Benjamin Farjeon - The House of the White Shadows

"You are to be tried; what is brought against you at your trial will establish either your innocence or your guilt."

He knocked at the door of the prison cell, and the gaoler opened it for him and let him out.

"Well, Gautran?" said the gaoler, but Gautran, wrapped in contemplation of the door through which the Advocate had taken his departure, paid no attention to him. "Do you hear me?" cried the gaoler, shaking his prisoner with no gentle hand.

"What now?"

"Is the great lawyer going to defend you?"

"You want to know too much," said Gautran, and refused to speak another word on the subject.

During the whole of the day there were but two figures in his mind-those of the Advocate and the murdered girl. The latter presented itself in various accusing aspects, and he vainly strove to rid himself of the spectre. Its hair hung in wild disorder over neck and bosom, its white lips moved, its mournful eyes struck terror to his soul. The figure of the Advocate presented itself in far different aspects; it was always terrible, Satanic, and damning in its suggestions.

"What matter," muttered Gautran, "if he gets me off? I can do as I please then."

In the evening, when the small window in his cell was dark, the gaoler heard him crying out loudly. He entered, and demanded what ailed the wretch.

"Light-light!" implored Gautran; "give me light!"

"Beast in human shape," said the gaoler; "you have light enough. You'll get no more. Stop your howling, or I'll stop it for you!"

"Light! light! light!" moaned Gautran, clasping his hands over his eyes. But he could not shut out the phantom of the murdered girl, which from that moment never left him. So he lay and writhed during the night, and would have dashed his head against the wall to put an end to his misery had he not been afraid of death.

It was on the evening of this day, the third since the arrival of the Advocate in Geneva, that he said to his wife over the dinner-table:

"I shall in all likelihood be up the whole of to-night in my study. Do not let me be disturbed."

"Who should disturb you?" asked Adelaide languidly. "There are only you and I in the villa; of course I would not venture to intrude upon you without permission."

"You misunderstand me, Adelaide; it is because we are in a strange house that I thought it best to tell you."

"As if there were anything unusual in your shutting yourself up all night in your study! Our notions of the way to lead an agreeable life are so different! Take your own course, Edward; you are older and wiser than I; but you must not wonder that I think it strange. You come to the country for rest, and you are as hard at work as ever."

"I cannot live without work; aimless days would send me to my grave. If you are lonely, Adelaide-"

"Oh, no, I am not," she cried vivaciously, "at least, not yet. There is so much in the neighbourhood that is interesting. Dionetta and I have been out all day seeing the sights. On the road to Master Lamont's house there is the loveliest rustic bridge. And the wild flowers are the most beautiful I have ever seen. We met a priest, Father Capel, a gentle-looking man, with the kindest face! He said he intended to call upon you, and hoped to be permitted. I said, of course, you would be charmed. I had a good mind to visit Master Lamont, but his house was too far up the hills. Fool Fritz joined us; he is very amusing, with his efforts to be wise. I was delighted everywhere with the people. I went into some of their cottages, and the women were very respectful; and the children-upon my word, Edward, they stare at me as if I were a picture."

The Advocate looked up at this, and regarded his wife with fond admiration. In his private life two influences were dominant-love for his wife, and friendship for Christian Almer. He had love for no other woman, and friendship for no other man, and his trust in both was a perfect trust.

"I do not wonder that the children stare at you," he said; "you must be a new and pleasant experience to them."

"I believe they take me for a saint," she said, laughing gaily; "and I need not tell you that I am very far from being one."

"You are, as we all are, human; and very beautiful, Adelaide."

She gazed at him in surprise.

"It is not often you pay me compliments."

"Do you need them from me? To be sure of my affection-is not that sufficient?"

"But I am fond of compliments."

"I must commence a new study, then," he said gravely; it was difficult for him to indulge in light themes for many minutes together. "So you are making yourself acquainted with the neighbours. I hope you will not soon tire of them."

"When I do I must seek out some other amusement. You have also discovered something since you came here in which you appear to be wonderfully interested."

"Yes; a criminal case-"

"A criminal case!" she echoed pettishly.

"In which there is a great mystery. I do not trouble you with these law matters; long ago you expressed weariness of such themes."

Her humour changed again.

"A mystery!" she exclaimed with child-like vivacity, "in a place where news is so scarce! It must be delightful. What is it about? There is a woman in it, of course. There always is."

"Yes; a young woman, whose body was found in the Rhone."

"Murdered?"

"Murdered, as it at present seems."

"The wretch! Have they caught him? For of course it is a man who committed the dreadful deed."

"One is in prison, charged with the crime. I visited him to-day."

"Surely you are not going to defend him?"

"It is probable. I shall decide to-night."

"But why, Edward, why? If the man is guilty, should he not be punished?"

"Undoubtedly he should. And if he is innocent, he should not be made to suffer. He is poor and friendless; it will be a relief for me to take up the case, should I believe him to be unjustly accused."

"Is he young-handsome-and was it done through jealousy?"

"I have told you the case is shrouded in mystery. As for the man charged with the crime, he is very common and repulsive-looking."

"And you intend to defend such a creature?"

"Most likely."

She shrugged her shoulders with a slight gesture of contempt. She had no understanding of his motives, no sympathy in his labours, no pride in his victories.

When he retired to his study he did not immediately proceed to the investigation of the case of Gautran, as it was set forth in the numerous papers which lay on the table. These papers, in accordance with the given promise, had been sent to him by Pierre Lamont, and it was his intention to employ the hours of the night in a careful study of the details of the affair, and of the conjectures and opinions of editors and correspondents.

But he held his purpose back for a while, and for nearly half-an-hour paced the floor slowly in deep thought. Suddenly he went out, and sought his wife's private room.

"It did not occur to me before," he said, "to tell you that a friend of Christian Almer's-Mr. Hartrich, the banker-in a conversation I had with him, expressed his belief that Almer was suffering."

"Ill!" she cried in an agitated tone.

"In mind, not in body. You have received letters from him lately, I believe?"

"Yes, three or four-the last a fortnight ago."

"Does he say he is unwell?"

"No; but now I think of it, he does not write in his usual good spirits."

"You have his address?"

"Yes; he is in Switzerland, you know."

"So Mr. Hartrich informed me-somewhere in the mountains, endeavouring to extract peace of mind from silence and solitude. That is well enough for a few days, and intellectual men are always grateful for such a change; but, if it is prolonged, there is danger of its bringing a mental disease of a serious and enduring nature upon a man brooding upon unhealthy fancies. I value Almer too highly to lose sight of him, or to allow him to drift. He has no family ties, and is in a certain sense a lonely man. Why should he not come and remain with us during our stay in the village? I had an idea that he himself would have proposed doing so."