"I shall begin to think so myself," answered Victor, between his set teeth, "unless success comes to us speedily. We have been working underground, and the work has been slow and wearisome; but the end cannot be far distant," he added, with a heavy sigh. "Go and inquire after your cousin's health."
And so Reginald Eversleigh strove to dismiss the subject from his mind. So powerful is self-deception, that he almost succeeded in persuading himself that he had no part in Carrington's plots—that he did not know at what he was aiming and that he was, personally, absolved from any share in the crime that was being perpetrated, if crime there was; but that there was, he even affected himself to doubt.
After Sir Reginald left him, Victor Carrington threw himself into a chair in a fit of deep despondency. After a time that mood passed away, and he roused himself, and thought of what he had to do that day. He had seen Miss Brewer only the previous day. He had learned how much alarmed Paulina was about her lover's health, and with what good reason. Victor Carrington came to a resolution that this day should be the last of waiting—of suspense. He took a phial from the press where he kept all deadly drugs, placed it in his breast-pocket, and went to his mother's sitting-room. The widow was sitting, as usual, at her embroidery-frame. She counted some stitches before she raised her head to look at her son. But when she did look up, her own face changed, and she said,—
"Victor, you are ill. I know you are. You look very ill—not like yourself. What ails you?"
"Nothing, mother," replied Victor; "nothing that a little fresh air and exercise will not remove. I have been a little over-excited, that is all. I have been thinking of the old home that sheltered my grandfather before the sequestrations of '93—the home that could be bought back to-day for an old song, and which a few thousands, judiciously invested, might restore to something of its old grandeur. One of the Champfontaines received Francis I. and his sister Marguerite in the old chateau which they burnt during the Terror. Mother, I will tell you a secret to-day: ever since I can remember having a wish, the one great desire of my life has been the desire to restore the place and the name; and I hope to accomplish that desire soon, mother—very soon."
"Victor, this is the talk of a madman!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman, alarmed by her son's unwonted vehemence.
"No, mother, it is the talk of a man who feels himself on the verge of a great success—or—a stupendous failure."
"I cannot understand—"
"There is no need for you to understand any more than this: I have been playing a bold game, and I believe it will prove a winning one."
"Is this game an honest one, Victor?"