Mr. Marx's Secret Read online

  CHAPTER IV. MY MOTHER'S WARNING.

  For many weeks after that terrible night in Rothland Wood, I laywrestling with a fierce fever, my recovery from which was deemed littleshort of miraculous. A sound constitution, however, and careful nursingbrought me round, and I opened my eyes one sunny morning upon what seemedto me almost a new world.

  The first thing that I can clearly remember after my return toconsciousness was the extraordinary change which had taken place in mymother. From a beautiful, active woman, she seemed to have becometransformed into a stern, cold statue.

  Even now I can recall how frightened I was of her during those first daysof convalescence, and how I shrank from her constant presence by mybedside with a nameless dread.

  The change was in her appearance as well as in her manner. Her rich brownhair had turned completely grey, and there was a frigid, set look in herface, denuded of all expression or affection, which chilled me every timeI looked into it. It was the face--not of my mother, but of a stranger.

  As I began to regain strength and the doctors pronounced me fit to leavethe sick-room, she began to display signs of uneasiness, and often lookedat me in a singular kind of way, as though there were something which shewould say to me.

  And one night I woke up suddenly, to find her standing by my bedside,wrapped in a long dressing-gown, her grey hair streaming down her backand a wild gleam in her burning eyes. I started up in bed with a cry offear, but she held out her hand with a gesture which she intended to bereassuring.

  "Nothing is the matter, Philip," she said. "Lie down, but listen."

  I obeyed, and had she noticed me closely she would have seen that I wasshivering; for her strange appearance and the total lack of affection inher manner, had filled me with something approaching to horror.

  "Philip, you will soon be well enough to go out," she continued. "Peoplewill ask you questions about that night."

  It was the first time the subject had been broached between us. I raisedmyself a little in the bed and gazed at her, with blanched cheeks andfascinated eyes.

  "Listen, Philip! You must remember nothing. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes," I answered faintly.

  "You must forget that you saw me in the garden; you must forgeteverything your father said to you. Do you hear?"

  "Yes," I repeated. "But--but, mother----"

  "Well?"

  "Will he be caught--the man who killed father?" I asked timidly. "Oh, Ihope he will!"

  Her lips parted slowly, and she laughed--a bitter, hysterical laugh,which seemed to me the most awful sound I had ever heard.

  "Hope! Yes; you may hope--hope if you will!" she cried; "but rememberthis, boy: If your hope comes true, it will be an evil day for you andfor me! Remember!"

  Then she turned and walked to the door without another word. I sat in bedand watched her piteously, with a great lump in my throat and a soreheart. The moonlight was pouring in through my latticed window, fallingfull upon the long, graceful lines of her stately figure and her hard,cold face. I was forlorn and unhappy, but to look at her froze the wordsupon my lips.

  Merciless and cruel her features seemed to me. There was no pity, nolove, not a shadow of response to my half-formed, appealing gesture. Ilet her go and sank back upon my pillows, weeping bitterly, with a deepsense of utter loneliness and desolation.

  On the following day I was allowed to leave my room and very soon I wasable to get about. As my mother had anticipated, many people asked mequestions concerning the events of that hideous night. To one and all myanswer was the same. I remembered nothing. My illness had left my memorya blank.

  Long afterwards I saw more clearly how well it was that I had obeyed mymother's bidding.

  A brief extract from a county newspaper will be sufficient to show whatthe universal opinion was concerning my father's murder. I copy it here:

  "In another column will be found an account of the inquest on the body ofGeorge Morton, farmer, late of Rothland Wood Farm. The verdict returnedby the jury--namely, 'Wilful murder against John Francis'--was, in theface of the evidence, the only possible one; and everyone must unite inhoping that the efforts of the police will be successful, and that thecriminal will not be allowed to escape. The facts are simple andconclusive.

  "It appears from the evidence of Mr. Bullson, landlord of the GeorgeHotel, Mellborough, and of several other _habitues_ of the place, thatonly a few days before the deed was committed, there was a violentdispute between deceased and Francis and that threats were freely used onboth sides. On the night in question Francis started from Rothlandvillage shortly after nine o'clock, with the intention of making his waythrough the wood to Ravenor Castle. Owing, no doubt, to the extraordinarydarkness of the night, he appears to have lost his way, and to have beendirected by Mrs. Morton, who noticed him wandering about near her gardengate.

  "Mrs. Morton declines to swear to his identity, owing in the darkness;but this, in the face of other circumstances, must count for little inhis favour. He was also seen by the deceased, who, enraged at finding himon his land and addressing his wife, started in pursuit, followed by Mrs.Morton and her little boy, who arrived at the slate-pits in time towitness, but too late to prevent, the awful tragedy which we fullyreported a few days since.

  "In face of the flight of the man Francis, and the known fact that he wasin the wood that night, there is little room for doubt as to his beingthe actual perpetrator of the deed, although the details of the strugglemust remain, for the present, shrouded in mystery. Mr. Ravenor, who hasjust arrived in England, has offered a reward of L500 for informationleading to the arrest of Francis, who was a servant at the Castle."