This was too much for Jack Nickols, who was truly in love with his Rosa. Too much even for Cator, though he had no love as yet to hold him. Young Englishmen know right from wrong, though they do the wrong very often. But they cannot bear to hear it boasted of. But to me, with Dariel in my heart, purifying and ennobling it, bad as the time was for a row, I should have deserved no better time, if I had been afraid of it. So I marched up, and laid my hand upon him.
"Sir," I said, without a sign of anger,—for such stuff was not worth it,—"what you deserve, both of men and women, is to die in a workhouse, with Mrs. Gamp and Betsy Prig to close your eyes. Bad women there must be, as well as bad men; but tell me which has made the other? I know you better than to believe that you really think such wicked nonsense as you talk, for the sake of seeming clever. Bartholomew Strogue is a better man than that."
"I should not be much surprised if he was," the Captain answered pleasantly; "and he can allow for babes and sucklings, who are the happiest people after all. But come, my friends, I hear the sounds of sleep, the grinding of the mill of slumber. How those gallant Lesghians snore! If the Caucasus is the true cradle of our race, sleep must have lost its silence before language was invented."
CHAPTER LIII A RUTHLESS SCHEME
While these men were arguing thus (failing with all their ingenuity, perhaps, to hit upon the true state of the case) a scene which they would have been glad to behold was taking place some twenty miles away, and not far from the banks of the Ardon. Here that river (on its way to join the Terek below Vladikaukaz) rushes through a rugged and desolate country on the further side of Kazbek, where the fall of the land is towards the north, and the long shadows lie in snowy stripes, even to the suns of midsummer. This was the melancholy spot where Rakhan owned that hunting-lodge, to which the poor Princess Oria had turned for refuge, when the snows of autumn blocked the track. Here it was that Imar (furious at her apparent guilt) found her most unhappily, at the very moment when the faithful steward—whose presence would have proved her innocence—was gone to the nearest hut in search of provisions and help to clear the road. And here it was that she breathed her last, slain by her own hand, according to the ordinance of her ancient race, to expiate the intolerable insult of the man she loved and worshipped.
But now the woman who had caused her death, or led up to it so cleverly by her own malevolence, felt no misgivings about that. Betwixt twins, even of the kindest nature and clinging from their birth to one another, a fungoid growth is apt to spring, as it does in a tree cleft down the centre, but not allowed to part in twain. Either member of the impaired union believes that the other belongs to it; and both are ready to close the grip against all who would divide them. But as years go on, and diverse attractions draw them more and more apart, each begins to form and thicken cuticle against the other; at least if they are of equal strength. And then the stuff that vainly came to close the gap grows venomous.
Jealousy, like a yellow toadstool, sprang up in young Marva's heart, when her brother dared to love another woman better than herself. She had fallen away from the twinship first by giving herself to Rakhan, without a word to her brother, and sacrificing to passion all the tender ties of kindred love. None the more could she endure that her brother should do likewise; and she would not believe, although she knew it, that her lover had murdered her father. Then when her husband made a grievance of Imar's just refusal to pay marriage-portion to that murderer—unless he would come and take the oath—she made a grievance of it too, more and more bitter as Rakhan began to make more and more spite of her poverty. And so it went on, with the crust of sullen temper thickening year by year, and the faith of married life turned sour by her husband's faithlessness, until her brother slew the wretch who had ruined him and outraged her.
Fair fight it was, and if ever one man has the right to stop another from his evil deeds below, and give him chance of mercy ere his black account grows blacker, the one might plead that right, and the other accept the relief with gratitude. But reason is less than a drop in the ocean of a tempestuous woman's heart. Marva's ill-will towards her brother deepened into bitter hatred, and nothing but his exile saved him from her brooding vengeance. And now she had found a chance of wreaking her wrath upon him to heart's content, and with the same blow satisfying her lifelong thirst for wealth and rule.