The Castle of the Shadows | Page 8

home there, or rather between it and the old house in Paris. This young couple had in time a son, and then a daughter. Perhaps you saw the daughter to-day?"
"Yes, it was she. You didn't ask me about her before."
"No; the fact is, I thought that further conversation on the subject would be too painful for poor Loria. You must have seen that he was upset."
"I couldn't help seeing. But go on."
"Well, the father and mother and their two children were a most devoted family. They were all handsome and clever and popular, and if they were not millionaires, they were extravagant, for they gave delightful entertainments here and in Paris, and their purses were open for any one who wished to dip in his fingers.
"The son Maxime, always called Max, inherited his father's generous, reckless, extravagant ways. He was drawn into the fastest set in Paris, and lost a lot of money at baccarat. That wouldn't have mattered much, perhaps, if at the same time some large investments of the father's hadn't gone wrong and crippled the family resources. Then, as misfortunes generally come in crowds, there was a slight earthquake along this part of the coast, and the chateau was partly ruined, as you saw to-day, for they were not able then to have it restored. 'Next year,' they said; but there was no next year for the Dalahaides. Only a few months after the first two blows came the third, which was to crush the family for ever. Max Dalahaide was accused of murder, tried, and condemned."
"What--he is dead, then? I thought you said--I----" Virginia's heart gave so sudden and violent a bound that she stammered, and grew red and white under the revealing moonlight. She was thinking of the portrait--seeing it again, looking into the eyes which had seemed to speak. Dead! Executed as a murderer! The thought was horrible; it stifled her.
"No, he is not dead," answered Roger gravely; "at least, if he is I haven't heard of it. But--if he still exists--one can't call it living--he must have wished a hundred times a day to die and be out of his misery. Perhaps death has come to him. It might, and I not have known; for from out of the pit which has engulfed him, seldom an echo reaches the world above."
"Roger, you frighten me! What do you mean?" the girl exclaimed.
"Forgive me, child. I forgot for a moment, and was thinking aloud. I don't often forget you, do I? I said to-day that Max Dalahaide was dead in life. That is true. Family influence, the tremendous eloquence of a man engaged to plead his cause, the fact that Max insisted upon his innocence, while the evidence was entirely circumstantial, saved him from the guillotine, which I believe he would have preferred, in his desperation. He was sent to that Hades upon earth, New Caledonia, a prisoner for life."
"But--he was English!"
"No. His parents had been English, but he, having been born in France, was a French subject. He had even served his time in the army. Naturally he was amenable to French law; and he is buried alive in Noumea, the most terrible prison in the world."
"And he was innocent!"
Roger, who had been gazing out over the sea, turned a surprised look upon Virginia.
"No! He was not innocent," he said quickly. "Everything proved his guilt. It is impossible that he should have been innocent."
"His sister believed in him."
"Yes, his sister. What does that prove? The father thought him guilty, and killed himself. As for the mother--who knows? At all events, she died--broken-hearted. Every penny the family possessed, after their great losses, went for Maxime's defense; but, except that his life was saved, it was in vain."
"You knew him--he was your friend--yet you believed in his guilt?"
"I hardly knew him well enough to call myself a friend. I admired him, certainly Max Dalahaide was the handsomest, wittiest, most fascinating fellow I ever met. Neither man nor woman could resist him, if he set out to conquer. Loria and he were like brothers; yet Loria thought with the rest of the world. He can't be blamed for disloyalty, either, for really there was nothing else to think, if one used one's reason."
"If he had been my friend, I would not have used my reason!" exclaimed Virginia. "What is the use of reason, when one has instinct?--and that is never wrong. But it is good of you to defend the Marchese, for I know you don't like him."
"Don't I?" echoed Roger. "If I don't, I'm afraid it is because you do. You won't have me, dear; you've told me that, and I don't mean to bother you again; but I'm weak enough to be jealous when I think there's danger of your saying 'Yes' to anybody else."
"I