“Yes; he is gone; and so is Corporal Rufus Smith. We shall never set eyes upon them again.”
“But where have they gone?” I cried. “This is unworthy of you, Mordaunt. What right have we to sit here, allowing our private feelings to overcome us, while there is a possibility of succouring your father? Up, man! Let us follow him. Tell me only what direction he took.”
“It's no use,” young Heatherstone answered, burying his face in his hands. “Don't reproach me, West, for you don't know all the circumstances. What can we do to reverse the tremendous and unknown laws which are acting against us? The blow has long been hanging over us, and now it has fallen. God help us!”
“In Heaven's name tell me what has happened?” said I excitedly. “We must not yield to despair.”
“We can do nothing until daybreak,” he answered. “We shall then endeavour to obtain some trace of them. It is hopeless at present.”
“And how about Gabriel and Mrs. Heatherstone?” I asked. “Can we not bring them down from the Hall at once? Your poor sister must be distracted with terror.”
“She knows nothing of it,” Mordaunt answered. “She sleeps at the other side of the house, and has not heard or seen anything. As to my poor mother, she has expected some such event for so long a time that it has not come upon her as a surprise. She is, of course, overwhelmed with grief, but would, I think, prefer to be left to herself for the present. Her firmness and composure should be a lesson to me, but I am constitutionally excitable, and this catastrophe coming after our long period of suspense deprived me of my very reason for a time.”
“If we can do nothing until the morning,” I said, “you have time to tell us all that has occurred.”
“I will do so,” he answered, rising and holding his shaking hands to the fire. “You know already that we have had reason for some time—for many years in fact—to fear that a terrible retribution was hanging over my father's head for a certain action of his early life. In this action he was associated with the man known as Corporal Rufus Smith, so that the fact of the latter finding his way to my father was a warning to us that the time had come, and that this 5th of October—the anniversary of the misdeed—would be the day of its atonement. I told you of our fears in my letter, and, if I am not mistaken, my father also had some conversation with you, John, upon the subject. When I saw yesterday morning that he had hunted out the old uniform which he had always retained since he wore it in the Afghan war, I was sure that the end was at hand, and that our forebodings would be realised.
“He appeared to be more composed in the afternoon than I have seen him for years, and spoke freely of his life in India and of the incidents of his youth. About nine o'clock he requested us to go up to our own rooms, and locked us in there—a precaution which he frequently took when the dark fit was upon him. It was always his endeavour, poor soul, to keep us clear of the curse which had fallen upon his own unfortunate head. Before parting from us he tenderly embraced my mother and Gabriel, and he afterwards followed me to my room, where he clasped my hand affectionately and gave into my charge a small packet addressed to yourself.”