The Day of Judgment Part 29

Paul quickly recovered himself, and rose to his feet. He wiped the blood from his face, and then seemed undecided what to do. He struck no blow, but spoke in tones loud enough for the watchers to hear him plainly. "I might have expected this," he said. "It was a coward's blow, the kind of blow such as you always strike. But, remember, I always pay my debts--always, even to the uttermost farthing." Then he walked away without another word.

CHAPTER XII

A NIGHT OF DOOM

Paul found his way back to his home, thinking over what had taken place. He was still half-dazed by the blow he had received, and his heart was filled with black rage. Perhaps, too, he was the more angry because he found it difficult to perform what he had threatened. In spite of himself he shrank from writing to the paper contradicting the engagement. He had no right to do so. For all he knew, the engagement might be an actual fact. He did not believe that Mary Bolitho had consented of her own free will to marry Wilson, and yet he did not know. Rumour had it that her father was not a wealthy man; and, after all, Wilson was one of the richest men in Lancashire, the home of huge fortunes. It might be, therefore, that Judge Bolitho had persuaded her against her will to marry this man. It would relieve him of all financial worries. From some standpoints it would be a brilliant match. It was true, Wilson was not a man who would shine in Mary Bolitho's circle, but money can do a great deal, and here he was almost all-powerful. But that was not all. Brunford, like all provincial towns, was noted for its gossip, and if he contradicted the engagement, all sorts of wild rumours would be afloat. Mary Bolitho's name would be discussed by all sorts of people, and things would be said which would madden both him and her. Still, she must know the truth. If he told her certain things he knew about Wilson, he believed he could save her from him. But even here difficulties presented themselves. Could he prove these facts in such a way that Mary Bolitho would be convinced? And should he not, by so doing, make himself appear to her a spy and an informer? He did not know much about such matters, but it was not a dignified role to play. In a way it would be striking below the belt. He would not be playing the game. And the thought was hateful to him. "But she must know, she must know!" he said to himself, as he trudged along the road. "And I'll not be beaten, especially by a man like that." And then he remembered the blow which had been struck. "Yes, he shall pay for it!" he said grimly, as he wiped the blood away from his face. "He shall pay for it to the uttermost farthing!"

When he reached his home it was dark, and he was still undecided as to the exact course he should pursue. He opened the door with his latch-key, and switched on the electric light. As he did so his mother came into the hall. "Paul," she said, "what is the matter?"

"Nothing," he replied, trying to evade her gaze.

"But your face is bleeding. There's an ugly wound in your temple!"

"It's nothing," he replied. "Just a slight scratch, that's all."

"It's no scratch," said the mother. "Tell me, what is it, Paul? I must know!" And she caught him by the arm.

"It's no use telling you, mother," he said, facing her. "And you needn't trouble; I am not hurt very much."

The woman looked searchingly at his face, and knew by its extreme pallor and the tremor of his lips that he was much wrought upon.

"Paul," she said. "This is Wilson's doing!"

"Is it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh. "Well, he shall pay for it, anyhow!"

"I was right, then. It's true. Has he beaten you?"

"No, mother," he said. "I'm not to be beaten by Wilson."

"You shall not! You shall not!" And her voice was hoa.r.s.e. "Tell me, Paul, tell me. What is it? I must know--I will know!"

"Very well," he said. "If you will know, come into my study." And then he described the scene which had taken place.

The woman fixed her eyes upon him, and kept them fixed all the time he was speaking. Her face never moved a muscle, although her hands clenched and unclenched themselves nervously. "And you'll pay him out for this?" she said at length, when he had finished his story.

"Yes," he said, "he shall be paid out."

"But how? Tell me, Paul?"

"I have not quite made up my mind yet, mother. I must sleep on it."

"Sleep on it!" And there was an intensity in her tones which almost frightened him. "Sleep on it--sleep on it! Will you let a man like that get the better of you? Will you have a wound like that--a wound, the marks of which you'll carry to your grave, and then say you'll sleep on it? Paul, you're chicken-hearted."

"No," he replied. "I'm not chicken-hearted; but whatever is done, mother, I must save Mary Bolitho's name from being dragged into the mire. But you need not fear."

For an hour or more they talked, the woman asking questions, and Paul answering them.

"Come," said his mother presently, "you'll be wanting some supper!"

"No," he said. "I want no supper, but I think I want to be alone, mother. I have a great deal to think about."

"I wish you'd let me do your thinking for you, Paul." And Paul almost shuddered as he saw the look in her eyes. "You think I'm a weak woman," she went on. "You think I know nothing, and can do nothing.

But you're mistaken, my boy. I know a great deal, and can do a great deal."

She reached towards him, and put her arms round his neck. "Oh, my lad, my lad!" she said. "You're the only thing I love. All through those long years in Cornwall I had nothing to brighten my life but the thought of you. I had only one thing to live for and to hope for, and that was your happiness; and you shall have it. All that you hope for, Paul--all that you hope for shall come to pa.s.s. Sometimes a weak, ignorant woman can do more than a clever man; and you're clever. Oh, yes, you are! You've got into Parliament, and you'll make a name in the world; but you haven't found the things you started out to find.

You haven't got your rightful name. But you shall have everything, Paul: you shall have revenge, and you shall have love; and I, your mother, will give it you. As for that man Wilson, never fear, Paul, you shall have your revenge!"

"What do you mean, mother?"

"I mean all I say, Paul; never fear. But you want to be alone now, so I'll go and leave you."

As she went towards the door, he heard her muttering something about Howden Clough, but he did not pay much attention to her; his mind was too full of other things.

She closed the door behind her, and left him to his thoughts. He went into the lavatory and bathed his face, and as he looked at the wound on his temple a curious smile played around his lips. Presently he went back to his study again, and sat for hours brooding and planning, Murder was in his heart. "And they talk of G.o.d," he said. "They talk of a beneficent Providence that controls all and arranges all! A man has to be his own Providence. He has to shape his own destiny. He has to fight his own battles."

It was nearly midnight when at length he rose to his feet. His mind seemed to be made up as to what he intended to do. His course was mapped out. "Why, it's nearly twelve o'clock," he said. "And mother has not come to bid me 'Good-night.' I wonder why." He left the room, and found that the house was in absolute silence. All the lights were turned out; the ticking of an eight-day clock in the hall sounded clearly in the silence of the night. "I'll go up into her room," he said. Forthwith he went noiselessly up the thickly carpeted stairway, and knocked at her bedroom door. There was no answer. "Mother," he said, "mother. I want to speak to you." But there was no reply. All was silent.

He opened the door and went in. The room was empty, and the bed was unruffled. A strange feeling possessed him; he did not know what it was. It seemed as though something terrible had happened, but he could see nothing. Almost mechanically he opened some of the cupboards in the room, and saw his mother's dresses hanging--the dresses which he had bought for her with a great love in his heart. "I wonder where she is," he said. "I think I will go up to the top floor, and rouse the servants." Suiting the action to the thought, he went up the next flight of stairs. He stood for a moment and listened. He thought he heard the servants breathing heavily. Evidently they were fast asleep, and would know nothing about his mother. "I should only start them talking if I asked them where she is," he thought to himself.

"Perhaps, after all, she is in one of the other rooms!"

Feeling almost like a thief, he visited every part of the house, but no one was there, and everything was as silent as death. "I can't go to bed and not know where she is," he reflected. "I wonder what she meant when she talked to me so strangely--what she had in her mind! I must know, I must know!" He opened the door, and went out into the night.

The sky was moonless, but for a wonder it was resplendent with stars.

All the factory fires were low, and the air was no longer smoke-sodden.

The wind came from the sea, and he breathed deeply. It seemed as though a great healing power pa.s.sed over his heart. He went into the little garden upon which he had bestowed such care, and stood still, listening. Not a sound broke the silence. Not a footstep was to be heard. A thought struck him, and he hurried back to the house again.

The bonnet and boots which his mother usually wore when she went out were missing, and, as he noticed it, a great fear entered his heart.

He looked at his watch; it was nearly midnight. "I wonder--I wonder!"

he said to himself. A minute later he had closed the door, and was walking in the direction of Howden Clough.

It was six o'clock in the morning when he returned; but the month being December, darkness still reigned supreme. Black clouds now covered the sky, and a wailing wind pa.s.sed round the house. He turned up the electric light, and saw that his mother's boots were placed ready for cleaning. They were covered with mud. Evidently she had had a long tramp.

"At any rate, she has returned," he said to himself. He went into all the downstairs rooms, but she was nowhere visible. Then he climbed the stairs again, and stood at his mother's bedroom door. He opened it and went in. The bed had not been used at all, but sitting in an armchair, just under the electric light, was his mother, her face buried in her hands.

"Mother," he said, "where have you been?"

She took no notice; perhaps she did not hear him. He came up to her side and touched her, upon which she started to her feet. "Mother," he repeated, "where have you been?" And he could not help noticing a kind of unholy triumph in her face. "Why are you not in bed?" he asked.

"It is six o'clock in the morning, and your bed has not been slept on."

"It's all right, Paul," she said. "It's all right. Never mind; you needn't fear. I've found out something. I've done something!"

"Found out something! Done something! What?"

"I am not going to tell you," she said, and the look on her face frightened him. It might be that some long-desired thing had been given to her--some great object attained, some unholy desire gratified.

For the look on her face was not one that a man loves to see in the face of his mother.

"All you hoped for shall come to pa.s.s, Paul. Yes, all--all, my boy; don't be afraid. I've done it!"