Chapter 4 BLIND.

Mr. Bergan, meanwhile, had gone over to the Hall, partly to give a regretful look at his brother's dead face, and partly to have some further talk with Bergan. Thick-growing memories beset him, at every step of the way; and, the goal being reached, he had ample opportunity to reflect upon the sin and folly of family feuds, the miserably thin barriers which suffice to keep apart those who ought to be one in affection and interest, as in blood. He had not been very much to blame for their erection between him and his brother, but he regretted none the less that he had not wrought more perseveringly and lovingly to break them down. There had always been a generous side to Harry's character, which might have been successfully appealed to, at least in the earlier stages of the quarrel; his own influence might have been exerted for good; the dreary, empty Hall might still have been a pleasant home; this lonely death-couch might have been sweetened by the tender touch and tears of kindred hands and hearts, and sanctified by the gentle benedictions of religion. It all might have been—it could never be now! Death had closed every door to reconciliation and amendment, and written over each the mournful legend, "Too Late!"

He turned from the corpse to ask for Bergan, and was surprised to learn that nothing was known of him at the Hall since he had retired to his room just before day-break, further than that Doctor Gerrish had mentioned meeting him at Oakstead. However, being informed that two men had inquired for him, and been sent to meet him, he took it for granted that some unexpected emergency had compelled him to hasten back to Savalla, at a moment's notice; he would be sure to return by afternoon, or send some explanation of his absence.

Meantime, Mr. Bergan was forced to fill the gap created by his departure; indeed, until his brother's will should be made known, he was both his natural and legal representative, he appointed the time, and decided the manner, of the funeral; he sent for a lawyer, and had seals affixed to all drawers and boxes likely to contain papers of value; he gave orders for the lower rooms to be cleaned and fitted, as far as might be, for the lying in state, and the reception of guests;—in short, he was kept busy until long past noon, when he was fain to go home for rest and refreshment, as well as to satisfy himself of the state of Carice. She was still sleeping peacefully, and there was no cause for alarm.

Returning to the Hall, at a few minutes past three, he found the two physicians waiting in the library, but no sign or tidings of Bergan.

"Where can my nephew be?" he exclaimed in perplexity and even displeasure.

"It is certainly very strange," replied Doctor Gerrish, gravely.

Doctor Remy said nothing; but he shrugged his shoulders in a manner sufficiently expressive of disapprobation.

Yet he would have been glad to be able to answer the question,—at least to himself. He was completely in the dark as to how Big Ben and his confederate had prospered in their evil undertaking. He knew that Bergan had not been found in his room, as was expected; but why he had gone forth so early, and whether he had encountered the ruffians, was altogether a mystery. All day, he had been holding himself ready for whatever might come,—Bergan's sudden appearance in the flesh, or the bringing in of his dead body, or a summons to go and afford him medical aid;—he did not mean to be taken off his guard, in any case. But the suspense was trying. It had not been contemplated in his original plan; it kept his mind and nerves continually on the stretch; it gave him an uncomfortable feeling that other hands than his own were busy with the dark threads of his schemes, weaving them into patterns that he had not designed. He longed to know precisely what he had to hope or to dread.

Still, every moment of Bergan's absence was reasonable ground for belief that Big Ben had not only carried out his purpose of revenge to the full, but had succeeded wonderfully well in obliterating all trace of his work. So much the better. Bergan once removed from his path, it would become tolerably smooth and direct.

"I suppose that we shall have to proceed to business without my nephew, since he is not come," said Mr. Bergan, after a prolonged pause. "May I ask what is the object of this meeting?"

The answer to this question, although very gently given by Doctor Gerrish, was, of course, a severe shock; all the more, because Doctor Remy took care to throw in a covert insinuation that Bergan's absence betrayed some guilty connection with the disastrous event; bethinking himself that, in case the young man should escape Big Ben, he could be gotten rid of all the same, for the present, by being arrested for murder.

Doctor Gerrish, however, repelled the insinuation, as he had done before. "To my mind," said he, "everything points to the opposite conclusion. If Mr. Arling had anything to gain by poisoning his uncle, he must have gained it by staying here, and not by flight. Besides, he is too intelligent a man not to know that such flight would, in itself, arouse suspicion, and imply guilt. Having given the matter a good deal of thought, since morning, I have decided that the poisoning must have been accidental. However, we will, with your permission, call in that old 'Maumer' and examine her a little more minutely than we did before. I have thought of several questions that it would be well to ask."

Rue was accordingly summoned from her faithful watch over her dead master. She declared positively that she had been with him from an early stage of his attack, until his death; and that he had taken only the medicines and food ordered by Doctor Remy, except the untimely drink of brandy, and the afore-mentioned powder. He had swallowed nothing whatever after the arrival of Mr. Arling,—not even the brandy for which he had called with almost his last breath.

"That certainly clears Mr. Arling," remarked Doctor Gerrish, in a low voice.

"H'm—perhaps so," rejoined Doctor Remy, meditatively. "Still, it is evidence not worth a rush, you know, in a court of law."

"It is evidence perfectly satisfactory to me, nevertheless," interposed Mr. Bergan, firmly, "and may be so to you. I, as having known Maumer Rue from my infancy, can vouch for her trustworthiness. Her testimony is as good as mine, or yours."

"Well, you ought to know best," returned Doctor Remy, carelessly. "Still, the woman is old and blind, and cannot be expected to know all that goes on in her presence. Major Bergan might have swallowed half-a-dozen things without her knowledge."

Rue had fallen into the back-ground, during this discussion; but she now stepped forward and faced Doctor Remy, drawing herself up, and smiling scornfully.

"Blind, am I?" she asked; "I am not so blind as those who have eyes, Doctor Remy. No one saw you open my master's private drawer last evening, during his worst paroxysm, but I heard you open and shut it, distinctly, and the rustling of papers, too."

If Doctor Remy was both surprised and startled, he concealed it well, thanks to the guard that he was keeping over himself. He merely looked at his companions, and said, disdainfully; "Of course, such a charge, from such a source, is too ridiculous to be contradicted. The poor old woman has mistaken one sound for another; that is all."

"It is people who live by sight that mistake sounds, Doctor Remy," returned Rue, composedly; "a woman, who has lived by hearing for over sixty years, does not. Let me give you a proof of it. These gentlemen listen to your voice, as I do, and they do not hear anything unusual in it,—nothing more than the seriousness, or the coldness, or the scorn, that fits the words; but I hear in it anxiety and perplexity and suspense and fear. Since Mr. Arling has been missing, I have suspected that you could tell us what had become of him, if you would. But while you have been talking about him here, my ears have been watching your voice, your steps, your very breath; and I know now that you do not know where he is any more than we do. You are puzzled because he does not come; you are continually expecting—I will not say, dreading—to see him, or hear of him. Is it not so?"

"And if it is," answered Doctor Remy, coolly, "what is there strange about it? Why should I not be puzzled at his unaccountable disappearance, and anxious for his speedy return?"

"Anxious?" she repeated, with a low laugh; "yes, you are anxious; but it will avail you nothing. Go your way, rummage drawers and cupboards, you will not find what you seek; plot and sin, you will not get what you covet. Blinder of understanding than I am of eyes, you dig, and know not that it is a pit for your own feet; you plant and water, and never remember that the expectations of the wicked shall be cut off. Master Bergan will come back, and have his own, in spite of you!"

"I am very glad to hear it," responded Doctor Remy, with mock earnestness. Then he turned to his companions. "Her master's death has set her wits to wool-gathering," said he. "Have we any more time to listen to her maunderings?"

Rue opened her lips for a rejoinder, but Mr. Bergan, thinking that the scene had lasted long enough, though he had not been unimpressed by it, laid his hand on her arm. Instantly acknowledging his authority, as one of the family, she bent her head, and retired without a word.

Doctor Gerrish took out his watch. "I shall soon have to leave," said he. "Mr. Bergan, what is to be done about this business? I suppose it is our duty to report it to the authorities."

"If you are willing to be guided by my wishes," Mr. Bergan replied, after some consideration, "you will say nothing at present. I have no disposition to conceal a murder, if one has been committed; but, as you have well remarked, all the circumstances indicate that the poison was taken or administered accidentally. Nevertheless, there is room for evil minded persons to set afloat injurious reports concerning my nephew, while he is absent, and unable to defend himself; or these faithful servants of my brother, who, I am convinced, would not have poisoned him any sooner than I would, may be subjected to a deal of cruelty, from the fact that he was alone with them, much of the time, and their evidence, as Doctor Remy has reminded us, is worth nothing in law. Let the funeral go on, without hindrance; the body will be laid in the family vault, where it can be examined, and the presence of poison proved, at any time, if it becomes necessary. And it just occurs to me, as a possible explanation of my nephew's absence, that he may have gotten hold of some clue to this affair, and be following it up before it has time to cool. Let us wait until he appears, before we make any stir that may only thwart his efforts."

"Very well," said Doctor Gerrish. "My own preference is always for an open, straightforward course; but if you think this one more expedient, under the circumstances, and will take the responsibility of it, I will not interfere. Good day."