The Lions Skin | Page 4

that youthful face,
of such a quality as to stamp it upon the memory of the merest
passer-by. The mouth was difficult to read and full of contradictions;
the lips were full and red, and you would declare them the lips of a
sensualist but for the line of stern, almost grim, determination in which
they met; and yet, somewhere behind that grimness, there appeared to
lurk a haunting whimsicality; a smile seemed ever to impend, but
whether sweet or bitter none could have told until it broke. The eyes
were as remarkable; wide-set and slow-moving, as becomes the eyes of

an observant man, they were of an almost greenish color, and so level
in their ordinary glance as to seem imbued with an uncanny penetration.
His hair - he dared to wear his own, and clubbed it in a broad ribbon of
watered silk - was almost of the hue of bronze, with here and there a
glint of gold, and as luxuriant as any wig.
For the rest, he was scarcely above the middle height, of an almost frail
but very graceful slenderness, and very graceful, too, in all his
movements. In dress he was supremely elegant, with the elegance of
France, that in England would be accounted foppishness. He wore a
suit of dark blue cloth, with white satin linings that were revealed when
he moved; it was heavily laced with gold, and a ramiform pattern
broidered in gold thread ran up the sides of his silk stockings of a paler
blue. Jewels gleamed in the Brussels at his throat, and there were
diamond buckles on his lacquered, red-heeled shoes.
Sir Richard considered him with anxiety and some chagrin. "Justin!" he
cried, a world of reproach in his voice. "What can you need to ponder?"
"Whatever it may be," said Mr. Caryll, "it will be better that I ponder it
now than after I have pledged myself."
"But what is it? What?" demanded the baronet.
"I am marvelling, for one thing, that you should have waited thirty
years."
Sir Richard's fingers stirred the papers before him in an idle, absent
manner. Into his brooding eyes there leapt the glitter to be seen in the
eyes of the fevered of body or of mind.
"Vengeance," said he slowly, "is a dish best relished when 'tis eaten
cold." He paused an instant; then continued: "I might have crossed to
England at the time, and slain him. Should that have satisfied me?
What is death but peace and rest?"
"There is a hell, we are told," Mr. Caryll reminded him.

"Ay," was the answer, "we are told. But I dursn't risk its being false
where Ostermore is concerned. So I preferred to wait until I could brew
him such a cup of bitterness as no man ever drank ere he was glad to
die." In a quieter, retrospective voice he continued: "Had we prevailed
in the '15, I might have found a way to punish him that had been
worthy of the crime that calls for it. We did not prevail. Moreover, I
was taken, and transported.
"What think you, Justin, gave me courage to endure the rigors of the
plantations, cunning and energy to escape after five such years of it as
had assuredly killed a stronger man less strong of purpose? What but
the task that was awaiting me? It imported that I should live and be free
to call a reckoning in full with my Lord Ostermore before I go to my
own account.
"Opportunity has gone lame upon this journey. But it has arrived at last.
Unless - " He paused, his voice sank from the high note of exaltation to
which it had soared; it became charged with dread, as did the fierce
eyes with which he raked his companion's face. "Unless you prove
false to the duty that awaits you. And that I'll not believe! You are your
mother's son, Justin."
"And my father's, too," answered Justin in a thick voice; "and the Earl
of Ostermore is that same father."
"The more sweetly shall your mother be avenged," cried the other, and
again his eyes blazed with that unhealthy, fanatical light. "What fitter
than the hand of that poor lady's son to pull your father down in ruins?"
He laughed short and fiercely. "It seldom chances in this world that
justice is done so nicely."
"You hate him very deeply," said Mr. Caryll pensively, and the look in
his eyes betrayed the trend of his thoughts; they were of pity -but of
pity at the futility of such strong emotions.
"As deeply as I loved your mother, Justin." The sharp, rugged features
of that seared old face seemed of a sudden transfigured and softened.
The wild eyes lost some of their glitter in a look of