Part 116 (1/2)
”Don't be in a hurry. The first act shall be rehea.r.s.ed tomorrow.”
”So soon? And where, may I ask?”
”In a court of justice.”
”How, sir?”
”By your standing before a judge, and in presence of a jury.”
”You are pleased to be facetious, Captain Calhoun. Let me tell you that I don't like such pleasantries--”
”Pleasantries indeed! I'm stating plain facts. To-morrow is the day of trial. Mr Maurice Gerald, or McSweeney, or O'Hogerty, or whatever's his name, will stand before the bar--accused of murdering your brother.”
”'Tis false! Maurice Gerald never--”
”Did the deed, you are going to say? Well, that remains to be proved.
It _will_ be; and from your own lips will come the words that'll prove it--to the satisfaction of every man upon the jury.”
The great gazelle-eyes of the Creole were opened to their fullest extent. They gazed upon the speaker with a look such as is oft given by the gazelle itself--a commingling of fear, wonder, and inquiry.
It was some seconds before she essayed to speak. Thoughts, conjectures, fears, fancies, and suspicions, all had to do in keeping her silent.
”I know not what you mean,” she at length rejoined. ”You talk of my being called into court. For what purpose? Though I am the sister of him, who--I know nothing--can tell no more than is in the mouth of everybody.”
”Yes can you; a great deal more. It's not in the mouth of everybody: that on the night of the murder, you gave Gerald a meeting at the bottom of the garden. No more does all the world know what occurred at that stolen interview. How Henry intruded upon it; how, maddened, as he might well be, by the thought of such a disgrace--not only to his sister, but his family--he threatened to kill the man who had caused it; and was only hindered from carrying out that threat, by the intercession of the woman so d.a.m.nably deluded!
”All the world don't know what followed: how Henry, like a fool, went after the low hound, and with what intent. Besides themselves, there were but two others who chanced to be spectators of that parting.”
”Two--who were they?”
The question was asked mechanically--almost with a tranquil coolness.
It was answered with equal _sang froid_.
”One was Ca.s.sius Calhoun--the other Louise Poindexter.” She did not start. She did not even show sign of being surprised. What was spoken already had prepared her for the revelation. Her rejoinder was a single word, p.r.o.nounced in a tone of defiance. ”Well!”
”Well!” echoed Calhoun, chagrined at the slight effect his speeches had produced; ”I suppose you understand me?”
”Not any more than ever.”
”You wish me to speak further?”
”As you please, sir.”
”I shall then. I say to you, Loo, there's but one way to save your father from ruin--yourself from shame. You know what I mean?”
”Yes; I know that much.”
”You will not refuse me now?”