I stretched out my hand, but with a great effort withdrew it. What should I gain by striking this man? I made one last appeal to him.
"There is but one thing I want from you," I cried, "and nothing else will I have. All that I want to know is whether you will go down to hell with this lie upon your soul, or whether you will do that which alone can bring you any peace of mind. Answer!"
"I have answered, Hugh," he said, sadly. "What you ask of me I cannot, I will not do. If you will accept nothing else—I am sorry."
"Then curse you for a coward!" I cried, springing up. "A liar and a coward! Live on your false life, fair before men, but black and corrupt within; live it on! But see whether their praises, their admiration or your success will ever lift for one moment from your heart my curse!"
Then I left him, mad and white with anger, and rushed out into the busy streets.
*****
Wearily the days dragged on for me, bringing me no news from abroad, no answer to the passionate entreaty which every morning appeared in the agony column of the Times. I grew disheartened and dispirited, feeling every day more bitter against my kinsman, whose name seemed to be in every one's mouth, and every day a keener longing to stand face to face with my father, and feel his hand clasped in mine. Fool that I had been to let him wander off alone, bearing in his heart that dead weight of misery! What if he were dead—had fallen in the petty quarrels of some fourth-rate Principality! Had there been war anywhere I should have known where to look for him; but Europe was at peace, and I knew not in which country of the globe to commence my search.
One evening I had taken up a society journal, and as usual Rupert Devereux's name headed one of the paragraphs. He was giving a fancy dress ball to-night, at which Royalty was expected to be present. I threw the paper from me in disgust, and a wild storm of anger laid hold of me. Rupert Devereux, a great man, a leader of society, everywhere quoted as brilliant, talented, and withal kind-hearted; whilst my father, his victim, wandered about in miserable exile, holding his life in his hand! It was the thought that was with me day and night, but that moment it gained such a hold on me as to cry out for action of some sort. But what could I do? All idea of physical punishment which naturally leaped first into my mind revolted me, for he was a weak man, and would have been like a lath in my hands. And what other means had I? Denunciation would make me ridiculous without injuring him; for, when a man stands firm in the world's esteem, they are slow to believe ill of him. I caught up the paper again, and a sudden idea flashed into my mind which I first scouted as ridiculous, then reconsidered, and finally embraced. I called a hansom, and drove to several costumiers. At last I found what I wanted, and returned to the hotel to dress, for I was going to Major Rupert Devereux's fancy dress ball.
*****
A suite of reception rooms, decorated like the rooms of a palace, and the strains of the Hungarian band floating softly on an air heavy with the rich perfume of banks of rare exotics. Distinguished-looking men and beautiful women, in the picturesque garb of all ages and nations, gliding over the smooth floor. Powdered footmen noiselessly passing backwards and forwards over the thick carpets of a succession of satin-draped ante-rooms. Flowers, light, music, and perfume; fair faces and soft words. That night seems like a confused dream of all these to me, save for one brief minute. One brief minute, when the giver of all these, the flattered recipient of endless compliments from noble lips, came face to face with the image of the man on whose misery all these things were built up, came face to face with him, in the very uniform, and with the same fiercely reproachful gaze, which he had worn more than twenty years ago.