. Kristel could not marry without his father's consent, and so he told her; and she, enlightened by this avowal as to the right course for her to pursue, told him that she could not marry without her father's consent.

"'Then write to him,' said Kristel, 'and when he replies, and you promise to be my wife, I will write home and avow my love.'

"She wrote as he desired, and at the same time informed her father that her aunt had recovered her health and needed her no longer. It is my opinion that Avicia must have written in such terms concerning Kristel as to have inspired in the father's heart a doubt whether the young gentleman's wooing was prompted by honourable intentions. There are two other possible interpretations of the course he pursued: one, that he had no desire to part from his daughter; the other, that he believed it likely he might make some sort of bargain, to his own advantage, with a man presumably rich who had become enamoured of Avicia's beauty.

"'Come back instantly,' the keeper of the lighthouse wrote to Avicia, in reply to her letter, 'come back within an hour of your reading these lines. Sleep not another night in your false aunt's house; she only sent for you to fool you. As for this young gallant of whom you write, if he is honest, and rich, and reasonable, let him seek you in your father's home. Beware that he is not also fooling you. I doubt my wisdom in sending one so simple as yourself into a false world. Obey me. Come back without an hour's delay.'

"Frank and unsuspicious, Avicia showed this letter to Kristel.

"'Your father suspects me,' he said. 'I will come and seek you the moment I am free.'

"Being set free by his father's death, he redeemed his promise. Thus it was that they met again.

"I set myself to the study of Avicia's character; I wished to ascertain whether she was a coquette. What I learned filled me with admiration. She was a child of nature; ingenuous and modest, with no desire to make a traffic of her beauty in the way of winning men's hearts. She did not win mine as a lover, but she won my esteem as a friend.

"Needless to say we did not leave the village; indeed, we took up permanent quarters there. Observing Kristel and Silvain when they were with Avicia, I foresaw a storm-a storm all the more terrible and significant because of the peculiar ties of sympathy by which the brothers were bound to each other. They bought a boat, and took into their service two men of the village, to row them to and fro. Not a fine day passed without their visiting the lighthouse, and after a time they seldom went empty-handed. At first they were unsuspicious of each other, but presently I intercepted glances, the meaning of which it was impossible to me-an observer who wished them well and was not likely to interfere with their heart's dearest wish-to misunderstand. Love had found its place-and jealousy also. As for Avicia she made no conspicuous sign. How was it to end. With fear I asked this question of myself.

"Of the two I distrusted Kristel the more. Of the two I had more dread of him than of Silvain. Not divining to which of the brothers Avicia's heart was truly drawn, believing that her faithful love could be won by either were the other away, I devised a plan-which proved to be a trap into which I myself was to fall.

"I intercept the course of my narrative at this point by mentioning something which should have been mentioned earlier. Baldwin was the name by which Avicia's father was known. I have told you he was an avaricious man. He was something more than this-he was a designing man, and he played one brother against the other. They grew, as I have said, into the habit of taking presents with them when they visited the lighthouse, presents of wine and food and flowers. The wine and food were acceptable to Avicia's father, the flowers he despised.

"'But,' said Kristel to him, 'the flowers are for Avicia.'

"'Exactly,' said Baldwin, 'but were I a young man, and rich, and made presents to a young girl, they should not always be flowers which fade in a day, and are flung into the sea. I should think of things more substantial, things that would last and would always retain their value.'

"Upon this hint they were not slow to act. They sent letters to distant towns; they made secret visits to places not so far away as to necessitate their absence for not longer than twenty-four hours, and armed with ornaments and jewels they made their appearance at the lighthouse, and presented them to Avicia. She wore none of them; her father took possession of them, with the remark, 'It would be unbecoming for a single girl to display these gewgaws upon her neck and arms. By and by, when she is a married woman, then will be the time, if other things are in keeping. Meanwhile, I am a safe custodian-and mark you,' he added, with an emphasis which caused me to regard him with abhorrence (for I was present when he said it), 'my daughter has been taught to obey me. My will is her law.'

"They saw not the meaning of the cunning words; I, cooler and more collected, with no blinding, passionate thrills in my pulses, was gifted with a keener insight. I made one slight, impotent attempt to open their eyes, but the manner in which I was met warned me not to repeat it if I wished to be of service to them, and to avert a calamity. He was Avicia's father, and, as such, incapable in their judgment of a mean or sordid act.

"Now for the trap I set, into which I was the only one to fall. I had really, with the best wisdom at my command, reviewed and studied the lamentable position of affairs, and it appeared to me a necessity that one of the brothers must suffer. If he suffered without guilt upon his soul, it would be the be-all and the end-all of the torture. His suffering would be his own, and would not bring misery upon others. And in the light of the inevitable, his honourable feelings and the promptings of conscience-to which I believed both Silvain and Kristel to be amenable-would assist him to bear it in silence, however bitter and poignant it might be. I decided that Silvain was the better able, upon moral grounds, to bear the suffering, although, had it devolved upon me to deliberately contribute to the happiness of only one of the brothers, my choice would have fallen upon Silvain. My scheme was to endeavour to take him from this scene of silent, agonising contention of love. Upon his return he would find matters so far advanced that he would be deterred from advancing another step towards Avicia.