The Castle of the Shadows | Page 8

agitate
oneself much about the family history of one's predecessors."
"Roger, you know this is different. I want you and no one to else tell
me. Still, if you won't----"
"Oh, if you insist you must be gratified, I suppose, up to certain limits.
What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"H'm! Rather too large an order, my child. However, to begin with, the
Dalahaides of the Château de la Roche were English in the last
generation, but the family is of French origin. When the last member of
the French branch died, a banker in London was the next heir. He gave
the château and the Dalahaide house in Paris as a wedding present to
his son, who was about to be married. The bride and bridegroom came
over on their honeymoon, and took such a fancy to the château that
they made their home there, or rather between it and the old house in
Paris. This young couple had in time a son, and then a daughter.
Perhaps you saw the daughter to-day?"
"Yes, it was she. You didn't ask me about her before."
"No; the fact is, I thought that further conversation on the subject
would be too painful for poor Loria. You must have seen that he was
upset."
"I couldn't help seeing. But go on."
"Well, the father and mother and their two children were a most
devoted family. They were all handsome and clever and popular, and if

they were not millionaires, they were extravagant, for they gave
delightful entertainments here and in Paris, and their purses were open
for any one who wished to dip in his fingers.
"The son Maxime, always called Max, inherited his father's generous,
reckless, extravagant ways. He was drawn into the fastest set in Paris,
and lost a lot of money at baccarat. That wouldn't have mattered much,
perhaps, if at the same time some large investments of the father's
hadn't gone wrong and crippled the family resources. Then, as
misfortunes generally come in crowds, there was a slight earthquake
along this part of the coast, and the château was partly ruined, as you
saw to-day, for they were not able then to have it restored. 'Next year,'
they said; but there was no next year for the Dalahaides. Only a few
months after the first two blows came the third, which was to crush the
family for ever. Max Dalahaide was accused of murder, tried, and
condemned."
"What--he is dead, then? I thought you said--I----" Virginia's heart gave
so sudden and violent a bound that she stammered, and grew red and
white under the revealing moonlight. She was thinking of the
portrait--seeing it again, looking into the eyes which had seemed to
speak. Dead! Executed as a murderer! The thought was horrible; it
stifled her.
"No, he is not dead," answered Roger gravely; "at least, if he is I
haven't heard of it. But--if he still exists--one can't call it living--he
must have wished a hundred times a day to die and be out of his misery.
Perhaps death has come to him. It might, and I not have known; for
from out of the pit which has engulfed him, seldom an echo reaches the
world above."
"Roger, you frighten me! What do you mean?" the girl exclaimed.
"Forgive me, child. I forgot for a moment, and was thinking aloud. I
don't often forget you, do I? I said to-day that Max Dalahaide was dead
in life. That is true. Family influence, the tremendous eloquence of a
man engaged to plead his cause, the fact that Max insisted upon his
innocence, while the evidence was entirely circumstantial, saved him

from the guillotine, which I believe he would have preferred, in his
desperation. He was sent to that Hades upon earth, New Caledonia, a
prisoner for life."
"But--he was English!"
"No. His parents had been English, but he, having been born in France,
was a French subject. He had even served his time in the army.
Naturally he was amenable to French law; and he is buried alive in
Noumea, the most terrible prison in the world."
"And he was innocent!"
Roger, who had been gazing out over the sea, turned a surprised look
upon Virginia.
"No! He was not innocent," he said quickly. "Everything proved his
guilt. It is impossible that he should have been innocent."
"His sister believed in him."
"Yes, his sister. What does that prove? The father thought him guilty,
and killed himself. As for the mother--who knows? At all events, she
died--broken-hearted. Every penny the family possessed, after their
great losses, went for Maxime's defense; but, except that his life was
saved, it was in vain."
"You knew him--he was your friend--yet you believed in his guilt?"
"I hardly knew him well enough to call