Part 24 (2/2)
Do, now! I only brought a letter--”
Frankl, half inclined to tyrannize over misery, and half afraid, swept his hand down the beard.
”Letter?” said he: ”from whom?”
”From a friend”.
”Which friend?”
”A man named Hogarth”.
O'Hara said it in an awful whisper, though not aware of any relation between Hogarth and Frankl.
Whereupon an agitation waved down Frankl's beard. The news that ”a man named Hogarth” had written to his daughter would hardly have suggested _Richard_--safe elsewhere; but, one night at Yarmouth, he had seen Richard Hogarth inexplicably kiss his daughter's hand.
”Hogarth?” said he: ”what Christian name?”
”Richard”.
The agonized thought in Frankl's brain was this: ”Well, what's the good of prisons, then?”--he, too earnest a financier to read newspaper gossip, having heard not a word of the three escapes from Colmoor.
He said: ”Well, sir, generally speaking, I'm the last to encourage this sort of thing; but, as yours is a special case, I tell you plain out that, personally, I don't mean a bit of harm to you. Just step into a room here, and let us talk the matter quietly over”.
He led O'Hara to his study; and there they two remained locked half an hour, conferring head to head.
XXVII
THE BAG OF LIGHT
Rebekah, having excused herself from three ladies, her guests, alone in her room opened her letter.
Glanced first at the ”R. H.”, and was not surprised. He had ”escaped”, had ”come into great power”: that seemed natural; but he ”summoned” her to meet him, and she saw no connection between his ”great power” and his right to summon her.
She held the paper to a fire, and, as it began to burn, in a panic of flurry extinguished the edge, and hustled it into her bosom; then perambulated; then fell to a chair-edge with staring gaze; then, rocking her head which she had dropped upon a little table, moaned: ”He is mad....”
”My flames of fire! Rebekah! I am dying....”
He suffered; and a p.u.s.s.y's wail mewed from her; but with a gasp of anger which said ”Ho!” she sprang straight, and went ranging, with a stamping gait, through the chamber, filling it with pa.s.sion. ”I _won't go_!” she went with fixed lips, as something within her whispered: ”You must”.
To escape herself, she went again to see what had happened with regard to the convict, whose face would carry to the grave the scars of her nails.
There were no signs of any disturbance; and she asked a footman: ”Where is the man who was here?”
”With your father in the study”.
That seemed a strange proceeding: she felt a touch of alarm for her father, and, pa.s.sing again by the study, peeped; could see nothing for the key, but heard voices.
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