The Lock and Key Library: Classic Mystery and Detective Stories: Modern English
back to her bed; and my mother and I were left alone. I noticed that her
writing-desk, moved from its customary place, was on the bed by her side.
She saw me looking at it. "This is your birthday, Francis," she said.
"Have you anything to tell me?" I had so completely forgotten my Dream,
that I had no notion of what was passing in her mind when she said those
words. For a moment there was a guilty fear in me that she suspected
something. I turned away my face, and said, "No, mother; I have nothing to
tell." She signed to me to stoop down over the pillow and kiss her. "God
bless you, my love!" she said; "and many happy returns of the day." She
patted my hand, and closed her weary eyes, and, little by little, fell off
peaceably into sleep.
I stole downstairs again. I think the good influence of my mother must
have followed me down. At any rate, this is true: I stopped with my hand
on the closed kitchen door, and said to myself: "Suppose I leave the
house, and leave the village, without seeing her or speaking to her more?"
Should I really have fled from temptation in this way, if I had been left
to myself to decide? Who can tell? As things were, I was not left to
decide. While my doubt was in my mind, she heard me, and opened the
kitchen door. My eyes and her eyes met. That ended it.
We were together, unsuspected and undisturbed, for the next two hours.
Time enough for her to reveal the secret of her wasted life. Time enough
for her to take possession of me as her own, to do with me as she liked.
It is needless to dwell here on the misfortunes which had brought her
low; they are misfortunes too common to interest anybody.
Her name was Alicia Warlock. She had been born and bred a lady. She had
lost her station, her character, and her friends. Virtue shuddered at the
sight of her; and Vice had got her for the rest of her days. Shocking and
common, as I told you. It made no difference to _me_. I have said it
already--I say it again--I was a man bewitched. Is there anything so very
wonderful in that? Just remember who I was. Among the honest women in my
own station in life, where could I have found the like of _her_? Could
_they_ walk as she walked? and look as she looked? When _they_ gave me a
kiss, did their lips linger over it as hers did? Had _they_ her skin, her
laugh, her foot, her hand, her touch? _She_ never had a speck of dirt on
her: I tell you her flesh was a perfume. When she embraced me, her arms
folded round me like the wings of angels; and her smile covered me softly
with its light like the sun in heaven. I leave you to laugh at me, or to
cry over me, just as your temper may incline. I am not trying to excuse
myself--I am trying to explain. You are gentle-folks; what dazzled and
maddened _me_, is everyday experience to _you_. Fallen or not, angel or
devil, it came to this--she was a lady; and I was a groom.
Before the house was astir, I got her away (by the workmen's train) to a
large manufacturing town in our parts.
Here--with my savings in money to help her--she could get her outfit of
decent clothes and her lodging among strangers who asked no questions so
long as they were paid. Here--now on one pretense and now on another--I
could visit her, and we could both plan together what our future lives
were to be. I need not tell you that I stood pledged to make her my wife.
A man in my station always marries a woman of her sort.
Do you wonder if I was happy at this time? I should have been perfectly
happy but for one little drawback. It was this: I was never quite at my
ease in the presence of my promised wife.
I don't mean that I was shy with her, or suspicious of her, or ashamed of
her. The uneasiness I am speaking of was caused by a faint doubt in my
mind whether I had not seen her somewhere, before the morning when we met
at the doctor's house. Over and over again, I found myself wondering
whether her face did not remind me of some other face--_what_ other I
never could tell. This strange feeling, this one question that could never
be answered, vexed me to a degree that you would hardly credit. It came
between us at the strangest times--oftenest, however, at night, when the
candles were lit. You have known what it is to try and remember a
forgotten name--and to fail, search as you may, to find it in your mind.
That was my case. I failed to find my lost face, just as you failed to
find your lost name.
In three weeks we had talked matters over, and had arranged how I was to
make a clean breast of it at home. By Alicia's advice, I was to describe
her as having been one of my fellow servants during the time I was
employed under my kind master and mistress in London. There was no fear
now of my mother taking any harm from the shock of a great surprise. Her
health had improved during the three weeks' interval. On the first evening
when she was able to take her old place at tea time, I summoned my
courage, and told her I was going to be married. The poor soul flung her
arms round my neck, and burst out crying for joy. "Oh, Francis!" she says,
"I am so glad you will have somebody to comfort you and care for you when
I am gone!" As for my aunt Chance, you can anticipate what _she_ did,
without being told. Ah, me! If there had really been any prophetic virtue
in the cards, what a terrible warning they might have given us that night!
It was arranged that I was to bring my promised wife to dinner at the
cottage on the next day.
X
I own I was proud of Alicia when I led her into our little parlor at the
appointed time. She had never, to my mind, looked so beautiful as she
looked that day. I never noticed any other woman's dress--I noticed hers
as carefully as if I had been a woman myself! She wore a black silk gown,
with plain collar and cuffs, and a modest lavender-colored bonnet, with
one white rose in it placed at the side. My mother, dressed in her Sunday
best, rose up, all in a flutter, to welcome her daughter-in-law that was
to be. She walked forward a few steps, half smiling, half in tears--she
looked Alicia full in the face--and suddenly stood still. Her cheeks
turned white in an instant; her eyes stared in horror; her hands dropped
helplessly at her sides. She staggered back, and fell into the arms of my
aunt, standing behind her. It was no swoon--she kept her senses. Her eyes
turned slowly from Alicia to me. "Francis," she said, "does that woman's
face remind you of nothing?".
Before I could answer, she pointed to her writing-desk on the table at the
fireside. "Bring it!" she cried, "bring it!".
At the same moment I felt Alicia's hand on my shoulder, and saw Alicia's
face red with anger--and no wonder!
"What does this mean?" she asked. "Does your mother want to insult me?".
I said a few words to quiet her; what they were I don't remember--I was so
confused and astonished at the time. Before I had done, I heard my mother
behind me.
My aunt had fetched her desk. She had opened it; she had taken a paper
from it. Step by step, helping herself along by the wall, she came nearer
and nearer, with the paper in her hand. She looked at the paper--she
looked in Alicia's face--she lifted the long, loose sleeve of her gown,
and examined her hand and arm. I saw fear suddenly take the place of anger
in Alicia's eyes. She shook herself free of my mother's grasp. "Mad!" she
said to herself, "and Francis never told me!" With those words she ran out
of the room.
I was hastening out after her, when my mother signed to me to stop. She
read the words written on the paper. While they fell slowly, one by one,
from her lips, she pointed toward the open door.
"Light gray eyes, with a droop in the left eyelid. Flaxen hair, with a
gold-yellow streak in it. White arms, with a down upon them. Little,
lady's hand, with a rosy-red look about the finger nails. The Dream Woman,
Francis! The Dream Woman!"
Something darkened the parlor window as those words were spoken. I looked
sidelong at the shadow. Alicia Warlock had come back! She was peering in
at us over the low window blind. There was the fatal face which had first
looked at me in the bedroom of the lonely inn. There, resting on the
window blind, was the lovely little hand which had held the murderous
knife. I _had_ seen her before we met in the village. The Dream Woman! The
Dream Woman!
XI
I expect nobody to approve of what I have next to tell of myself. In three
weeks from the day when my mother had identified her with the Woman of the
Dream, I took Alicia Warlock to church, and made her my wife. I was a man
bewitched. Again and again I say it--I was a man bewitched!
During the interval before my marriage, our little household at the
cottage was broken up. My mother and my aunt quarreled. My mother,
believing in the Dream, entreated me to break off my engagement. My aunt,
believing in the cards, urged me to marry.
This difference of opinion produced a dispute between them, in the course
of which my aunt Chance--quite unconscious of having any superstitious
feelings of her own--actually set out the cards which prophesied
happiness to me in my married life, and asked my mother how anybody but "a
blinded heathen could be fule enough, after seeing those cairds, to
believe in a dream!" This was, naturally, too much for my mother's
patience; hard words followed on either side; Mrs. Chance returned in
dudgeon to her friends in Scotland. She left me a written statement of my
future prospects, as revealed by the cards, and with it an address at
which a post-office order would reach her. "The day was not that far off,"
she remarked, "when Francie might remember what he owed to his aunt
Chance, maintaining her ain unbleemished widowhood on thratty punds a
year."
Having refused to give her sanction to my marriage, my mother also refused
to be present at the wedding, or to visit Alicia afterwards. There was no
anger at the bottom of this conduct on her part. Believing as she did in
this Dream, she was simply in mortal fear of my wife. I understood this,
and I made allowances for her. Not a cross word passed between us. My one
happy remembrance now--though I did disobey her in the matter of my
marriage--is this: I loved and respected my good mother to the last.
As for my wife, she expressed no regret at the estrangement between her
mother-in-law and herself. By common consent, we never spoke on that
subject. We settled in the manufacturing town which I have already
mentioned, and we kept a lodging-house. My kind master, at my request,
granted me a lump sum in place of my annuity. This put us into a good
house, decently furnished. For a while things went well enough. I may
describe myself at this time of my life as a happy man.
My misfortunes began with a return of the complaint with which my mother
had already suffered. The doctor confessed, when I asked him the question,
that there was danger to be dreaded this time. Naturally, after hearing
this, I was a good deal away at the cottage. Naturally also, I left the
business of looking after the house, in my absence, to my wife. Little by
little, I found her beginning to alter toward me. While my back was
turned, she formed acquaintances with people of the doubtful and
dissipated sort. One day, I observed something in her manner which forced
the suspicion on me that she had been drinking. Before the week was out,
my suspicion was a certainty. From keeping company with drunkards, she had
grown to be a drunkard herself.
I did all a man could do to reclaim her. Quite useless! She had never
really returned the love I felt for her: I had no influence; I could do
nothing. My mother, hearing of this last worse trouble, resolved to try
what her influence could do. Ill as she was, I found her one day dressed
to go out.