The Mystery of the Ravenspurs

"No," Ralph said sternly. "You certainly shall not."

"Then good-night. Do not be surprised if I beat you yet."

It was late, and the family were retiring. Marion had already gone. In the drawing-room a group had gathered round the fire. They were silent and sad, for they had heard many things that had moved them strangely. There was a knock at the door and Symonds looked in.

"My prisoner is dead," she said coldly and unmoved. "I supposed she managed to secret some poison and take it. But she is dead."

"It is well," Ravenspur replied. "It might have been worse. It was the best she could do to lift the shadow of disgrace from this unhappy house."

L'ENVOI

Marion had bowed her head before the coming storm. She asked no mercy and expected none. Yet she looked the same pure, unaffected saint she had ever appeared. Ravenspur would have taken her hand, but she drew it away.

"It is true," she said, "I am a fallen angel. I have never been anything else. Put it down to my mother's training if you like, but I came here as her friend, not yours. My religion is hers, my feelings are hers; I am of her people. With all the wicked knowledge of the East I came here to cut you off root and branch."

"Why?" Ravenspur said brokenly. "In the name of Heaven, why?"

"Because for years I have been taught to hate you; because I am at heart an Asiatic. It would be grand to have all your money, so that I might be a great person in my own country some day. Then I came and brought the curse with me. It never seemed to strike any of you that the curse and I came together. Three deaths followed. In every one of these I played a part; I was responsible for them all. Shall I tell you how?"

"No, no," said Ravenspur. "Heavens, this is too horrible. To think of you looking so sweet and so fair and good; to think that you should have crept into our hearts only to betray us like this. We want to hear nothing beyond your confession. Have you a heart at all, or are you a beautiful fiend?"

"I did not imagine that I had a heart at all until I came here," Marion replied. She had not abated a jot of her sweetness of expression or angelic manner. "Then gradually I began to love you all. When I met my cousin Geoffrey I recognized the fact that I was a woman.

"More than once I have been on the point of betraying myself to him. But the more passion for him filled my heart the worse I felt. I was going to kill you all off and keep Geoffrey for myself. If Vera had died he would have come to care for me in time. I know he would.

"Then my mother came. I was not getting along fast enough for her. Her keen eyes saw into my breast and discovered my secret at once. For that reason she marked Geoffrey down for her next victim. I tried to warn him; I wrote him a letter. And I had to do him to death myself. It was I who cut the mast away; it was I who sawed the sculls. I was the girl in the blue dress."

"Amazing," Geoffrey murmured. "To think of it! Marion, Marion!"

There were tears in his eyes; he could not be angry with her. There were tears in the eyes of everybody. Vera was crying softly. And all the grief was as so many daggers in the heart of the unhappy girl.

"Go on," she said. "Cry for me. Every look of pity and every sign of grief stings me to the quick. Perhaps I am mad; perhaps I am not responsible for my actions. But I swear that all the time I have been plotting against your lives I have cared for you. Only my training and my religion forced me on. Call me insane if you please, as you say of the fakir who sleeps upon a bed of sharp nails. I could explain all the mysteries – "

"You need not," Ralph said. "I can do that in good time. From the first I knew you, from the first I have dogged you from room to room at night and frustrated your designs. Then came Tchigorsky, who finished the task for me. Need I say more?"

Marion moved towards the door. The imploring look had gone from her face; her eyes had grown sad and hopeless. And yet in the face of her confession, in face of the knowledge of her crimes, not one of them had the slightest anger for her.

"I am going," she said. "In the event of this happening, I had made my plans. It may be that I shall have to take my trial; it may be that I shall be spared. One thing you may be certain of – my mother will never stand in the dock."

Ralph rose and slipped quietly from the room.

"If she dies, if anything happens to her," Marion went on, "it may be possible to spare me. Nobody knows anything to my dishonor outside the family but Dr. Tchigorsky, and you can rely upon his silence. If my mother is no more there need be no scandal. Farewell, farewell to you all! Oh, if Heaven had been good to me, and sent me here as a little child, then what a happy life might have been mine!"

She passed out of the room and nobody made any attempt to detain her. It was a long, long time before anybody spoke and no voice was raised above a whisper. The shock was stupendous. In none of their past sorrows and troubles had their feelings been more outraged.

The cloud lay heavy upon them all; it would be a long while before it passed away. Ravenspur rose at length, his face white and worn.

"We can do no good here," he said. "Perhaps sleep will bring us merciful relief."

It was at this moment that Symonds looked in with her information. It was no shock, because all were past being shocked. Vera cried on Geoffrey's shoulder.

"I am glad of it," she whispered; "it's an awful thing to say, but I am glad. It saves Marion. We shall never see her again; but I am glad she is saved."

* * * * *

A young couple were looking down on the Mediterranean from the terrace of an old garden filled with the choicest flowers. The man looked bronzed and well, the girl radiantly happy. For grief has no abiding place in the eyes of youth.

"Doesn't it seem wonderful, Geoffrey?" the girl said. "Positively I cannot realize that we have been married three weeks. I shall wake up presently and find myself back at Ravenspur again wondering what dreadful thing is going to happen next."

Geoffrey touched a letter that lay in Vera's lap.

"Here is the evidence of our freedom," he said. "Read it to me, please."

Vera picked up the letter. There was no heading. Then she read:

"I am near you and yet far off. I hear little things from the world from time to time, and I know that you are married to Geoffrey. I felt that I must write you a few lines.

"I am in a convent here, in a convent from whence I can never emerge again. Heaven knows how many human tragedies are bound up in these gray old walls. But of all the miserable wretches here there is none more miserable than myself. Still, in my new faith I have found consolation. I know that there is hope even for sinners as black as myself.

"Will it sound strange to you to hear that I long and yearn for you always; that I still love those whom I would have destroyed? I meant to write you a long letter, but my heart is too full. Do not reply, because we are not allowed to have letters here.

"Heaven bless you both and give you the happiness you deserve!

    "Marion."

Geoffrey took up the letter and tore it into minute fragments. The gentle breeze carried it over the oleanders and lemon trees like snow.

Down below the blue sea sparkled and the world seemed full of the pure delight of life.

"Geoffrey," Vera said after a long pause, "are we too happy?"

"Is it possible to be too happy?" Geoffrey replied.

"Well, too selfishly happy I mean. It seems awful to be so blissful when Marion is full of misery. I shall never feel anything but affection for her. It seems a strange thing to say, but I mean it. Poor Marion."

Geoffrey stooped and kissed the quivering lips.

"Poor Marion, indeed!" he said. "Marion was two distinct persons. Of all the shocks we ever had, her confession hurt me most of all. A creature so sweet and pure and good, a veritable angel! It is sufficient to utterly destroy one's faith in human nature. It would if I hadn't got you."

THE END