Part 83 (2/2)

Well, Brand installed himself in Lisle Street, and got along as best he could with the a.s.sistance of Gathorne Edwards and one or two others. But not one of them, any more than himself, knew what had happened or was happening. No word or message of any kind came from Calabressa, or Lind, or the Society, or any one. Day after day Brand get through his work with patience, but without interest; only for the time being, these necessities of the hour beguiled him from thinking of the hideous, inevitable thing that lay ahead in his life.

When news did come, it was sudden and terrible. One night he and Edwards were alone in the rooms in Lisle Street, when a letter, sent through a roundabout channel, was put into his hands. He opened it carelessly, glanced at the beginning of it, then he uttered an exclamation; then, as he read on, Edwards noticed that his companion's face was ghastly pale, even to his lips.

”Gracious heavens!--Edwards, read it!” he said, quite breathlessly. He dropped the letter on the table. There was no wild joy at his own deliverance in this man's face, there was terror rather; it was not of himself at all he was thinking, but of the death-agony of Natalie Lind when she should hear of her father's doom.

”Why, this is very good news, Brand,” Edwards cried, wondering. ”You are released from that affair--”

But then he read farther, and he, too, became agitated.

”What--what does it mean? Lind, Beratinsky, Reitzei accused of conspiracy--misusing the powers intrusted to them as officers of the Society--Reitzei acquitted on giving evidence--Lind and Beratinsky condemned!”

Edwards looked at his companion, aghast, and said,

”You know what the penalty is, Brand?”

The other nodded. Edwards returned to the letter, reading aloud, in detached sc.r.a.ps, his voice giving evidence of his astonishment and dismay.

”Beratinsky, allowed the option of undertaking the duty from which you are released, accepts--it is his only chance, I suppose--poor devil!

what chance is it, after all?” He put the letter back on the table.

”What is all this that has happened, Brand?”

Brand did not answer. He had risen to his feet; he stood like one bound with chains; there was suffering and an infinite pity in the haggard face.

”Why is not Natalie here?” he said; and it was strange that two men so different from each other as Brand and Calabressa should in such a crisis have had the same instinctive thought. The lives and fates of men were nothing; it was the heart of a girl that concerned them. ”They will tell her--some of them over there--they will tell her suddenly that her father is condemned to die! Why is she--among--among strangers?”

He pulled out his watch hastily, but long ago the night-mail had left for Dover. At this moment the bell rung below, and he started; it was unusual for them to have a visitor at such an hour.

”It is only that drunken fool Kirski,” Edwards said. ”I asked him to come here to-night.”

CHAPTER LIII.

THE TRIAL.

It was a dark, wet, and cold night when Calabressa felt his way down the gangway leading from the Admiralty Pier into the small Channel steamer that lay slightly rolling at her moorings. Most of the pa.s.sengers who were already on board had got to leeward of the deck-cabins, and sat huddled up there, undistinguishable bundles of rugs. For a time he almost despaired of finding out Reitzei, but at last he was successful; and he had to explain to this particular bundle of rugs that he had changed his mind, and would himself travel with him to Naples.

It was a dirty night in crossing, and both suffered considerably; the difference being that, as soon as they got into the smooth waters of Calais harbor, Calabressa recovered himself directly, whereas Reitzei remained an almost inanimate heap of wrappings, and had to be a.s.sisted or shoved up the steep gangway into the glare of the officials' lamps.

Then, as soon as he had got into a compartment of the railway-carriage, he rolled himself up in a corner, and sought to forget his sufferings in sleep.

Calabressa was walking up and down on the platform. At length the bell rung, and he was about to step into the compartment, when he found himself preceded by a lady.

”I beg your pardon, madame,” said he, politely, ”but it is a carriage for smokers.”

”And if one wishes to smoke, one is permitted--is it not so?” said the stranger, cheerfully.

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