Part 21 (1/2)
”Then pray what dull theme did you select to set me asleep there?”
I looked hard at him, and made no reply. Somewhat to my relief, I now heard my host's voice,--
”Why, Fenwick, what has become of Sir Philip Derval?”
”He has left; he had business.” And, as I spoke, again I looked hard on Margrave.
His countenance now showed a change; not surprise, not dismay, but rather a play of the lip, a flash of the eye, that indicated complacency,--even triumph.
”So! Sir Philip Derval! He is in L----; he has been here to-night? So!
as I expected.”
”Did you expect it?” said our host. ”No one else did. Who could have told you?”
”The movements of men so distinguished need never take us by surprise.
I knew he was in Paris the other day. It is natural eno' that he should come here. I was prepared for his coming.”
Margrave here turned away towards the window, which he threw open and looked out.
”There is a storm in the air,” said he, as he continued to gaze into the night.
Was it possible that Margrave was so wholly unconscious of what had pa.s.sed in the museum as to include in oblivion even the remembrance of Sir Philip Derval's presence before he had been rendered insensible, or laid asleep? Was it now only for the first time that he learned of Sir Philip's arrival in L----, and visit to that house? Was there any intimation of menace in his words and his aspect?
I felt that the trouble of my thoughts communicated itself to my countenance and manner; and, longing for solitude and fresh air, I quitted the house. When I found myself in the street I turned round and saw Margrave still standing at the open window, but he did not appear to notice me; his eyes seemed fixed abstractedly on s.p.a.ce.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
I walked on slowly and with the downcast brow of a man absorbed in meditation. I had gained the broad place in which the main streets of the town converged, when I was overtaken by a violent storm of rain. I sought shelter under the dark archway of that entrance to the district of Abbey Hill which was still called Monk's Gate. The shadow within the arch was so deep that I was not aware that I had a companion till I beard my own name, close at my side. I recognized the voice before I could distinguish the form of Sir Philip Derval.
”The storm will soon be over,” said he, quietly. ”I saw it coming on in time. I fear you neglected the first warning of those sable clouds, and must be already drenched.”
I made no reply, but moved involuntarily away towards the mouth of the arch.
”I see that you cherish a grudge against me!” resumed Sir Philip. ”Are you, then, by nature vindictive?”
Somewhat softened by the friendly tone of this reproach, I answered, half in jest, half in earnest,--
”You must own, Sir Philip, that I have some little reason for the uncharitable anger your question imputes to me. But I can forgive you, on one condition.”
”What is that?”
”The possession for half an hour of that mysterious steel casket which you carry about with you, and full permission to a.n.a.lyze and test its contents.”
”Your a.n.a.lysis of the contents,” returned Sir Philip, dryly, ”would leave you as ignorant as before of the uses to which they can be applied; but I will own to you frankly, that it is my intention to select some confidant among men of science, to whom I may safely communicate the wonderful properties which certain essences in that casket possess. I invite your acquaintance, nay, your friends.h.i.+p, in the hope that I may find such a confidant in you. But the casket contains other combinations, which, if wasted, could not be resupplied,--at least by any process which the great Master from whom I received them placed within reach of my knowledge. In this they resemble the diamond; when the chemist has found that the diamond affords no other substance by its combustion than pure carbonic-acid gas, and that the only chemical difference between the costliest diamond and a lump of pure charcoal is a proportion of hydrogen less than 1/100000 part of the weight of the substance, can the chemist make you a diamond?
”These, then, the more potent, but also the more perilous of the casket's contents, shall be explored by no science, submitted to no test. They are the keys to masked doors in the ramparts of Nature, which no mortal can pa.s.s through without rousing dread sentries never seen upon this side her wall. The powers they confer are secrets locked in my breast, to be lost in my grave; as the casket which lies on my breast shall not be transferred to the hands of another, till all the rest of my earthly possessions pa.s.s away with my last breath in life and my first in eternity.”