The Metamorphosis of Robert Le Noir

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR By Everett Spring I "The train from San Francisco will be due in New York, on Friday at five o'clock, and I will arrive there almost as soon as this letter reaches you. If you can spare the time to meet me at the Grand Central depot, come, for the face of a true friend will be the most pleasant welcome I can have after my six years abroad, and I have so much to say. I have been afraid to write for some time now, my dear Ralph, since nearly every answer I used to have told me of loss, or death, or change. "My work is finished on the other side of the Pacific, and I have come back to remain. You, who know me so well, can imagine how every mile that brought me nearer home woke the old recollections, and made it so bitterly hard for me to realize that my hard work and patient faith have been wasted. I might as well have come back a poor man, or remained in exile. I have tried to forget Marah, and to forgive the unknown enemy who stole her away, but the desire for revenge has grown upon me; my resolve to hunt him down is stronger than when you first told me she was gone. I must find her, Ralph, and I must find him, and, by all that was sacred in our old friendship, I ask you to help me in the search." Ralph Swinburne read these two paragraphs a second time, with a face that could not have been more troubled had he seen his own death-warrant in them. They were part of a long letter writ- ten by the man who had been his dearest friend. The time was not so far distant when he had waited with expectant longing for a few lines from Robert Le Noir, now he almost hated himself for the sin- ful and despairing wish that the writer had not lived to return. In his anxious desire to avoid the dreaded meeting he thought of sending one of his clerks to the station, but it was not in his nature to be a coward. The junior partner in the eminent legal firm of Lincoln and Swinburne had gained his present position by his straight- forward conduct, and a manly habit of never flinching from a diffi- culty. He might have been said to constitute the firm, for Mr. Lin- coln only appeared by appointment with some special client; he trusted everything to Ralph's integrity and judgment. This responsibility rested rather heavily on Ralph Swinburne just now; a large amount of money passed through his hands, and with the daring of a young and ambitious man he had undertaken greater risk in some transactions than his older and more experi- enced principal would have sanctioned. The junior partner required all his nerve to take him through a crisis impending, and Robert Le Noir could not have come back at a more unfortunate time. His long silence and his absence had lulled Mr. Swinburne into a false security, and his unexpected return was the

3 52 IMPROVEMENT ERA first cloud thrown like a warning across the hitherto unbroken sun- shine of Ralph's way. Much as he shrank from the meeting, he was glad when the train came in, and his suspense was ended for the time; and there was tenderness as well as remorse in the rush of emotion that went to his heart when he saw Robert Le Noir alight from a car near the middle of the train. The two men clasped hands on the platform an instant later, Le Noir with a smile of welcome and relief, Swinburne with one as glad for the moment, but there was a pained restraint in it that did not escape his friend. "I knew you would be here, old fellow," Robert said. "I was sure you would not fail me, but how pale you are, you have been ill?" "Rather over-worked," Swinburne answered; "and I was never very strong, but you are looking wonderfully well." "That is the way of life," Le Noir said, with a shadow on his face. "When I had most to live for I was stricken down beyond hope of recovery; since I lost everything I have become a man of iron in more senses than one." "Since you lost everything?" Swinburne repeated. "Not my money," Robert said- "I have plenty of that; but Marah was everything to me. I want you to tell me about her, Ralph — you know where to find some quiet place, your office, or you can take me home. I have not written to a soul except yourself, and I shall have to trespass on your hospitality for a day or two. Even if you are married, as I dare say you are by this time, your wife would make an old friend welcome." "Yes, I am married," Swinburne said very quietly, "and no one would be more welcome than you. I have been married four years, Robert," he added, with an unconscious appeal in his voice, "and we have a boy, a beautiful little fellow, named after you. We have a baby girl as well, I should like you to see them." "As I shall, of course," Robert said affectionately. "It was like you, my dear Ralph, to think of me when you named your boy. He shall not be the poorer for it. I have no doubt you spoke of me so frequently that your wife has made a friend of me already. Will you take me straight home, or prepare her for my coming?" "I'd better let her know," Ralph said. "She is rather delicate and sensitive. It would not do to take her by surprise. We will go to my office first-" They had a taxicab to Swinburne's offices, and on the way Rob- ert tried to conjecture what kind of wife his friend had won. It had been a good-humored jest with Ralph's intimates that he was destined for a bachelor's existence; but they were -men, and did not measure him as women did. The men mistook his tender reticence for shy- ness and reserve. They never saw the subtle instinct that enabled

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 3 53 Swinburne to find out a woman's sympathies, and anticipate her every wish. He always had the right word to say just when it was re- quired, and he had the still rarer art of knowing when to be silent. Le Noir, in common with Swinburne's other intimates, had made the fatal error of regarding Ralph as a plodding, simple-minded, steady fellow, not much to look at, and only fit to be a painstaking plodder in some one's law office. They never dreamed of the strong passions and daring ambition held in rein under his quiet exterior. His pride was wounded by their estimate of him, and he purposely let them misunderstand him, taking a secret delight in their surprise, as he pictured it, when he should throw off the mask. Something of this was in his mind as the taxicab drew up at his offices. It helped to nerve him for the task he had to go through, but he could have wished that any man other than Robert Le Noir had been there to confront him. He passed straight through the outer room, where the clerks were still at work, and Robert followed him into his sanctum, shut in by double doors. The silence was so sud- den and intense that Le Noir noticed it. "What a quiet den you have here," he said, "and in the very heart of New York. Why, not a minute ago we were in the thick of the traffic — a deafening, bewildering, surging tide, so full of eager life and hurrying motion that it took my breath away, and now we cannot hear a sound. But, I say, Ralph, do you ever trust yourself here alone?" "Very often," said Ralph, with a quiet smile. "But what if your clerks were gone and you were shut in here with an ugly customer, a disappointed client, perhaps, or an enemy?" "Disappointed clients never resort to violence, Robert. It is easily understood that for every successful suitor at law there must be an unsuccessful one. As for enemies, I do not know that I have one in the world. Any other kind of ugly customer, housebreaker or thief, might come and be welcome- I am stronger than I look, and I am always ready, you see?" He touched the spring of a small drawer in the massive writing- table, and the lid fell to the length of the bands that held it at each side. On a shelf in front of him a revolver lay ready to his hand. "Not a bad precaution," Robert said, as Swinburne closed the drawer. "I dare say you have plenty of money here?" "Rarely less than five thousand dollars in cash and bonds, taking one day with another," Ralph said. "Ours is an old established business, and we do a great deal in the way of investments." "A sort of thing I should not care for," Le Noir said. "Trust money is awkward to handle, and several gentlemen of your profession have come to grief over it; but you were never inclined to speculate even with your own cash. You have just the proper temperament for that rarity, an honest lawyer."

354 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Come, Robert," Ralph said with an uneasy laugh, "that is un- worthy of you. A doctor cannot save all his patients; a lawyer can- not win for all his clients. If you give your banker discretionary power to invest money for you, you do not always come out on the right side." "True," said Robert, "but I am not going back from my position. Bankers are men of a higher moral fiber. A lawyer can- not be constantly in contact with all the rascality of human nature without being contaminated by it. With you it is different. You were a gentleman to begin with, which is mo« than can be said of most of them. But let us get back to our own affairs. I have your letters here, the three you sent me before I ceased to write. In the first you told me Marah had gone; in the second and third you were only able to tell me that you had not been able to find her." "Pardon me," Swinburne said. He was very pale, and his breath coming hard, was held in by his compressed lips- "I said that I could not tell you where she was." Robert Le Noir looked at him quickly, and in the strange change of his face saw that which sent a sharp suspicion to his mind. "Surely," he said, "you did not play such a petty legal subterfuge on me, your friend! I sent you across the ocean a question with all my soul in it, and you answered with a quibble. I cannot believe it, Ralph Swinburne. You could not have been such a villain to me. You will not tell me that you knew where she was?" "You had better know the truth at once," Swinburne said, "and you shall have the explanation or confession afterwards, if you like. I knew where she was. I have known ever since. It is too late now to undo what has been done, and I am not sure that I would if I could. Marah has been for years a wife, loved, and, I think, happy. She is mine!" He saw what was coming and did not try to avert it. He had no sooner spoken than he felt himself seized by the throat with murder in the fierce black eyes that blazed in his pallid face; but he did not move of his own volition, did not struggle or flinch, or seek the weapon near his hand. He did not even cry out when he was flung crashing into a corner, and rose slowly in his pain. "You can take that pistol and kill me if you like," he said with a quietude in which there was no submission or fear. "You may as well. When Marah hears that you have come back, and knows how I deceived her, she will never forgive me. There, you have your re- venge, Robert Le Noir. I wronged you badly, but I am quite at your mercy now-" But Robert did not answer; he only folded his arms on the green-veined marble of the mantelpiece and sobbed out: "You! Of all men in the world! The only one I trusted. You!"

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 355 II It was easy enough for Ralph Swinburne to forgive Robert for the sudden fury which had prompted the attack upon him; had the wild justice of revenge led to his death, he would have accepted it without resistance at the hands of the man he had wronged, but it was not so easy to forgive himself when the pathos of those few re- proachful words reached his heart; when he yielded to the sweet temptation that made him a traitor, he had never contemplated such a moment as this. "If you had never gone away," Ralph said with a sadness in which there was less self-abasement than might have been expected, "or if you had taken Marah with you, I should still have had my friend; or, better still, if you had not left her to me, but you were blind like the rest, you looked upon me as a plodding clod, chained willingly to the desk and ledger, a contented simpleton, tame-spirited and passionless, and I had loved her all the time." There was a slight movement of surprise from the silent figure by the mantel-piece, and he went on: "You will ask me, perhaps, why I did not tell you so openly; but you forget that you did not tell me of your love for her till you had made sure of her love for you, and I liked you too well to disturb your happiness by letting you know what it cost me to witness it. You were a handsome, brilliant fellow always, and I, plain and shy, and quiet, stood no chance while you were by. I did not envy you, either. David was not more true to Jonathan than I to you. Had you married her I should have loved you both, and your fireside would have been my dearest resting- place; but you went away for the sake of growing rich, and you left her to me." "I left her to my friend," said the sorrowful, accusing voice, and the haggard face was lifted for a moment; "I left her to my friend." "Heaven help us both: and forgive me," Ralph replied, "for it was a charge that tried me beyond my strength. You made a com- pact with her father. Mr. Seeton, that you would not write to her till you were sure of a position, and could come back to marry her and take her away to your new home. You might have known that he only consented to such an arrangement for the sake of getting rid of you, if only for a time, you were never a favorite of his, and he did not like the idea of his daughter leaving him, and soon after you were gone he fell into difficulties, as you may have heard." "I heard nothing." "Well, I helped him. Not with any ulterior motive then, but I had saved money and was quietly making my way in the world. I Was always welcome to him, and I gave Marah all my time, for your sake; I was her constant companion, and every day I had a harder fight against the passion that was beginning to master me. I

356 IMPROVEMENT ERA should have been true to you to the very end, if you had not sent that fatal newspaper." "The one I sent you with a letter, so that there would be no mistake?" "Yes; the one that contained the account of Robert Le Noir's death, who had been abroad about a year. I showed it to her father, and it was he who suggested that the way might easily be made clear for me. I do not take shelter behind that- Satan waited his time at the elbow of an honorable man; but I had already faltered in my faith, and fallen so low that the temptation was irresistible. I kept the letter back. He left the newspaper where he knew she was sure to find it, and you yourself had underlined the paragraph with your pen. She saw it and believed that you were dead. You know the rest." "You married her like the traitor that you were!" "Her father was getting poorer every day; he was on the brink of ruin, and he put it to her pride that he could not accept my help unless she was married to me. A loan from his son-in-law would simply be a family affair, but while I was only a friend his self- respect forbade him to let me render any further assistance. "I myself, said little. I only told her I loved her, and would try to make her happy; and shame and remorse were with me, even when, in her gentle way, she consented to be my wife." "We were married, Robert; and I knew, God knows how bit- terly, that I never for a moment took your place in her heart. I have heard her speak your name in her dreams. I have seen her wake in the night and look at me, then lay her face again on the pillows with a sigh of disappointment and resignation. She always gave me a sweet and dutiful affection, but the love of her life was in her recollection of you." "Why do you tell me this?" Robert asked. "Does it make things better for her or me, that you robbed me in vain?" "I hardly know why I tell you, Robert, but it is the truth, and I feel that I must confess. I waited patiently, and her love for me began to grow when our first child was born, and I deluded myself into the fond belief that you were almost forgotten, till, when she was lying at death's door, Marah asked me, with what I feared would be her last breath, to name the baby after you, and when she recovered it was still her wish. We called him Robert Le Noir Swinburne, and though I never showed a sign of jealousy, I knew that every time she looked at him she had you in her memory." "I cannot understand," Robert said, "why you have told me this." "Because I throw myself upon your mercy, and for her sake, Robert, I have won her love at last. You could not take it from me by telling of my treachery without breaking down her happiness- I hoped as the time wore on, and you did not write, that you had

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 357 taken a wife to yourself, and if ever you came back we might be friends again; is it impossible, or too late?" "It is impossible and it is too late!" was the sombre answer. "I will not betray you to Marah. You know me well enough when you put in that plea for her happiness. She shall never hear from me that the father of her children was such a dishonorable traitor. But I cannot forgive you, Ralph Swinburne. Measure my enmity by what my friendship was, and you may gauge its depths. I will never purposely or in studied malice try to injure you; but heaven help you if fate should ever place you in my power, for you will have no mercy from me!" It was the saddest day Ralph Swinburne had ever known. He went home from his office humiliated in body and mind, and haunted by the face of the man whose life he had wrecked. His young wife, lovely in herself, and lovelier for a sweet, low voice and gentle manner, kissed him tenderly while held to his breast, and was conscious of some trouble in the heart that beat so near to her own. It was true, as he had told Robert Le Noir, he had won her love at last. "You are tired, dearest," she said. "I think you work too hard. I had dinner put back, are you ready for it now?" "Yes, my darling, I am ready but I have spoiled it, I am afraid. I am nearly an hour and a half behind my time." "You had a troublesome client, I suppose?" "We must take them as they come," he said, conjuring up a smile, and I soon forget them when I am at home." Dinner was served, and he made a brave attempt to eat; but his appetite was gone, and the attentive maid took away his plate, time after time, with the contents scarcely tasted. "You said just now that I had a troublesome client," he ob- served, after a longer interval than usual, "and I hardly know whether I was right in letting you suppose so, even for an hour. I had a great surprise, Marah. It would have been a glad one but for the shock and pain it gave me. I do not think anyone is justified in springing such a mine upon his friends. I had a visit from a man I never thought to see again in this world." "An old friend, was he, Ralph?" ,,"The oldest and the dearest I ever had. Can you guess his name? You saw it in the newspaper five years ago." "Not," she faltered, "not Robert Le Noir?" "Yes, dearest, it was Robert Le Noir." He saw that she pressed the baby closer to her heart, as if to still a sudden pain there, and he kept the boy on his knee. With these strong love-links between them, and before her eyes, Marah could not forget that she belonged to him. "He sent for me to meet him at the train," Ralph went on, glad that he could tell the truth so far, and shrinking from the lie that

3 58 IMPROVEMENT ERA must be told. "I had not received a line from him for years, and it came like a message from the dead; and it seemed to me as if he thought you ought to have waited. He had some old-fashioned ro- mantic notion that your love should have stood the test of time and absence; that you should have remained true to him with a blind faith in his return some day, and he said many very bitter things to me." "Why should he blame you?" Marah said. "You, who were so staunch to him. I should never have known you cared for me had it not been for my father. You thought he was dead, as we did, or you would never have asked me to be your wife, I am sure." Marah Swinburne forced herself to say this, because Ralph seemed so deeply hurt, and she had never suspected him. She did not now, though with the knowledge of Robert Le Noir's return, some faint misgivings of foul play that had troubled her at one time came back again- But she had her father in her mind when she thought of this, and he was dead. It was not for her to send a reproach to him beyond the grave, and then two inexorable facts stood out distinct and clear from the maze of conjecture. Robert had come back un- married and faithful to her, and he had come too late, she was a wife and mother. If for an instant a wild passionate longing for the past leaped into her heart, it was gone almost as quickly; she had but to think of Ralph as she had always known him. His generous conduct to her father; his patient and delicate consideration as a lover; his indulgent devotion as a husband. Perhaps he mistook the nature of her thoughts, for he came over to her side. "Marah," he said wistfully, "my own dear wife." You will not let this man come between us now. We have been so happy for a long time, that I could not bear a shadow of restraint. I am not jealous. I should never doubt you; but I know he was all the world to you once." Her woman's instinct taught her what to do and what to say, in this unlooked-for crisis. She knew how easily at such a moment two lives can begin to drift apart, and she saw that the jealousy and doubt he repudiated were strongly at work within him. Marah drew his face down to her own for a kiss, and her sweet, low voice, was steady as she said: "What Robert Le Noir was to me is nothing, Ralph. You are my world now. I am only sorry he was unjust to you, for you were fond of him; but if he prefers new friends to old ones we can afford to let him go." Ill Robert Le Noir turned away from Mr. Swinburne's office with a heavy heart, a disappointed, lonely man, for whom in this great city there was no such thing as a look of sympathy or the touch of a

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 3 59 kindly hand. It seemed to him that his last hope was gone, when he discovered in his dearest friend the traitor he had come so far to seek. He had looked forward to at least welcome under Ralph's roof, a few days' rest, a talk over old times, and some advice concerning the new life Le Noir wanted to begin; for, though he was a rich man, Robert did not intend to be an idle one, but he hardly cared what became of himself now. He stood irresolute on the pavement, till the sight of a passing car on its way toward Gramarcy Park reminded him of an old acquaintance who lived in that direction when he left America- This was Mr. Edward P. Simpson, the president of the bank in which Robert was employed before he put his name to a note for a friend, and was summarily dismissed for breaking the rules of the establish- ment. He had a grateful recollection of the president's kindness on that occasion, and many others, and though not a line had passed between them for six years, Robert had no doubt that the Simpson's would be glad to see him. The car that brought this to his memory was out of sight before he had made up his mind; but he walked on till the next car over- took him, and he was put down within a few blocks or so of the president's residence. He came to a halt almost at the door. He did not know what changes might have taken place during these six years; so he made inquiries at the nearest store, and heard what he had half expected and feared. Mr. Simpson, a portly and genial gentleman in the prime of life when Robert saw him last, was dead. Mrs. Simpson had removed to a smaller house not far away. The Simpsons, as he remembered them, were a family of five, including two sons, and one daughter, Bernece, a pretty child of thirteen, as Robert saw her in his mind. Of these, the only two left in New York were the mother and the girl. The sons were married and settled in the west, and after the fashion of some sons with chil- dren of their own, they did not trouble themselves greatly about the mother they had left behind. But Mrs. Simpson was very happy in her quiet life with Bernece, she had grown accustomed to their un- eventful, tranquil days; still the advent of an old acquaintance was a welcome change. "Robert Le Noir," the widow said when the servant gave her his card. "This must be the gentleman your father used to think so highly of, Bernece. He went abroad, I think. Ask him in, please." Le Noir knew Mrs. Simpson in a moment, but it was not so easy for her to recognize him. He was a strong-hearted, self-repressive man, on whom thought and suffering, and passion left their mark, and at thirty years of age his hair and beard were tinged with grey. When he smiled, however, and still more when he spoke, the lady of the house identified him, with a depth of pleasure she had long been a stranger to.

3 60 IMPROVEMENT ERA "How kind of you to think of us," she said. "I had no idea you were in America, Mr. Le Noir." "The kindness is all yours, dear madam," he said, moved by this warm and unaffected greeting. "It is the first welcome I have had since I came home." She saw his stern lip tremble, and there was a grateful softness in the pressure of his hand, which told her that some recent disap- pointment had stung him to the quick. Trouble of any sort was a readily acknowledged claim on Mrs. Simpson's kindness, and she at once took the tone of an old and familiar friend, and made him feel that he was at home; in this she was ably seconded by her daughter, who came forward of her own accord and shook hands with him. "You have not forgotten me, I hope, Mr. Le Noir," she said. "And if you have, I can assure you I have not forgotten you. You bought me my last doll, and a buggy for it; you brought them to me not long before you went away. I recollect it as well as if it had only happened yesterday." So did Robert Le Noir. He could recall her innocent delight and the kiss she gave him, being then a dainty stripling in short dresses, with a torrent of chestnut hair falling over her slender shoulders. She was a tall and beautiful woman now, with a fine, full figure, and a sweet, fearless face, brimful of play and harmless mischief when not in repose, and then it was a miracle of thought- ful tenderness. "Six years ago," he said. "Only six years, Miss Simpson: and you, of course, have done with dolls for ever, while I have lived through a long lifetime since then, or feel as if I had-" It was clear to Mrs. Simpson that he was not happy. He had come back poor, perhaps; but in her own mind the widow was con- vinced that fate had not used him well; and, mindful of her own sons, her heart went out to this solitary man. "I am afraid you have seen a deal of trouble, Mr. Le Noir, but you must make the best of it. You are still young, you know, and though you lost one good situation by a generous indiscretion, that is no reason why you should not get another now that you are older and wiser. Mr. Le Noir looked at her with a curiously pleased and appre- ciative smile. It was on his tongue to tell her she was very kind, and explain how little need he had of help from anyone, but in the steady flow of her fine intentions she did not give him time. "And meanwhile," she went on, "you will stay here. We have plenty of rooms, and I need not say you are welcome. Will you?" "Do, Mr. Le Noir," Bernece said- "We should like it so much." His momentary hesitation vanished, and he was moved almost to tears. "God bless you both!" he said. "I will stay and thank you for having made me human again. Less than an hour ago I left the man

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 361 _ i I thought my only and my dearest friend with worse than murder in my heart; but that is a story with which I will not burden you. Dear madam, and you, Miss Simpson, I can read the noble spirit which prompted your invitation as clearly as if I saw it written down. You think I have come back poor-" "If you have not," Mrs. Simpson observed, "so much the better for yourself." "I am a rich man," he said; "so rich that I should have been glad had I found you poorer. For then I could have shown you I was not forgetful of your many kindnesses; but, except that your house is not so large, I do not see much alteration in your circum- stances." "We are, of course, in a different position," Mrs. Simpson said. "My husband was fond of society, as you know, and lived nearly up to his income. Still, he left me twenty-five thousand dollars, and that is so well invested that we have fifteen hundred dollars a year." "Six per cent," said Robert. "Rather a high rate of interest, is it not, for a safe investment?" "Oh, it is safe enough," the widow said in all simplicity. "It never varies a dollar. As regularly as the quarter comes, we have our check for three hundred and seventy-five dollars. Never more and never less." "That is something marvelous!" Mr. Le Noir said. "Shares are subject to fluctuations, and as I have some idle money in hand, I should like to know how yours is placed." "I gave it to our lawyers," Mrs. Simpson informed him serenely; "Lincoln and Swinburne, but Mr. Swinburne manages the business now and as the income comes regularly, I have never troubled to ask in what stock the money is invested. Mr- Swinburne was a friend of yours at one time, was he not?" "Yes," Robert said, between his teeth, "he was. I should not like to make you uneasy, Mrs. Simpson, but he is a man in whom I have very little faith. If you will be advised by me, you will make inquiries, and see what real security there is for the stability of your income. The list of lawyers who have abused the confidence of their clients in regard to trust-money is a terribly long one." "It would be a dreadful thing to lose our money," the widow said, alarmed, "and my sons are so far away." Would it be too much to ask you to make these inquiries, Mr. Le Noir?" "I will, if you wish it," he said, "or rather, I will get it done, for there are reasons why I would prefer not to appear in its person- ally at present; but I will have the matter investigated thoroughly." He dined with them pleasantly and well. Bernece sang to him with her rich, young contralto voice, so full of power that it would have rung through the street had she not subdued it with due regard to the acoustic space at her disposal. He had been lifted from darkness into light, found fresh friends

3 62 IMPROVEMENT ERA and a welcome just when his prospects seemed almost cheerless and his disappointment was most bitter. He ought to have slept tranquilly under this roof, where all was kindness and purity, but even with Bernece's soft good-night, and the kiss of six years ago lingering in his memory, he lay awake till dawn. Restless, and with an unholy sense of exultation, it came back to him how Ralph Swinburne had winced at his accidental remark about lawyers and trust-money, the uneasy laugh with which he had tried to turn the conversation, and his own last words as he left the office. They seemed prophetic now. "Can it be that fate has placed him in my hands already," he thought. "I said that I would never purposely, or of studied malice, try to injure him; but, if through no agency of mine he should fall into my power, let him look for mercy elsewhere, he will have none from me." He determined to have a detective at work on the morrow. He took a savage pleasure in turning over in his mind the many civilized advantages a revengeful man with money can find ready to his hand. There was no need to burn his enemy's house and let him perish in the fire, nor to hire a ruffian to waylay him in the dark. That social incendiary and secret assassin of reputation, the private detective agent, would provide him with means which would be as cruel as they were safe and pitiless. IV Mr. Le Noir went out next day strong in his unfaltering pur- pose, and found no difficulty in procuring agents for his work. In every step he took, Robert could satisfy his conscience by saying that he was doing nothing more than his duty to the widow and her daughter Bernece. He was sure in his own mind that no safe and permanent investment could yield a steady six per cent; and it was just possible that Ralph Swinburne, like many men in a similar po- sition, was paying the interest out of the capital. This, sooner or later, could have but one result, the bankruptcy, or worse, of the lawyer, and the ruin of his clients. "There is no malice or revenge in this," Robert said to him- self. "If Ralph Swinburne cannot stand the test of an investigation, it is not for me to hold my hand, or take the blame, and he may be acting in good faith. I have no right to doubt him; but that unvary- ing quarterly amount is suspicious on the face of it." It might have been that his revengeful hatred would have died away under the gentler influence of his new life, had not circum- stances thrown Ralph in his way. This unpretending establishment of the widow and her daughter was such a haven of rest as he had never known. It did not cost Mrs. Simpson the slightest effort to make her house a home in the truest

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 363 sense of the word, and Bernece was a singularly sympathetic com- panion. He had not been under the widow's roof many days before he told them the story of his disappointment, without mentioning the names of the girl he had lost, or the man who had wronged him. And from that moment Bernece thought of him with a tender com- passion, which found expression in many innocent, endearing ways. He would have smiled incredulously at the suggestion that love was finding its way into his heart once more, and yet life was sweeter to him than it had ever been, except in those old days when he lived for Marah. He had come back to America almost a misanthrope, gloomy and embittered against the whole of human kind; but the kindly re- ception which had met him here made a change that was good to see. He was always cheerful and pleasant, if never gay. If he rarely laughed, he was never without a smile for his friends. He saw that Bernece's tranquil existence with her mother had not been free from monotony, and he broke into this with well chosen offerings of the newest books, the latest music, the choicest fruits and rarest flowers he could find. And sometimes he ventured on a ticket for the theatre; and Mrs. Simpson, though she had long since relinquished such amusements for herself, was very willing to let Bernece enjoy them under Mr. Le Noir's escort. Perhaps the widow saw the way things were drifting, and was pleased to think that her daughter's future might be cared for by this gentle-speaking, thought- ful man of thirty. He was not idle while waiting for the result of his inquiries, he bought an active partnership in a trading and financial business, where his foreign experience stood an additional value on his money, and he was fairly established in it when his agent came to tell him what he had discovered concerning Ralph Swinburne. In brief, there was nothing in it to cause Robert Le Noir any surprise. His keen perception and the subtle instinct of his hatred had enabled him to anticipate it. The senior partner, Mr. Lincoln, was an indolent, easy-going man, fond of a good table and old wine. He left the man- agement of everything to Ralph, and he had not used his opportu- nities wisely or well. The information, easily verified, by Robert in his new position, proved that Mr. Swinburne was connected with a firm, or gang of brokers, whose tempting and delusive advertisements filled whole columns of the leading newspapers, and whose transactions were not recognized by the legitimate members of the Stock Exchange. It was clear to, Le Noir that Ralph Swinburne was simply a dupe and a decoy, and he was not a man to be trusted with the use of other people's money. Not wishing to appear in the matter as yet, Robert instructed a lawyer to apply for an immediate statement as to the investments made, and a return of the twenty-five thousand dollars.

364 IMPROVEMENT ERA Such a demand came to Ralph Swinburne like a bolt from a cloudless sky. It struck the ground from under his feet, and left him on the verge of an abyss, from which he looked in vain for a hand strong enough to rescue him. He dared not consult the senior partner, or ask his help, for Mr. Lincoln was as hard in business as he was easy in private life, and would at once have taken measures to expel Ralph from the firm. The whole of Mr. Swinburne's available resources, apart from the household furniture, would not have brought more than one-half of the amount needed; his only hope was that his credit might be good enough for the amount, if they would give him time. It went against him to ask a favor, but he had no alternative. He knew the lawyer who had written to him, a rigidly honorable gentleman of the old school, and far from likely to overlook any laxity of professional conduct on the part of a fellow practitioner; but he had taken a friendly interest in Ralph's career, and the young man hoped it would stand him in good stead in the present emergency. He was wise enough to tell the truth, with certain reservations which hid nothing from the experienced eye of Robert Le Noir's lawyer, Mr. Moot. Ralph dwelt as strongly as he dared upon the fact that the money was entrusted to him with a discretionary power as to its use, but Mr. Moot shook his head at that, and Swinburne had to confess that as yet he had not invested it at all. "That is what we feared," Mr. Moot said, "and though I am sorry for you, Mr. Swinburne, my instructions are peremptory, and unless the money is transferred to me in full at once, you will have to take the consequences, the very serious consequences." Mr. Swinburne knew how serious they would be. The accusa- tion, and the conviction which would inevitably follow, meant the loss of his professional status, a heavy fine, or perhaps imprisonment, and a dishonored name for ever. "I have only been waiting for a favorable opportunity," he said, "and Mrs. Simpson had no reason for withdrawing her con- fidence from me. I have allowed her a liberal rate of interest." "Too liberal for safety," was the dry rejoinder. "That, at least, is the opinion of the gentleman who has taken charge of Mrs. Simpson's affairs, and I should advise you to make the transfer with- out delay." "If I could see this gentleman," Ralph said, clinging to a last desperate hope. "I might be able to satisfy him that my client's in- terests are quite safe in my hands." "I am afraid not," Mr. Moot said. "If he were to speak to you — as he has spoken of you, you would find an interview anything but satisfactory or pleasant. Mr- Le Noir did not instruct me until he had fully satisfied himself that he was justified in doing so."

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 3 65 "Le Noir?" Ralph said, pale with dismay. Robert Le Noir, is that the man?" "Yes, Mr. Swinburne. His name is Robert Le Noir. He re- turned from abroad recently and is now residing with Mrs. Simpson." "Then God help me!" Swinburne said in his despair. "For that man is my bitterest enemy, and I am ruined." He had no sooner made the admission than he saw its danger, and hastened to rectify his error. "It will deprive me of my last dollar," he said; "and just when the use of the money for another week would be a fortune to me." "If it does no worse than deprive you of your last dollar," Mr. Moot said, "you have very little cause for despondence. You are young, you have a fair share of the profits of a large practice, and if you keep steadily to your own profession, a bright and hopeful future lies before you; but do not tamper with that money again. I am certain that if it is not immediately forthcoming I shall be instructed to take proceedings, and I should have to do my duty. Even as it is, you have made some damaging admissions, but I would not willingly use them against you." Ralph Swinburne thanked him almost humbly, being too broken in spirit to realize what he had done. He was not a man of nerve or resource; in the face of such a danger as beset him, his faculties were paralyzed, and he could only dwell upon the inexorable fact that he was to pay the penalty for his treachery to Robert Le Noir. Nemesis had overtaken him, and he was at the mercy of his enemy. He went back to his office, and in the shelter of his sanctum wrote to a few men on whom he thought he could rely- He sent the letters by special messengers, pressing his clerks into his service for the occasion, and he waited in all the torture of a maddening anxiety for at least one favorable answer. The drawer in which his revolver lay had a dangerous fascination for him during this time of suspense. He looked at the weapon more than once, touched the long, cold barrel with a shudder of gloomy pleasure; for if the worst came, here was his refuge from the ruin that meant a prison and dishonor. The worst did come. The replies were so nearly identical that they might have been dictated by the same hand, as they were by the same spirit, for the silent machinery which laid his secret transactions bare, exposed him to the gang who had made him their dupe and decoy. He had lost his money, he had not saved his good name; he was a failure, even as a rogue, and from such a man they turned with an oath of contempt and a smile of derision. They answered his let- ters politely enough, but in every instance the answer was an excuse or a refusal. | He was a marked man. Ralph Swinburne saw it before he left for home that afternoon. His credit was gone, and people were shy of him. Men who had been his boon companions yesterday were in a hurry when they met him now. They'cut him in the stereotyped way

3 66 IMPROVEMENT ERA he knew so well, a hasty shake of the hand, a look at the watch, a muttered something about an appointment, and they were gone. He went home, friendless quite, except for the wife who loved him, and he did not speak of his trouble to her. He went to business as usual in the morning, and later in the day Marah remembered how tenderly affectionate he had been, even for him. How he had turned back to kiss the baby girl, and carried the boy in his arms to the gate, where he lingered for a long time, and seemed reluctant to go. Mrs. Swinburne might not have thought of this, but in the afternoon the servant gave her mistress a letter which she had found on the table in her master's dressing-room. It was simply addressed: "Marah." Some few times during their married life Ralph had left her an envelope inscribed in the same way; but then the contents had been a pleasant surprise, a fifty dollar bank note as an additional birthday gift; but Marah's instinct told her that this was no such thing. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, and her heart sank sick with horror at what she read. It was the story of his ruin, the confession of his treachery, and a dark suggestion of the dreadful end he contemplated: "I shall know the worst by seven this evening," he wrote- "I shall either have retrieved my position, or place myself beyond the reach of my enemy. You will try to forgive me when I am gone, and remember that I always loved you, only you." Deeply as it shocked her, this confession of his treachery to her, and his dishonest use of a client's trust money, she put every thought aside but the one of how to save him. It was now past four, and she had to travel quite a long distance before she could reach the down town district. Her unerring instinct told her what to do. The man who had brought him down so low was the man to save him. She knew where to find him, Ralph had mentioned incidentally that Le Noir had a place of business in Wall Street, and was prospering. Mrs. Swinburne left her baby with the nurse, and took the boy with her. Why she did so Marah could not have explained; she may have had a blind hope that he might serve in some sort as a peace- maker, or that the sight of him would turn Ralph from his desperate purpose. It was a quarter after six before she reached Mr. Le Noir's office: She asked if he was in. Had the clerk told her he was gone, Marah felt that she must have dropped dead, but Robert had been delayed beyond his usual time, and he was there. "A lady to see me, on urgent business?'' he said. "Let her come in at once." In the midst of his conjecture the door was thrown wide open for her, and closed again, leaving her inside. While her name was on his lips, he saw that she swayed, and he caught her as she was falling. He heard' her say;

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF ROBERT LE NOIR 3 67 "Save him, Robert; forgive him for my sake!" And she had fainted in his arms. And this, after six years, was how they met. He placed her in a large arm-chair, spoke a few kind words to the frightened child, and took the crumpled letter from her tightly clenched hand. "Heaven forgive me!" he said. "I did not think of this." Her faintness soon passed away. He bathed her pallid face, gave her a little brandy, and was kneeling by her side, reading the letter when she began to recover. There was no time for an explanation; they understood each other when he pressed her hand to his lips and kissed her boy. "I am glad you came to me, Marah," he said. "I only hope it will not be too late for me to undo the mischief I have done. He wronged me, but you love him, and we must both forgive him." He sent for a taxicab and went to Lincoln and Swinburne's office. Robert Le Noir had his rival's child on his knee all the way, and if he felt a pang of jealousy it was softened by the recollection of a promise given him by Bernece Simpson that morning. The quiet glad- ness of his soul at having won her first pure love left no room for envy or hatred. His only prayer was that he might be in time to save his enemy. It was almost on the stroke of seven when he entered the office. He told Marah to remain in the outer room, and he went into the sanctum without waiting to be announced. It was as well he did not, for Ralph, startled by his sudden appearance, let something heavy fall to the floor behind him. "You here?" he said bitterly. "Are you not satisfied with what you have done, but must you come to see the end of it?" "I have come, I hope, to see the beginning of our new friendship, or a renewal of the old one," Robert said, holding out his hand. "Do not let that twenty-five thousand dollars or ten times that amount trouble you. I want to let the past bury its dead, Ralph, and be as we were six years ago." The old gentle voice, the old frank and genial manner were too much for Ralph Swinburne, and he broke into tears with his face hidden on the broad shoulder of his friend. Robert would not hear a word of his self-reproach. He brought Marah in, and gave her husband to her; and picking up the now harmless weapon from the floor, put it away, and left them together. He went through the streets, tranquil and glad that in forgiving his enemy he had not lost the right to ask for mercy of Him who forgives all trespasses. Washington, D. C.