There is nothing in the world that so suddenly sobers wild excitement and passion as to carry out its practical suggestions. A blow brings down the pulses of wrath as nothing else can do. It is a dangerous remedy, but it is a sure one. Dolff was like a devil incarnate as he swooped down upon his victim and beat his head against the stones. The moment he had done it—the moment he had done it, he became a horrified, miserable, remorseful boy, miserable beyond any words to describe. As soon as he heard that dull thud on the{202} pavement, and saw the white face turn unconscious in a blank which he never doubted to be that of death, his own being came back to him. His passion ended like the blowing out of a candle. What had he done? What had he done? Instinctively he sprang back under the shadow of the tree and the wall; but he had no thought of escape, or of anything but the dreadful thing he had done. After a minute, when other people crowded round the prostrate figure, he stole among the crowd and entered with them, pushing like the rest through the narrow doorway, as if he, too, were a spectator, to know all that happened. After the first awful sobering and coming to himself, there came over him a passion of eagerness and curiosity—a desire to know which for the moment made him feel himself a spectator, too. He even asked the other lads who crowded in along with him what it was, what had happened, and heard half-a-dozen versions of his own deed as he shouldered his way on to get a place near the door, with a strange feeling of being cut off from the house and all in it, of being but a wretched spectator and inquirer, though with that misery in his veins like molten fire. What was to hinder him pushing his way among them, going in boldly, he whom nobody could suspect, the son of the house, to see what was the matter? But Dolff could not do it. Janet had been stronger of mind than he. She had managed to disengage herself at once from the tumult, to steal in while attention was diverted from her, to escape in the darkness and confusion. And so might he have done: but he was incapable of thinking of himself or his own safety, though instinct made him herd among the intruders, concealing himself in the crowd. What he wanted to see was what had happened, whether it was real, and the man killed, or if it were only, as he almost hoped, a dreadful dream. He heard it said that the gentleman was not dead, but it conveyed no impression to his mind, and he pushed forward, peering over the shoulders of the others who crowded and gazed at the unknown interior, with a horrible sense of familiarity yet distance. There was the couch wheeled out of the library, the couch on which he had himself lounged so often; there was Gussy, clasping her hands together as if to keep herself up, standing as pale as death by the foot of the couch; there was—heaven! was it Janet standing behind, half concealing herself in the other’s shadow? It was not Janet then, he said in his dull brain—not Janet that was the cause of it all, only some horrible delusion to tempt him to his fate. There had been nothing wrong except in him. He it was alone who had been to blame. She could not have been{203} there at all, since, she was here, horrified, full of pity, helping, when he had killed. Oh, God! what had he done? He had killed a man in some horrible mistake. Perhaps it was not Meredith at all; if it was, it was his friend, Gussy’s betrothed, the friend of the family. He had killed him—for what, for what? For nothing. His rage had died off like fever. He was quite calm now, like one fallen from some horrible height, shaking with the shock, and as miserable as if all the miseries of earth had gathered on his head. It did not seem to him unnatural that he should stand there among the crowd, struggling to get a glimpse of what was going on in his own home, within his mother’s open door.
He did not, however, follow the others when Janet drove them away. Though it had filled him with consternation to see her there, and the dull, dreadful thought that there had been no provocation, nothing but delusion and mistake—it was yet with a kind of stupid fury and repugnance that he saw her taking upon her to send away the crowd, to act as if the house was hers. He hung behind in the dark, and seized her arm with a wild feeling that he would like to crush her too to make her feel, though apparently she had done no wrong. But these gave way to the other anxiety, the deeper interest. After all there was but one thing that it was, or would be, now or ever, of the slightest importance to know—was he dead?
Janet gave no direct answer to his question. She said quickly,
“Come in now, take your place, and nobody will ever suspect. It is all in your own hands.”
He did not understand what she meant. Suspect? What did it matter? There was only one thing of consequence—was he dead?
“No,” said Janet. “No, no, no; do you understand! Go in, and say you were in the garden. Oh, do you hear me? The men are coming round again. Come in, and look as if—as if you were yourself.”
As if he were himself! He did not understand. He was not himself. He did not know who he was. He had nothing to do in that house. He stood and stared blankly at her, not knowing what she meant. But Janet was as keen as he was dull. A passion of energy, of life, and purpose was in her. His hand had dropped from her arm, but she seized him with both hers, and dragged him into the house. She flew at him as if she meant to assault him, putting down the collar of his coat, pulling off his cap, thrusting a hat into his hand—a few hours since how those touches, this familiarity, would have{204} moved them both. She did it all now like a nurse dressing a child, while he stood stupid, not resisting.
“Say you have just come in, and ask what has happened. For God’s sake don’t mix them all up in it, and kill your mother. Nobody will ever suspect—ah!” Janet saw through the open door the advancing gleam of the policeman’s lantern. She left him with a little shake to rouse him to energy, and ran forward to meet the constable. “Have you found the man? Have you found anyone? Oh, here is Mr. Harwood, just come in; you can speak to him. He doesn’t know what’s happened. I was trying to tell him. Come in,” she said, “policeman; but don’t let all those people come in. Come in and talk to Mr. Harwood; but shut the door.”
The policeman came in heavily, putting down his lantern on the floor.
“We’ve found nothing, miss, and I didn’t expect as we should. It was my mate’s business to see as no one escaped while I saw after the gentleman; but he’s got clear off, as they always do, along of men not minding their own business. Evening, sir. It’s a dreadful business, this is, to happen just at a gentleman’s door, and a friend of the family, as they tell me.”
“I have just come in,” said Dolff, saying his lesson stupidly. And then he added the only question that had any interest for him: “He’s not dead?”
“Not at present,” said the policeman; “but the doctors say as they can’t tell what an hour or two may bring forth.” He spoke hopefully, as of a favorable turn the case might take. “It’s a deal of trouble for you, sir, and the ladies, to have such a thing as this happen, as I was a-saying, at your very door.”
“It’s very well, though,” said Janet, “for the poor gentleman to be so near a friend’s house.”
Janet felt that the safety of this house, which she had perhaps betrayed otherwise, but in which her own safety now lay, demanded all her exertions. Despair had given her force. She was beginning to recover her color in the stimulation of this dreadful emergency.
“That’s one way of looking at it, miss,” said the policeman. “My mates they are busy a-hearing all the nonsense that them fellows can tell them. I don’t believe they knows anything about it, for my part. I’ll just wait here, sir, if I may, with leave, till I hears the doctor’s last report.”
“Mr. Harwood is just going in, and he’ll bring it to you,” said Janet.
She dared not say any more, but she pointed towards the dining-room door with an imperative movement. It was for{205}tunate for Dolff that, at this moment, his sister appeared. She came quickly into the hall, with an exclamation of satisfaction.
“Oh, Dolff, you are here! I am thankful you are here. Have they got the man? I have told them there will be a reward——”
Dolff could say nothing to his sister. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. He repeated as he had done before, with a dull reiteration.
“Is he dead? He is not dead?”
“Oh, no, no, no, God be praise............