Part 10 (1/2)

Stephen writhed like an eel, indeed, and his lips blanched. Was the old man delirious, or had he, Stephen, really played the part of sycophant, toady and boot-licker all these years for nothing?

Great drops of sweat rolled down his face, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his knees shook so that he had to steady himself by holding the curtain.

”Yes, disappointed all. You don't understand. You think that you know everything. But no; I trusted you with a great deal, but not with all.

How dark it is! Hudsley, you are an old man; don't finish up like--like this. Only one soul in the wide world is sorry that I'm going; and he's a fool. Poor Jack! I remember----”

Then followed, half inaudibly, a string of names belonging to the companions of his youth. Most of them were dead and forgotten by him until this hour, when he was about to join their shades.

”Ah, the old time! the old time. But--but--what was it I was saying?

I--I--Hudsley--quick! for Heaven's sake! I--the key--the key----”

Stephen came round, in his eagerness risking recognition.

”The key?” he asked, so hoa.r.s.ely that his voice might well be taken for an old man's. ”What key?”

”Feel--under my pillow!” gasped Ralph Davenant.

Stephen thrust his trembling hand under the pillow, and, with a leap of the heart, felt a key.

”The safe!” murmured a faltering voice. ”The bottom drawer. Bring them to me! Quick!”

Stephen glided snake-like across the room to a small safe that stood in a recess, opened the door, and with trembling hands drew out the drawer.

His hands shook so, his heart beat to such an extent, that as a movement in the next room struck upon his ears, he could scarcely refrain from shrieking aloud; but it was only the nurse, whom the old man would only allow to enter the room at intervals; and setting his teeth hard, and fighting for calm, Stephen took out two doc.u.ments.

One was a parchment of goodly proportions.

Both were folded and endorsed on the back--the parchment with the inscription, ”Last will and testament of Ralph Davenant, Gent., Jan.

18--.”

With eyes that almost refused to do their task, Stephen turned the other paper to the light, and read, ”Will, July 18--.” This inscription was written in an old man's hand--the parchment was engrossed as usual.

Two wills! The one--the parchment, however, was useless; the other--the sheet of foolscap--was the last.

”Well,” rose the voice from the bed, hollow and broken, ”have you got them?”

Stephen came up and stood behind the curtain, and held the wills up.

”Yes, yes,” he said. ”The first is--is in whose favor?”

The old man struggled for breath. White, breathless himself with the agony of anxiety and fear--for any moment someone might enter the room--Stephen stood staring beside him. He dared not undo the tapes and glance at the wills, in case of interruption--dared not conceal them, for Hudsley might appear on the scene. With the wills clasped in his hand, he stood and waited.

The faintness pa.s.sed--old Ralph regained his voice.

”One is parchment--the other is paper. The parchment one you drew up; you know its contents--I want it destroyed, or, stay, keep it. It will add to the deceitful hound's disappointment. The other--ah, my G.o.d--it is too late--Hudsley, there is a cruel history in that paper. No hand but mine could pen it. But--but--I have done justice. Too late!--why do you say--too late? Why do you mock a dying man? Mind, Hudsley, I trust to you. It is a sound will, made in sound body--and--mind. Don't leave that hypocritical hound a chance of setting it aside. I trust to you.

Stop, better burn the first will; burn it here now--now,” and in his excitement he actually raised his head. Raised it to let it drop upon the pillow again with exhaustion.

Stephen stood and glared, torn this way and that by doubt and uncertainty.