The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly Part 100

"And how will he bear it; in what spirit will he meet the blow?"

"From what I have seen of him, I 'd say he 'd stand up n.o.bly under misfortune, and not less so here, that I know he firmly believed in his right; he was no party to the fraud."

"These frauds, as you call them, succeed every day, and when they occur in high places we have more courteous names to call them by. What say you to the empire in France?"

"I'll not discuss that question with you; it takes too wide a range."

"Anatole must bethink him of some other livelihood now, that's clear. I mean to tell him so."

"You intend to see him--to speak with him?"

"What, sir, do you doubt it? Is it because my wife rejects me that I am to be lost to the ties of parental affection?" He said this with a coa.r.s.e and undisguised mockery, and then, suddenly changing to a tone of earnestness, added, "We shall have to link our fortunes now, and there are not many men who can give an adventurer such counsels as I can."

"From what I know of the Bramleighs, they would willingly befriend him if they knew how, or in what way to do it."

"Nothing easier. All men's professions can be brought to an easy test,--so long as money exists."

"Let me know where to write to you, and I will see what can be done."

"Or, rather, let _me_ have _your_ address, for my whereabouts is somewhat uncertain."

Cutbill wrote his name and Cattaro on a slip of paper, and the old fellow smiled grimly, and said, "Ah! _that_ was your clew, then, to this discovery. I knew Giacomo died there, but it was a most unlikely spot to track him to. Nothing but chance, the merest chance, could have led to it?"

This he said interrogatively; but Cutbill made no reply.

"You don't care to imitate _my_ frankness, sir; and I am not surprised at it. It is only a fellow who has worn rags for years that does n't fear nakedness. Is my son travelling alone, or has he a companion?"

"He had a companion some short time back; but I do not know if they are together now."

"I shall learn all that at Rome."

"And have you no fears to be seen there? Will the authorities not meddle with you?"

"Far from it. It is the one state in Europe where men like myself enjoy liberty. They often need us,--they fear us always."

Cutbill was silent for some time. He seemed like one revolving some project in his mind, but unable to decide on what he should do. At last he said,--

"You remember a young Englishman who made his escape from Ischia last June?"

"To be sure I do,--my comrade."

"You will be astonished to know he was a Bramleigh,--a brother of the owner of the estate."

"It was so like my luck to have trusted him," said the other, bitterly.

"You are wrong there. He was always your friend,--he is so at this moment. I have heard him talk of you with great kindliness."

A careless shrug of the shoulders was the reply.

"Tell him from me," said he, with a savage grin, "that Onofrio,--don't forget the name,--Onofrio is dead. We threw him over the cliff the night we broke the jail. There, let me write it for you," said he, taking the pencil from Cutbill's hand, and writing the word Onofrio in a large bold character.

"Keep that pencil-case, will you, as a souvenir?" said Cutbill.

"Give me ten francs instead, and I'll remember you when I pay for my dinner," said he, with a grating laugh; and he took the handful of loose silver Cutbill offered him, and thrust it into his pocket. "Is n't that Souza we see in the valley there? Yes; I remember it well. I'll go no further with you--there's a police-station where I had trouble once.

I 'll take the cross-path here that leads down to the Pinarola Road. I thank you heartily. I wanted a little good-nature much when you overtook me. Goodbye."

He leaped from the carriage as he spoke, and crossing the little embankment of the road, descended a steep slope, and was out of sight almost in an instant.

CHAPTER LXVIII. A MEETING AND A PARTING

In the same room where Pracontal and Longworth had parted in anger, the two men, reconciled and once more friends, sat over their dessert and a cigar. The handsome reparation Pracontal had offered in a letter had been frankly and generously met, and it is probable that their friends.h.i.+p was only the more strongly ratified by the incident.

They were both dressed with unusual care, for Lady Augusta "received" a few intimate friends on that evening, and Pracontal was to be presented to them in his quality of accepted suitor.

"I think," said Longworth, laughingly, "it is the sort of ordeal most Englishmen would feel very awkward in. You are trotted out for the inspection of a critical public, who are to declare what they think of your eyes and your whiskers, if they augur well of your temper, and whether, on the whole, you are the sort of person to whom a woman might confide her fate and future."

"You talk as if I were to be sent before a jury and risk a sentence,"

said Pracontal, with a slight irritation in his tone.

"It is something very like it."

"And I say, there is no resemblance whatever."

"Don't you remember what Lord Byron in one of his letters says of a memorable drive through Ravenna one evening, where he was presented as the accepted?--There's that hang-dog rascal that followed us through the gardens of the Vatican this morning, there he is again, sitting directly in front of our window, and staring at us."

"Well, I take it those benches were placed there for fellows to rest on who had few arm-chairs at home."

"I don't think, in all my experience of humanity, I ever saw a face that revolted me more. He is n't ugly, but there is something in the expression so intensely wicked, that mockery of all goodness, that Retsch puts into Mephistopheles; it actually thrills me."

"I don't see that--there is even drollery in the mouth."

"Yes, diabolic humor, certainly. Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Did n't you see that when I lifted my gla.s.s to my lips, he made a pantomime of drinking too, and bowed to me, as though in salutation?"

"I knew there was fun in the fellow. Let us call him over and speak to him."

"No, no, Pracontal; do not, I beseech you. I feel an aversion towards him that I cannot explain. The rascal poisons the very claret I 'm drinking just by glancing at me."

"You are seldom so whimsical."

"Would n't you say the fellow knew we were talking of him? See he is smiling now; if that infernal grin can be called a smile."