Part 8 (2/2)
Her father sent her to bed early. Seaton watched, as he had often done before, till her light went out; and then he flung himself on the wet gra.s.s and stared at the sky in utter misery.
The mind is often clearest in the middle of the night; and all of a sudden he saw, as if written on the sky, that she was going to England expressly to marry Arthur Wardlaw.
At this revelation he started up, stung with hate as well as love, and his tortured mind rebelled furiously. He repeated his vow that this should never be; and soon a scheme came into his head to prevent it; but it was a project so wild and dangerous that, even as his heated brain hatched it, his cooler judgment said, ”Fly, madman, fly! or this love will _destroy_ you!”
He listened to the voice of reason, and in another minute he was out of the premises. He fluttered to his lodgings.
When he got there he could not go in; he turned and fluttered about the streets, not knowing or caring whither; his mind was in a whirl; and, what with his bodily fever and his boiling heart, pa.s.sion began to overpower reason, that had held out so gallantly till now. He found himself at the harbor, staring with wild and bloodshot eyes at the _Proserpine,_ he who, an hour ago, had seen that he had but one thing to do--to try and forget young Wardlaw's bride. He groaned aloud, and ran wildly back into the town. He hurried up and down one narrow street, raging inwardly, like some wild beast in its den.
By-and-by his mood changed, and he hung round a lamp-post and fell to moaning and lamenting his hard fate and hers.
A policeman came up, took him for a maudlin drunkard, and half-advised, half-admonished, him to go home.
At that he gave a sort of fierce, despairing snarl and ran into the next street to be alone.
In this street he found a shop open and lighted, though it was but five o'clock in the morning. It was a barber's whose customers were working people. HAIRCUTTING, SIXPENCE. EASY SHAVING, THREEPENCE. HOT COFFEE, FOURPENCE THE CUP. Seaton's eye fell upon this shop. He looked at it fixedly a moment from the opposite side of the way and then hurried on.
He turned suddenly and came back. He crossed the road and entered the shop. The barber was leaning over the stove, removing a can of boiling water from the fire to the hob. He turned at the sound of Seaton's step and revealed an ugly countenance, rendered sinister by a squint.
Seaton dropped into a chair and said, ”I want my beard taken off.”
The man looked at him, if it could be called looking at him, and said dryly, ”Oh, do ye? How much am I to have for that job?”
”You know your own charge.”
”Of course I do. Threepence a chin.”
”Very well. Be quick then.”
”Stop a bit. That is my charge to working folk. I must have something more off you.”
”Very well, man, I'll pay you double.”
”My price to you is ten s.h.i.+llings.”
”Why, what is that for?” asked Seaton in some alarm; he thought, in his confusion, the man must have read his heart.
”I'll tell ye why,” said the squinting barber. ”No, I won't. I'll show ye.” He brought a small mirror and suddenly clapped it before Seaton's eyes. Seaton started at his own image; wild, ghastly, and the eyes so bloodshot. The barber chuckled. This start was an extorted compliment to his own sagacity. ”Now wasn't I right?” said he; ”did I ought to take the beard off such a mug as that--for less than ten s.h.i.+llings?”
”I see,” groaned Seaton; ”you think I have committed some crime. One man sees me weeping with misery; he calls me a drunkard; another sees me pale with the anguish of my breaking heart; he calls me a felon. May G.o.d's curse light on him and you, and all mankind!”
”All right,” said the squinting barber, apathetically; ”my price is ten bob, whether or no.”
Seaton felt in his pockets. ”I have not got the money about me,” said he.
”Oh, I'm not particular; leave your watch.”
Seaton handed the squinting vampire his watch without another word and let his head fall upon his breast.
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