The Vultures

H >> Henry Seton Merriman >> The Vultures


Wanda came into the room a few minutes later. She was, of course, in
mourning for Martin now, as well as for Poland. But she still carried
her head high and faced the world with unshrinking eyes. Cartoner
followed her into the room, his thoughtful glance reading Deulin's face.

"You have news?"

"I have heard from your father at last."

The Frenchman took the letter from his pocket, and his manner of
unfolding it must have conveyed the intimation that he was not going to
give it to Wanda, but intended to read it aloud, for Lady Orlay walked
to the other end of the long room, out of hearing. Cartoner was about to
follow her, when Wanda turned and glanced at him, and he stayed.

"The letter begins," said Deulin, unconsciously falling into a
professional preliminary--

"'I have received Cartoner's letter supplementing the account given by
the man who was with Martin at the last. I remember Captain Cable quite
well. When we met him at the Signal House, at Northfleet, I little
thought that he would be called upon to render the last earthly service
to my son. So it was he who read the last words. And Martin was buried
in the Baltic. You, my old friend, know all that I have given to Poland.
The last gift has been the hardest to part with. Some day I hope
to write to Cartoner, but not now. He is not a man to attach much
importance to words. He is, I think, a man to understand silence. At
present I cannot write, as I am virtually a prisoner in my own house.
From a high quarter I have received a gracious intimation that my
affairs are under the special attention of a beneficent monarch, and
that I am so far to be mercifully forgiven that a sentence of perpetual
confinement within the barriers of Warsaw will be deemed sufficient
punishment for--not having been found out. But my worst enemies are
my own party. Nothing can now convince them that Martin and I did not
betray the plot. Moreover, Cartoner's name is freely coupled with ours.
So they believe. So it will go down to history, and nothing that we
can say will make any difference. That I find myself in company with
Cartoner in this error only strengthens the feeling of friendship, of
which I was conscious when we first met. Beg him, for his own sake,
never to cross this frontier again. Ask him, for mine, to avoid making
any sign of friendship towards me or mine.'"


As fate ruled it, the letter required turning at this point, and Deulin,
for the first time in his life, perhaps, made a mistake at a crucial
moment. He allowed his voice to break on the next word, and had to pause
for an instant before he could proceed.

"Then follow," he said, rather uneasily, "certain passages to myself
which I need not read. Further on he proceeds: 'I am in good health.
Better, indeed, than when I last saw you. I am, in fact, a very tough
old man, and may live to give much trouble yet.'"

Deulin broke off, and laughed heartily at this conceit. But he laughed
alone.

"So, you see, he seems very cheerful," he said, as if it was the letter
that had laughed. He folded the paper and replaced it in his pocket. "He
seems to be getting on very well without you, you perceive," he added,
smiling at Wanda. But he lacked conviction. There was in his voice and
manner a dim suggestion of the losing game, consciously played.

"May I read the letter for myself?" asked Wanda, holding out her slim,
steady hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Deulin took the folded paper from his
pocket and handed it to her. Lady Orlay had returned to the group
standing near the fire. He turned and met her eyes, making an
imperceptible movement of his eyebrows, as of one who had made an
attempt and failed. They waited in silence while Wanda read the letter,
and at length she handed it back to him.

"Yes," she said, "I read it differently. It is not only the world which
appears differently to two different people, even a letter may have two
meanings to two readers. You shed a sort of gayety upon that----"

She indicated the letter which he still held in his hand, and Deulin
deprecated the suggestion by a shrug of the shoulders.

"--which is not really there. To me it is the letter of a broken-hearted
man," she added slowly. There was an odd pause, during which Wanda
seemed to reflect. She was at the parting of the ways. Even Deulin had
nothing to say. He could not point out the path. Perhaps Cartoner had
already done so by his own life, without any words at all.

"I shall go to Warsaw to-night," she said at last to Lady Orlay, "if
you will not think me wanting in manners. Believe me, I do not lack
gratitude. But--you understand?"

"Yes, dear, I understand," replied the woman who had known happiness.
And she closed her lips quickly, as if she feared that they might
falter.

"It is so clearly my duty, and duty is best, is it not?" said Wanda. As
she spoke she turned to Cartoner. The question was asked of none other.
It was unto his judgment that she gave her case; to his wisdom she
submitted the verdict of her life. She wished him to give it before
these people. As if she took a subtle pride in showing them that he was
what she knew him to be. She was sure of her lover; which is, perhaps,
happiness enough for this world.

"Duty is best, is it not?" she repeated.

"It is the only thing," he answered.

Deulin was the first to speak. He had strong views upon last words and
partings. The mere thought of such things made him suddenly energetic
and active. He turned to Wanda with his watch in his hand.

"Your mind is made up?" he asked. "You go to-night?"

"Yes."

"Then I must go at once to see to your passport and make arrangements
for the journey. I take you as far as Alexandrowo. I cannot take you
across the frontier, you understand?"

He turned to Cartoner.

"And you? When do you go to Spain?"

"To-night," was the answer.

"Then good-bye." The Frenchman held out his hand, and in a moment was
at the door. Lady Orlay followed him out of the room and closed the door
behind her. She followed him down-stairs. In the hall they stood and
looked at each other in silence. There were tears in the woman's eyes.
But Deulin's smile was sadder.

"And this is the end," he said--"the end!"

"No," said Lady Orlay; "it is not. It cannot be. I have never known
a great happiness yet that was not built upon the wreckage of other
happinesses. That is why happy people are never gay. It is not the end,
Paul. Heaven is kind."

"Sometimes," answered Deulin, grudgingly. On the door-step he paused,
and, facing her suddenly, he made a gesture indicating himself,
commanding her attention to his long life and story. "Sometimes,
milady."