The Cockaynes in Paris Part 12

"The worst of men--the basest; and he's on his death-bed! and I'm to forgive him! I!

"Where is she? where is she, Glendore? for I know you through your disguise."

We stared at the farmer while he raved, lit his cigar, and then, in the torrent of his pa.s.sion, let it out again. As we dipped to the hollow in which Wimille lay, pa.s.sing carts laden with iron ore, Sharp became more excited.

"We cannot be far off now. He's lying at one of the iron-masters'

houses, half a mile beyond this Wimille. Let's stop: I must have some brandy-and-water."

Hanger joyfully fell in with this proposition, vowing that he was frozen, and really could not stand the cold without, unless he had something warm within, any longer. We alighted at the village cabaret, and drew near the sweet-smelling wood fire, from which the buxom landlady drove two old men for our convenience. I protested they should not be disturbed; but they went off shivering, as they begged us to do them the honour of taking up their post in the chimney-corner.

We threw our coats off, and the grog was brought. The woman produced a little carafon of brandy.

"Tell her to bring the bottle," Sharp shouted, impatiently. "Does she take us to be school girls? Let the water be boiling. Ask her--Does she know anything of this Matthew Glendore?"

The farmer mixed himself a stiff gla.s.s of brandy-and-water, while he watched Hanger questioning the landlady with many bows and smiles.

"Plenty of palavering," Sharp muttered; then shouted--"Does she know the scoundrel?"

"One minute, my friend," Hanger mildly observed, meaning to convey to Sharp that he was asking a favour of gentlemen, not roaring his order to slaves. "Permit me to get the good woman's answers. Yes; she knows Monsieur Glendore."

"Mounseer Glendore! She knows no good of him."

"On the contrary," mildly pursued Hanger, sipping his grog, and nicely balancing it with sugar to his taste--"on the contrary, my good sir, she says he is a brave fellow--what she calls a _brave garcon_."

"Doesn't know him then, Mounseer Glendore! I wonder how many disguises he has worn in his life--how many women he has trapped and ruined! Ask her how long he has been here?"

The landlady answered--"Two years about the middle of next month."

"And he has never left this since?" Sharp went on, mixing himself by this time a second gla.s.s of brandy-and-water.

The landlady had never been a day without seeing him. He came to play his game of dominoes in the evening frequently. The dominoes exasperated the farmer. He would as soon see a man with crochet needles.

"D--n him!" Sharp shouted; "just like him."

I now ventured to interfere. Reuben Sharp was becoming violent with pa.s.sion inflamed by brandy. The landlady was certain poor Monsieur Glendore would never rise from his bed again. I said to Sharp--"Whatever the wrong may be this man has done you, Mr. Sharp, pray remember he is dying. He is pa.s.sing beyond your judgment."

"Is he? Pa.s.sing from my grip, is he? No--no--Herbert Daker."

Sharp had sprung from his chair, and was shaking his fist in the air.

"Daker! Herbert Daker!" I seized Reuben Sharp by the shoulder, and shook him violently. "What do you know about Herbert Daker?"

Sharp turned upon me a face shattered with rage, and hissed at me. "What do I know about him? What do _you_ about him? Are you his friend?"

"I am not: never will, nor can be," was my reply. Sharp wrung my hand till it felt bloodless. "Herbert Daker is Matthew Glendore--Mounseer Glendore. When did you meet him?"

"On the Boulogne steamer, about three years ago, when he was crossing with his wife."

"Then!" Sharp exclaimed, and again he took a draught of brandy-and-water.

At this moment Hanger, who had been talking with the landlady, joined us, and whispered--"Be calm, gentlemen; this is a time for calmness.

Glendore is at hand--in a little cottage on Monsieur Guibert's works.

Madame says if we wish to see him alive, we had better lose no time. The clergyman from Boulogne arrived about an hour ago, and is with him now.

His wife!----"

"His wife!" Sharp was now a pitiable spectacle. He finished his gla.s.s, and caught Hanger by the collar of his coat--staring into his face to get at all the truth. "Glendore's wife!"

Hanger was as cool as man could be. He disengaged himself deliberately from the farmer's grip, put the table between them, and went smoothly on with the further observation he had to make!

"I repeat, according to the landlady, whose word we have no reason to doubt, his wife is with him--and his mother!"

Sharp struck the table and roared that it was impossible. I stood in hopeless bewilderment.

"Would it be decent to intrude at such a moment?"

"Decent!" Sharp was frantically endeavouring to b.u.t.ton up his coat.

"D--n it, decent! Which is the way? My girl--my poor girl!"

"Show him," I contrived to say to Hanger, and he took the landlady's directions, while I pa.s.sed my arm through Reuben Sharp's. We stumbled and blundered along in Hanger's footsteps, round muddy corners, past heaps of yellow ore, Sharp muttering and cursing and gesticulating by the way. We came suddenly to a halt at the little green door of a four-roomed cottage.

"Knock! knock!" Sharp shouted, pressing with his whole weight against the door. "Let me see her!--the villain!--Mounseer Glendore!--No, no, Herbert Daker!"

The power of observation is at its quickest in moments of intense excitement. I remember looking with the utmost calmness at Sharp's face and figure, as he stood gasping before the door of Herbert Daker's lodging. It was the head of a satyr in anger.

"Daker--Herbert Daker!" Sharp cried.

The door was suddenly thrown open, and an English clergyman, unruffled and full of dignity, stood in the entrance. Sharp was a bold, untutored man; but he dared not force his way past the priest.

"Quiet, gentlemen--be quiet. Step in--but quiet--quiet."

We were in the chamber of Matthew Glendore in a moment. A lady rose from the bedside. Humble, and yet stately, a white face with red and swollen eyelids, eyes with command in them. We were uncovered, and in an instant wholly subdued.

"My child--my girl!" Reuben Sharp moaned.

The clergyman approached him, and laid his hand upon him.

"Whom do you want?"

"Mrs. Daker--my--"

The pale lady, full of grief, advanced a step, and looking full in the face of Reuben Sharp, said, "I, sir, am Mrs. Daker."

I had never seen that lady before.

"You!" Sharp shouted, shaking with rage.

But the minister firmly laid his hand upon him now, saying, "Hush! in the chamber of death! His mother is at his bedside; spare her."