I brought you here to show you the place. It was here that the accident happened."
"What accident?"
"Mr. Fentolln's," she continued. "It was here that he went over.
He was picked up with both his legs broken. They never thought that he would live."
Hamel shivered a little. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw more distinctly than ever the sheer fall, the tops of the bending trees below.
"What a horrible thing! "he exclaimed.
"It was more horrible than you know," she continued, dropping her voice a little, almost whispering in his ear. "I do not know why I tell you this - you, a stranger - but if I do not tell some one, I think that the memory of it will drive me mad. It was no accident at all. Mr. Fentolin was thrown over!"
"By whom?" he asked.
She clung to his arm for a moment.
"Ah, don't ask me!" she begged. "No one knows. My uncle gave out, as soon as he was conscious, that it was an accident."
"That, at any rate, was fine of him," Hamel dedared.
She shivered.
"He was proud, at least, of our family name. Whatever credit he deserves for it, he must have. It was owing to that accident that we became his slaves: nothing but that - his absolute slaves, to wait upon him, if he would, hand and foot. You see, he has never been able to marry. His life was, of course, ruined. So the burden came to us. We took it up, little thinking what was in store for us.
Five years ago we came here to live. Gerald wanted to go into the army; I wanted to travel with my mother. Gerald has done all the work secretly, but he has never been allowed to pass his examinations.
I have never left England except to spend two years at the strictest boarding-school in Paris, to which I was taken and fetched away by one of his creatures. We live here, with the shadow of this thing always with us. We are his puppets. If we hesitate to do his bidding, he reminds us. So far, we have been his creatures, body and soul. Whether it will go on, I cannot say - oh, I cannot say!
It is bad for us, but - there is mother, too. He makes her life a perfect hell!"
A roar of wind came booming once more across the marshes, bending the trees which grew so thickly beneath them and which ascended precipitately to the back of the house. The French windows behind rattled. She looked around nervously.
"I am afraid of him all the time," she murmured. "He seems to overhear everything - he or his creatures. Listen!"
They were silent for several moments. He whispered in her ear so closely that through the darkness he could, see the fire in her eyes.
"You are telling me half," he said. "Tell me everything. Who threw your uncle over the parapet?
She stood by his side, motionless and trembling.
"It was the passion of a moment," she said at last, speaking hoarsely. "I cannot tell you. Listen! Listen!"
"There is no one near," Hamel assured her. "It is the wind which shakes the windows. I wish that you would tell me everything. I would like to be your friend. Believe me, I have that desire, really. There are so many things which I do not understand. That it is dull here for you, of course, is natural, but there is something more than that. You seem always to fear something. Your uncle is a selfish man, naturally, although to look at him he seems to have the disposition of an angel. But beyond that, is there anything of which you are afraid? You seem all the time to live in fear."
She suddenly clutched his hand. There was nothing of affection in her touch, and yet he felt a thrill of delight.
"There are strange things which happen here," she whispered, "things which neither Gerald nor I understand. Yet they terrify us. I think that very soon the end will come. Neither of us can stand it very much longer. We have no friends. Somehow or other, he seems to manage to keep us always isolated."
"I shall not go away from here," Hamel said firmly, "at present.
Mind, I am not at all sure that, living this solitary life as you do, you have not become a little over-nervous; that you have not exaggerated the fear of some things. To me your uncle seems merely quixotic and egregiously selfish. However that may be, I am going to remain." She clutched once, more at his arm, her finger was upraised. They listened together. From somewhere behind them came the clear, low wailing of a Violin.
"It is Mr. Fentolin," she whispered. "Please come in; let us go in at once. He only plays when he is excited. I am afraid! Oh, I am afraid that something is going to happen!"
She was already round the corner and on her way to the main terrace.
He followed her closely.
