The Mississippi Bubble Part 12

"Of the worst. Madam, to make plain with you, he is in prison, charged with the crime of murder."

Mary Connynge sank back into her chair. The blood fled from her cheek.

Her hands caught each other in a genuine gesture of distress.

"In prison! John Law! Oh heaven! tell me how?" Her voice was trembling now.

"My brother slew Mr. Wilson in a duel not of his own seeking. It happened yesterday, and so swift I scarce can tell you. He took up a quarrel which I had fixed to settle with Mr. Wilson myself. We all met at Bloomsbury Square, my brother coming in great haste. Of a sudden, after his fashion, he became enraged. He sprang from the carriage and met Mr. Wilson. And so--they pa.s.sed a time or so, and 'twas done. Mr.

Wilson died a few moments later. My brother was taken and lodged in jail. There is said to be bitter feeling at the court over this custom of dueling, and it has long been thought that an example would be made."

"And this letter without doubt bears upon all this? Perhaps it might be well if I made both of us owners of its contents."

"a.s.suredly, I should say," replied Will, too distracted to take full heed.

The girl tore open the inclosure. She saw but three words, written boldly, firmly, addressed to no one, and signed by no one.

"Come to me!" Thus spoke the message. This was the summons that had crossed black London town that night.

Mary Connynge rose quickly to her feet, forgetting for the time the man who stood before her. The instant demanded all the resources of her soul. She fought to remain mistress of herself. A moment, and she pa.s.sed Will Law with swift foot, and gained again the stairway in the hall, the letter still fast within her hand. Will Law had not time to ask its contents.

"There is need of haste," said she. "James, have up the calash at once.

Mr. Law, I crave your excuse for a time. In a moment I shall be ready to go with you."

In two minutes she was sobbing alone, her face down upon the bed. In five, she was at the door, dressed, cloaked, smiling sweetly and ready for the journey. And thus it was that, of two women who loved John Law, that one fared on to see him for whom he had not sent.

CHAPTER XIV

PRISONERS

The turnkey at the inner door was slothful, sleepy and ill disposed to listen when he heard that certain callers would be admitted to the prisoner John Law.

"Tis late," said he, "and besides, 'tis contrary to the rules. Must not a prison have rules? Tell me that!"

"We have come to arrange for certain matters regarding Mr. Law's defense," said Mary Connynge, as she threw back her cloak and bent upon the turnkey the full glance of her dark eye. "Surely you would not deny us."

The turnkey looked at Will Law with a hesitation in his att.i.tude. "Why, this gentleman I know," he began.

"Yes; let us in," cried Will Law, with sudden energy. "'Tis time that we took steps to set my brother free."

"True, so say they all, young master," replied the turnkey, grinning.

"'Tis easy to get ye in, but pa.s.sing hard to get ye out again. Yet, since the young man ye wish to see is a very decent gentleman, and knoweth well the needs of a poor working body like myself, we will take the matter under advis.e.m.e.nt, as the court saith, forsooth."

They pa.s.sed through the heavy gates, down a narrow and heavy-aired pa.s.sage, and finally into a naked room. It was here, in such somber surroundings, that Mary Connynge saw again the man whose image had been graven on her heart ever since that morn at Sadler's Wells. How her heart coveted him, how her blood leaped for him--these things the Mary Connynges of the world can tell, they who own the primeval heart of womankind.

When John Law himself at length entered the room, he stepped forward at first confidently, eagerly, though with surprise upon his face. Then, with a sudden hesitation, he looked sharply at the figure which he saw awaiting him in the dingy room. His breath came sharp, and ended in a sigh. For a half moment his face flushed, his brow showed question and annoyance. Yet rapidly, after his fashion, he mastered himself.

"Will," said he, calmly, to his brother, "kindly ask the coachman to wait for this lady."

He stood for a moment gazing after the form of his brother as it disappeared in the outer shadows. For this half-moment he took swift counsel of himself. It was a face calm and noncommittal that he turned toward the girl who sat now in the darkest corner of the room, her head cast down, her foot beating a signal of perturbation upon the floor.

From the corner of her eye Mary Connynge saw him, a tall and manly man, superbly clad, faultless in physique and raiment from top to toe. He stood as though ready to step into his carriage for some voyage to rout or ball. Youth, vigor, self-reliance, confidence, this was the whole message of the splendid figure. The blood of Mary Connynge, this survival, this half-savage woman, unregulated, unsubdued, leaped high within her bosom, fled to her face, gave color to her cheek and brightness to her eye. Her breath shortened after feline fashion. Deep was calling unto deep, ancient unto ancient, primitive unto primitive.

Without the gate of London prison there was one abject prisoner. Within its gates there were two prisoners, and one of them was slave for life!

"Madam," said John Law, in deep and vibrant tone, "you will pardon me if I say that it gives me surprise to see you here."

"Yes; I have come," said the girl, not logically.

"You bring, perhaps, some message?"

"I--I brought a message."

"It is from the Lady Catharine?"

Mary Connynge was silent for a moment. It was necessary that, at least for a moment, the poison of some aeons should distil. There was need of savagery to say what she proposed to say. The voice of training, of civilization, of unselfishness, of friendship raised a protest. Wait then for a moment. Wait until the bitterness of an ambitious and unrounded life could formulate this evil impulse. Wait, till Mary Connynge could summon treachery enough to slay her friend. And yet, wait only until the primitive soul of Mary Connynge should become altogether imperative in its demands! For after all, was not this friend a woman, and is not the earth builded as it is? And hath not G.o.d made male and female its inhabitants; and as there is war of male and male, is there not war of female and female, until the end of time?

"I came from the Lady Catharine," said Mary Connynge, slowly, "but I bring no message from her of the sort which perhaps you wished." It was a desperate, reckless lie, a lie almost certain of detection yet it was the only resource of the moment, and a moment later it was too late to recall. One lie must now follow another, and all must make a deadly coil.

"Madam, I am sorry," said John Law, quietly, yet his face twitched sharply at the impact of these cutting words. "Did you know of my letter to her?"

"Am I not here?" said Mary Connynge.

"True, and I thank you deeply. But how, why-pray you, understand that I would be set right. I would not undergo more than is necessary. Will you not explain?"

"There is but little to explain--little, though it may mean much. It must be private. Your brother--he must never know. Promise me not to speak to him of this."

"This means much to me, I doubt not, my dear lady," said John Law. "I trust I may keep my counsel in a matter which comes so close to me."

"Yes, truly," replied Mary Connynge, "if you had set your heart upon a kindly answer."

"What! You mean, then, that she--"

"Do you promise?"

The brows of Law settled deeper and deeper into the frown which marked him when he was perturbed. The blood, settled back, now slowly mounted again into his face, the resentful, fighting blood of the Highlander.

"I promise," he cried. "And now, tell me what answer had the Lady Catharine Knollys."

"She declined to answer," said Mary Connynge, slowly and evenly.

"Declined to come. She said that she was ill enough pleased to hear of your brawling. Said that she doubted not the law would punish you, nor doubted that the law was just."

John Law half whirled upon his heel, smote his hands together and laughed loud and bitterly.

"Madam," said he, "I had never thought to say it to a woman, but in very justice I must tell you that I see quite through this shallow falsehood."

"Sir," said Mary Connynge, her hands clutching at the arms of her chair, "this is unusual speech to a lady!"

"But your story, Madam, is most unusual."