The Man with a Shadow

“Now,” shouted North fiercely, “I have given you back your life; take it, and give me back mine in rest and peace, or, as I restored, so will I destroy.”

His hands dropped to his side, and he uttered a low moan and shrank away.

Not that it was all imagination, for he knew that he had tightly grasped a living, breathing form, which had uttered a cry of dread, and then exclaimed:

“Horace – Horace, old fellow, are you mad?”

There was a loud rustling, a faint rattling sound, as North staggered to the side of the room and sank upon the couch. Then came a scratching noise, the flash of a match, and the tiny wax light emitting a bluish flame threw up the pale, smooth face of Cousin Thompson, whose eyes were dilated with fear.

He hurried to the chimney-piece, and lit one of the candles in a bronze stand.

“Why, Horace, old fellow, what are you about?” he cried, trembling. “Thank goodness, it is you.”

North muttered some words inaudibly, afraid to trust himself to speak, and covered his face with his hands.

“Why, what’s the matter, old fellow?” said Thompson, laughing. “Oh, I see; you’ve been shut up so long, you can’t bear the light. How ridiculous, isn’t it?”

North remained silent.

“I heard a noise, and knowing you were ill, felt it my duty to come down. I could tell that some one was prowling about, and backed in here with my fist ready doubled to strike, but you were too quick for me. I’m glad I spoke.”

Still no answer.

“By Jove! what a joke! You took me for a burglar; I took you for one. What a blessing that we were not armed!”

“Armed?” said North slowly.

“Yes. Why, you might have sent a bullet through me. Well, I am glad that confounded tooth kept me awake. It has given me a chance of seeing you. Why, I had only just lain down in my clothes, after stamping about the room till I was afraid I should disturb the house. Give me something for it, there’s a good fellow.”

North hesitated for a few moments, trembling lest he should say words that would excite his cousin’s attention; but at last he rose with one hand across his eyes.

“What, are your eyes so bad?” said Cousin Thompson.

“Yes,” was the laconic reply; and North went to the surgery, took a small bottle from a drawer, the clink of a stopper or two was heard, and a peculiar smell arose, as Thompson noted, with eager eyes, how his cousin kept his back to him while dropping a small quantity from each of the bottles he took down.

“Can you see?” said Cousin Thompson, holding the candle.

“Yes, I can see, thank you,” said North, replacing the bottles on the shelf, and fitting a cork to that he held, before labelling it “poison.”

“Rub a little of that upon the outside of your face; it will allay the pain.”

“It’s awfully good of you,” said Thompson smoothly, “specially now you’re so ill. Thanks. Rub a little outside, don’t you say? I suppose this ‘poison’ is only a scarecrow. It wouldn’t hurt me if I took the lot.”

“No,” said North quietly. “It would not hurt you. The sensation would he rather pleasant.”

“I thought as much,” said Cousin Thompson, who, while he played with the bottle, watched North narrowly.

“But,” added the doctor impressively, “I should make my will first, if I were you.”

“Why?”

“Because to-morrow morning you would be past the power of doing so.”

“Oh, I say, old fellow, is it so bad as that? Make my will, eh? Physician, heal thyself! Why, you haven’t made yours.”

“No,” said North quietly; “I have not made mine. Good night, I am going to my room.”

“One moment – shall I see you to-morrow?”

“No.”

“Well, the next day, then?”

“Doubtful,” said North hurriedly, and he walked brusquely by his cousin to hurry to the staircase, and up to his own room.

“I thought not,” muttered Cousin Thompson. “That was a good bold shot right in the bull’s-eye. Now, Master Horace, the old adage is going to be proved. Every dog has his day, and this dog is going to have his. How many times have you lent him money in a cursed grudging, curmudgeon-like spirit? How often have I come here, worn out with worry and scheming to get an honest living, and you have received me – you rolling in riches – with a churlish hospitality such as I should have thrown back at you if I had not been so poor? Never mind, my dear boy; the world turns round, and those who are down to-day are up to-morrow. I can make Squire Tom squeak to a pretty tune whenever I like, and the widow – well, she’s not a bad sort of woman to come and sit in the nest she has helped to line. ‘Manor House, Duke’s Hampton: Manor House, Duke’s Hampton!’ Not a bad address. There are worse things than being a country gentleman – county magistrate is the proper term. Yes, my dear cousin, things look brighter than they have looked for years. What a blessed thing is the British law, especially where a medical question comes in. The fruit’s about ripe, and if I do not stretch out my hand to pick it, why, I must be a fool.”

“Fool!” he said, as he stood there smiling, with the lighted candle in his hand, casting strange shadows upon the lower portions of his countenance. “Fool – fool – fool! No,” he said softly, as he shook his head. “I have a few failings: I am a little weak. I admire a soft, plump, pleasant-looking widow – with money – like Mrs Berens. I like money – plenty of money, and I like Duke’s Hampton; but those are only amiable weaknesses, and I don’t think I’m a fool.”

He held up the candle and looked round as if enjoying the sense of possession, and his eyes rested on the good old-fashioned furniture, the choice selection of books, a bronze or two, and a couple of paintings by a master hand: all of which his twinkling eyes seemed to appraise and catalogue at a glance.

“Yes,” he said, smiling softly, “things look a good deal brighter now, and I like Duke’s Hampton quite well enough to come and live in – with a wife.”

He took a step or two towards the door, and paused once more, evidently enjoying his self-communings.

“No! There was a decision about that no which I liked, my dear cousin. No: he has not made his will. But it does not matter, my dear boy – not in the least, for, as far as I know, you are not going to die.”

His face lost its smile here, and he took the little bottle he had received softly from his pocket, and held it to the light.

“Poison. For outward application only.”

He read the words slowly.

“Yes,” he said, “that would be a dangerous thing in the hands of some men who saw a life standing between them and a goodly property. But no, my pretty drops! You may go back again. Not for me. I am a lawyer, and I know the law. What idiots some men have been, and at what cost to themselves! But, then, they were not lawyers, and did not know the law. Now, then, for a good night’s rest. And to-morrow. Hah!”

Volume Three – Chapter Ten.

A Visit in the Dark

“I don’t like it, Mary. North has completely shut himself up. He will not even see Mrs Milt, so she tells me, and she is getting very uneasy about his state.”

Mary looked up at her brother. She could not trust herself to speak.

“I pity him, and yet I feel annoyed and hurt, for I gave him credit for greater strength of mind.”

Mary felt that she knew what was coming, but she dared not open her lips.

“Of course it was very painful to find out the woman he had made his idol was trifling with him, but I should have thought that Horace North would have proved himself to be a man of the world, borne his burden patiently, and been enough of a philosopher to go on his way without breaking down.”