Of course
I thought he was trying to account for his negligence by a silly
story intended to frighten me, and I disbelieved him.
I thought he was trying to account for his negligence by a silly
story intended to frighten me, and I disbelieved him.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v07 - Cic to Cuv
"
"All this can be restored to him! " said Fleurange, in an
altered voice. "By what means? By whose power? "
"That of the Emperor, invoked, and of his clemency obtained
through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is
imposed upon George, the other of which depends upon me. To
these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with
you, with you only! "
The great eyes of Fleurange were fixed upon Vera, with an
expression of profound astonishment, mingled with anguish.
"Finish, I implore you! " she said. "Finish, if you are not
dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them;-
if we are not both mad, you and I! "
Vera clasped her hands together and cried passionately:-
"Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him! "
She stopped, suffocated by her emotion.
## p. 4147 (#525) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4147
Fleurange continued to look at her with the same expression,
and without speaking made a sign to her to go on.
She seemed to concentrate her attention to understand the
words that were said to her.
"I am listening," she said at last; "I am listening quietly
and attentively; speak to me with the same composure. "
Vera resumed in a calmer tone:
"This morning, at the moment when I had just read your
petition, and learned for the first time who the exile was whom
you desired to follow,- at this very moment the Emperor arrived
at the palace, and sent for me. "
"The Emperor? " said Fleurange, with surprise.
« Yes.
And do you know what he wished to say to me?
You do not guess what it was, and I can understand readily why
you should not, for you do not know with what ardor I have
solicited pardon for George, how eagerly I have brought together,
to this end, all the facts in the case which might disarm his
Sovereign's anger against him. What the Emperor wished to
say was this, that he deigned to grant me this favor-to grant
it to me, Fleurange! do you understand? - but on two condi-
tions. "
"His pardon? " cried Fleurange.
"Go on, I am listening. "
"The first, that he should pass four years on his estates in
Livonia, without stirring thence-»
Vera ceased suddenly. Fleurange looked up. "And the sec-
ond? " she said.
"Then," said Vera, slowly and speaking with difficulty, "that
the wish of my father and of his should be fulfilled before his
departure. "
Fleurange shuddered.
and her head grew dizzy.
however.
"His pardon is upon that condition? " she said.
« Yes. The Emperor has taken an interest in me from my
childhood. He loved my father, and it has pleased him to attach
this act of clemency to this fulfillment of my father's wish. "
There was a long silence. Vera trembled herself as she saw
the pale lips and colorless cheeks of Fleurange, and her eyes
gazing fixedly into space.
"And he? " she said at last. "He will accept his pardon with
this condition without hesitating, will he not? "
An icy chill crept towards her heart,
She remained perfectly motionless,
## p. 4148 (#526) ###########################################
4148
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Without hesitation? " repeated Vera, coloring with a new
emotion; "that is what I cannot say; this very doubt humiliates
and alarms me; for the Emperor would regard the least hesita-
tion as a new ingratitude, and perhaps might retract this par-
don. "
"But why should he hesitate? " said Fleurange in a voice
scarcely audible.
"Fleurange! " said Vera in the same passionate tone she had
used more than once during this interview. "Let us break each
other's heart, if we must, but let us go to the very end of this.
It has been permitted you to see George since you have been
here? "
"No. "
"But he is expecting you; he knows that you have come, and
what devotion has brought you to him? ”
"No; he knows nothing of it as yet, and is not to know until
to-morrow. "
A flash of joy shone in the black eyes of Vera.
"Then it rests with you that he does not hesitate, that he is
saved! Yes, Fleurange, let him never know that you are here,
let him never see you never again,” she added, looking at her
with a jealous terror that she could not conceal, "and life will
once more become for him beautiful, brilliant, happy,- what it
was,-what it ought always to be,- and the memory of these
few months will fade away like a dream! "
-
“Like a dream! "— Fleurange repeated mechanically these two
words, passing her hand across her forehead as she spoke.
"I have not told you all," Vera said; "I have done you an
injury that I understand better than any other person can.
But," she continued, in a tone which went to the very depths
of her listener's heart, "I wished to save George! I desired him
to be restored to me! and I have believed I know not why,
for it seems most unreasonable, and I am ordinarily distrust-
ful-yes, I have believed that you would be willing to aid me,
against yourself! "
-
―
Fleurange, her hands clasped and resting upon her knees, her
eyes gazing steadfastly before her, had seemed for a few mo-
ments past not to have heard what was said. She was listen-
ing, but it was to that clear distinct voice that rang so true in
her own soul, that voice she had always so well known how to
recognize, and to which she had never denied obedience.
## p. 4149 (#527) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4149
If George were free, if he recovered his name, his rank, his
former position, would she not at once find herself in the same
position toward him which she had formerly occupied? — would
it not be treason to avail herself in this case of his mother's
permission, and that too to the detriment of her who sat there,
the wife chosen for him from his childhood? Would it not, still
further, be a treason towards him to present herself before him
as a danger, as an obstacle, which might, perhaps at the very
moment when he recovered his liberty, cause him to lose it
anew, with that momentary favor which had restored to him!
She laid her cold hand upon the hand of Vera, and lifted to
hers her gentle and steady gaze.
"It is enough," she said in a calm voice. "You have done
right. Yes, I have understood; be tranquil. ”
Vera, astonished at the look and tone, gazed at her
wonder.
"Act as if I were far
"Act fearlessly," pursued Fleurange.
as if I had never come. "
-
away,
And taking the petition which lay upon the table, she tore
it across, and threw it into the fire! The paper blazed up for a
few seconds, then went out. She watched the cinders fly up
the chimney.
in
Vera with an irresistible impulse seized the hand of Fleur-
ange and raised it to her lips; then she remained silent and
abashed. She had come resolved to overpower her rival, to
convince her, to struggle against her at every point, if she failed
in her first attempt; but her victory had taken a character which
she had not at all foreseen.
___
Certainly it had been an easy victory, and yet Vera under-
stood that it had been a cruel one. She felt at this moment
more pain than joy, and her attitude no more expressed triumph
than did that of Fleurange express defeat. While
While the one
remained with drooping head and downcast eyes, the other had
risen to her feet; a fugitive color lingered in her cheeks, the
effort of the sacrifice had lighted up her face and given it
unwonted brilliancy.
"I think," she said, "you have nothing more to say to me. "
"No- for what I should like to say I cannot and I dare
not. "
――――――――――
Vera rose and went towards the door, but a recollection
brought her back.
## p. 4150 (#528) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Pardon my forgetfulness," she said. "Here is your bracelet
which you dropped this morning, and which I was desired to
return to you. "
4150
At sight of the talisman Fleurange started; her unnatural
color faded, she became deadly pale, and as she looked at it in
silence, a few tears, the only ones which she had shed during
that interview, slid down her cheeks. But it was only for an
instant. Before Vera could think what she was about to do,
Fleurange had attached to the arm of her rival the bracelet
which the latter had just restored to her.
"This talisman was a present from the Princess Catherine to
her son's betrothed; it would bring happiness, she said. It is
mine no longer. I give it up to you; it is yours. "
Fleurange held out her hand. "We shall never see each
other again," she said.
"Let us not remember each other with
bitterness. "
Vera took the hand without looking up. Never had she felt
herself so touched and humiliated, and her very gratitude was a
wound to her pride. The grave and sweet voice of Fleurange
was however irresistible at this moment, and spoke to her heart
in spite of herself. She was hesitating between these two feel-
ings, when Fleurange resumed:-
"You are right. It is not my place to wait for you at this
moment, for you have nothing now to forgive,—and as for me,
I forgive you all. "
And while Vera still stood motionless with bowed head,
Fleurange bent towards her and kissed her.
## p. 4151 (#529) ###########################################
4151
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
(1854-)
NDREW LANG has justly called Crawford the "most versatile
and various of modern novelists. " Since the appearance of
'Mr. Isaacs' in 1882, he has written nearly thirty novels,
distinguished for their variety of subject and treatment. He belongs
to the race of cosmopolitan Americans; men who, having no mental
boundaries, accept for their literary inheritance the romantic tradi-
tions and customs of all nationalities. This natural taste, quickened
by European education and extensive travel, has made him swift to
comprehend all lands and races, with their
types of character developed by social or
national conditions. His adaptability of
mind is partially explained by him in 'The
Three Fates,' supposed to be autobio-
graphic, which describes the career of an
author. "The young man's true talent," he
says, "lay in his ready power of assimilat-
ing unfamiliar knowledge by a process of in-
tuition which escapes methodical learners. "
MARION CRAWFORD.
Mr. Crawford was born in Bagni di
Lucca, Italy, August 2d, 1854. He is of min-
gled ancestry. His father, Thomas Craw-
ford the sculptor, was a native of Ireland,
and his mother was an American. He
spent his early childhood in New York. After studying at Cam-
bridge, Heidelberg, Carlsruhe, and Rome, he went to India in 1879
and edited the Indian Herald at Allahabad. There he became
acquainted with a Persian jewel merchant who suggested the myste-
rious personality of 'Mr. Isaacs. ' Returning to America in 1881, he
wrote the romance which bears this title. The fantastic creation,
with its Oriental flavor, its hints of Anglo-India, the introduction
of Ram Lal, the shadowy adept of occultism, and the striking
figure of Mr. Isaacs, with his graceful languor, Iranian features, blaz-
ing eyes, and luxurious tastes, bestowed immediate celebrity upon its
author. This was followed by Dr. Claudius,' which, although less
romantic, showed increase in constructive skill. This became more
marked in 'To Leeward,' the unlovely and tragic story of a wife's
infidelity and of society in Rome. The tale of a peasant boy who
## p. 4152 (#530) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4152
became a famous tenor is the theme of 'A Roman Singer,' issued in
1884; and in the same year he published 'An American Politician,'
in which are discussed the party spirit and corruption of American
politics. In 1885 Zoroaster' was issued, a story of ancient Persia,
introducing the court of King Darius and the aged prophet Daniel.
After 'A Tale of a Lonely Parish,' a sketch of rural life in England,
one of his most popular books appeared-'Saracinesca,' which with
'Sant' Ilario' and 'Don Orsino' forms a trilogy describing the
history of an Italian noble family of that day, and indeed forms a
complete study of Rome from 1865 to 1887. Cardinal Antonelli is
brought upon the scene, and the bewildered and stormy period of
the last struggles of the Papacy for temporal power are painted with
vigorous skill and rapid generalization, until at last, as he says in
'Don Orsino,' –
"Old Rome is dead, never to be old Rome again. The last breath has
been breathed, the aged eyes are closed forever; corruption has done its
. work, and the grand skeleton lies bleaching upon seven hills, half covered
with the piecemeal stucco of a modern architectural body. "
'Marzio's Crucifix' (1887) is the tale of an atheistic artisan who
carves in silver. This possesses a psychological interest, and that
element deepens in the 'Witch of Prague' (1892), a bold and thrilling
tale of hypnotism. Paul Patoff' (1887) relates personal experiences
of a visit to Turkey; With the Immortals' (1888) is an attempt to
reanimate dead celebrities. 'Greifenstein' is a tragedy which takes
place in the Black Forest, and tells the fortunes of two noble Ger-
man families. It is valued for its accurate descriptions of the Korps
Studenten, with their extraordinary ideals of romance and honor,
tempered with foaming beer and sabre-cuts. 'The Cigarette Maker's
Romance' is a pathetic story of the madness of Count Skariatine;
'Khaled' a fanciful tale of a genie, who is promised a soul if he
can gain a woman's love. From romance and fancy, Mr. Crawford
turns to New York life in The Three Fates,' and in 'Katharine
Lauderdale' with its sequel The Ralstons. ' 'Marion Darche' is
also an American story. 'Adam Johnston's Son' depends upon a
simple tale of love for its interest; in 'Casa Braccio,' 'The Children
of the King,' and his last book 'Taquisara' (1896), the author returns
again to his familiar milieu, Italy.
This is a list of extraordinary variety and voluminousness. Since
1884 Mr. Crawford has lived near Sorrento. Here and in his yacht
he writes his novels. Although he has devoted much time to phi-
lology, he never intrudes dialect in his books, which are written
with the idea of pleasing instead of instructing his enormous audi-
ence. His works have been translated into various languages. He-
## p. 4153 (#531) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4153
He con-
has received many honors for his literary achievements.
siders Pietro Ghisleri' the most realistic of his books. In 1893 Mr.
Crawford published a small essay entitled 'The Novel: What it Is. '
In this he defines the novel as an "intellectual artistic luxury," a
"definition which can be made to include," he says, "a great deal,
but which is in reality a closer one than appears at first sight. It
covers the three principal essentials of the novel as it should be, of
a story, or romance; which in itself and in the manner of telling it
shall appeal to the intellect, shall satisfy the requirements of art,
and shall be a luxury, in that it can be of no use to a man when he
is at work, but may conduce to a peace of mind and delectation
during his hours of idleness. "
THE GHOST IN THE BERTH
From The Upper Berth,' in the Autonym Library': copyrighted by G. P.
Putnam's Sons
WE
E PLAYED whist in the evening, and I went to bed late. I
will confess now that I felt a disagreeable sensation
when I entered my state-room. I could not help think-
ing of the tall man I had seen on the previous night, who was
now dead,-drowned, tossing about in the long swell, two or
three hundred miles astern. His face rose very distinctly before
me as I undressed, and I even went so far as to draw back
the curtains of the upper berth, as though to persuade myself
that he was actually gone. I also bolted the door of the state-
room. Suddenly I became aware that the port-hole was open,
and fastened back. This was more than I could stand. I hastily
threw on my dressing-gown and went in search of Robert, the
steward of my passage. I was very angry, I remember, and
when I found him I dragged him roughly to the door of one
hundred and five, and pushed him towards the open port-hole.
"What the deuce do you mean, you scoundrel, by leaving that
port open every night? Don't you know it is against the regula-
tions? Don't you know that if the ship heeled and the water
began to come in, ten men could not shut it? I will report you
to the captain, you blackguard, for endangering the ship! "
I was exceedingly wroth. The man trembled and turned
pale, and then began to shut the round glass plate with the
heavy brass fittings.
"Why don't you answer me? " I said roughly.
## p. 4154 (#532) ###########################################
4154
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
"If you please, sir," faltered Robert, "there's nobody on
board as can keep this 'ere port shut at night. You can try it
yourself, sir.
I ain't a-going to stop hany longer on board o'
this vessel, sir; I ain't indeed. But if I was you, sir, I'd just
clear out and go and sleep with the surgeon, or something, I
would. Look 'ere, sir, is that fastened what you may call
securely, or not, sir? Try it, sir; see if it will move a hinch. "
I tried the port, and found it perfectly tight.
"Well, sir," continued Robert, triumphantly, "I wager my
reputation as a A steward, that in 'arf an hour it will be open
again; fastened back too, sir, that's the horful thing-fastened
back! "
I examined the great screw and the looped nut that ran on it.
"If I find it open in the night, Robert, I will give you a
sovereign. It is not possible. You may go.
>>>
"Soverin' did you say, sir? Very good, sir. Thank ye, sir.
Good night, sir. Pleasant reepose, sir, and all manner of hin-
chantin' dreams, sir. "
Robert scuttled away, delighted at being released.
Of course
I thought he was trying to account for his negligence by a silly
story intended to frighten me, and I disbelieved him. The con-
sequence was that he got his sovereign, and I spent a very
peculiarly unpleasant night.
I went to bed, and five minutes after I had rolled myself up
in my blankets the inexorable Robert extinguished the light that
burned steadily behind the ground-glass pane near the door. I lay
quite still in the dark trying to go to sleep, but I soon found
that impossible. It had been some satisfaction to be angry with
the steward, and the diversion had banished that unpleasant
sensation I had at first experienced when I thought of the
drowned man who had been my chum; but I was no longer
sleepy, and I lay awake for some time, occasionally glancing at
the porthole, which I could just see from where I lay, and
which in the darkness looked like a faintly luminous soup-plate
suspended in blackness. I believe I must have lain there for an
hour, and, as I remember, I was just dozing into sleep when I
was roused by a draught of cold air and by distinctly feeling the
spray of the sea blown upon my face. I started to my feet, and
not having allowed in the dark for the motion of the ship, I was
instantly thrown violently across the state-room upon the couch
which was placed beneath the porthole. I recovered myself
## p. 4155 (#533) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4155
The port-
immediately, however, and climbed upon my knees.
hole was again wide open and fastened back!
Now these things are facts. I was wide awake when I got
up, and I should certainly have been waked by the fall had I
still been dozing. Moreover, I bruised my elbows and knees
badly, and the bruises were there on the following morning to
testify to the fact, if I myself had doubted it. The port-hole was
wide open and fastened back-a thing so unaccountable that I
remember very well feeling astonishment rather than fear when
I discovered it. I at once closed the plate again and screwed
down the looped nut with all my strength. It was very dark in
the state-room. I reflected that the port had certainly been
opened within an hour after Robert had at first shut it in my
presence, and I determined to watch it and see whether it would
open again. Those brass fittings are very heavy and by no
means easy to move; I could not believe that the clump had
been turned by the shaking of the screw. I stood peering out
through the thick glass at the alternate white and gray streaks
of the sea that foamed beneath the ship's side. I must have
remained there a quarter of an hour.
Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something moving
behind me in one of the berths, and a moment afterwards, just
as I turned instinctively to look-though I could of course see
nothing in the darkness-I heard a very faint groan. I sprang
across the state-room and tore the curtains of the upper berth
aside, thrusting in my hands to discover if there were any one
there. There was some one.
I remember that the sensation as I put my hands forward was
as though I were plunging them into the air of a damp cellar,
and from behind the curtain came a gust of wind that smelled
horribly of stagnant sea-water. I laid hold of something that
had the shape of a man's arm, but was smooth and wet and
icy cold.
But suddenly, as I pulled, the creature sprang violently
forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, as it seemed to me,
heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of supernatural strength.
I reeled across the state-room, and in an instant the door opened
and the thing rushed out. I had not had time to be frightened,
and quickly recovering myself I sprang through the door and
gave chase at the top of my speed; but I was too late. Ten
yards before me I could see - I am sure I saw it
a dark
shadow moving in the dimly lighted passage, quickly as the
-
## p. 4156 (#534) ###########################################
4156
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dog-cart by the lamp on
a dark night. But in a moment it had disappeared, and I found
myself holding on to the polished rail that ran along the bulk-
head where the passage turned towards the companion. My hair
stood on end, and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I
am not ashamed of it in the least: I was very badly frightened.
Still I doubted my senses, and pulled myself together. It was
absurd, I thought. The Welsh rare-bit I had eaten had disagreed
with me. I had been in a nightmare. I made my way back to
my state-room, and entered it with an effort. The whole place.
smelled of stagnant sea-water, as it had when I had waked on
the previous evening. It required my utmost strength to go in
and grope among my things for a box of wax lights. As I
lighted a railway reading lantern which I always carry in case I
want to read after the lamps are out, I perceived that the port-
hole was again open, and a sort of creeping horror began to
take possession of me which I never felt before, nor wish to feel
again. But I got a light and proceeded to examine the upper
berth, expecting to find it drenched with sea-water.
But I was disappointed. The bed had been slept in, and the
smell of the sea was strong; but the bedding was as dry as a
bone. I fancied that Robert had not had the courage to make
the bed after the accident of the previous night-it had all been
a hideous dream. I drew the curtains back as far as I could,
and examined the place very carefully. It was perfectly dry.
But the port-hole was open again. With a sort of dull bewilder-
ment of horror I closed it and screwed it down, and thrusting
my heavy stick through the brass loop, wrenched it with all my
might till the thick metal began to bend under the pressure.
Then I hooked my reading lantern into the red velvet at the
head of the couch, and sat down to recover my senses if I could.
I sat there all night, unable to think of rest-hardly able to
think at all. But the port-hole remained closed, and I did not
believe it would now open again without the application of a
considerable force.
myself slowly,
It was a beau-
The morning dawned at last, and I dressed
thinking over all that had happened in the night.
tiful day, and I went on deck, glad to get out in the early pure
sunshine, and to smell the breeze from the blue water, so different
from the noisome, stagnant odor from my state-room. Instinct-
ively I turned aft, towards the surgeon's cabin. There he stood,
## p. 4157 (#535) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4157
with a pipe in his mouth, taking his morning airing precisely as
on the preceding day.
"Good-morning," said he, quietly, but looking at me with
evident curiosity.
"There is something
"Doctor, you were quite right," said I.
wrong about that place. "
"I thought you would change your mind," he answered,
rather triumphantly. "You have had a bad night, eh? Shall I
make you a pick-me-up? I have a capital recipe. "
"No, thanks," I cried. "But I would like to tell you what
happened. "
I then tried to explain as clearly as possible precisely what
had occurred, not omitting to state that I had been scared as I
had never been scared in my whole life before. I dwelt particu-
larly on the phenomenon of the port-hole, which was a fact to
which I could testify, even if the rest had been an illusion. I
had closed it twice in the night, and the second time I had
actually bent the brass in wrenching it with my stick. I believe
I insisted a good deal on this point.
"You seem to think I am likely to doubt the story," said the
doctor, smiling at the detailed account of the state of the port-
hole. "I do not doubt it in the least. I renew my invitation to
you. Bring your traps here, and take half my cabin. "
"Come and take half of mine for one night," I said. "Help
me to get at the bottom of this thing. "
"You will get at the bottom of something else if you try,"
answered the doctor.
"What? " I asked.
"The bottom of the sea. I am going to leave the ship. It
is not canny. "
"Then
you will not help me to find out
"Not I," said the doctor, quickly. "It is my business to
keep my wits about me-not to go fiddling about with ghosts.
and things. "
>>
"Do you really believe it is a ghost? " I inquired, rather
contemptuously. But as I spoke I remembered very well the
horrible sensation of the supernatural which had got possession
of me during the night. The doctor turned sharply on me.
"Have you any reasonable explanation of these things to
offer? " he asked. "No, you have not. Well, you say you will
find an explanation. I say that you won't, sir, simply because
there is not any >>
## p. 4158 (#536) ###########################################
4158
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
"But, my dear sir," I retorted, "do you, a man of science,
mean to tell me that such things cannot be explained? "
"I do," he answered, stoutly. "And if they could, I would
not be concerned in the explanation. "
I did not care to spend another night alone in the state-
room, and yet I was obstinately determined to get at the root
of the disturbances. I do not believe there are many men who
would have slept there alone, after passing two such nights.
But I made up my mind to try it, if I could not get any one to
share a watch with me. The doctor was evidently not inclined.
for such an experiment. He said he was a surgeon, and that in
case any accident occurred on board he must always be in readi-
ness. He could not afford to have his nerves unsettled. Perhaps
he was quite right, but I am inclined to think that his precaution
was prompted by his inclination. On inquiry, he informed me
that there was no one on board who would be likely to join me
in my investigations, and after a little more conversation I left
him. A little later I met the captain, and told him my story.
I said that if no one would spend the night with me I would
ask leave to have the light burning all night, and would try it
alone.
"Look here," said he, "I will tell you what I will do. I will
share your watch myself, and we will see what happens. It is
my belief that we can find out between us. There may be some
fellow skulking on board, who steals a passage by frightening
the passengers. It is just possible that there may be something
queer in the carpentering of that berth. "
I suggested taking the ship's carpenter below and examining
the place; but I was overjoyed at the captain's offer to spend
the night with me. He accordingly sent for the workman and
ordered him to do anything I required. We went below at once.
I had all the bedding cleared out of the upper berth, and we
examined the place thoroughly to see if there was a board loose
anywhere, or a panel which could be opened or pushed aside.
We tried the planks everywhere, tapped the flooring, unscrewed
the fittings of the lower berth and took it to pieces: in short,
there was not a square inch of the state-room which was not
searched and tested. Everything was in perfect order, and we
put everything back in its place. As we were finishing our
work, Robert came to the door and looked in.
"Well, sir - find anything, sir? " he asked with a ghastly
grin.
## p. 4159 (#537) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4159
"You were right about the port-hole, Robert," I said; and I
gave him the promised sovereign. The carpenter did his work
silently and skillfully, following my directions. When he had
done he spoke.
"I'm a plain man, sir," he said. "But it's my belief you had
better just turn out your things and let me run half a dozen
four-inch screws through the door of this cabin. There's no
good never came o' this cabin yet, sir, and that's all about it.
There's been four lives lost out o' here to my own remembrance,
and that in four trips. Better give it up, sir—better give it up! "
"I will try it for one night more," I said.
"Better give it up, sir- better give it up! It's a precious
bad job," repeated the workman, putting his tools in his bag
and leaving the cabin.
But my spirits had risen considerably at the prospect of hav-
ing the captain's company, and I made up my mind not to be
prevented from going to the end of the strange business. I
abstained from Welsh rare-bits and grog that evening, and did
not even join in the customary game of whist. I wanted to be
quite sure of my nerves, and my vanity made me anxious to
make a good figure in the captain's eyes.
A THWARTED PLAN
From 'Marzio's Crucifix': copyrighted 1887, by F. Marion Crawford, and re-
produced by permission of the Macmillan Company, Publishers
M
ARZIO entered the inner studio when Gianbattista was gone,
leaving a boy who was learning to cut little files-the
preliminary to the chiseler's profession-in charge of the
outer workshop. The artist shut himself in and bolted the door,
glad to be alone with the prospect of not being disturbed during
the whole afternoon. He seemed not to hesitate about the work
he intended to do, for he immediately took in hand the crucifix,
laid it upon the table, and began to study it, using a lens from
time to time as he scrutinized each detail. His rough hair fell
forward over his forehead, and his shoulders rounded themselves
till he looked almost deformed.
He had suffered very strong emotions during the last twenty-
four hours-enough to have destroyed the steadiness of an ordi-
nary man's hand, but with Marzio manual skill was the first
habit of nature, and it would have been hard to find a mental
## p. 4160 (#538) ###########################################
4160
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
impression which could shake his physical nerves. His mind,
however, worked rapidly and almost fiercely, while his eyes
searched the minute lines of the work he was examining.
Uppermost in his thoughts was a confused sense of humilia-
tion and of exasperation against his brother. The anger he felt
had nearly been expressed in a murderous deed not more than
two or three hours earlier, and the wish to strike was still
present in his mind. He twisted his lips into an ugly smile as
he recalled the scene in every detail; but the determination was
different from the reality, and more in accordance with his feel-
ings. He realized again that moment during which he had held
the sharp instrument over his brother's head, and the thought
which had then passed so rapidly through his brain recurred again
with increased clearness. He remembered that beneath the iron-
bound box in the corner there was a trap-door which descended
to the unused cellar, for his workshop had in former times been
a wine-shop, and he had hired the cellar with it. One sharp
blow would have done the business. A few quick movements,
and Paolo's body would have been thrown down the dark steps.
beneath, the trap closed again, the safe replaced in its position. It
was eleven o'clock then, or thereabouts. He would have sent the
workmen to their dinner, and would have returned to the inner
studio. They would have supposed afterwards that Don Paolo
had left the place with him. He would have gone home and
would have said that Paolo had left him—or no-he would have
said that Paolo had not been there, for some one might see him
leave the workshop alone. In the night he would have returned,
his family thinking he had gone to meet his friends, as he often
did. When the streets were quiet he would have carried the
body away upon the hand-cart that stood in the entry of the outer
room. It was not far - scarcely three hundred yards, allowing
for the turnings-to the place where the Via Montella ends in a
mud bank by the dark river. A deserted neighborhood too—a
turn to the left, the low trees of the Piazza de' Branca, the dark,
short, straight street to the water. At one o'clock after midnight
who was stirring? It would all have been so simple, so terribly
effectual.
And then there would have been no more Paolo, no more
domestic annoyances, no more of the priest's smooth-faced disap-
probation and perpetual opposition in the house. He would have
soon brought Maria Luisa and Lucia to reason. What could they
## p. 4161 (#539) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4161
do without the support of Paolo? They were only women after
all. As for Gianbattista, if once the poisonous influence of Paolo
were removed - and how surely removed! Marzio's lips twisted
as though he were tasting the sourness of failure, like an acid
fruit-if once the priest were gone, Gianbattista would come back
to his old ways, to his old scorn of priests in general, of churches,
of oppression, of everything that Marzio hated. He might marry
Lucia then, and be welcome. After all, he was a finer fellow
for the pretty girl than Gasparo Carnesecchi, with his claw fin-
gers and his vinegar salad. That was only a farce, that proposal
about the lawyer- the real thing was to get rid of Paolo. There
could be no healthy liberty of thought in the house while this
fellow was sneaking in and out at all hours. Tumble Paolo into
a quiet grave,- into the river with a sackful of old castings at
his neck, there would be peace then, and freedom. Marzio
ground his teeth as he thought how nearly he had done the
thing, and how miserably he had failed. It had been the inspi-
ration of the moment, and the details had appeared clear at once
to his mind. Going over them he found that he had not been
mistaken. If Paolo came again, and he had the chance, he
I would do it. It was perhaps all the better that he had found
time to weigh the matter.
But would Paolo come again? Would he ever trust himself
alone in the workshop? Had he guessed, when he turned so
suddenly and saw the weapon in the air, that the blow was on
the very point of descending? Or had he been deceived by the
clumsy excuse Marzio had made about the sun shining in his
eyes?
He had remained calm, or Marzio tried to think so. But the
artist himself had been so much moved during the minutes that
followed that he could hardly feel sure of Paolo's behavior. It
was a chilling thought, that Paolo might have understood and
might have gone away feeling that his life had been saved.
almost by a miracle. He would not come back, the cunning
priest, in that case; he would not risk his precious skin in such
company. It was not to be expected-a priest was only human,
after all, like any other man. Marzio cursed his ill luck again as
he bent over his work. What a moment this would be if Paolo
would take it into his head to make another. visit! Even the
men were gone. He would send the one boy who remained to
the church where Gianbattista was working, with a message.
VII-261
## p. 4162 (#540) ###########################################
4162
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
They would be alone then, he and Paolo. The priest might
scream and call for help- the thick walls would not let any
sound through them. It would be even better than in the morn-
ing, when he had lost his opportunity by a moment, by the
twinkling of an eye.
"They say hell is paved with good intentions- or lost oppor-
tunities," muttered Marzio.
"All this can be restored to him! " said Fleurange, in an
altered voice. "By what means? By whose power? "
"That of the Emperor, invoked, and of his clemency obtained
through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is
imposed upon George, the other of which depends upon me. To
these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with
you, with you only! "
The great eyes of Fleurange were fixed upon Vera, with an
expression of profound astonishment, mingled with anguish.
"Finish, I implore you! " she said. "Finish, if you are not
dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them;-
if we are not both mad, you and I! "
Vera clasped her hands together and cried passionately:-
"Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him! "
She stopped, suffocated by her emotion.
## p. 4147 (#525) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4147
Fleurange continued to look at her with the same expression,
and without speaking made a sign to her to go on.
She seemed to concentrate her attention to understand the
words that were said to her.
"I am listening," she said at last; "I am listening quietly
and attentively; speak to me with the same composure. "
Vera resumed in a calmer tone:
"This morning, at the moment when I had just read your
petition, and learned for the first time who the exile was whom
you desired to follow,- at this very moment the Emperor arrived
at the palace, and sent for me. "
"The Emperor? " said Fleurange, with surprise.
« Yes.
And do you know what he wished to say to me?
You do not guess what it was, and I can understand readily why
you should not, for you do not know with what ardor I have
solicited pardon for George, how eagerly I have brought together,
to this end, all the facts in the case which might disarm his
Sovereign's anger against him. What the Emperor wished to
say was this, that he deigned to grant me this favor-to grant
it to me, Fleurange! do you understand? - but on two condi-
tions. "
"His pardon? " cried Fleurange.
"Go on, I am listening. "
"The first, that he should pass four years on his estates in
Livonia, without stirring thence-»
Vera ceased suddenly. Fleurange looked up. "And the sec-
ond? " she said.
"Then," said Vera, slowly and speaking with difficulty, "that
the wish of my father and of his should be fulfilled before his
departure. "
Fleurange shuddered.
and her head grew dizzy.
however.
"His pardon is upon that condition? " she said.
« Yes. The Emperor has taken an interest in me from my
childhood. He loved my father, and it has pleased him to attach
this act of clemency to this fulfillment of my father's wish. "
There was a long silence. Vera trembled herself as she saw
the pale lips and colorless cheeks of Fleurange, and her eyes
gazing fixedly into space.
"And he? " she said at last. "He will accept his pardon with
this condition without hesitating, will he not? "
An icy chill crept towards her heart,
She remained perfectly motionless,
## p. 4148 (#526) ###########################################
4148
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Without hesitation? " repeated Vera, coloring with a new
emotion; "that is what I cannot say; this very doubt humiliates
and alarms me; for the Emperor would regard the least hesita-
tion as a new ingratitude, and perhaps might retract this par-
don. "
"But why should he hesitate? " said Fleurange in a voice
scarcely audible.
"Fleurange! " said Vera in the same passionate tone she had
used more than once during this interview. "Let us break each
other's heart, if we must, but let us go to the very end of this.
It has been permitted you to see George since you have been
here? "
"No. "
"But he is expecting you; he knows that you have come, and
what devotion has brought you to him? ”
"No; he knows nothing of it as yet, and is not to know until
to-morrow. "
A flash of joy shone in the black eyes of Vera.
"Then it rests with you that he does not hesitate, that he is
saved! Yes, Fleurange, let him never know that you are here,
let him never see you never again,” she added, looking at her
with a jealous terror that she could not conceal, "and life will
once more become for him beautiful, brilliant, happy,- what it
was,-what it ought always to be,- and the memory of these
few months will fade away like a dream! "
-
“Like a dream! "— Fleurange repeated mechanically these two
words, passing her hand across her forehead as she spoke.
"I have not told you all," Vera said; "I have done you an
injury that I understand better than any other person can.
But," she continued, in a tone which went to the very depths
of her listener's heart, "I wished to save George! I desired him
to be restored to me! and I have believed I know not why,
for it seems most unreasonable, and I am ordinarily distrust-
ful-yes, I have believed that you would be willing to aid me,
against yourself! "
-
―
Fleurange, her hands clasped and resting upon her knees, her
eyes gazing steadfastly before her, had seemed for a few mo-
ments past not to have heard what was said. She was listen-
ing, but it was to that clear distinct voice that rang so true in
her own soul, that voice she had always so well known how to
recognize, and to which she had never denied obedience.
## p. 4149 (#527) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4149
If George were free, if he recovered his name, his rank, his
former position, would she not at once find herself in the same
position toward him which she had formerly occupied? — would
it not be treason to avail herself in this case of his mother's
permission, and that too to the detriment of her who sat there,
the wife chosen for him from his childhood? Would it not, still
further, be a treason towards him to present herself before him
as a danger, as an obstacle, which might, perhaps at the very
moment when he recovered his liberty, cause him to lose it
anew, with that momentary favor which had restored to him!
She laid her cold hand upon the hand of Vera, and lifted to
hers her gentle and steady gaze.
"It is enough," she said in a calm voice. "You have done
right. Yes, I have understood; be tranquil. ”
Vera, astonished at the look and tone, gazed at her
wonder.
"Act as if I were far
"Act fearlessly," pursued Fleurange.
as if I had never come. "
-
away,
And taking the petition which lay upon the table, she tore
it across, and threw it into the fire! The paper blazed up for a
few seconds, then went out. She watched the cinders fly up
the chimney.
in
Vera with an irresistible impulse seized the hand of Fleur-
ange and raised it to her lips; then she remained silent and
abashed. She had come resolved to overpower her rival, to
convince her, to struggle against her at every point, if she failed
in her first attempt; but her victory had taken a character which
she had not at all foreseen.
___
Certainly it had been an easy victory, and yet Vera under-
stood that it had been a cruel one. She felt at this moment
more pain than joy, and her attitude no more expressed triumph
than did that of Fleurange express defeat. While
While the one
remained with drooping head and downcast eyes, the other had
risen to her feet; a fugitive color lingered in her cheeks, the
effort of the sacrifice had lighted up her face and given it
unwonted brilliancy.
"I think," she said, "you have nothing more to say to me. "
"No- for what I should like to say I cannot and I dare
not. "
――――――――――
Vera rose and went towards the door, but a recollection
brought her back.
## p. 4150 (#528) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Pardon my forgetfulness," she said. "Here is your bracelet
which you dropped this morning, and which I was desired to
return to you. "
4150
At sight of the talisman Fleurange started; her unnatural
color faded, she became deadly pale, and as she looked at it in
silence, a few tears, the only ones which she had shed during
that interview, slid down her cheeks. But it was only for an
instant. Before Vera could think what she was about to do,
Fleurange had attached to the arm of her rival the bracelet
which the latter had just restored to her.
"This talisman was a present from the Princess Catherine to
her son's betrothed; it would bring happiness, she said. It is
mine no longer. I give it up to you; it is yours. "
Fleurange held out her hand. "We shall never see each
other again," she said.
"Let us not remember each other with
bitterness. "
Vera took the hand without looking up. Never had she felt
herself so touched and humiliated, and her very gratitude was a
wound to her pride. The grave and sweet voice of Fleurange
was however irresistible at this moment, and spoke to her heart
in spite of herself. She was hesitating between these two feel-
ings, when Fleurange resumed:-
"You are right. It is not my place to wait for you at this
moment, for you have nothing now to forgive,—and as for me,
I forgive you all. "
And while Vera still stood motionless with bowed head,
Fleurange bent towards her and kissed her.
## p. 4151 (#529) ###########################################
4151
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
(1854-)
NDREW LANG has justly called Crawford the "most versatile
and various of modern novelists. " Since the appearance of
'Mr. Isaacs' in 1882, he has written nearly thirty novels,
distinguished for their variety of subject and treatment. He belongs
to the race of cosmopolitan Americans; men who, having no mental
boundaries, accept for their literary inheritance the romantic tradi-
tions and customs of all nationalities. This natural taste, quickened
by European education and extensive travel, has made him swift to
comprehend all lands and races, with their
types of character developed by social or
national conditions. His adaptability of
mind is partially explained by him in 'The
Three Fates,' supposed to be autobio-
graphic, which describes the career of an
author. "The young man's true talent," he
says, "lay in his ready power of assimilat-
ing unfamiliar knowledge by a process of in-
tuition which escapes methodical learners. "
MARION CRAWFORD.
Mr. Crawford was born in Bagni di
Lucca, Italy, August 2d, 1854. He is of min-
gled ancestry. His father, Thomas Craw-
ford the sculptor, was a native of Ireland,
and his mother was an American. He
spent his early childhood in New York. After studying at Cam-
bridge, Heidelberg, Carlsruhe, and Rome, he went to India in 1879
and edited the Indian Herald at Allahabad. There he became
acquainted with a Persian jewel merchant who suggested the myste-
rious personality of 'Mr. Isaacs. ' Returning to America in 1881, he
wrote the romance which bears this title. The fantastic creation,
with its Oriental flavor, its hints of Anglo-India, the introduction
of Ram Lal, the shadowy adept of occultism, and the striking
figure of Mr. Isaacs, with his graceful languor, Iranian features, blaz-
ing eyes, and luxurious tastes, bestowed immediate celebrity upon its
author. This was followed by Dr. Claudius,' which, although less
romantic, showed increase in constructive skill. This became more
marked in 'To Leeward,' the unlovely and tragic story of a wife's
infidelity and of society in Rome. The tale of a peasant boy who
## p. 4152 (#530) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4152
became a famous tenor is the theme of 'A Roman Singer,' issued in
1884; and in the same year he published 'An American Politician,'
in which are discussed the party spirit and corruption of American
politics. In 1885 Zoroaster' was issued, a story of ancient Persia,
introducing the court of King Darius and the aged prophet Daniel.
After 'A Tale of a Lonely Parish,' a sketch of rural life in England,
one of his most popular books appeared-'Saracinesca,' which with
'Sant' Ilario' and 'Don Orsino' forms a trilogy describing the
history of an Italian noble family of that day, and indeed forms a
complete study of Rome from 1865 to 1887. Cardinal Antonelli is
brought upon the scene, and the bewildered and stormy period of
the last struggles of the Papacy for temporal power are painted with
vigorous skill and rapid generalization, until at last, as he says in
'Don Orsino,' –
"Old Rome is dead, never to be old Rome again. The last breath has
been breathed, the aged eyes are closed forever; corruption has done its
. work, and the grand skeleton lies bleaching upon seven hills, half covered
with the piecemeal stucco of a modern architectural body. "
'Marzio's Crucifix' (1887) is the tale of an atheistic artisan who
carves in silver. This possesses a psychological interest, and that
element deepens in the 'Witch of Prague' (1892), a bold and thrilling
tale of hypnotism. Paul Patoff' (1887) relates personal experiences
of a visit to Turkey; With the Immortals' (1888) is an attempt to
reanimate dead celebrities. 'Greifenstein' is a tragedy which takes
place in the Black Forest, and tells the fortunes of two noble Ger-
man families. It is valued for its accurate descriptions of the Korps
Studenten, with their extraordinary ideals of romance and honor,
tempered with foaming beer and sabre-cuts. 'The Cigarette Maker's
Romance' is a pathetic story of the madness of Count Skariatine;
'Khaled' a fanciful tale of a genie, who is promised a soul if he
can gain a woman's love. From romance and fancy, Mr. Crawford
turns to New York life in The Three Fates,' and in 'Katharine
Lauderdale' with its sequel The Ralstons. ' 'Marion Darche' is
also an American story. 'Adam Johnston's Son' depends upon a
simple tale of love for its interest; in 'Casa Braccio,' 'The Children
of the King,' and his last book 'Taquisara' (1896), the author returns
again to his familiar milieu, Italy.
This is a list of extraordinary variety and voluminousness. Since
1884 Mr. Crawford has lived near Sorrento. Here and in his yacht
he writes his novels. Although he has devoted much time to phi-
lology, he never intrudes dialect in his books, which are written
with the idea of pleasing instead of instructing his enormous audi-
ence. His works have been translated into various languages. He-
## p. 4153 (#531) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4153
He con-
has received many honors for his literary achievements.
siders Pietro Ghisleri' the most realistic of his books. In 1893 Mr.
Crawford published a small essay entitled 'The Novel: What it Is. '
In this he defines the novel as an "intellectual artistic luxury," a
"definition which can be made to include," he says, "a great deal,
but which is in reality a closer one than appears at first sight. It
covers the three principal essentials of the novel as it should be, of
a story, or romance; which in itself and in the manner of telling it
shall appeal to the intellect, shall satisfy the requirements of art,
and shall be a luxury, in that it can be of no use to a man when he
is at work, but may conduce to a peace of mind and delectation
during his hours of idleness. "
THE GHOST IN THE BERTH
From The Upper Berth,' in the Autonym Library': copyrighted by G. P.
Putnam's Sons
WE
E PLAYED whist in the evening, and I went to bed late. I
will confess now that I felt a disagreeable sensation
when I entered my state-room. I could not help think-
ing of the tall man I had seen on the previous night, who was
now dead,-drowned, tossing about in the long swell, two or
three hundred miles astern. His face rose very distinctly before
me as I undressed, and I even went so far as to draw back
the curtains of the upper berth, as though to persuade myself
that he was actually gone. I also bolted the door of the state-
room. Suddenly I became aware that the port-hole was open,
and fastened back. This was more than I could stand. I hastily
threw on my dressing-gown and went in search of Robert, the
steward of my passage. I was very angry, I remember, and
when I found him I dragged him roughly to the door of one
hundred and five, and pushed him towards the open port-hole.
"What the deuce do you mean, you scoundrel, by leaving that
port open every night? Don't you know it is against the regula-
tions? Don't you know that if the ship heeled and the water
began to come in, ten men could not shut it? I will report you
to the captain, you blackguard, for endangering the ship! "
I was exceedingly wroth. The man trembled and turned
pale, and then began to shut the round glass plate with the
heavy brass fittings.
"Why don't you answer me? " I said roughly.
## p. 4154 (#532) ###########################################
4154
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
"If you please, sir," faltered Robert, "there's nobody on
board as can keep this 'ere port shut at night. You can try it
yourself, sir.
I ain't a-going to stop hany longer on board o'
this vessel, sir; I ain't indeed. But if I was you, sir, I'd just
clear out and go and sleep with the surgeon, or something, I
would. Look 'ere, sir, is that fastened what you may call
securely, or not, sir? Try it, sir; see if it will move a hinch. "
I tried the port, and found it perfectly tight.
"Well, sir," continued Robert, triumphantly, "I wager my
reputation as a A steward, that in 'arf an hour it will be open
again; fastened back too, sir, that's the horful thing-fastened
back! "
I examined the great screw and the looped nut that ran on it.
"If I find it open in the night, Robert, I will give you a
sovereign. It is not possible. You may go.
>>>
"Soverin' did you say, sir? Very good, sir. Thank ye, sir.
Good night, sir. Pleasant reepose, sir, and all manner of hin-
chantin' dreams, sir. "
Robert scuttled away, delighted at being released.
Of course
I thought he was trying to account for his negligence by a silly
story intended to frighten me, and I disbelieved him. The con-
sequence was that he got his sovereign, and I spent a very
peculiarly unpleasant night.
I went to bed, and five minutes after I had rolled myself up
in my blankets the inexorable Robert extinguished the light that
burned steadily behind the ground-glass pane near the door. I lay
quite still in the dark trying to go to sleep, but I soon found
that impossible. It had been some satisfaction to be angry with
the steward, and the diversion had banished that unpleasant
sensation I had at first experienced when I thought of the
drowned man who had been my chum; but I was no longer
sleepy, and I lay awake for some time, occasionally glancing at
the porthole, which I could just see from where I lay, and
which in the darkness looked like a faintly luminous soup-plate
suspended in blackness. I believe I must have lain there for an
hour, and, as I remember, I was just dozing into sleep when I
was roused by a draught of cold air and by distinctly feeling the
spray of the sea blown upon my face. I started to my feet, and
not having allowed in the dark for the motion of the ship, I was
instantly thrown violently across the state-room upon the couch
which was placed beneath the porthole. I recovered myself
## p. 4155 (#533) ###########################################
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4155
The port-
immediately, however, and climbed upon my knees.
hole was again wide open and fastened back!
Now these things are facts. I was wide awake when I got
up, and I should certainly have been waked by the fall had I
still been dozing. Moreover, I bruised my elbows and knees
badly, and the bruises were there on the following morning to
testify to the fact, if I myself had doubted it. The port-hole was
wide open and fastened back-a thing so unaccountable that I
remember very well feeling astonishment rather than fear when
I discovered it. I at once closed the plate again and screwed
down the looped nut with all my strength. It was very dark in
the state-room. I reflected that the port had certainly been
opened within an hour after Robert had at first shut it in my
presence, and I determined to watch it and see whether it would
open again. Those brass fittings are very heavy and by no
means easy to move; I could not believe that the clump had
been turned by the shaking of the screw. I stood peering out
through the thick glass at the alternate white and gray streaks
of the sea that foamed beneath the ship's side. I must have
remained there a quarter of an hour.
Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something moving
behind me in one of the berths, and a moment afterwards, just
as I turned instinctively to look-though I could of course see
nothing in the darkness-I heard a very faint groan. I sprang
across the state-room and tore the curtains of the upper berth
aside, thrusting in my hands to discover if there were any one
there. There was some one.
I remember that the sensation as I put my hands forward was
as though I were plunging them into the air of a damp cellar,
and from behind the curtain came a gust of wind that smelled
horribly of stagnant sea-water. I laid hold of something that
had the shape of a man's arm, but was smooth and wet and
icy cold.
But suddenly, as I pulled, the creature sprang violently
forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, as it seemed to me,
heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of supernatural strength.
I reeled across the state-room, and in an instant the door opened
and the thing rushed out. I had not had time to be frightened,
and quickly recovering myself I sprang through the door and
gave chase at the top of my speed; but I was too late. Ten
yards before me I could see - I am sure I saw it
a dark
shadow moving in the dimly lighted passage, quickly as the
-
## p. 4156 (#534) ###########################################
4156
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dog-cart by the lamp on
a dark night. But in a moment it had disappeared, and I found
myself holding on to the polished rail that ran along the bulk-
head where the passage turned towards the companion. My hair
stood on end, and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I
am not ashamed of it in the least: I was very badly frightened.
Still I doubted my senses, and pulled myself together. It was
absurd, I thought. The Welsh rare-bit I had eaten had disagreed
with me. I had been in a nightmare. I made my way back to
my state-room, and entered it with an effort. The whole place.
smelled of stagnant sea-water, as it had when I had waked on
the previous evening. It required my utmost strength to go in
and grope among my things for a box of wax lights. As I
lighted a railway reading lantern which I always carry in case I
want to read after the lamps are out, I perceived that the port-
hole was again open, and a sort of creeping horror began to
take possession of me which I never felt before, nor wish to feel
again. But I got a light and proceeded to examine the upper
berth, expecting to find it drenched with sea-water.
But I was disappointed. The bed had been slept in, and the
smell of the sea was strong; but the bedding was as dry as a
bone. I fancied that Robert had not had the courage to make
the bed after the accident of the previous night-it had all been
a hideous dream. I drew the curtains back as far as I could,
and examined the place very carefully. It was perfectly dry.
But the port-hole was open again. With a sort of dull bewilder-
ment of horror I closed it and screwed it down, and thrusting
my heavy stick through the brass loop, wrenched it with all my
might till the thick metal began to bend under the pressure.
Then I hooked my reading lantern into the red velvet at the
head of the couch, and sat down to recover my senses if I could.
I sat there all night, unable to think of rest-hardly able to
think at all. But the port-hole remained closed, and I did not
believe it would now open again without the application of a
considerable force.
myself slowly,
It was a beau-
The morning dawned at last, and I dressed
thinking over all that had happened in the night.
tiful day, and I went on deck, glad to get out in the early pure
sunshine, and to smell the breeze from the blue water, so different
from the noisome, stagnant odor from my state-room. Instinct-
ively I turned aft, towards the surgeon's cabin. There he stood,
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with a pipe in his mouth, taking his morning airing precisely as
on the preceding day.
"Good-morning," said he, quietly, but looking at me with
evident curiosity.
"There is something
"Doctor, you were quite right," said I.
wrong about that place. "
"I thought you would change your mind," he answered,
rather triumphantly. "You have had a bad night, eh? Shall I
make you a pick-me-up? I have a capital recipe. "
"No, thanks," I cried. "But I would like to tell you what
happened. "
I then tried to explain as clearly as possible precisely what
had occurred, not omitting to state that I had been scared as I
had never been scared in my whole life before. I dwelt particu-
larly on the phenomenon of the port-hole, which was a fact to
which I could testify, even if the rest had been an illusion. I
had closed it twice in the night, and the second time I had
actually bent the brass in wrenching it with my stick. I believe
I insisted a good deal on this point.
"You seem to think I am likely to doubt the story," said the
doctor, smiling at the detailed account of the state of the port-
hole. "I do not doubt it in the least. I renew my invitation to
you. Bring your traps here, and take half my cabin. "
"Come and take half of mine for one night," I said. "Help
me to get at the bottom of this thing. "
"You will get at the bottom of something else if you try,"
answered the doctor.
"What? " I asked.
"The bottom of the sea. I am going to leave the ship. It
is not canny. "
"Then
you will not help me to find out
"Not I," said the doctor, quickly. "It is my business to
keep my wits about me-not to go fiddling about with ghosts.
and things. "
>>
"Do you really believe it is a ghost? " I inquired, rather
contemptuously. But as I spoke I remembered very well the
horrible sensation of the supernatural which had got possession
of me during the night. The doctor turned sharply on me.
"Have you any reasonable explanation of these things to
offer? " he asked. "No, you have not. Well, you say you will
find an explanation. I say that you won't, sir, simply because
there is not any >>
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FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
"But, my dear sir," I retorted, "do you, a man of science,
mean to tell me that such things cannot be explained? "
"I do," he answered, stoutly. "And if they could, I would
not be concerned in the explanation. "
I did not care to spend another night alone in the state-
room, and yet I was obstinately determined to get at the root
of the disturbances. I do not believe there are many men who
would have slept there alone, after passing two such nights.
But I made up my mind to try it, if I could not get any one to
share a watch with me. The doctor was evidently not inclined.
for such an experiment. He said he was a surgeon, and that in
case any accident occurred on board he must always be in readi-
ness. He could not afford to have his nerves unsettled. Perhaps
he was quite right, but I am inclined to think that his precaution
was prompted by his inclination. On inquiry, he informed me
that there was no one on board who would be likely to join me
in my investigations, and after a little more conversation I left
him. A little later I met the captain, and told him my story.
I said that if no one would spend the night with me I would
ask leave to have the light burning all night, and would try it
alone.
"Look here," said he, "I will tell you what I will do. I will
share your watch myself, and we will see what happens. It is
my belief that we can find out between us. There may be some
fellow skulking on board, who steals a passage by frightening
the passengers. It is just possible that there may be something
queer in the carpentering of that berth. "
I suggested taking the ship's carpenter below and examining
the place; but I was overjoyed at the captain's offer to spend
the night with me. He accordingly sent for the workman and
ordered him to do anything I required. We went below at once.
I had all the bedding cleared out of the upper berth, and we
examined the place thoroughly to see if there was a board loose
anywhere, or a panel which could be opened or pushed aside.
We tried the planks everywhere, tapped the flooring, unscrewed
the fittings of the lower berth and took it to pieces: in short,
there was not a square inch of the state-room which was not
searched and tested. Everything was in perfect order, and we
put everything back in its place. As we were finishing our
work, Robert came to the door and looked in.
"Well, sir - find anything, sir? " he asked with a ghastly
grin.
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"You were right about the port-hole, Robert," I said; and I
gave him the promised sovereign. The carpenter did his work
silently and skillfully, following my directions. When he had
done he spoke.
"I'm a plain man, sir," he said. "But it's my belief you had
better just turn out your things and let me run half a dozen
four-inch screws through the door of this cabin. There's no
good never came o' this cabin yet, sir, and that's all about it.
There's been four lives lost out o' here to my own remembrance,
and that in four trips. Better give it up, sir—better give it up! "
"I will try it for one night more," I said.
"Better give it up, sir- better give it up! It's a precious
bad job," repeated the workman, putting his tools in his bag
and leaving the cabin.
But my spirits had risen considerably at the prospect of hav-
ing the captain's company, and I made up my mind not to be
prevented from going to the end of the strange business. I
abstained from Welsh rare-bits and grog that evening, and did
not even join in the customary game of whist. I wanted to be
quite sure of my nerves, and my vanity made me anxious to
make a good figure in the captain's eyes.
A THWARTED PLAN
From 'Marzio's Crucifix': copyrighted 1887, by F. Marion Crawford, and re-
produced by permission of the Macmillan Company, Publishers
M
ARZIO entered the inner studio when Gianbattista was gone,
leaving a boy who was learning to cut little files-the
preliminary to the chiseler's profession-in charge of the
outer workshop. The artist shut himself in and bolted the door,
glad to be alone with the prospect of not being disturbed during
the whole afternoon. He seemed not to hesitate about the work
he intended to do, for he immediately took in hand the crucifix,
laid it upon the table, and began to study it, using a lens from
time to time as he scrutinized each detail. His rough hair fell
forward over his forehead, and his shoulders rounded themselves
till he looked almost deformed.
He had suffered very strong emotions during the last twenty-
four hours-enough to have destroyed the steadiness of an ordi-
nary man's hand, but with Marzio manual skill was the first
habit of nature, and it would have been hard to find a mental
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FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
impression which could shake his physical nerves. His mind,
however, worked rapidly and almost fiercely, while his eyes
searched the minute lines of the work he was examining.
Uppermost in his thoughts was a confused sense of humilia-
tion and of exasperation against his brother. The anger he felt
had nearly been expressed in a murderous deed not more than
two or three hours earlier, and the wish to strike was still
present in his mind. He twisted his lips into an ugly smile as
he recalled the scene in every detail; but the determination was
different from the reality, and more in accordance with his feel-
ings. He realized again that moment during which he had held
the sharp instrument over his brother's head, and the thought
which had then passed so rapidly through his brain recurred again
with increased clearness. He remembered that beneath the iron-
bound box in the corner there was a trap-door which descended
to the unused cellar, for his workshop had in former times been
a wine-shop, and he had hired the cellar with it. One sharp
blow would have done the business. A few quick movements,
and Paolo's body would have been thrown down the dark steps.
beneath, the trap closed again, the safe replaced in its position. It
was eleven o'clock then, or thereabouts. He would have sent the
workmen to their dinner, and would have returned to the inner
studio. They would have supposed afterwards that Don Paolo
had left the place with him. He would have gone home and
would have said that Paolo had left him—or no-he would have
said that Paolo had not been there, for some one might see him
leave the workshop alone. In the night he would have returned,
his family thinking he had gone to meet his friends, as he often
did. When the streets were quiet he would have carried the
body away upon the hand-cart that stood in the entry of the outer
room. It was not far - scarcely three hundred yards, allowing
for the turnings-to the place where the Via Montella ends in a
mud bank by the dark river. A deserted neighborhood too—a
turn to the left, the low trees of the Piazza de' Branca, the dark,
short, straight street to the water. At one o'clock after midnight
who was stirring? It would all have been so simple, so terribly
effectual.
And then there would have been no more Paolo, no more
domestic annoyances, no more of the priest's smooth-faced disap-
probation and perpetual opposition in the house. He would have
soon brought Maria Luisa and Lucia to reason. What could they
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do without the support of Paolo? They were only women after
all. As for Gianbattista, if once the poisonous influence of Paolo
were removed - and how surely removed! Marzio's lips twisted
as though he were tasting the sourness of failure, like an acid
fruit-if once the priest were gone, Gianbattista would come back
to his old ways, to his old scorn of priests in general, of churches,
of oppression, of everything that Marzio hated. He might marry
Lucia then, and be welcome. After all, he was a finer fellow
for the pretty girl than Gasparo Carnesecchi, with his claw fin-
gers and his vinegar salad. That was only a farce, that proposal
about the lawyer- the real thing was to get rid of Paolo. There
could be no healthy liberty of thought in the house while this
fellow was sneaking in and out at all hours. Tumble Paolo into
a quiet grave,- into the river with a sackful of old castings at
his neck, there would be peace then, and freedom. Marzio
ground his teeth as he thought how nearly he had done the
thing, and how miserably he had failed. It had been the inspi-
ration of the moment, and the details had appeared clear at once
to his mind. Going over them he found that he had not been
mistaken. If Paolo came again, and he had the chance, he
I would do it. It was perhaps all the better that he had found
time to weigh the matter.
But would Paolo come again? Would he ever trust himself
alone in the workshop? Had he guessed, when he turned so
suddenly and saw the weapon in the air, that the blow was on
the very point of descending? Or had he been deceived by the
clumsy excuse Marzio had made about the sun shining in his
eyes?
He had remained calm, or Marzio tried to think so. But the
artist himself had been so much moved during the minutes that
followed that he could hardly feel sure of Paolo's behavior. It
was a chilling thought, that Paolo might have understood and
might have gone away feeling that his life had been saved.
almost by a miracle. He would not come back, the cunning
priest, in that case; he would not risk his precious skin in such
company. It was not to be expected-a priest was only human,
after all, like any other man. Marzio cursed his ill luck again as
he bent over his work. What a moment this would be if Paolo
would take it into his head to make another. visit! Even the
men were gone. He would send the one boy who remained to
the church where Gianbattista was working, with a message.
VII-261
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They would be alone then, he and Paolo. The priest might
scream and call for help- the thick walls would not let any
sound through them. It would be even better than in the morn-
ing, when he had lost his opportunity by a moment, by the
twinkling of an eye.
"They say hell is paved with good intentions- or lost oppor-
tunities," muttered Marzio.
