The Watchers: A Novel

by A. E. W. Mason

"No. What could he do? They do no one any hurt. They stand out of my way when I pass. And besides--I am afraid. I do not know. If these men were questioned closely by some one in authority, what story might they have to tell and what part in that story does Cullen play?"

I hesitated for a few moments whether to risk the words which were on my lips. I made an effort and spoke them.

"You will pardon the question--I have once met Cullen Mayle--and is he worth all this anxiety?"

"He had a strange upbringing in this house. There is much to excuse him in the eyes of any one. And for myself I cannot forget that all which people say is mine, is more rightly his."

She spoke very gently about Cullen, as I had indeed expected that she would, but with sufficient firmness to prove to me that it was not worth while to continue upon this strain.

"And the negro?" I asked. "He has not spoken?"

For answer she led me up the stairs, and into a room which opened upon the landing. The negro lay in bed and asleep. The flesh had shrivelled off his bones, his face was thin and peaked, and plainly his days were numbered. Helen leaned over the bed, spoke to him and pressed upon his shoulder. The negro opened his eyes. Never in my life had I seen anything so melancholy as their expression. The conviction of his helplessness was written upon them and I think too an appeal for forgiveness that he had not discharged his mission.

"Speak to him," said Helen. "Perhaps a stranger's voice may rouse him if only to speak two words."

I spoke to him as she bade me; a look of intelligence came into the negro's face; I put a question to him.

"Why does George Glen watch for Cullen Mayle?"--and before I had completed the sentence his eyelids closed languidly over his eyes and he was asleep. I looked at him as he lay there, an emaciated motionless figure, the white bedclothes against his ebony skin, and as I thought of his long travels ending so purposelessly in this captivity of sleep, I was filled with a great pity. Helen uttered a moan, she turned towards me wringing her hands.