The Project Gutenberg Etext of New Arabian Nights

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In order that he might not be entirely idle, and to give a certain
colour to his way of life, Francis had purchased Euclid's Geometry
in French, which he set himself to copy and translate on the top of
his portmanteau and seated on the floor against the wall; for he
was equally without chair or table. From time to time he would
rise and cast a glance into the enclosure of the house with the
green blinds; but the windows remained obstinately closed and the
garden empty.

Only late in the evening did anything occur to reward his continued
attention. Between nine and ten the sharp tinkle of a bell aroused
him from a fit of dozing; and he sprang to his observatory in time
to hear an important noise of locks being opened and bars removed,
and to see Mr. Vandeleur, carrying a lantern and clothed in a
flowing robe of black velvet with a skull-cap to match, issue from
under the verandah and proceed leisurely towards the garden gate.
The sound of bolts and bars was then repeated; and a moment after
Francis perceived the Dictator escorting into the house, in the
mobile light of the lantern, an individual of the lowest and most
despicable appearance.

Half-an-hour afterwards the visitor was reconducted to the street;
and Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of the rustic tables,
finished a cigar with great deliberation under the foliage of the
chestnut. Francis, peering through a clear space among the leaves,
was able to follow his gestures as he threw away the ash or enjoyed
a copious inhalation; and beheld a cloud upon the old man's brow
and a forcible action of the lips, which testified to some deep and
probably painful train of thought. The cigar was already almost at
an end, when the voice of a young girl was heard suddenly crying
the hour from the interior of the house.

"In a moment," replied John Vandeleur.

And, with that, he threw away the stump and, taking up the lantern,
sailed away under the verandah for the night. As soon as the door
was closed, absolute darkness fell upon the house; Francis might
try his eyesight as much as he pleased, he could not detect so much
as a single chink of light below a blind; and he concluded, with
great good sense, that the bed-chambers were all upon the other
side.

Early the next morning (for he was early awake after an
uncomfortable night upon the floor), he saw cause to adopt a
different explanation. The blinds rose, one after another, by
means of a spring in the interior, and disclosed steel shutters
such as we see on the front of shops; these in their turn were
rolled up by a similar contrivance; and for the space of about an
hour, the chambers were left open to the morning air. At the end
of that time Mr. Vandeleur, with his own hand, once more closed the
shutters and replaced the blinds from within.

While Francis was still marvelling at these precautions, the door
opened and a young girl came forth to look about her in the garden.
It was not two minutes before she re-entered the house, but even in
that short time he saw enough to convince him that she possessed
the most unusual attractions. His curiosity was not only highly
excited by this incident, but his spirits were improved to a still
more notable degree. The alarming manners and more than equivocal
life of his father ceased from that moment to prey upon his mind;
from that moment he embraced his new family with ardour; and
whether the young lady should prove his sister or his wife, he felt
convinced she was an angel in disguise. So much was this the case
that he was seized with a sudden horror when he reflected how
little he really knew, and how possible it was that he had followed
the wrong person when he followed Mr. Vandeleur.

The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him little information;
but, such as it was, it had a mysterious and questionable sound.
The person next door was an English gentleman of extraordinary
wealth, and proportionately eccentric in his tastes and habits. He
possessed great collections, which he kept in the house beside him;
and it was to protect these that he had fitted the place with steel
shutters, elaborate fastenings, and CHEVAUX-DE-FRISE along the
garden wall. He lived much alone, in spite of some strange
visitors with whom, it seemed, he had business to transact; and
there was no one else in the house, except Mademoiselle and an old
woman servant

"Is Mademoiselle his daughter?" inquired Francis.

"Certainly," replied the porter. "Mademoiselle is the daughter of
the house; and strange it is to see how she is made to work. For
all his riches, it is she who goes to market; and every day in the
week you may see her going by with a basket on her arm."

"And the collections?" asked the other.

"Sir," said the man, "they are immensely valuable. More I cannot
tell you. Since M. de Vandeleur's arrival no one in the quarter
has so much as passed the door."

"Suppose not," returned Francis, "you must surely have some notion
what these famous galleries contain. Is it pictures, silks,
statues, jewels, or what?"

"My faith, sir," said the fellow with a shrug, "it might be
carrots, and still I could not tell you. How should I know? The
house is kept like a garrison, as you perceive."

And then as Francis was returning disappointed to his room, the
porter called him back.

"I have just remembered, sir," said he. "M. de Vandeleur has been
in all parts of the world, and I once heard the old woman declare
that he had brought many diamonds back with him. If that be the
truth, there must be a fine show behind those shutters."

By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his place at the theatre.
The seat which had been taken for him was only two or three numbers
from the left-hand side, and directly opposite one of the lower
boxes. As the seat had been specially chosen there was doubtless
something to be learned from its position; and he judged by an
instinct that the box upon his right was, in some way or other, to
be connected with the drama in which he ignorantly played a part.
Indeed, it was so situated that its occupants could safely observe
him from beginning to end of the piece, if they were so minded;
while, profiting by the depth, they could screen themselves
sufficiently well from any counter-examination on his side. He
promised himself not to leave it for a moment out of sight; and
whilst he scanned the rest of the theatre, or made a show of
attending to the business of the stage, he always kept a corner of
an eye upon the empty box.

The second act had been some time in progress, and was even drawing
towards a close, when the door opened and two persons entered and
ensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could
hardly control his emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter.
The blood came and went in his arteries and veins with stunning
activity; his ears sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest
he should awake suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept reading
from end to end and over and over again, turned from white to red
before his eyes; and when he cast a glance upon the stage, it
seemed incalculably far away, and he found the voices and gestures
of the actors to the last degree impertinent and absurd.

From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction which
principally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that
his eyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over
his body, and he saw all the colours of the rainbow. What would he
not have given to overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs?
What would he not have given for the courage to take up his opera-
glass and steadily inspect their attitude and expression? There,
for aught he knew, his whole life was being decided - and he not
able to interfere, not able even to follow the debate, but
condemned to sit and suffer where he was, in impotent anxiety.

At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, and the people
around him began to leave their places, for the interval. It was
only natural that he should follow their example; and if he did so,
it was not only natural but necessary that he should pass
immediately in front of the box in question. Summoning all his
courage, but keeping his eyes lowered, Francis drew near the spot.
His progress was slow, for the old gentleman before him moved with
incredible deliberation, wheezing as he went. What was he to do?
Should he address the Vandeleurs by name as he went by? Should he
take the flower from his button-hole and throw it into the box?
Should he raise his face and direct one long and affectionate look
upon the lady who was either his sister or his betrothed? As he
found himself thus struggling among so many alternatives, he had a
vision of his old equable existence in the bank, and was assailed
by a thought of regret for the past.

By this time he had arrived directly opposite the box; and although
he was still undetermined what to do or whether to do anything, he
turned his head and lifted his eyes. No sooner had he done so than
he uttered a cry of disappointment and remained rooted to the spot.
The box was empty. During his slow advance Mr. Vandeleur and his
daughter had quietly slipped away.

A polite person in his rear reminded him that he was stopping the
path; and he moved on again with mechanical footsteps, and suffered
the crowd to carry him unresisting out of the theatre. Once in the
street, the pressure ceasing, he came to a halt, and the cool night
air speedily restored him to the possession of his faculties. He
was surprised to find that his head ached violently, and that he
remembered not one word of the two acts which he had witnessed. As
the excitement wore away, it was succeeded by an overweening
appetite for sleep, and he hailed a cab and drove to his lodging in
a state of extreme exhaustion and some disgust of life.

Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur on her road to
market, and by eight o'clock beheld her stepping down a lane. She
was simply, and even poorly, attired; but in the carriage of her
head and body there was something flexible and noble that would
have lent distinction to the meanest toilette. Even her basket, so
aptly did she carry it, became her like an ornament. It seemed to
Francis, as he slipped into a doorway, that the sunshine followed
and the shadows fled before her as she walked; and he was
conscious, for the first time, of a bird singing in a cage above
the lane.

He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then, coming forth once
more, addressed her by name from behind. "Miss Vandeleur," said
he.

She turned and, when she saw who he was, became deadly pale.

"Pardon me," he continued; "Heaven knows I had no will to startle
you; and, indeed, there should be nothing startling in the presence
of one who wishes you so well as I do. And, believe me, I am
acting rather from necessity than choice. We have many things in
common, and I am sadly in the dark. There is much that I should be
doing, and my hands are tied. I do not know even what to feel, nor
who are my friends and enemies."

She found her voice with an effort.

"I do not know who you are," she said.

"Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do," returned Francis "better than I
do myself. Indeed, it is on that, above all, that I seek light.
Tell me what you know," he pleaded. "Tell me who I am, who you
are, and how our destinies are intermixed. Give me a little help
with my life, Miss Vandeleur - only a word or two to guide me, only
the name of my father, if you will - and I shall be grateful and
content."

"I will not attempt to deceive you," she replied. "I know who you
are, but I am not at liberty to say."

"Tell me, at least, that you have forgiven my presumption, and I
shall wait with all the patience I have," he said. "If I am not to
know, I must do without. It is cruel, but I can bear more upon a
push. Only do not add to my troubles the thought that I have made
an enemy of you."

"You did only what was natural," she said, "and I have nothing to
forgive you. Farewell."

"Is it to be FAREWELL?" he asked.

"Nay, that I do not know myself," she answered. "Farewell for the
present, if you like."

And with these words she was gone.

Francis returned to his lodging in a state of considerable
commotion of mind. He made the most trifling progress with his
Euclid for that forenoon, and was more often at the window than at
his improvised writing-table. But beyond seeing the return of Miss
Vandeleur, and the meeting between her and her father, who was
smoking a Trichinopoli cigar in the verandah, there was nothing
notable in the neighbourhood of the house with the green blinds
before the time of the mid-day meal. The young man hastily allayed
his appetite in a neighbouring restaurant, and returned with the
speed of unallayed curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic. A
mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and fro before the
garden wall; and the porter of Francis's lodging was smoking a pipe
against the door-post, absorbed in contemplation of the livery and
the steeds.

"Look!" he cried to the young man, "what fine cattle! what an
elegant costume! They belong to the brother of M. de Vandeleur,
who is now within upon a visit. He is a great man, a general, in
your country; and you doubtless know him well by reputation."

"I confess," returned Francis, "that I have never heard of General
Vandeleur before. We have many officers of that grade, and my
pursuits have been exclusively civil."

"It is he," replied the porter, "who lost the great diamond of the
Indies. Of that at least you must have read often in the papers."

As soon as Francis could disengage himself from the porter he ran
upstairs and hurried to the window. Immediately below the clear
space in the chestnut leaves, the two gentlemen were seated in
conversation over a cigar. The General, a red, military-looking
man, offered some traces of a family resemblance to his brother; he
had something of the same features, something, although very
little, of the same free and powerful carriage; but he was older,
smaller, and more common in air; his likeness was that of a
caricature, and he seemed altogether a poor and debile being by the
side of the Dictator.

They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table with every
appearance of interest, that Francis could catch no more than a
word or two on an occasion. For as little as he heard, he was
convinced that the conversation turned upon himself and his own
career; several times the name of Scrymgeour reached his ear, for
it was easy to distinguish, and still more frequently he fancied he
could distinguish the name Francis.

At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forth into
several violent exclamations.

"Francis Vandeleur!" he cried, accentuating the last word.
"Francis Vandeleur, I tell you."

The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, half affirmative,
half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudible to the young man.

Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered. Were they
discussing the name under which he was to be married? Or was the
whole affair a dream and a delusion of his own conceit and self-
absorption?

After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemed again
to arise between the couple underneath the chestnut, and again the
General raised his voice angrily so as to be audible to Francis.

"My wife?" he cried. "I have done with my wife for good. I will
not hear her name. I am sick of her very name."

And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.

The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify him after a
paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted him to the
garden-gate. The pair shook hands affectionately enough; but as
soon as the door had closed behind his visitor, John Vandeleur fell
into a fit of laughter which sounded unkindly and even devilish in
the ears of Francis Scrymgeour.

So another day had passed, and little more learnt. But the young
man remembered that the morrow was Tuesday, and promised himself
some curious discoveries; all might be well, or all might be ill;
he was sure, at least, to glean some curious information, and,
perhaps, by good luck, get at the heart of the mystery which
surrounded his father and his family.

As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparations were made in
the garden of the house with the green blinds. That table which
was partly visible to Francis through the chestnut leaves was
destined to serve as a sideboard, and carried relays of plates and
the materials for salad: the other, which was almost entirely
concealed, had been set apart for the diners, and Francis could
catch glimpses of white cloth and silver plate.

Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked like a man
upon his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. The Dictator, on the
other hand, appeared to enjoy an unusual flow of spirits; his
laugh, which was youthful and pleasant to hear, sounded frequently
from the garden; by the modulation and the changes of his voice it
was obvious that he told many droll stories and imitated the
accents of a variety of different nations; and before he and the
young clergyman had finished their vermouth all feeling of distrust
was at an end, and they were talking together like a pair of school
companions.

At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance, carrying the soup-
tureen. Mr. Rolles ran to offer her assistance which she
laughingly refused; and there was an interchange of pleasantries
among the trio which seemed to have reference to this primitive
manner of waiting by one of the company.

"One is more at one's ease," Mr. Vandeleur was heard to declare.

Next moment they were all three in their places, and Francis could
see as little as he could hear of what passed. But the dinner
seemed to go merrily; there was a perpetual babble of voices and
sound of knives and forks below the chestnut; and Francis, who had
no more than a roll to gnaw, was affected with envy by the comfort
and deliberation of the meal. The party lingered over one dish
after another, and then over a delicate dessert, with a bottle of
old wine carefully uncorked by the hand of the Dictator himself.
As it began to grow dark a lamp was set upon the table and a couple
of candles on the sideboard; for the night was perfectly pure,
starry, and windless. Light overflowed besides from the door and
window in the verandah, so that the garden was fairly illuminated
and the leaves twinkled in the darkness.

For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur entered the house; and on
this occasion she returned with the coffee-tray, which she placed
upon the sideboard. At the same moment her father rose from his
seat.

"The coffee is my province," Francis heard him say.

And next moment he saw his supposed father standing by the
sideboard in the light of the candles.

Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleur poured out
two cups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid act of
prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the
smaller of the two. The thing was so swiftly done that even
Francis, who looked straight into his face, had hardly time to
perceive the movement before it was completed. And next instant,
and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleur had turned again towards the
table with a cup in either hand.

"Ere we have done with this," said he, "we may expect our famous
Hebrew."

It would be impossible to depict the confusion and distress of
Francis Scrymgeour. He saw foul play going forward before his
eyes, and he felt bound to interfere, but knew not how. It might
be a mere pleasantry, and then how should he look if he were to
offer an unnecessary warning? Or again, if it were serious, the
criminal might be his own father, and then how should he not lament
if he were to bring ruin on the author of his days? For the first
time he became conscious of his own position as a spy. To wait
inactive at such a juncture and with such a conflict of sentiments
in his bosom was to suffer the most acute torture; he clung to the
bars of the shutters, his heart beat fast and with irregularity,
and he felt a strong sweat break forth upon his body.

Several minutes passed.

He seemed to perceive the conversation die away and grow less and
less in vivacity and volume; but still no sign of any alarming or
even notable event.

Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was followed by a faint and
dull sound, as of a person who should have fallen forward with his
head upon the table. At the same moment a piercing scream rose
from the garden.

"What have you done?" cried Miss Vandeleur. "He is dead!"

The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so strong and sibilant
that every word was audible to the watcher at the window.

"Silence!' said Mr. Vandeleur; "the man is as well as I am. Take
him by the heels whilst I carry him by the shoulders."

Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a passion of tears.

"Do you hear what I say?" resumed the Dictator, in the same tones.
"Or do you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss
Vandeleur."

There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.

"Take that man by the heels," he said. "I must have him brought
into the house. If I were a little younger, I could help myself
against the world. But now that years and dangers are upon me and
my hands are weakened, I must turn to you for aid."

"It is a crime," replied the girl.

"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.

This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise
followed upon the gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw
the father and daughter stagger across the walk and disappear under
the verandah, bearing the inanimate body of Mr. Rolles embraced
about the knees and shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and
pallid, and his head rolled upon his shoulders at every step.

Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator's
declaration, inclined to the latter view. A great crime had been
committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the inhabitants of the
house with the green blinds. To his surprise, Francis found all
horror for the deed swallowed up in sorrow for a girl and an old
man whom he judged to be in the height of peril. A tide of
generous feeling swept into his heart; he, too, would help his
father against man and mankind, against fate and justice; and
casting open the shutters he closed his eyes and threw himself with
out-stretched arms into the foliage of the chestnut.

Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke under his
weight; then he caught a stalwart bough under his armpit, and hung
suspended for a second; and then he let himself drop and fell
heavily against the table. A cry of alarm from the house warned
him that his entrance had not been effected unobserved. He
recovered himself with a stagger, and in three bounds crossed the
intervening space and stood before the door in the verandah.

In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and surrounded by
glazed cabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr. Vandeleur was
stooping over the body of Mr. Rolles. He raised himself as Francis
entered, and there was an instantaneous passage of hands. It was
the business of a second; as fast as an eye can wink the thing was
done; the young man had not the time to be sure, but it seemed to
him as if the Dictator had taken something from the curate's
breast, looked at it for the least fraction of time as it lay in
his hand, and then suddenly and swiftly passed it to his daughter.

All this was over while Francis had still one foot upon the
threshold, and the other raised in air. The next instant he was on
his knees to Mr. Vandeleur.

"Father!" he cried. "Let me too help you. I will do what you wish
and ask no questions; I will obey you with my life; treat me as a
son, and you will find I have a son's devotion."

A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictator's first reply.

"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? What d-d unnatural
comedy is all this? How do you come in my garden? What do you
want? And who, in God's name, are you?"

Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon his feet
again, and stood in silence.

Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he laughed
aloud

"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr.
Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand. You
have entered my private residence by force, or perhaps by fraud,
but certainly with no encouragement from me; and you come at a
moment of some annoyance, a guest having fainted at my table, to
besiege me with your protestations. You are no son of mine. You
are my brother's bastard by a fishwife, if you want to know. I
regard you with an indifference closely bordering on aversion; and
from what I now see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be
exactly suitable to your exterior. I recommend you these
mortifying reflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let
me beseech you to rid us of your presence. If I were not
occupied," added the Dictator, with a terrifying oath, "I should
give you the unholiest drubbing ere you went!"

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