Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-06-07


SO unconscious OF its power to influence me,
was to change the whole current of my exist
ence-to make me first your passionate lover
and next your husbands murderer?
Yes. Clara, his murderer. From that hour 1
was fOredoomed to do evil for your sake. l
was fated to blight your happiness. and to miss
being happy even though gained tho wages
of my crime.
Your husband liked me. and you were al
ways kind. For the first years of our acquaint-
ance we met but rarely; and 1t was not till you
were established at River Lawn that l came to
be intimately acquainted with you both, and
gradually to be almost one OF the family.
Daisy was the link which united us l had the
good fortune to win the child's love, and this
assured me of the mothers friendship. You
loved books, while your husband cared little
for reading or any intellectual pursuit, being,
above all, a man of action. l was able thus to
supply something wanting in your life, and to
fill a place which he ought to have been able to
fill. / was the adviser of your studies. and the
sharer of your ideas. felt sometimes as If l
were the husband of your intellect, as he was
the husband of your heart.
You have both of you reproached me some
times for keeping aloof, for burying myself
among my books and stunning the Inequalities
of River Lawn. If you could have seen me in
those supposed studious intervals you would
have seen a man possessed of devils. given
over to perdition.
Had you been free fortune would have meant
everything for me. Had you been free-the
widow of a rich man-it would have been a
hard thing to approach you as a pauper NV
pride would have revolted against owing all to
you, fortune as well as happiness. But now
now that L was rlch-your equal at least in for
tune, my motives could not inspire doubt even
In the meanest mind. We're i to we'd you no
malicious wording could ever say Of me, HE
gained all by that lucky marriage
We're you but freei
/ began to mediate upon the uncertainty Of
life and picture 70 myself the accidents and
sudden unforeseen diseases by which men as
young and vigorous as Robert Hatrell are
sometimes taken away. thought OF railway
accidents and imagination conjured up the pic
ture of n calamity in all it's vivid detail-an Gu
gIne oil the llne-a coach or two wrecked
and Robert Hatrell living dead upon the side of
the embankment. l pictured the sudden hor-
rOr OF his homecoming upon the shrOuded
bier. Your agony, your tears. / passed over
those lightly, thinking of how it would be my
lot to console you. to win you back to happi-
ness and a new love. never doubted your
love for him.: knew that your heart was en-
tlrely his; but | thought had an influence over
! your mind which would speedily ripen into
love, he being removed.
understood you so little, you see, Clara. 1
had not fathomed the mystery of your heart.
He has been dead nine years and you love him
still. You have never loved me.
L thought of the river, saw him rowing to-
ward the sunset with his strong, slow stroke,
IN such a scene as our English landscape
painters iOHe. inc village C0urCn beyond the
low line of PUSHES; the clustering willows, pale
In the evening mists; the glory of the sunset
behind church tower and tall elms.
L thought that even on that placid river there
were possibilities of danger-a boat of silly.
chatterlng cockneys upset. Il strong man SWIM
ming to their rescue and losing his life in the
struggle to save those unknown lives. Such
things have been.
/ thought of fevers which seize men suddenly
IN the full vigor of youth. / thought of insid-
/ 1nna nlEnnEnE UhI nrnnr N1AN. IN ,nan 49,.
pected and sap the citadel before he knows that
Death in one of his numerous DISCUSSES is at
the door.
Last Of all thought of Claude Morel and his
threats of vengeance.
/ laughed at the notion. Harmless thunder
no doubt. 1t is common enough for angry mer
to threaten, yet threatened men live.
There was something i'll my recollection Of
Claude MOrel which made me dwell upon his
image in that long reverie, as the lovely light
OF the June afternoon slowly faded, and the
gold of the western sky shone into nv room.
dazzling my dreaming eyes. / recall the color
of the sunset, the feeling of the air, as it
gradually cooled into evening. l recall every
half unconscious impression Of hours which
marked the Crisis OF my life, and saw me
change from an honest man to a villain.
There were i'll Claude Morel's tone and
manner certain indications of a malignity which
L had never seen in any other man. There
was a concentration of purpose, a resolute in
tentlon to %injure, which must ultimately take
some definite form. | told myself. unless cow
ardlce should intervene. And l did not think
Morel a coward. The man had SO little to lose.
HIS fortunes were desperate enough to make
him daring.
What if the opportunity arose and he were to
murder the man he hated-the man who had
refused to help him i'll his distress. i'm
plcitly believed Robert Hatrell's account of
his love affair, and / did not give Morel credit
for caring very much about his sisters reputa-
ton.
What II he really meant murder? / pictured
that sinister figure lurking Ill the rustic lanes,
lying hidden In a dry flowery ditch, under the
spreading hedgerow, ready with pistol or knife
when his enemy passed by.
Opportunity? Why, if he meant murder. it
would be easy enough for him to create his OPP
pOrtunlty. But when the thing was done.
when that gnawing rage had satiated itself,
there would be nothing gained but the gratifi-
cation of his anger and there would be the
hazard of the gallows.
The murderers craft may minimize that
risk. The old saw, that murder will out. has
proved a lying proverb OF late years. The art
OF murder has improved with the march of
civilization and the modern murderer is more
than a match for the modern policeman.
My wicked scheme did not shape itself all
at once. For many days and nights | was
haunted by the image of Claude Morel,
haunted by the tones of his voice, the lurid
light III his eyes when he talked of his enemy.
Again and again ! found myself mentally
measuring the force Of that hatred. which ex-
pressed itself III biting tones and malevolent
looks. Did 1t amount to so much, or SO much,
or so much? Was it really strong enough to
plan and an assassination III broad
daylight III the streets of London.
All this time my life went on upon the old
lnes-the calm monotony of rustic surround
lngs, the unyaryIng graciousness of your
friendship. Your child sat beside me at her
books, under the willow, or hung upon NV
shoulder IN the eXuberance OF love; and
there was no instinct IN her childish mind to
warn her that the man she loved and trusted
had given himself over to the powers Of hell.
While the wicked web was slowly spreading
the msn who was the incarnation of NV own
sinful soeging appeared upon the scene. He
had USfften me two or three begging letters
after that chance meeting in Cover street. and
l had sent him small sums OF money, such
amounts as IA msn OF my supposed means might
send 20 such an applicant. These concessions
had made him holder. and he came to my house
In the dusk of n summer evening, having
walked all the way from Staines. He had lust
the railway fare to Staines he told me, and no
more. l took him in and fed him. and let him
sit at my table and yapour about his inchoate
inventions. all burked for tie want of capital.
/ let him talk of yOur husband. and | answered
all his questions about the man he hated. ]
told him of Robert Hatrells happy and peace
full life. his prosperity, his last fancy for sink
ing four thousand pounds in the purchase OF a
few acres Of land TO increase his pleasure
grounds.
In your native south / take it you would be
able to buy an olive wood and a vineyard with
that money!" i said.
4 He nn1lal va and uyant on Ait