The House of the White Shadows. B. L. Farjeon

from the remarks he let fall, I should say in the mountains, where tourists are not likely to penetrate." He paused a moment before he continued: "Mr. Almer spoke of you, in terms it was pleasant to hear, as his closest, dearest friend."

      "We are friends in the truest sense of the word."

      "Then I may speak freely to you. During the time he was with me I was impressed by an unusual strangeness in him. He was restless and ill at ease; his manner denoted that he was either dissatisfied with himself or was under some evil influence. I expressed my surprise to him that he had been for some time in this neighbourhood without calling upon me, but he did not offer any explanation of his neglect. He told me, however, that he was tired of the light, the gaiety, and the bustle of cities, and that it was his intention to seek some solitude to endeavour to rid himself of a terror which had taken possession of him. No sooner had he made this strange declaration than he strove, in hurried words, to make light of it, evidently anxious that it should leave no impression upon my mind. I need scarcely say he did not succeed. I have frequently thought of that declaration and of Christian Almer in connection with it."

      The Advocate smiled and shook his head.

      "Mr. Almer is given to fantastic expression. If you knew him as well as I do you would be aware that he is prone to magnify trifles, and likely to raise ghosts of the conscience for the mere pleasure of laying them. His nature is of that order which suffers keenly, but I am not disposed on that account to pity him. There are men who would be most unhappy unless they suffered."

      "My dear sir," said Jacob Hartrich, "I have known Christian Almer since he was a child. I knew his father, a gentleman of great attainments, and his mother, a refined and exquisitely beautiful woman. His child-life probably made a sad impression upon him, but he has mixed with the world, and there is a bridge of twenty years between then and now. A great change has taken place in him, and not for the better. There is certainly something on his mind."

      "There is something on most men's minds. I have remarked no change in Mr. Almer to cause me uneasiness. He is the same high-minded gentleman I have ever known him to be. He is exquisitely sensitive, responsive to the lightest touch; those who are imbued with such qualities suffer keenly and enjoy keenly."

      "The thought occurred to me that he might have sustained a monetary loss, but I dismissed it."

      "A monetary loss would rather exalt than depress him. He is rich--it would have been a great happiness for him if he had been poor. What are termed misfortunes are sometimes real blessings; many fine natures are made to halt on their way by worldly prosperity. Had Christian Almer been born in the lower classes he would have found a worthy occupation; he would have made a name for himself, and in all probability would have won a wife--who would have idolised him. He is a man whom a woman might worship."

      "You have given me a clue," said Jacob Hartrich; "he has met with a disappointment in love."

      "I think not; had he met with such a disappointment I should most surely have heard of it from his own lips."

      Interesting as this conversation was to both the speakers it had now come to a natural break, and Jacob Hartrich, diverging from it, inquired whether the Advocate's visit was likely to be a long one.

      "I have pledged myself," said the Advocate somewhat wearily, "to remain here for at least three months."

      "Rest is a necessary medicine." The Advocate nodded absently. "Pray excuse me while I attend to your affairs. Here are the local and other papers."

      He left the room, and returning soon afterwards found the Advocate engaged in the perusal of a newspaper in which he appeared to be deeply interested.

      "Your business," said Jacob Hartrich, "will occupy about twenty minutes. There are some trifling formalities to be gone through with respect to signatures and stamps. If you are pressed for time I will send to you at your hotel."

      "With your permission I will wait," said the Advocate, laying aside the paper with a thoughtful air.

      Jacob Hartrich glanced at the paper, and saw the heading of the column which the Advocate had perused, "The Murder of Madeline the Flower-girl."

      "You have been reading the particulars of this shocking deed."

      "I have read what is there written."

      "But you are familiar with the particulars; everybody has read them."

      "I am the exception, then. I have seen very few newspapers lately."

      "It was a foul and wicked murder."

      "It appears so, from this bare recital."

      "The foulest and most horrible within my remembrance. Ah! where will not the passions of men lead them?"

      "A wide contemplation. Were men to measure the consequences of their acts before they committed them, certain channels of human events which are now exceedingly wide and turbulent would become narrow and peaceful. It was a girl who was murdered?"

      "Yes."

      "Young?"

      "Barely seventeen."

      "Pretty?"

      "Very pretty."

      "Had she no father to protect her?"

      "No."

      "Nor mother?"

      "No--as far as is known."

      "A flower-girl, I gather from the account."

      "Yes. I have occasionally bought a posy of her--poor child!"

      "Did she trade alone?"

      "She had a companion, an elderly woman, who, unhappily, left her a few days before the murder."

      "Deserted her?"

      "No; it was an amicable parting, intended to last but a short time, I believe. It is not known what called her away."

      "This young flower-girl--was she virtuous?"

      "Undoubtedly, in my belief. She was most modest and child-like."

      "But susceptible to flattery. You hesitate. Why? Do you not judge human passions by human standards? She was young, pretty, in humble circumstances; her very opposite would be susceptible to flattery; therefore, she."

      "Why, yes, of course; I hesitated because it would pain me to say anything concerning her which might be construed into a reproach."

      "In such matters there is but one goal to steer for--the truth. I perceive that a man, Gautran, is in prison, charged with the murder."

      "A man?" exclaimed Jacob Hartrich, with indignant warmth. "A monster, rather! Some refined punishment should be devised to punish him for his crime."

      "His crime! I have, then, been reading an old paper." The Advocate referred to the date. "No--it is this morning's."

      "I see your point, but the proofs of the monster's guilt are irrefragable."

      "What proofs? The statements of newspaper reporters--the idle and mischievous tattle of persons who cannot be put into the witness-box?"

      "It is well that you express yourself to me privately on this matter. In public it would not be credited that you were in earnest."

      "Then the facts are lost sight of that the man has to be tried, that his guilt or innocence has yet to be established."

      "The law cannot destroy facts."

      "The law establishes facts, which are often in danger of being perverted by man's sympathies and prejudices. Are you acquainted with this Gautran?"

      "I have no knowledge of him except from report."

      "And having no knowledge of him, except from report, you form an opinion upon hearsay, and condemn him offhand. It is justice itself, therefore, that is on its trial, not a man accused of a frightful deed. He is already judged. It is stated in the newspaper that the man's appearance is repulsive."