Part 64 (1/2)

Lind shook his head.

”Impossible. Calabressa thought of a volunteer; he was mad! There must be a ballot. Come; shall we proceed?”

He opened the box and put it before Beratinsky. Beratinsky took out one of the papers, opened it, glanced at it, crumpled it up, and threw it into the fire.

”It isn't I, at all events,” he said.

It was Reitzei next. When he glanced at the paper he had drawn, he crushed it together with an oath, and dashed it on the floor.

”Of course, of course,” he exclaimed, ”just when I was eager for a bit of active service. So it is you, Brother Lind, or our friend Brand who is to settle the business of the Starving Cardinal.”

Calmly, almost as a matter of course, Lind handed the box to George Brand; and he, being a proud man, and in the presence of foreigners, was resolved to show no sign of emotion whatever. When he took out the paper and opened it, and saw his fate there in the red cross, he laid it on the table before him without a word. Then he shut his hand on Natalie's ring.

”Well,” said Lind, rather sadly, as he took out the remaining paper without looking at it, and threw aside the box, ”I almost regret it, as between you and me. I have less of life to look forward to.”

”I would like to ask one question,” said Brand, rising: he was perfectly firm.

”Yes?”

”The orders of the Council must be obeyed. I only wish to know whether--when--when this thing comes to be done--I must declare my own name?”

”Not at all--not at all!” Lind said, quickly. ”You may use any name you like.”

”I am glad of that,” he said. Then, with the same proud, impa.s.sive firmness, he made an appointment for the next day, got his hat and coat, bade his companions good-night, and went down-stairs into the cold night air. He could not realize as yet all that had happened, but his first quick, instinctive thought had been,

”Ah, not that--not the name that my mother bore!”

CHAPTER XLI.

IN THE DEEPS.

The sudden shock of the cold night air was a relief to his burning brain; and so also as he pa.s.sed into the crowded streets, was the low continuous thunder all around him. The theatres were coming out; cabs, omnibuses, carriages added to the m.u.f.fled roar; the pavements were thronged with people talking, laughing, jostling, calling out one to the other. He was glad to lose himself in this seething mult.i.tude; he was glad to be hidden by the darkness; he would try to think.

But his thoughts were too rapid and terrible to be very clear. He only vaguely knew--it was a consciousness that seemed to possess both heart and brain like a consuming fire--that the beautiful dreams he had been dreaming of a future beyond the wide Atlantic, with Natalie living and working by his side, her proud spirit cheering him on, and refusing to be daunted--these dreams had been suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed away from him; and in their stead, right before him, stood this pitiless, inexorable fate.

He could not quite tell how it had all occurred, but there at least was the horrible certainty, staring him right in the face. He could not avoid it; he could not shut his eyes to it, or draw back from it; there was no escape. Then some wild desire to have the thing done at once possessed him. At once--at once--and then the grave would cover over his remorse and despair. Natalie would forget; she had her mother now to console her. Evelyn would say, ”Poor devil, he was not the first who got into mischief by meddling in schemes without knowing how far he might have to go.” Then amidst all this confused din of the London streets, what was the phrase that kept ringing in his ears?--”_And when she bids die he shall surely die!_” But he no longer heard the pathetic vibration of Natalie Lind's voice; the words seemed to him solemn, and distant, and hopeless, like a knell. But only if it were over--that was again his wild desire. In the grave was forgetfulness and peace.

Presently a curious fancy seized him. At the corner of Windmill Street a ragged youth was bawling out the name of a French journal. Brand bought a copy of the journal, pa.s.sed on, and walked into an adjacent cafe, and took a seat at one of the small tables. A waiter came to him, and he mechanically ordered coffee. He began to search this newspaper for the array of paragraphs usually headed _Tribunaux_.

At last, in the corner of the newspaper, he found that heading, though under it there was nothing of any importance or interest. But it was the heading itself that had a strange fascination for him. He kept his eyes fixed on it. Then he began to see detached phrases and sentences--or, perhaps, it was only in his brain that he saw them: ”The a.s.sa.s.sination of Count Zaccatelli! The accused, an Englishman, who refuses to declare his name, admits that he had no personal enmity--commanded to execute this horrible crime--a punishment decreed by a society which he will not name--confesses his guilt--is anxious to be sentenced at once, and to die as soon as the law permits.... This morning the a.s.sa.s.sin of Cardinal Zaccatelli, who has declared his name to be Edward Bernard, was executed.”

He hurriedly folded up the paper, just as if he were afraid of some one overlooking and reading these words, and glanced around. No one was regarding him. The cafe was nearly full, and there was plenty of laughing and talking amidst the glare of the gas. He slunk out of the place, leaving the coffee untasted. But when he had got outside he straightened himself up, and his face a.s.sumed a firmer expression. He walked quickly along to Clarges Street. The Evelyns' house was dark from top to bottom; apparently the family had retired for the night. ”Perhaps he is at the Century,” Brand said to himself, as he started off again.

But just as he got to the corner of the street a hansom drove up, and the driver taking the corner too quickly, sent the wheel on to the curb.

”Why don't you look where you're going to?” a voice called out from the inside of the cab.

”Is that you, Evelyn?” Brand cried.