ISHMAEL'S HERITAGE
There was something very dreadful about Farish M'Kissock's appearance as he came shuffling forward from the corner under the gallery. His torn and travel-stained white robe gave him a ghostly aspect which was heightened by the cold and clammy pallor of his face, his sunken eyes, the matted, blood-stained tangle of grey hair that merged into a long, unkempt beard and moustache. He moved like an automaton, with all his limbs and joints loose. The stamp of death was on him.
The Duchess of Dawn shrank into the ingle behind her as he approached, and her noble nephew backed after her, one elbow uplifted, fists clenched, with the apparent idea of protecting her from that spectre-like apparition; at whom Herries also was gazing, aghast but motionless, while Mr. Jobling, with bulging eyes and open mouth, felt about him as if for some friendly hand to clutch at and, finding none, laid hold of Slyne by the coat—who struck his fingers away with a muttered oath. Slyne and Captain Dove and Justin Carthew were all regarding him with blank dismay. Sallie uttered a little, low, pitiful cry as she recognised in the worn-out wreck who had halted mutely a few paces away the man she had seen only a month or two before in the prime of life and the plenitude of his power, the Emir El Farish.
His burning eyes met and held Captain Dove's cowed, murderous, questing glance for a moment; and then he laughed, in a most grisly manner.
"I'm dying now, Captain Dove," said he, in a strong, deep voice that contrasted strangely with his obvious bodily exhaustion, "a day or two sooner than need have been—but for you. You're hale and strong yet. You'll fight hard—when the hangman and his mates come quietly into your cell at daybreak to pinion you. And, when you're standing on the trap, with your head in a bag and the knot in a new rope rasping under one ear, you'll think of me that's waiting for you in the pit below the scaffold.
"But that's for by and by; and there's to-day to be done with first." He laughed again, in such a fashion that the listeners shuddered. "I told you there was nothing at all that would avail you against me," said he. "Maybe you'll believe me now!"
Captain Dove looked furtively round at the others' faces, and spoke, with obvious difficulty. "I've no idea what you're talking about—"
"I found M'Kissock—where you left him," interrupted Lord Jura, as if to say that it was needless now to deny anything.
"You'd better send him back there, then," Captain Dove retorted rancorously. "The man's mad—and dangerous. That's why I had him shut up. He thinks he has some grudge against you, too. Take care he doesn't—"
"I'm not mad. I'm not even dangerous enough to save the hangman his job with you," said Farish M'Kissock quietly, and turned to Lord Jura again. "But you'll see to it, my lord, that the cruel wrongs this old Judas has wrought you and me—ay, and even the innocent girl beside you there—are avenged to the uttermost. I can trust you for that at least."
Lord Jura looked forlornly at Sallie. He could not now recall his promise to her if Captain Dove still chose to take advantage of that.
"Sal—My sister has begged me to let him go free, M'Kissock," he said at length, almost apologetically, "and—I've agreed."
Farish M'Kissock's head had begun to shake as if with palsy. He tried to speak, but could not articulate. The veins about his clammy, yellow temples were swelling darkly out, like cords. Carthew limped across to the table and brought him over a glass of water. He swallowed some with difficulty, and, finding his voice again, "You fool!" he cried, with inexpressible bitterness. "Oh, you blind fool! Will you let him serve you as he served me with her to help him!"
Lord Jura's face flushed.
"I want to hear no more from you in that strain," he said haughtily, as if the old spirit of place and power were stirring within him again. "It is sufficient that my sister's wishes—"
"If Sallie were your sister, it would make no difference," the dying man declared with fierce impatience. "This is no time to humour whim of hers. In any case—she is no kin of yours, Lord Jura, as Captain Dove well knows. He could have told you—Keep him off! He'll make an end of me before my time if he can, to silence me. And you must hear, before I go,—" He staggered backward, coughing, and almost choked for want of breath. Captain Dove had made a wild lunge at him, but Justin Carthew had sprung forward in time to save him from the old man's frenzied attempt: and Herries and Lord Ingoldsby also stepped in between him and his would-be murderer.
"All right, then," panted Captain Dove. "Leave me alone, and I'll do him no harm. I quite forgot that he was off his head, his lies provoke me so."
Lord Jura had put Sallie behind him to shield her in the struggle that promised. He looked round at her then with dazed, doubtful eyes and read in hers pain and horror and disbelief equally dreadful. He drew a deep, sobbing breath and confronted Farish M'Kissock again.
"What in God's name are you driving at!" he demanded, in a tone which told the stress of mind he was suffering. And Farish M'Kissock regarded him very evilly for a little before replying. Slyne and Captain Dove and Carthew were waiting, as if on barbed tenter-hooks. The others, and Sallie also, seemed to be stricken speechless and still.
"I am here to seek my revenge, my lord, as you know," said Farish M'Kissock slowly at length, and licked his bloodless lips. "There is still a small matter betwixt your lordship and me that remains to be settled—an old wrong done, which your lordship has almost forgotten, it seems. I neither forget nor forgive.
"I may not have time left to tell all I owe Captain Dove there—for that goes back through long years to what I owe you. But, before I am done with, I think I can settle with you as well as with him.
"Sallie is no sister of yours, as Captain Dove knows—though she herself has been beguiled as easily as your lordship. Your lordship's sister, the Lady Josceline Justice, died in my arms eight or nine weeks ago: and she was my wife. Sallie there, knowing nothing, saw her a few hours before—"
He blinked and hung his head for a moment, as if recalling all that had come to pass since he had laid the light, wasted body aside on the sand, and set a guard over it until—until he could spare time to see to a decent grave.
"She was my wife," he said again, looking up at the last of the haughty Juras with hate unquenchable in his glance. "And that's the revenge I have taken on you and yours, my lord, for the ill your lordship lightly wrought—the other, that should have been."
A woman's voice came wailingly from the musicians' gallery and Mr. Jobling uttered a low moan of abject fear. His nerves had evidently failed him altogether. Hasty steps were descending the short stone stairway which led to the gallery, and then Janet M'Kissock came tottering forth across the floor from the foot of it.
"Oh, Farish!" the old woman cried to her brother. "Have you no heart at all! Are there not enough lives ruined already that you would wreck her ladyship's here as well?" And she turned toward Sallie with a poor, pitiful gesture as of protection. "It cannot be as you say," she whimpered. "For how could I be mistaken, that knew her father far better than you—ay, and the countess her mother too; whose locket she was wearing at her neck the day she first came to Loquhariot. I'll swear to it, at any rate! I had it for a time in my own keeping, before the countess—went away.
"Ask her ladyship where she got the locket, your grace. And then my poor, distracted brother will maybe admit that he's been deceived about her."
The duchess's anxious, encouraging look seemed to beg an answer of Sallie. But the girl was gazing, with dumb dismay in her wide, wounded eyes, at Farish M'Kissock, recalling as well as she could amid such a maze the incidents of the hours she had spent in his camp on the African coast.
Under the spell of his piercing glance the shadowy banquet-hall of Loquhariot seemed to fade away from her, and in its place she saw again the spacious rose-pink pavilion behind the carved chair on which he was seated in state among his staring councillors, under a great green flag with a golden harp on its heavy folds. Behind her, from about the picket-lines where she had noticed the negro slaves at their work, she seemed to hear the whinnying of the horses, the vicious squeals of the restless camels. In the dim crimson glow of the dying fires she was gazing again at the horsehair tents in the background, and the multitude of men and women and children all busy about them in the open air.
She saw, as if in a vision, the Emir spring from his seat and come hastily forward to where she stood shrinkingly at Captain Dove's shoulder. He was tall and stalwart on foot, a fine figure of a man even in his loose, shapeless garments, with a bronzed, hook-nosed, handsome face of his own, a heavy moustache, the brooding, patient, predatory eyes of a desert vulture. And, as he confronted Captain Dove, over whom he seemed to tower threateningly, the hood of his selham slipped back, disclosing a flaming shock of red hair.
Her own veil had slipped to her chin, but she had been unconscious of that until his blazing eyes had shifted from Captain Dove's unconcerned face to hers. She pulled it hurriedly back into place, and he, turning to the curious onlookers, rid himself of their company before he called, in a caressing voice, on some one within the big, white tent that was the heart of his stronghold. And there came forth a woman, veiled as she herself had been, but clad in silk instead of cotton, who bowed submissively to what he had to say, and then held out a slender, bloodless, burning hand to her....
It all came back to her memory, as if in a lightning-flash that left her stunned and helpless to face the appalling present again. She knew now who the Emir's wife had been—a girl of her own age, but grown old before her time and weary of the little life that had been left in her then. She knew that Farish M'Kissock was speaking the truth now, and that she must bear witness to it at whatever cost to herself. It made no difference that Captain Dove's expression was a mute and none the less dreadful threat of what she might look for at his hands if she dared to do so. The helpless horror of the position in which his cunning intrigue had left her broke on her mind like a thunderbolt. She covered her shamed, white face with both hands, and turned, swaying on her feet, and would have fallen had not the duchess thrown both arms about her and held her there in a close, warm clasp, while Justin Carthew and Lord Ingoldsby, who had both darted forward to help her, glared at each other vindictively.
"It can't be true!" said the duchess, half to herself, but Sallie heard, and stood upright again, dizzily, letting her hands fall, prepared to do public penance for her innocent and unwitting part in the shameless fraud that had been perpetrated. She did not give a thought to the fact that all her own fair dreams of the future were finally shattered and past repair. But she wondered what the poor folk she had befriended about the village would have to say when they heard that she was no better than a common impostor, and the duchess, who had befriended her, and Justin Carthew, whom Mr. Jobling had treated as a trespasser there!
"It is true," she asserted, desperately, in a tone which might have touched even Captain Dove, "though I didn't know till now—" She almost broke down under the dire humiliation she was enduring, but the duchess would not let her go when she would have drawn away from the arm at her waist, and she forced herself to go on with her unspeakably hurtful confession.
"The locket was given me by the girl who died in the desert—who was that man's wife," she said so that all might hear, her face aflame now under the others' blankly believing glances. "I didn't want to take it at all—but she believed she would not live long, and I felt that it would be unkind to refuse."
Farish M'Kissock looked round, in baleful triumph, at Captain Dove, whose hopes he had thus thwarted and brought to nought. But Captain Dove's evil eyes were fixed on Lord Jura.
"Did she tell you nothing at all of herself—or her history?" the duchess asked very gently.
"Not a word," Sallie answered with transparent honesty.
"But there's another here that knew who she was," said Farish M'Kissock, and pointed to Justin Carthew, who could only nod most unhappily, avoiding Sallie's sudden, incredulous glance.
And, at that, Lord Jura seemed to start from the stupor into which he had gradually lapsed. His haggard face grew dark with insane and uncontrollable passion as he began to realise the fiendish ingenuity of the revenge exacted by the man whom he had, in the first place, wronged so cruelly. No other torture, bodily or mental, could have caused him such anguish as the thought of all his sister must have suffered ere she died. He lifted two twitching hands and suddenly leaped, as a tiger might, at Farish M'Kissock's throat.
So swift and unforeseen was the movement that no one could interfere. But he overshot his mark and slipped and fell on the polished oaken floor as Farish M'Kissock stumbled aside, just in time to escape his clutch. He came down with a crash, and his eye-glass dropped and splashed about him in fragments as his forehead struck. But, stunned as he was, he turned on one shoulder and thrust an arm out, and was trying to rise when something seemed to snap in the coat-pocket underneath him, and he uttered a scream of agony as his arm collapsed at the elbow, so that he fell face forward again, struggling like a swimmer with cramp.
"Keep back!" shouted Slyne. And Justin Carthew, in the act of stooping to try to help the ex-engineer, sprang to one side in time and no more to escape the touch of a wriggling thing, black and slimy, like a live shoe-string, which had come slithering out from under the hand with which the fallen man was clawing at the floor. It was almost at Carthew's ankles. He leaped convulsively again, and came down on it with both feet. Its little venomous head writhed round and struck more than once at the patent leather of his low shoes, and then fell limply back and lay still. He set his heel on it, to make sure that it would work no more harm, and turned hastily toward Lord Jura again.
Herries was before him, however, and had already lifted the stricken man's head and shoulders a little. Carthew would have helped to raise him to a sitting posture, but all his limbs curled in a dreadful convulsion and straightened rigidly and curled again in a last awful spasm, and so relaxed, lifeless, while his rolling eyeballs also grew fixed and still. He had ceased to breathe.
"He's dead," said Captain Dove, and started, as if alarmed by the sound of his own voice. And for a space no one else spoke, and no one moved at all. The only undertones that broke the silence were the subdued, helpless weeping of the three women, the muted moaning of the wind on the terrace without. Carthew and Herries were still on their knees, one on either side of the dead man, from one of whose pockets protruded a broken, empty cigar-box. The others stood staring down at him as if they could scarcely yet understand what it was that had made such an instant difference in him.
Carthew got stiffly to his feet. "We must get the women away out of this at once," he whispered to Herries, and held out a hand to help the old factor up.
Herries gazed at him, out of lack-lustre eyes into which a slow return of intelligence crept as he too rose.
"Yes,—my lord," he answered in a low voice, that yet was audible to all but the unhearing ears of him who had been the ninth Earl of Jura, whose heritage was now no more than a quiet niche in the lonely graveyard on the most seaward of the Small Isles, and a young girl's ignorant prayers that he might there find rest and peace.