A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"I opened the matter privately with Silvain.

"'I am called away from you,' I said to him, 'and shall be absent for three or four months.'

"'I am sorry to hear it,' said Silvain. 'Is it imperative?'

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

"'I do not ask you upon what errand you are compelled to leave us,' said Silvain, 'because if the matter were not as private as it is urgent, I think you would confide in me voluntarily. Unhappily,' he added, with a sigh, 'we all have secrets which it is incumbent upon us to conceal even from our dearest friends.'

"I understood the allusion, and my heart bled for him.

"'Silvain,' I said, 'I have grown so accustomed to your society, and if you will forgive me the confession, have grown so to love you, that I shall feel inexpressibly lonely and unhappy without you. Why not accompany me?'

"There was a sad surprise in his eyes as he answered,

"'If it were possible, it would afford me great pleasure. But it is not possible.'

"'Why not?'

"'Do not ask me; you would not understand.'

"'Is it really necessary you should stay here?'

"'Vitally necessary. To leave would snap my heart-strings. I should die.'

"'Silvain,' I said, with all my earnestness, 'sometimes in a man's life there comes a crisis-'

"He stopped me with a firmness and decision which were unanswerable.

"'I do not, I must not seek to know your meaning. Surely you can see that I am suffering. All would be dark, but for the light of one star which illumines the world for me. Not another word. You say you love me. If your love is sincere, you will spare me.'

"'It is because my love is sincere,' I urged, 'that I would give much if I could prevail upon you.'

"But he broke from me and would listen no further.

"'Next I tried Kristel, and found him, as I feared and expected, obdurate and violent. In the interval which elapsed between my speaking to Silvain and Kristel, all the village knew that I was about to leave, and the fishermen, and their wives and children, with whom I had become a general favourite, freely expressed their regret at the prospect of losing me.

"'But I am coming back,' I said with an attempt at gaiety.

"They expressed their joy at hearing this. There was no retreat open to me. Had I manufactured an excuse for staying, I felt that I should have been looked upon with suspicion by Kristel and Silvain. In that case, my possible usefulness would be destroyed, and I could never regain the position of confidence I had gained with them. Therefore I bade them farewell, and much distressed and disturbed took my departure.

"I returned at the end of three weeks, the shortest limit I had set upon my absence. I had written to Kristel and Silvain, announcing my return and expected to be greeted by them upon my arrival. To my disappointment I saw nothing of them, and upon inquiring for them, I was informed that they had gone from the village.

"'Gone!' I cried.

"'Yes,' was the answer, 'disappeared.'

"That was all the satisfaction I obtained from the men in the village, my inquiries being at first confined to them. As a rule, they were not given to tittle-tattle, and accounted it a virtue to hold their tongues. Most of the women followed the lead of the men in this respect, but there were a few gossips among them, and I sought out the most garrulous of the class, who was generously discursive and communicative. She was an old woman whose name I have forgotten, and she tardily enlightened me-to my sorrow and dismay. She commenced in a roundabout fashion.

"'You see, sir,' the old soul said, 'there's no telling what there is in man or woman till they are set loose. Tie a young girl up, keep her from mixing with folk, and prevent her from making friends, and frolicking a bit in a harmless way, with girls and boys of her own age, and likely as not mischief will come of it. Not that I believe there's any harm in her.'

"'In her!' I exclaimed. 'In whom?'

"'In Avicia, of course. I don't say it's her fault, but beauty's a snare. You see, sir, she was brought up wrong. 'Twas not her fault but her misfortune that her mother died when she was a little one-too little to remember anything of her who suckled her. Then said we to her father, the keeper of the lighthouse, "You and a babe are not a match. Being a man, you are an ignoramus in the ways of a child, who hasn't yet learnt to prattle. Let her come among us, and we will rear her for you, and make a bright woman of her." For even then, young as she was, we women knew that she was going to grow up beautiful. Men think all babes alike, but we know better. Avicia's father would not have it so. "My child shall not leave my side," said he. "She will be better off without a parcel of women about her." We settled it among ourselves that he was too mean and stingy to do as we wanted, thinking it would cost him something. He's a rare close-fisted man is Baldwin, and fairly dotes on gold-though, as he declares he will live and die on the lighthouse, it's hard to say what good all the gold in the world could do him. We offered to take the babe for nothing, but even that he wouldn't listen to, being suspicious that we had designs on him. So Avicia was left with him, and he brought her up in his lonely home, in which no child but his own has ever set foot. Give the devil his due-which isn't saying much, for if you don't give it him he'll be quick enough in taking it, and a bit over if he's got the chance-Baldwin didn't let Avicia grow in ignorance; he taught her useless things, such as reading and writing, and perhaps the child didn't miss much, in her own reckoning, by not mixing with us. Anyhow, there she was, a maid as beautiful as can be found, sea-born and sea-bred, fit for a lighthouse and for nothing else. That didn't stand in the way of the young men in the village falling in love with her, but she would have nothing to say to one of them, and as they received no encouragement from her father to woo her, they let her alone. Our men are not of the sort to go puking and sighing over a woman. It's a fair match when they come together, and the men don't always get the best of it. We take care of that. But when you and your gentlemen friends came among us-and you're likely men the three of you-we saw how the cat jumped. There was a fat fish to hook, and Baldwin set about it. Let him alone for setting a line-but it can't be denied that he'd a rare bait at the end of it. "Which one is it?" asked we of one another when we were talking about it. None of us could decide. We had only two to guess one from, for we saw that you weren't being fished for, and still we couldn't decide whether it was Master Silvain or Master Kristel. They were both mad in love with her pretty face, and, being brothers, we thought it a pity, for love is like a poison. However, it was for them to settle it, and settled it is, one way or another.'

"'How?' I asked, in a whirl of apprehension.

"'That,' replied the old woman, 'is what we're waiting to find out.'

"'It is true that my friends have left the village, is it not?'

"'There's nothing truer.'

"I saw that she had not imparted to me all she knew, and that she was enjoying herself at my expense by doling it slowly out. My mood was too impatient for crumbs, and I said, if she were not more swiftly communicative, that I would go immediately to the lighthouse, where I could doubtless obtain from Avicia information of the movements of Silvain and Kristel. The old woman laughed, and said I must seek elsewhere for Avicia.

"'I thought I told you,' she said, 'that Avicia had also disappeared. Be a little patient, and you will know everything. You're lucky, for I'm the only one in the village that can tell you things.'

"I had no choice; I was compelled to be patient, and, related in my own words, this is what I learnt:

"After my departure the wooing of Kristel and Silvain had become more fierce, and they were aware that they were rivals. It may or may not have been that Avicia had given and confessed her love to one of the brothers, but upon this point there was not even the evidence of hearsay, and my perplexity and distress were the greater because of my ignorance. Avicia came more frequently from the lighthouse to the village, and always in the company of both Kristel and Silvain. These visits were made during the day, and in the evening the brothers, having dispensed with the service of the boatmen they had engaged, were in the habit of rowing Avicia home. One night, upon the return of Silvain and Kristel to the village, the old woman from whom I obtained these particulars overheard them conversing. She was unable to fix the identity of each speaker, for the night was dark, and she could not distinguish the voices as coming from either the one or the other. I could well excuse her for this, because, if I had been in her place, and concealed as she was, I myself should have been in doubt of the particular speaker who, for the moment, engaged my attention. This is what she overheard:

"'It is time to put an end to this. I have suffered in silence too long, and I can no longer bear my sufferings. Why do you bar my path to happiness?'

"'Why do you bar mine? I love Avicia.'

"'I also love her.'

"'You have concealed it from me.'

"'Have you not done the same by me?'

"'How, then, could I suspect that you were my rival?'

"'How could I?'

"'You madden me by your retorts. Can you not understand that you are driving me to desperation? She is the light of my life!'

"'And of mine!'

"That was all she heard. They moved away out of sight, and she was afraid to follow.

"Two days before my return to the village, Avicia, Kristel, and Silvain rowed, as usual, from the lighthouse to the shore. They were accompanied on this occasion by Avicia's father, who had engaged an experienced man to take his place on the lighthouse during his absence. It was a breach of duty, but he risked it. The sea was calm and the weather fine, and likely to remain so. The risk, therefore, was not great.

"How they passed the day was not known. They did not mingle with the inhabitants of the village, who, without invitation, were not likely to obtrude upon them, their own concerns being quite sufficient to occupy their attention. What was known was, that the father, daughter, and the twin-brothers passed out of the village, and that there appeared to be some kind of awkwardness and constraint upon them, the precise nature of which was not discernible; and that at sunset Avicia's father came back alone, and rowed himself to the lighthouse. From that moment nothing more had been seen of the young people.

"What had become of them? Whither had they gone? It appeared to me that Avicia's father was the only person who could allay my anxiety, and to him I went on the following day. He received me civilly enough, but I learnt little from him.

"'If you come to me,' he said, 'to pry into my daughter's concerns-which are mine-I say they are none of yours. You are little more than a stranger to me, and I have no business with you, and desire none. If you come to ascertain where you can find your friends, you will learn nothing from me. As to one, perhaps it is in my power to tell you, but I do not choose to gratify you. As to the other, perhaps you are as likely to light upon him as I am.'

"During my visit I kept myself on the alert to discover some trace of Avicia, for it might be that the villagers were mistaken in their idea that she had disappeared at the same time as Silvain and Kristel. She might have returned in the middle of the night when all the village was asleep. I saw no signs of her, however, and when I left the lighthouse I was confident that she was not there.

"I was at a loss what to do. There was absolutely no clue to direct me to my friends, and my anxiety became almost unbearable. I made inquiries in neighbouring villages and towns, and I employed men to search for them-but all was of no avail. At the end of a couple of months I was not a whit the wiser. To remain any longer in the village would have been folly, and it was with pain and reluctance that I bade the simple inhabitants farewell. They expressed a hope that they would see me again, and I promised to pay them another visit before twelve months had passed. It was a promise not lightly given, and it was my intention to perform it. I argued with myself that Avicia was certain to return at some time within the period I have mentioned, and that, directly or indirectly, I should succeed in renewing my acquaintance with Silvain. That she was married to one of the brothers was in my view an established fact, but I found it impossible to decide upon which of them her choice had fallen. Bearing in mind the absorbing love which both had entertained for her, I shuddered to think of the consequences that might ensue from despair and jealousy.

"Before I left the village to resume my travels I went to the lighthouse to see Avicia's father, to acquaint him with my impending departure. He seemed to me restless and uneasy, and threw out vague hints of having been deceived, and of promises broken by those who owed him love and duty. Taking advantage of these hints I pressed him closely, but he surlily refused to give me the least information.

"'It can surely do you no harm,' I urged, 'to tell me to whom your daughter is married.'

"'If I come face to face with the man who says the contrary,' he cried, 'he will not live to repeat the lie.'

"He had misunderstood my question, and thought I intended to cast a doubt upon his daughter's good name. Having assured him that I had no such intention, and pacified him, I repeated my question.

"'Find out for yourself,' he said morosely, 'for the fortieth time, you will learn nothing from me.'

"Why he should have been so persistently and unnecessarily brutal puzzled me. Suddenly a bright idea occurred to me. Baldwin was avaricious and a miser. He loved gold; it was as precious to him as his life's blood.

"I took my purse from my pocket, and emptied several gold pieces into the palm of my hand. A hissing sound escaped from between his closed teeth, and his eyes were fixed upon the money greedily, and then upon me ferociously.

"I laughed lightly and disdainfully. I made a motion of my head towards the boat which was moored to a staple in the outer wall of the lighthouse. Two fishermen were in the boat, waiting to row me back to the village.

"'If I do not go to them soon,' I said, 'they will come and seek me.'

"'What do you mean by that?' he asked, with a dark frown on his face.

"'You decline to answer my questions,' I replied, 'and I decline to answer yours. But I can do what you would be unwilling to do.'

"'What is that?'

"'I can pay for information. Ten of these gold pieces are yours, if you tell me truly to whom your daughter is married.'

"'Give me the money.'

"I gave him the gold, and he bit the coins singly with his strong teeth. Then he said, 'She is married to Silvain.'

"'Heaven pity him,' I said, preparing to descend, 'for such a father-in-law.'

"'He needs no pity,' retorted Baldwin, 'he has Avicia.'

"As we rowed to land I kept my face towards the lighthouse, and saw, with my mind's eye, the image of the beautiful girl, as I had seen her for the first time, standing on the topmost gallery, with her luxuriant hair hanging loose, and the scarlet covering on her head. In the lives of Kristel and Silvain the lovely vision was the embodiment of a terrible fate. Red lips parted, white teeth gleaming, wistful eyes gazing, a face of bewitching beauty and innocence- And suddenly the vision grew indistinct in a mass of whirling clouds, which in my fevered fancy became pregnant with angry passions. I dashed my hand across my eyes.

"'Steady, sir,' said the rowers, as their boat grated on the beach.

"Before night fell I was far away."

END OF VOL. I