Across the Zodiac (60 page)

"Be calm," she said, as a cry of horror burst from my lips. "The
keys!"

"
You
have them," Eivé said with a gasp, her face still averted.

"I took them from Eveena myself," I answered sternly. "Stand back into
that corner, Eivé," as I opened the door and called sharply the other
members of the household. When they entered, unable to stand, I had
fallen back upon a chair, and called Eivé to my side. As I laid my
hand on her arm she threw herself on the floor, screaming and writhing
like a terrified child rather than a woman detected in a crime, the
conception and execution of which must have required an evil courage
and determination happily seldom possessed by women.

"Stand up!" I said. "Lift her, then, Enva and Eiralé. Unfasten the
shoulder-clasps and zone."

As her outer robe dropped, Eivé snatched at an object in its folds,
but too late; and the electric keys, which gave access to all my
cases, papers, and to the medicine-chest above all, lay glittering on
the ground.

"That cup Eivé brought to me. Which of you saw her?"

"I did," said Enva quietly, all feelings of malice and curiosity alike
awed into silence by the evidence of some terrible, though as yet to
them unknown, secret. "She mixed it and brought it hither herself."

"And," I said, "it contains a poison against which, had I drunk
one-half the draught, no antidote could have availed—a poison to
which these keys only could have given access."

Again the test-stone was applied, and again the discoloration
testified to the truth of the charge.

"You have seen?" I said.

"We have seen," answered Enva, in the same tone of horror, too deep to
be other than quiet.

We all left the room, closing the door upon the prisoner. Dismissing
the girls to their own chambers, with strict injunctions not to quit
them unpermitted, I was left alone with Eveena. We were silent for
some minutes, my own heart oppressed with mingled emotions, all
intensely painful, but so confused that, while conscious of acute
suffering, I scarcely realised anything that had occurred. Eveena, who
knelt beside me, though deeply horror-struck, was less surprised and
was far less agitated than I. At last, leaning forward with her arms
on my knee and looking up in my face, she was about to speak. But the
touch and look seemed to break a spell, and, shuddering from head to
foot, I burst into tears like those of an hysterical girl. When, with
the strongest effort that shame and necessity could prompt, aided by
her silent soothing, I had somewhat regained my self-command, Eveena
spoke, in the same attitude and with the same look:—

"You said once that you could pardon such an attempt. That you should
ever forgive at heart cannot be. That punishment should not follow so
terrible a crime, even I cannot desire. But for
my
sake, do not give
her up to the doom she has deserved. Do you know" (as I was silent)
"what that doom is?"

"Death, I suppose."

"Yes!" she said, shuddering, "but death with torture—death on the
vivisection-table. Will you, whatever the danger—
can
you, give up
to such a fate, to such hands, one whom your hand has caressed, whose
head has rested on your heart?"

"It needs not that, Eveena," I answered; "enough that she is woman. I
would face that death myself rather than, for whatever crime, send a
woman, above all a young girl, to such an end. I would rather by far
slay my worst enemy with my own hand than consign him to a death of
torture. But, more than that, my conscience would not permit me to
call on the law to punish a household treason, where household
authority is so strong and so arbitrary as here. Assassination is the
weapon of the oppressed and helpless; and it is not for me so to be
judge in my own cause as to pronounce that Eivé has had no
provocation."

"Shame upon her!" said Eveena indignantly. "No one under your roof
ever had or could have reason to raise a hand, I do not say against
your life, but to give you a moment's pain. I do not ask, I do not
wish you to spare her; only I am glad to think you will deal with her
yourself—remember she has herself removed all limit to your
power—and not by the shameless and merciless hands to which the law
would give her."

We returned to Eveena's chamber. The scene that followed I cannot bear
to recall. Enough that Eivé knew as well as Eveena the law she had
broken and the penalty she had incurred; and, petted darling as she
had been, she utterly lacked all faith in the tenderness she had known
so well, or even in the mercy to which Eveena had confidently
appealed. Understanding at last that she was safe from the law, the
expression of her gratitude was as vehement as her terror had been
intense. But the new phase of passion was not the less repugnant. Not
that there was anything strange in the violent revulsion of feeling.
Born and trained among a race who fear to forgive, Eivé was familiar
by report at least with the merciless vengeance of cowards. Whatever
they might have done later, few would have promised mercy in the very
moment of escape to an ordinary assassin; and if Eivé understood any
aspect of my character, that she could best appreciate was the
outraged tenderness which forbade me to look on hers as ordinary
guilt. Acutely sensitive to pain and fear, she had both known the
better to what terror might prompt the injured, and was the more
appalled by the prospect. Her eagerness to accept by anticipation
whatever degradation and pain domestic power could inflict, when
released by the terrible alternative of legal prosecution from its
usual limits, breathed more of doubt and terror than of shame or
penitence. But at first it keenly affected me. It was with something
akin to a bodily pang that I heard this fragile girl, so easily
subdued by such rebuke or menace as her companions would scarcely have
affected to fear, now pleading for punishment such as would have
quelled the pride and courage of the most high-spirited of her sex. I
felt the deepest pity, not so much for the fear with which she still
trembled as for the agony of terror she must have previously endured.
Eveena averted from her abject supplications a face in which I read
much pain, but more of what would have been disgust in a less
intensely sympathetic nature. And ere long I saw or felt in Eivé's
manner that which caused me suddenly to dismiss Eveena from the room,
as from a presence unfit for her spotless purity and exquisite
delicacy. Finding in me no sign of passionate anger, no readiness, but
reluctance to visit treason with physical pain, Eivé's own expression
changed. Unable to conceive the feeling that rendered the course she
had at first expected simply impossible to me, a nature I had utterly
misconceived caught at an idea few women, not experienced in the worst
of life's lessons, would have entertained. The tiny fragile form, the
slight limbs whose delicate proportions seemed to me almost those of
infancy, their irrepressible quivering plainly revealed by the absence
of robe and veil, no man worthy of the name could have beheld without
intense compassion. But such a feeling she could not realise. As her
features lost the sincerity of overwhelming fear, as the drooping lids
failed for one moment to conceal a look of almost assured exultation
in the dark eyes, my soul was suddenly and thoroughly revolted. I had
forgiven the hand aimed at a heart that never throbbed with a pulse
unkind to her. I might have forgotten the treason that requited
tenderness and trust by seeking my life; but I could never forget,
never recover, that moment's insight into thoughts that so outraged an
affection which, if my conscience belied me not, was absolutely
stainless and unselfish.

It cost a strong persistent effort of self-control to address her
again. But a confession full and complete my duty to others compelled
me to enforce. The story of the next hour I never told or can tell. To
one only did I give a confidence that would have rendered explanation
natural; and that one was the last to whom I could have spoken on this
subject. Enough that the charming infantine simplicity had disguised
an elaborate treachery of which I reluctantly learned that human
nature is capable. The caressed and caressing child had sold my life,
if not her own soul, for the promise of wealth that could purchase
nothing I denied her, and of the first place among the women of her
world. That promise I soon found had not been warranted, directly or
indirectly, by him who alone could at present fulfil it. Needless to
relate the details either of the confession or its extortion. Enough
that Eivé learnt at last perforce that though I had, as it seemed to
her, been fool enough to spare her the vengeance of the law, and to
spare her still as far as possible, her power to fool me further was
gone for ever. Needless to speak of the lies repeated and sustained,
till truth was wrung from quivering lips and sobbing voice; of the
looks that appealed long and incredulously to a love as utterly
forfeited as misunderstood. To the last Eivé could not comprehend the
nature that, having spared her so much, would not spare wholly; the
mercy felt for the weakness, not for the charms of youth and sex.
Shamed, grieved, wounded to the quick, I quitted the presence of one
who, I fear, was as little worth the anguish I then endured for her,
as the tenderness she had so long betrayed; and left the late darling
of my house a prisoner under strict guard, necessary for the safety of
others than ourselves.

Finding a message awaiting me, I sought at once the interview which
the Sovereign fearlessly granted.

"I see," said the Prince with much feeling, as he received my salute,
"that you have gone through deeper pain than such domestic losses can
well cause to us. I am sorry that you are grieved. I can say no more,
and perhaps the less I say the less pain I shall give. Only permit me
this remark. Since I have known you, it has seemed to me that the
utter distinction between our character and yours, showing as it does
at so many points, springs from some single root-difference. We, so
careful of our own life and comfort, care little for those of others.
We, so afraid of pain, are indifferent to its infliction, unless we
have to witness it, and only some of us flinch from the sight. The
softness of heart you show in this trouble seems in some strange way
associated with the strength of heart which you have proved in
dangers, the least of which none of us would have encountered
willingly, and which, forced on us, would have unnerved us all. I am
glad to prove to you that to some extent I depart from my national
character and approach, however, distantly, to yours. I can feel for a
friend's sorrow, and I can face what you seem to consider a real
danger. But you had a purpose in asking this audience. My ears are
open—your lips are unsealed."

"Prince," I replied, "what you have said opens the way to that I
wished to ask. You say truly that courage and tenderness have a common
root, as have the unmanly softness and equally unmanly hardness common
among your subjects. Those for whom death ends all utterly and for
ever will of necessity, at least as soon as the training of years and
of generations has rendered their thought consistent, dread death with
intensest fear, and love to brighten and sweeten life with every
possible enjoyment. Animal enjoyment becomes the most precious, since
it is the keenest. Higher pleasures lose half their value, when the
distinction between the two is reduced to the distinction between the
sensations of higher and lower nerve centres. Thus men care too much
for themselves to care for others; and after all, strong deep
affection, entwined with the heartstrings, can only torture and tear
the hearts for which death is a final parting. Such love as I have
felt for woman—even such love as I felt for her, your gift, whom I
have lost—would be pain intolerable if the thought were ever present
that one day we must, and any day we might, part for ever. I put the
knife against my breast, my life in your hand, when I say this, and I
ask of you no secrecy, no favour for myself; but that, as I trust you,
you will guard the life that is dearest to me if you take from me the
power to guard it.... There are those among your subjects who are not
the cowards you find around your throne, who are not brutal in their
households, not incapable of tenderness and sacrifice for others."

As I spoke I carefully watched the Prince's face, on which no shade of
displeasure was visible; rather the sentiment of one who is somewhat
gratified to hear a perplexing problem solved in a manner agreeable to
his wishes.

"And the reason is," I continued, "that these men and women believe or
know that they are answerable to an eternal Sovereign mightier than
yourself, and that they will reap, not perhaps here, but after death
as they shall have sown; that if they do not forfeit the promise by
their own deed, they shall rejoin hereafter those dearest to them
here."

"There are such?" he said. "I would they were known to me. I had not
dreamed that there were in my realm men who would screen the heart of
another with their own palm."

"Prince," I replied earnestly, "I as their ambassador as one of their
leaders, appeal to you to know and to protect them. They can defend
themselves at need, and, it may be, might prevail though matched one
against a thousand. For their weapons are those against which no
distance, no defences, no numbers afford protection. But in such a
strife many of their lives must be lost, and infinite suffering and
havoc wrought on foes they would willingly spare. They are threatened
with extermination by secret spite or open force; but open force will
be the last resort of enemies well aware that those who strike at the
Star have ever been smitten by the lightning."

A slight change in his countenance satisfied me that the Emblem was
not unknown to him.

"You say," he replied, "that there is an organised scheme to destroy
these people by force or fraud?"