"Hôtel d'Angleterre,
Salerno,
10th May, 1876."I verily believe that the continual mention of an absent evil has the power of causing that evil to appear. In every one of your letters you have alluded, despite my forbiddance, to Eric Marville and his innocence. Your persistency in this respect seems to have raised him up again from the things of the past—a past I was beginning to forget.
"You can guess what is coming.
"I have met with Eric Marville. More than a year has passed since I parted from him in the village inn of Pajares, hoping never more to set eyes upon him: and now his disturbing presence is with me again. 'Disturbing?' you say. Yes. You know the aphorism, 'We hate those whom we have injured;' and I suppose I have injured him: you so often say it in your letters that I have come at last to believe it.
"What folly led me to Campania? I might have foreseen our meeting; for, prior to the rescue, did not I transfer his banking account under an assumed name to Messrs. Stradella, of Naples?
"But to our meeting.
"Yesterday I made an excursion to Paestum, and, fortunately, had the place to myself. Not one tourist was there. Solitary and charmed I wandered for a whole day among the magnificent ruins of the past.
"Amid the stillness of a lovely twilight I sat down at the base of a marble column belonging to the Temple of Neptune. The whole circle of the sky, from the wine-dark sea before me to the peaks of the cypress-clad mountains behind, was flushed with the deep violet hues to be seen only in this southern clime.
"I smoked a cigar and drank in the pure air of peace. It was a time disposing one to turn poet, monk, or somebody equally moral. I had almost forgotten that night at Nantes.
"Suddenly my eye caught sight of a shadow. I looked up; and there was Eric Marville watching me with an expression that made me feel uneasy, I could not tell why.
"On seeing that I had noticed him he came forward. He did not offer his hand, but smiled mysteriously, almost exultantly, so it seemed to me, and took a seat opposite me on a fallen pillar.
"At first we talked commonplaces. Presently he remarked:
"'I am going yachting among the fiords of Norway. You must accompany me.'
"His manner implied that he was master and I servant! Why should he desire me for his compagnon de voyage, seeing that, as matters are at present, we are so unlike each other, he gloomy, I gay?
"'There is a fine yacht for sale at Naples. The price is moderate. I propose that we divide it between us.'
"Do you believe, Thérèse, that man is a free agent, with full control over his own actions? Of course you answer 'Yes'; your father-confessor has preached the doctrine a hundred times. I answer 'No'! How, otherwise, can I account for my conduct? I hate the fellow; I do not wish to go yachting; I have a presentiment that ill will come of it. Nevertheless, I have given him my promise. Explain that, if you can."
"The Hôtel Crocelle, Naples,
2d June, 1876."The transfer of the yacht is complete. It is as pretty a vessel as one could desire. Over it my first open variance with Marville arose. I say 'open,' because, secretly, we have been in a state of hostility to each other since the day of our meeting at Paestum.
"Marville was desirous of changing the name of our new-bought yacht. I suggested Lorelie, after the little daughter whom I trust one day to see; he wished it to be called Idris, after his child. The spin of a coin decided the point in his favour. The crew are all English, and have given proof of it. When Marville ordered the new name to be painted, they begged him not to rechristen the vessel, declaring that to do so would bring ill-luck. Marville treated their opinion with contempt. He rolled up his shirt-sleeves, slung a plank over the side, and set to work himself, painting the name Idris as if to the manner born. Two of the crew deserted in consequence. Strange that English sailors, so bold in fight, should be so superstitious!"
"The Yacht Idris, Gibraltar,
7th July, 1876."Marville is a wretched companion. Twelve months of freedom ought to have made him as bright and gay as in the old days, instead of which he is the same melancholy being who left me at Pajares, with only one topic of conversation—his unjust conviction.
"You ask me whether I shall ever tell him that it was I who slew Duchesne? You might as well ask me whether I want my throat cut at once? That little affair at Nantes was the beginning of a train of circumstances that ended in the death of his wife. He would hold me primarily responsible for this last unlucky accident. Tell him the true story! I would as soon tell the Minister of Justice, who would at least see that I had a fair trial, whereas Marville, in his present state of gloom, is incapable of listening to reason. Yesterday, while toying with his knife at dinner, he muttered, 'I would that the assassin of Duchesne were before me now!' You can guess how I felt at those words. I am in a trying situation. Every day I have to listen to a new theory accounting for the cause of the murder, with remarks as to how an intelligent detective ought to set to work. It is not enough for me to smoke in silence; he wants to hear theories from me on the matter, and becomes angry because I have none to give. I wish to God he would talk of something else besides the one everlasting theme! I feel that I shall be betraying myself some day.
"You remember the silver altar-ring engraved with runic letters, the ring that he entrusted to my secret keeping on the morning of his arrest? After his trial I handed the relic to his wife, but scarcely knowing why, I made a copy of the runic inscription. This copy happened to be among my papers on board the Nemesis, and, believe me, when leaving the sinking yacht, Marville betrayed more concern over this wretched piece of writing than over anything else on board.
"It seems that he has been studying my transcript during the past year, trying to extract some meaning from it: and though failing hitherto, he still perseveres.
"He talks oddly at times, and I am beginning to believe that his mind is unhinged. He declared to-day that he is the rightful heir to a peerage, and could take his rank to-morrow if he chose. Of course I believe this!"
"The Yacht Idris, Penzance,
12th July, 1876."If you perceive a difference in my penmanship ascribe it to my trembling hand. I am in a state of nervous fear. The strangest, the most inexplicable, the weirdest event of my life, happened yesterday. I was cleansing my hands in a bowl of water. Marville was standing beside me. Suddenly he observed in a very strange tone, 'Do your hands always redden the water like that?'
"I glance downwards. The water in the basin—believe me or not, as you will—was as crimson as blood! My God! it looked for all the world like the water in which I washed my hands that night!
"I could see by the mirror that my face had turned as white as chalk. My agitation was too obvious to escape Marville's notice. He smiled strangely, and turned away. What does it mean? Can it be that he suspects me of—that? I have not yet recovered from the shock, though it happened twenty-four hours ago, nor have I washed my hands since then. My God! if it should happen again! I never expected to feel regret for the death of Duchesne; nevertheless, I do. It has reduced me to a devilishly nervous state of mind. I suppose moralists would say that I am suffering retribution.
"One of the sailors declares that he heard me talking in my sleep. I must keep my cabin-door locked at night. If I should babble of that, and wake to find Marville sitting by my bedside with an awful smile and with glassy eyes fixed on me!"
"The Yacht Idris, Trondheim,
10th September, 1876."I verily believe that Marville is mad! He pretends that he has deciphered the runic inscription. It relates to the buried treasure of an old Norse Viking—which treasure, he avers, still exists in the spot where it was hidden, a thousand years ago, the site being some point on the eastern coast of England. A short run across the North Sea will bring us to the place. He is bent on finding it. Is it not clear that he is mad?
"Hitherto I have taken charge of the yacht. Now he has assumed the command, heedless of my mild protests. The crew do not like this change of masters. His seamanship is of the wildest character. He delights to sport with reefs and eddies, with winds and storms. Thank heaven! we are going no farther north, or he would take a diabolical pleasure in steering us all into the Maëlstrom in order to demonstrate how cleverly he could get us out again. This may be all very well for him, who is in love with death, but for my part I prefer to live.
"He has exchanged his former melancholy mood for one of reckless mirth. He drinks: talks loudly: laughs: and promises to divide his imaginary treasure among the crew. 'To obtain it,' he says, 'we shall have to penetrate to the chamber of the dead, for its hiding-place is the tomb. But the ancient curse must be fulfilled; and you,' he added, turning to me, 'shall be our Protesilaus.'
"My classics have grown rusty. Who the devil was Protesilaus?"
"The Yacht Idris, Bergen,
7th October, 1876."I have discovered who Protesilaus was—a Greek hero who sacrificed his life to procure the safety of his friends. Curious! What does Marville mean by calling me Protesilaus?
"A strange occurrence took place last night. A subdued wailing was heard among the shrouds. The thick fog prevented us from discovering the origin of the sound. Fear fell on the crew, and none of them would ascend the rigging to ascertain the cause. They muttered that it was a ghost, and that it foreboded ill to all on board. Marville laughed at them for a pack of fools! Of course it was nothing but the moaning of some seabird, but, for all that, in my then state of mind it was sufficiently disquieting.
"I retired to rest, but only to lie awake all night with that eerie sound playing around the vessel. The sailors have lost all cheerfulness, and believe themselves to be living on a doomed ship. 'What vessel ever did well, after she was re-named?' asked one. I confess that I myself am affected by the general gloom, but when I expressed to Marville my intention of remaining at Bergen till his return from the treasure-search, he cried, 'No, no! you, of all persons, must not leave us.' Why not? I thought of Protesilaus again.
"The more I consider his moody watchful manner towards me of late, the more convinced I grow that he suspects me of the killing of Duchesne. He has lured me on board this yacht with the object of torturing my conscience; by perpetually dwelling upon the crime he hopes to entrap me into a confession. So far he has failed, but my position is a terrible one. I feel intuitively that he is maturing some scheme of vengeance.
"'Why do I not escape?' you may ask. Impossible! The sailors, I believe, have orders to watch me. If I go ashore he accompanies me, ostensibly from friendship, in reality to keep guard over me. His dreadful smile fascinates me, and chains me to him. I seem to have lost all freedom of will and action, and to have fallen completely under the spell of some weird being from another world. I feel that ere long he will draw the secret from me.
"When I behold my reflection in the glass I cannot refrain from the thought, 'Can that be the once brilliant and handsome Rochefort?' I look ten years older—grey, haggard. I should be quite safe in returning to France, for no one would recognize me now.
"If there be a tribunal above to which one is responsible for the deeds done on earth, I trust that the remorse I have suffered of late will be taken into account."
"The Yacht Idris. In Ormsby Roads,
13th October, 1876, 7 p.m."We are anchored off the English coast in front of a little town called Ormsby-on-Sea. To the right of the town and about a mile from the shore rise the towers of some old castle, embowered in a woodland vale, and forming a pretty feature in the landscape. Marville seems to take a great interest in this edifice; all this morning he has been studying it through the telescope.
"'Haven't seen the place for ten years,' he muttered, 'wonder if he is still alive.'
"I asked him the name of the place. A scowl was my only answer. He hasn't improved in amiability since we left Bergen. In the dictatorial spirit assumed by him of late he will not permit any of us to land. He himself is going ashore for some purpose which he refuses to disclose. He will not return to the yacht till to-morrow. I am dispatching this letter to the post by the sailor who is to row Marville ashore—a sailor whom I can trust.—Farewell!"
"The last letter we ever received from him," murmured Lorelie, laying down the missive.