University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
TOWNER.

The invalid peered cautiously into my room,
halting on the threshold to inspect.

“Who is there?” said he.

“Nobody but Mr. Churm,” replied Locksley.

“Promise me that on your honor!”

“Certainly. But have n't you known me long
enough to be sure that I 'm always upon honor?
Come on!”

He entered feebly, shrinking from the sound
of his own footsteps.

“Is there nobody in those small rooms?” he
asked. “Nobody listening?”

“Show him, Locksley, to satisfy him,” said I.

Towner examined my bath-room, my bedroom,
and then my lumber-room.

“Where does that door in the lumber-room
open?” said he, tremulously. “Into Densdeth's
dark room?”

“Yes.”

“Take me down stairs again, Locksley. I
can't stay here.”

“Why, man!” said I, “the door is bolted
solid; those heavy boxes are between us and
it, and here is another door which we can close
and lock. Three of us too to protect you. You
are safe from Densdeth.”

“You don't know him!” and Towner shuddered,
and would have fallen. Locksley dropped
him into an arm-chair by the stove. He seemed
hopelessly prostrated.

I poured him out some brandy. The antique
flask and goblet touched his fancy. He examined
them with a pleased, childish interest, and
glanced about the room, observing the objects,
while he sipped his restorative with feeble lips.

“Evidently not a bad man by nature,” I
thought. “Only an impressible one, — one who
should cry daily and hourly, `Lord, deliver me
from temptation!' If his superior being and
chosen guide had been a hero, and not a devil
like Densdeth, he might never have become the
poor dastard he is.”

“You have a pretty place here, Mr. Byng,”
said Towner, revived by his brandy, and assuming
the air of a welcome guest and patronizing
critic. It sat strangely on him after his recent
trepidation. The man had the small social vanity
of connoisseurship. It was one of Densdeth's
favorite weaknesses; he loved to make
confident ignoramuses talk of horses, wines, pictures,

subjects on which a little knowledge generally
makes a man a fool. Densdeth had no
doubt found Towner's ambition toward the tastes
of a gentleman a mighty ally in mastering the
man.

“Yes, quite a museum,” replied I, humoring
him. Talking a little, I thought, would tranquillize
him for business, — the hard task of confessing
himself a culprit.

“Very fine paintings!” he continued. “I
have a taste for such things. Not a connoisseur!
Only an amateur, with a smattering of knowledge!
Art refines the character wonderfully.
I wish I had been introduced to it younger. You
would n't guess now, Mr. Byng, what kind of
scenery surrounded my childhood.”

“No,” said I, growing impatient. “What?”

“My father was the county jailer of Highland
County. Instead of pictures and statues, my earliest
recollections are of thieves pitching pennies
in the jail-yard. Bad schooling for a boy, was it
not? I remember the first hanging I saw, as if
it were yesterday. The man's name was Benton
Dulany. He robbed and killed his father. In
his dying speech he said, that he never should
have got religion, if it had n't been for his errors;
but now he was going straight to Abraham's
bosom. And then a man, up in an elm-tree outside
the jail-yard, shouted, `Say, Benton! tell

old Abe to keep some bosom for me!' Everybody
roared, and the drop fell.”

“You know what you came here for, Towner,”
said Churm, sternly. “Not to babble about your
youth.”

“Yes, yes,” said the invalid, uneasily. “But
I don't want you to be too hard on me. I want
you to see that I have n't had a fair chance. No
one ever showed me how to keep straight, and
naturally I went crooked.”

“If I had not understood your character long
ago, I should not have interfered to protect you,”
said Churm. “But come to the point!”

“You will keep me safe from Densdeth?”

“He shall never touch you.”

“His touch on my heart is what I dread, Mr.
Churm. The first time he saw me, he laid his
finger on the bad spot in my nature, and it
itched to spread. I 've been his slave, soul and
body, from that moment. God knows I 've tried
to draw back times enough. He always waited
until I was just beginning to regain my self-respect.
Then he would come up to me, in his
quiet way, and look at me with his yellow eyes,
and smile at me with that devilish smile, and say,
“Come, Towner, don't be a prig! Here 's something
for you to do.” It was always a villany,
and I always did it. It would take me days to
tell you the base things I have done to help

Densdeth to his million and his power. He has
been the malignant curse of my life. I feel him
now in my very soul, whispering me not to make
confidants of people that will only hate me for
my guilt and scorn me for my weakness.”

“Brother-in-law,” said Locksley, “you ought
to know better than to think of hate and scorn
when you face Mr. Churm.”

“I do know better. I know that those are
only devil-whispers. If I had merely been in
general a bad man, Mr. Churm, I could endure
your just judgment, and if you said mercy and
pardon, I could believe that God would approve
your sentence. But I have wronged you and
yours. Can you forgive that?”

“Try me,” said Churm.

“Mr. Churm,” said the invalid, “I have
always lied to you about the death of Clara
Denman.”

“So I supposed,” Churm said, quietly; “but
do you know anything of her fate.”

“Nothing. You may get some clew from
what I tell you.”

“Speak, then,” said Churm; “I listen.”

“I need not go through a long story to tell
you how Densdeth mastered Mr. Denman. It is
really a short story, and old enough. Denman
had an uneasy feeling that, with all his money,
he was Nobody. He fancied more money would

make him Somebody. That was basis enough
for Densdeth. What a child Denman was in his
hands! It was Densdeth who suggested, and I
who had to stand the odium of, that first scheme
of Denman's, to trample on the rights of the
minority, and get the property of his railroad
company into his own hands.”

“I remember your share in the business,” said
Churm. “I suspected Densdeth's. Poor Denman!”

“Poor Denman!” repeated Towner, peevishly.
“I don't see why he should have more sympathy
than others.”

“No more, but equal pity,” rejoined Churm.

“That transaction was Densdeth's first victory
over Denman. From that time Denman, and
whatever he had, was Densdeth's. If I am not
wrong, there is another, still in that house, that
he has harmed, if not spoiled.”

I sat by, in agony, listening, — in sorrow first,
to find the reconstructed fabric of my respect
for my father's friend and my own on the way
to ruin, — in agony, now, at this dark allusion,
which my heart interpreted. I sat by, listening,
in a crushed mood, for further revelations of
guilt and sorrow. Pitiable! and I seemed to
detect, even in the remorse and self-reproach of
the pitiful object before me, a trace of vulgar
triumph that he was not the only sinner in the

world, nor the only sufferer from the taint of
sin.

“Densdeth led Denman on, step by step,”
continued Towner, “deeper and deeper into his
gigantic financial schemes. You know how vain
Denman is. He began to fancy himself Somebody.
`Bah!' said Densdeth to me, `the
booby will try to walk alone presently. Then
he will have to go on his knees to me to keep
him up.' And so it was. Denman devised an
operation. A crisis came. Denman delayed ruin
— what money-men call ruin — by a monstrous
fraud. We had expected it, and we alone discovered
it. `Now,' said Densdeth to me, `I
have got the man.' `What more do you want,'
said I, `than you have already gained by him?'
`I want his daughter Clara,' he said. `She is
the most brilliant woman in the world, — the
only fit wife for me. But she will not think
so, and I shall have to use force. Force is vulgar.
I don't like it; but no creature shall baffle
me.'

“So, to be brief, Densdeth said, `Denman,
compel your daughter to marry me, or you go
to prison!'

“Denman at once began to apply a father's
force to the young lady. As he urged her more
and more, she spoke of appealing to you, Mr.
Churm.”

“Poor child! and I was absent!” said Churm.

“`Ah!' said Densdeth,” continued the sick
man, “when Denman told him of this. `Here
is business for Towner, that accomplished penman.
Now, Towner! Letter first from Mr.
Churm, in London, — “My dear Clara: I have
heard with heartfelt satisfaction of your approaching
marriage with your father's friend
and mine, Mr. Densdeth,” &c. Letter second, —
“My dear Clara: It gives me great pain to
know from your father that your mind is not
made up as to your marriage. It is impossible
to find a more distinguished or worthier gentleman
than my friend Densdeth, or one who will
make you happier. Do not alienate me by folly
in this important matter,” &c. Letter third, —
short, sharp, and cruel, — “Clara: Your conduct
is unwomanly and immodest. Except you are
my friend Densdeth's wife, I shall never write or
speak to you again.” '”

“You wrote such letters!” cried Churm, savagely,
rising and tramping the room.

“Cut off my right hand,” said the wretched
man, holding out his wasted, trembling fingers.
“It wrote and prepared, with all the circumstance
of seal and stamp, those base forgeries.”

“That was foul!” said Locksley, shrinking
away.

“Don't leave me, William,” the invalid prayed,

feebly. “I was not myself. I was the hand of
Densdeth. Who can resist him? All this is idle
struggle. He will conquer us again. He will
clutch me, body and soul, again, and drag me
down, down, down.”

He burst into miserable tears.

Churm strode about the room, with a patient
impatient step.

“I have tried you, Mr. Churm,” at last the
guilty man was able to gasp. “Can you be
merciful?”

Churm's face was as an angel's, as he came
forward, and laid a benignant hand on Towner's
shoulder. “In the name of God, I forgive you.
Yes, and I pity and will befriend you still.”

It was an impressive scene in my antique
chamber. Churm spoke “like one having authority.”

The invalid grew calmer, and presently went
on with his story again.

“Those letters, I am afraid, broke the young
lady's heart. Her best friend had joined the
enemy. Her father pleaded, no doubt, without
concealment, his imminent ruin. A daughter
will do much to save her father from shame.
They forced from her a kind of qualified, protesting
consent to think of the marriage as a
possibility. Then they treated it as a certainty.
My treachery to the young lady soon began to

gnaw at my heart. Consign such a woman to
Densdeth! to the daily agony of a life with him!
Little as I knew her, I felt that she was an
exceptional soul, worthy of all tender loyalty
from all men. I must do something to repair
my wrong to her. I must at least inform her
of the forgeries. I was too weak-spirited to do
it myself. I called in a woman to help me.

“She was another that Densdeth had spoilt.
She hated and dreaded him as much as I did.
She naturally resented his marriage to another
woman. I sent her to see Clara Denman. Densdeth
found it out, and stopped it. He finds out
everything, sooner or later. He suspected me
of an attempt to revolt from his dominion. He
suspected me of instigating the young woman
to show herself to his future wife. He made
me stand by and listen, while, in his cool, cruel
way, he sneered the poor girl into utter despair.
She went off and drowned herself.”

“Ah!” cried Churm, “it was she whose body
was found, — she, and not my dear child.”

“It was she,” replied Towner. “Nobody
cared for her, or missed her. She was not
unlike Miss Denman in person. The disappearance
of a young lady of fashion had made a
noise. A great reward was offered. Scores of
people identified the body. It had been greatly
injured by the chances of drowning.”

“Did Denman believe it to be his daughter's?”

“Entirely. It was the easiest solution. And
no doubt he felt more at peace to suppose her
dead than living, and likely to return and reproach
him with his tyranny.”

“And Densdeth?”

“He did at first. He did not believe that any
woman could have eluded the strict and instant
search he instituted and conducted all over the
country. I myself cannot believe that she escaped
alive.”

“Perhaps Densdeth searched too far away
from home,” said Churm, glancing at me.

“He went to Europe for that purpose. When
he missed the real drowned woman, he came
to me, and charged me with aiding Miss Denman
to escape, and substituting the body. He
soon discovered that I knew nothing of it.
`Towner,' said he, `I am convinced that Miss
Denman, my future wife, is alive. She fancies
she is free from me. Bah! Did you ever know
any one baffle my pursuit? She shall not. I
want her, and must have her, — beautiful, untamed
creature! but silly, and not willing to
adore me, as her sex does! In fact, she got
idle fancies in her head at last, and was really
rude. She talked about abhorrence. Abhorrence
of me! She said our marriage would be
an infamy, for reasons she would not soil her

tongue to give. She actually faced me, and
said that. She said it, facing me, looking me
straight in the eyes, not sobbing off in a corner,
as most women would have done. It was
splendid! Fine tragedy! and real too. Nothing
ever entertained me so much. I would rather
have her point at me, and call me villain, than
any other woman fondle me, — that I have had
enough of. O yes, she is alive, and I must have
her. What a fool I was to fancy for a moment
that such a being would drown herself, or be
drowned by an accident, — quite unworthy of
my intelligence, such a belief! I have a clew
now. I have no doubt she has gone off to
Europe, disguised as a man. She cannot elude
me there. There or here, I will find her. I
must have some more scenes with her. I should
like to have one every day. Everything bores
me now. I hunger to see again the magnificent
scorn with which she repelled me when
she fancied she had reason to. I want to see
that loathing recoil from my touch. Ah! nothing
like it! I should like to trample on her
moral sense every day. If I could only sully
her, and make her hate herself as she does me,
and then stand by to watch her convulsions
of self-contempt, — that would be worth living
for. Perhaps I can manage even that. Who
knows? But I must get her in hand first. My
cue of course is that she is mad. The simplest
methods are the best. Let me once have her
in some uninquisitive madhouse, like Huffmire's
here at Bushley, and something can be done.
At least I can put her in a straight-jacket, and
see her chafe, or sit, too proud to chafe, facing her
fate with those great eyes, solemn and passionate.
Denman will back me in whatever I do.
If it gives you any satisfaction, Towner, to know
that there is a wretcheder scrub than you, Denman
is the man. I love to joke him about
the State's prison, and make him grovel and
implore. He is delightfully base. He will swear
his daughter into a madhouse, and keep her
there half a century, if I will only let him live
in his house, and be pointed at as the great
Denman. Pah!'”

Towner sank back in his chair, exhausted. It
had cost him a giant effort to be free from his
ancient allegiance to his fiend.

We three sat silent a moment, appalled by
the depth of evil revealed to us in one human
heart.

In this pause all the events and scenes of
my life in Chrysalis drifted across my mind,
and all my history for the past three months,
culminating in last night's horror and to-day's
agony, passed before me. Again I saw, as in
a picture, Emma Denman standing, a slight,

elegant figure in mourning, in the dimly lighted
hall of the stately house. Again I marked on
her pale face the deepening look of despair and
pitiless self-abhorrence. Again I felt the blighting
touch of her cold hand. Again there smote
me the same throb of anguish I had perceived
when I entered Cecil Dreeme's chamber and
found him fled.

And Densdeth was in all this. The thought
cowed me. I was ready to say, with Towner,
“Why struggle vainly any more with this demon?”

Even as I uttered this hopeless cry within
my soul, there came a quick step along the
corridor, and a knock at my door.