A Monk Of Cruta - free ebook by E. Phillips (Edward Phillips) Oppenheim

A Monk of Cruta

Author of "The Peer and the Woman," "A Millionaire of Yesterday," Etc., Etc. NEW YORK: J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 57 ROSE STREET. COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY F. TENNYSON NEELY....

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CHAPTER I

"Father Adrian!" "I am here!" "I saw the doctor talking with you aside! How long have I to live? He told you the truth! Repeat his words to me!" The tall, gaunt young priest drew nearer to the bedside, and shook his head with a slow, pitying gesture. "The time was short—short indeed. Yet, why should you fear? Your confession has been made! I myself have pronounced your absolution; the holy Church has granted to you her most holy sacrament." "Fear! Bah! I have no fear! It is a matter of calculati

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CHAPTER II

A tall, fair young man stood in the small alcove of Lady Swindon's drawing-room, with his eyes fixed upon the door. He was accurately dressed in the afternoon garb of a London man about town, and carried in his hand, or rather in his hands, for they were crossed behind him, that hall-mark of Western civilization—a well-brushed, immaculate silk hat. Neither in his clothes nor personal appearance was there any striking difference between him and the crowd of other young men who thronged the rooms,

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CHAPTER III

"What do you think of it?" Paul started. He had been standing, like a man in a dream, with folded arms, looking across the room with idle eyes, and unconsciously ignoring many salutations. His brother's tone sounded oddly in his ears, and he looked flushed and a little nervous. "What did I think of it!" It was a difficult question to answer. He repeated it, and was glad when Arthur spared him the necessity of replying, by adding his own opinion. "It was glorious, magnificent! I'm going to find o

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CHAPTER IV

To-day I have made my entrance in the first scene of the drama of life. To-day, therefore, I commence my memoirs. Everything before goes for nothing! As I have removed myself altogether from all association with the humdrum existence which might have been mine, I am naturally friendless for the present. So far as the other sex is concerned, I fancy that that could be easily remedied. But no women are likely to care about making my acquaintance, and I am glad of it. I hate women—men, too, I think

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CHAPTER V

"Paul!" Paul had walked unannounced into his mother's favourite little sitting-room at Vaux Court, tired and travel-stained. She rose to her feet and looked at him anxiously. "Don't be alarmed, mother," he said, stooping down and kissing her. "There's nothing at all the matter." "Arthur is well?" "Quite well; I was with him yesterday afternoon. There's nothing the matter. London was boring me, that's all, and I thought I'd run down here and have a look at the old place, and perhaps a day's hunti

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CHAPTER VI

"Mr. de Vaux!" Paul turned quickly around in his saddle towards the young lady who had addressed him. He looked into a fair, thoughtful face, whose general amiability was discounted, just then, by a decided frown. "I beg your pardon, Lady May! Didn't you say something just now?" "Didn't I say something just now!" she repeated, with fine scorn. "Upon my word, Mr. de Vaux, I think that you must have left your wits in London! What is the matter with you?" "The matter! Why, nothing! I'm sorry——" "Oh

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CHAPTER VII

The winter moon, soft and bright and full, looked down upon the ruins of Vaux Abbey. A strange beauty lay upon the bare, rock-strewn hillside and desolate moor. Afar off a grey, brawling stream was touched by its light, and in its place a band of gold seemed coiled around the grey, sleeping hill. A black, reed-grown tarn at the foot of the Abbey gleamed and quivered like a fair silver shield. The dark pines which crowned their sandy slopes lost their forbidding frown in an unaccustomed softness,

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CHAPTER VIII

Paul and Arthur shared a bachelor residence in Mayfair; shared it, that is to say, insomuch as Paul had purchased it, and was the sole proprietor, and Arthur used it whenever he could get leave from his regiment. It was here Paul found his brother on the morning of his arrival in London. They shook hands in silence; Paul did not wish to say anything for a moment. His brother's appearance had choked him. It was one o'clock, but he was still in his dressing-gown; with sunken, pale cheeks, save for

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CHAPTER IX

Paul found no one in the hall of the house where Adrea lived to take him to her, so after waiting a few minutes for her maid, whom the porter had twice fruitlessly summoned, he ascended the stairs alone, and knocked at the door of her rooms. At first there was no reply. He tried again a little louder, and this time there was a sound of some one stirring within. "Come in, Celeste," was the drowsy answer. He turned the handle and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. At first the room

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CHAPTER X

"Were there any letters for me this morning, mother?" Paul asked. "Only one for you, I think," Mrs. de Vaux answered from across the tea-tray. "I believe you will find it in the library. Shall I send for it?" Paul shook his head. "It will keep," he answered lightly. "I can get it on my way upstairs. Have we anything left to tell, Lady May?" "I think not," Lady May replied, from the depths of an easy chair drawn up to the fire. "Altogether it has been a glorious day, and such a scent! I don't kno

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CHAPTER XI

"A figure from the past I see once more as in a dream." This evening I have had an adventure! I am thankful, for it has occupied my thoughts for awhile; and for anything that does that I am grateful. I had been in the house all day, restless and nervous, and towards dusk I put on my cloak and a thick veil, and went out into the street. I scarcely noticed which way I went. It was all the same to me. A dull purple bank of clouds hung low down in the west, and the air was close and still. By-and-by

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CHAPTER XII

To-night I have had another shock! I was sitting alone in my room down-stairs, dreaming over the fire, when a footstep sounded upon the stairs. At first I thought that it might be Paul, and I sprang up, and stood listening intently. What a little fool I was! I felt the colour burning in my cheeks, and my heart was beating. I listened to the tread, and the madness passed away. It was a man's footsteps, but not Paul's. They halted at my door, and there was a firm, deliberate knock. Before I could

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CHAPTER XIII

A north-country storm of rain and wind had suddenly blown up from the sea, and the few remaining followers of the De Vaux hounds were dispersed right and left, making for home with all possible speed. The sky had looked dull and threatening all day long, and with the first shades of twilight the rain had commenced to fall in a sudden torrent. There had been some little hesitation on the part of the master about drawing this last cover, for the hounds had had a rough day, and the field was small;

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CHAPTER XIV

The recognition was not immediately simultaneous. Gomez, standing on the step, was in the full light of the hall lamp, but Paul was still amongst the shadows. "Don't you know me, Gomez?" Paul asked, stepping forward. "I am Paul de Vaux." A shade passed across the man's face, and he laid his hand quickly upon his heart, as though to cease some sudden pain. Then he stood on one side, holding the door open. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Paul; I could not see your face out there. Won't you walk in, sir?"

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CHAPTER XV

It was Adrea—Adrea herself! She stood there in the shadow of the doorway, with her lips slightly parted, and her great eyes, soft and brilliant, flashing in the ruddy firelight. It was no vision; it was she beyond a doubt! Even when the first shock had passed away, he found himself without words; the wonder of it had dazed him. He had thought of her so often in that quaint, dainty little chamber in Grey Street that to see her here so unexpectedly, without the least warning or anticipation, was l

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CHAPTER XVI

"Adrea!" It was a cry which seemed to ring through the room, an interruption so sudden and strange that they started apart like guilty children, gazing towards the lifted curtain which divided the apartment with wondering, half-fearful faces. The woman whom Adrea had called her step-mother stood there, pale and bloodless, with her great black eyes flashing, and behind her a tall, dark figure was gazing sternly at them. Adrea was the first to recover her composure. She was a little further away,

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CHAPTER XVII

Paul and his companion walked down the avenue in silence, and turned into the narrow, stony road which wound across the moor. The storm was over, and the rain had ceased. Above them, only faintly visible, as though seen through a canopy of delicate lace, the stars were shining in a cloudless sky through the wreaths of faint grey mist. Far off, the sound of the sea came rolling across the moor to their ears, now loud and threatening as it beat against the iron cliffs and thundered up the coombs,

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CHAPTER XVIII

"Do you know who has taken Major Harcourt's cottage, Mr. de Vaux?" Lady May asked. Paul was silent for a moment. He sat quite still in his saddle, and gazed across the moor, with his hand shading his eyes. "I beg your pardon, Lady May," he said. "I thought that I heard the dogs. You asked me——" "About Major Harcourt's cottage. Do you know who has taken it?" "I am not sure about the name. It is a foreign lady, and her step-daughter, I believe. There is a clergy-man—or a Roman Catholic priest, rat

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CHAPTER XIX.

It was with a strange conflict of feelings that Paul, with Adrea by his side, passed across the square, low hall of the cottage, plentifully decorated with stags' heads and other sporting trophies, and into the drawing-room. It was a room which had been built, too, of quaint shape, made up of nooks and corners and recesses, and with dark oak beams stretching right across the ceiling. The furniture was all old-fashioned, and of different periods; but the general effect was harmonious, though a tr

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CHAPTER XX

The situation, although it was only a brief one, was for a moment possessed of a singularly dramatic force. The grouping and the colouring in that dimly lit drawing-room were all that an artist could desire, and the facial expressions bordered upon the tragic. Of all men in the world, his brother was the last whom of his own choosing Paul would have wished to see. There was a brief silence. Arthur, breathless through his hasty entrance, could only stand there upon the threshold, his face white t

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CHAPTER XXI

"By love stalks hate, his brother and his mate." I am scarcely calm enough to write! Yet I must write! My heart is full; my very pulses are throbbing with excitement! What is it that has happened? It is all confused in my mind. Let me try and set it down clearly; then perhaps I shall be able to see my way. Yesterday it seemed to me that my being was all too small for one passion. Now it holds two! The one, perhaps, intensifies the other. That is possible, for they are opposites, and one has grow

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CHAPTER XXII

This is exactly what happened after I regained the house. I went upstairs for a few minutes to arrange my hair and bathe my eyes. Then I walked straight down to the drawing-room, and I told myself that I was prepared for anything that might take place. Father Adrian did not hear me enter, so I had the advantage at the onset of taking him by surprise. He was standing in the centre of the hearthrug, with his arms folded and his eyes cast down upon the ground. His eyebrows almost met in a black fro

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CHAPTER XXIII

An early darkness had fallen upon the earth. Black clouds had sailed across the young moon, and the evening breeze had changed into a gale. There was no rain as yet, but every prospect of it near at hand. A mass of lurid, yellowish clouds hung low down over the bending woods, and the wind whistled drearily amongst the fir trees. Paul de Vaux wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and, standing on the turf-covered floor of the ruined chapel, peered forward into the darkness, looking for the man wh

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CHAPTER XXIV

Paul had not thought of ringing for lights, and, save around the fireplace, the room was wrapped in solemn darkness. Father Adrian's chair had been amongst the shadows, and Paul had seen nothing save his outline since they had entered the room. But now, his curiosity stirred by the sudden silence of the priest, he caught up the poker, and broke the burning log in the grate, so that the flames threw a quick light on his face. Its extreme pallor struck him forcibly. It was a perfectly bloodless fa

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CHAPTER XXV

Midnight rang solemnly out from the Abbey clock. The priest paused in his story to count the strokes, and Paul drew out his watch with an incredulous gesture. "You must stay here to-night," he said; "it will be too late for you to leave." He rang the bell, and ordered a room to be prepared. Father Adrian, who had been lost in a fit of deep abstraction, looked up and shook his head as the servant quitted the room. "I shall not stay here," he said quietly. "It is impossible." Paul pointed to the c

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CHAPTER XXVI

"'I sped through England and across the Continent southwards as fast as express train and steamer could carry me. Count Hirsfeld shared the special which carried me from our nearest country station to the Great Northern junction, from whence the Scotch mail bore us to London. Here we parted company, travelling the remainder of the way separately. On the evening of the second day, the steamer which I had hired at Palermo dropped anchor in the bay of Cruta, under the shadow of the grim, black cast

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CHAPTER XXVII

The lamp which stood on Paul's writing-table had gone out, and only a few dull red embers remained in the grate. By moving a single yard backwards, Paul was almost lost in the deep shadows which hung about the room, whilst such light as there was fell directly upon the priest's pale face. During those last few moments his voice had grown a shade more solemn—more intense. Paul, who stood looking out at him from the darkness with dazed senses, like a man in a dream, never doubted for an instant, a

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CHAPTER XXVIII

"Spring blossoms on the land, and anguish in the heart." To-night I shall close my diary for a long while, very likely for ever. I am heartily thankful for it. These last few days have been so wretched, full of so much miserable uncertainty, that their record has grown to be a wearisome task. It has ceased to give me any relief; it has become nothing but a burden. How could it be otherwise, when the days themselves have been so grey, so full of shadows and disappointments? You have been a relief

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CHAPTER XXIX

"Love, blossoming in the roses, holds a dagger in her hands." We were alone, Paul and I, in that great, solemn room, full of pale, phantom-like lights and quivering shadows. He was standing a few yards away from me, with his head half averted, and his eyes full of a great, hopeless despair. In silence I approached him, and took his death-cold hand in mine. "It is no matter," I whispered; "I do not care for your mother! Her words are nothing! I will not leave you—not till you tell me everything."

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CHAPTER XXX

"A land that is lonelier than a ruin." A cold twilight followed close upon the day. The sky was strewn with dark clouds, and a wild wind blew in my face. I was on an unknown road, and in all my life I had seen nothing so dreary. On one side, about a hundred yards away, was the sea; on the other was a broken stretch of bare moorland covered with only the scantiest herbage and piles of barren grey rocks. Some were lying together in quaint, grotesque shapes; others stood out alone against the sky,

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CHAPTER XXXI

"Farewell to the dead ashes of life." The path which I had been following led straight up to the bare, arched door of the building. I had reached it unmolested, and rang the bell. What a hoarse, clanging sound! I shivered as I stood there listening to its gloomy echoes until they died away. No one came. The place seemed wrapped in an austere silence. I listened, but I could hear no sound within; only the dull, melancholy sighing of the wind amongst a sickly avenue of firs behind. I stretched out

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CHAPTER XXXII

A strange figure stood on the edge of the castle cliff, looking across the bay of Cruta to the sea. He was tall, loose jointed, and gaunt, and the long grey beard and unkempt locks of flowing hair which streamed behind in the breeze showed that he was an old man; but his eyes, set back in deep hollows, and fringed with long, bushy grey lashes, were still dark and piercing. Great passions had branded his face with deep-set lines, but had failed to belittle him. On the contrary, his presence, thou

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CHAPTER XXXIII

The little group of fishing smacks, homely-looking and uncleanly, on close examination, presented a very different appearance from the deck of the English yacht fast nearing the harbour. Their brown sails had gleamed purple in the dying sunlight, and their rude outline seemed graceful and shapely as they rose and fell on the long waves. Paul, who stood on the captain's bridge of his yacht, uttered a little cry of admiration as they sailed out from the shadows of the huge rock, and fell into a ru

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CHAPTER XXXIV

It was a long, steep ascent, hewn out of the solid rock; but at last Paul stood before the great gates of the castle, and paused to take breath. Hundreds of feet below him his yacht was riding at anchor, looking like a toy vessel upon a painted sea, and a little group of scattered lights showed him where the hamlet lay. Before him was the stern, massive front of the castle, wrapped in profound gloom, but standing out in clear, ponderous outline against the starlit sky. There seemed to be no ligh

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CHAPTER XXXV

She was dead, and, after all, her end had been crowned with peace. She did not hear the door thrown roughly open, the swelling of angry voices, or the fast-approaching tramp of many feet. Nor did Paul heed any of these signs of coming danger; he had folded his strong arms around her, and his lips, pressed close to her, seemed to draw the last quivering breath from her frail body. It was only when her head sunk back, and he knew that she was dead, that he laid her reverently down and turned aroun

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CHAPTER XXXVI

I had no thought of writing in you again, my silent friend. Only a little while ago I said to myself, the time has gone by when solitude and heart hunger could drive me to your pages for consolation. Only a little while ago, it is true; and yet between the past and future is fixed a mighty gulf. As I write these words I stand upon the threshold of death! What death may mean, I know not! I have no religion to throw bright gleams of hope upon its dark mysteries. I have no hope of any other life, s

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THE MYSTERY OF THE RAVENSPURS

the best book written by this popular author, since his "Crimson Blind" and "Corner House," which met with such tremendous success. It is a romantic tale of adventure, mystery and amateur detective work, with scenes laid in England, India, and the distant and comparatively unknown Thibet. A band of mystics from the latter country are the prime movers in the various conspiracies, and their new, unique, weird, strange methods form one of the features of the story. The book contains 320 pages, with

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The Peer and the Woman

Author of "A Monk of Cruta," "The Missioner," etc. One of the Most Popular Authors of the present day. A story of romance, mystery, and adventure, in which, as in many mystery stories, there is the adventuress, with whom, for some reason, the peer, notwithstanding his breeding and social position, becomes entangled, until he is mysteriously put out of the way. From this point on complication and adventure succeed each other in rapid succession, holding the reader in rapt fascination until the en

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