CHAPTER CVII.

MRS. OAKLEY DISSEMBLES.

With trembling steps, Mrs. Oakley followed Lupin, the murderer, into his

own room. Of course she was resolved to see nothing, and to make no

remark that could in any way direct the attention of Lupin more closely

to her, and, oh, how she panted for some opportunity of rushing into the

street and crying aloud to the passers by, that the pious hypocrite was

a murderer. But as yet she felt that her life depended upon the manner

in which she played her part.

"Truly, sister Oakley," said Lupin, "I hope you passed a quiet and

peaceful night. Amen!"

"Very," replied Mrs. Oakley.

"Ah, I wish I could say as much, sister Oakley."

"And can you not?"

"Alas! no, I had some dreams--some very bad dreams; but Satan always

will be doing something, you know, sister. Do you know I dreamt of a

murder!"

As he uttered these words, no Grand Inquisitor could have looked more

keenly into the eyes of a victim, than did Mr. Lupin into the face of

Mrs. Oakley; but she divined his motive, she felt that he was trying

her, but she had even in such a moment sufficient presence of mind to

keep her eyes steadily upon his face, and to say with seeming unconcern,

"Murder, did you say, Mr. Lupin?"

"Yes, I did say murder, and you--." He pointed at her with his finger,

but finding that she only looked surprised, rather, he added--"and you

are one of the elect, I rejoice to say, sister Oakley. Amen! It is a

capital thing to be saved!"

"It is, indeed, Mr. Lupin."

"Well--well. Let us have the carnal meal, called breakfast. I will

proceed, God willing, to the corner of the court, and purchase two eggs,

Mrs. Oakley, if it be pleasing to you."

"Anything you like, Mr. Lupin; I have but a poor appetite in the

morning, always."

Mr. Lupin put on his hat, and after slowly turning round and casting an

anxious glance upon the room and every object within, to assure himself

that he had left no evidences of his crime behind him, he slowly left to

get the eggs.

Mrs. Oakley heard him descend the stairs, and she heard the door close

behind him. Then she asked herself if that were really and truly an

opportunity of escape that she dared attempt to avail herself of, or if

it were only one in seeming, and that if she were upon its provocation

to attempt to leave the place, she would only be confirming the slight

suspicions that might be in the mind of Lupin, concerning her privity to

his deed of blood.

He had talked of only going to the corner of the court, and how did she

know that he had even gone so far? Might not the message about the eggs

be merely a pretended one, to see what she would do? This was a

consideration that kept her, tremblingly, where she was.

About five minutes elapsed, and then she heard a knock at the door

below. Who could that be? Mr. Lupin had a key with which he always let

himself in, so it could not be he. What was she to think? what was she

to do? Suddenly then she heard the door opened, and then after a few

moments delay some footstep sounded upon the stairs, but it was very

unlike that of Lupin, the murderer.

The delightful thought came over the imagination of Mrs. Oakley, that

some one was coming to whom she might at once make an avowal of all she

knew of Lupin's guilt, and who might be able to protect her from the

vengeance of the murderer. She rose, and peeped through the key-hole.

She saw Lupin coming up the stairs. He was making quite a laborious

effort to tread differently to what was usual with him, and from that

moment Mrs. Oakley felt that she was to be subjected to some

extraordinary trial of her self-possession. She crept back to her seat,

and waited in terror.

In the course of a few moments, Lupin, after treading with a heavy thump

upon every stair, instead of gliding up in his usual manner, reaching

the door at which he tapped, and then in an assumed voice, which if she,

Mrs. Oakley, had not known he was there, would have deceived her, he

said--

"Hilloa! who's at home?"

"Who's there?" said Mrs. Oakley.

"It's John Smith," cried Lupin. "I am an officer of the police. Has

anybody anything to say to me here? They tell me in the court that some

odd noises were heard in the night."

"I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Oakley, "but if you will

come in and wait until Mr. Lupin comes in, he may like to see you."

"Oh, no, no, no! It's no matter. Good morning, ma'am."

Down stairs went Lupin, thinking he had acted the officer to perfection,

and making no doubt in the world but that he had thoroughly deceived

Mrs. Oakley, who he was now quite satisfied knew absolutely nothing

about the murder.

In the course of a couple of minutes, Mr. Lupin in his own character

came gliding in.

"I am afraid I have kept you waiting, sister Oakley."

"Oh, not at all, but there has been a man there who says his name is

Smith, and he--"

"I met him! I met him! It is all right. He heard something going on in

the next house, I suppose, and mistook it for this. Pray cook the eggs

to your liking, sister Oakley, and help yourself to anything. Don't be

particular, sister Oakley, but make yourself at home."

"I will, reverend sir, I will."

Mrs. Oakley was really playing her part very well, but she fancied each

moment that the murderer would see something in her manner to give him a

suspicion that she knew too much for his safety.

She was wrong though, for upon the contrary, Mr. Lupin felt quite

satisfied that the secret of his guilt was confined to his own breast.

"I pray you, sister Oakley," he said, "to eat freely of my humble fare,

and after breakfast we will have a prayer."

It seemed to Mrs. Oakley, now that she had awakened to a sense of the

awful hypocrisy of Mr. Lupin, something very horrible for him to talk of

having a prayer; but she took care not to show what she felt in that

particular.

"How kind and good of you," she said.

"Ay, truly, sister Oakley, I am kind and good, and yet there are envious

folks in the world, who I dare say would not hesitate to give even me a

bad name."

"Impossible, surely."

"I would it were, I would it were, my dear sister Oakley, I would it

were impossible."

"It seems to me, reverend sir, as though it would not be in the power of

poor human nature to praise you too much; but it is time that I should

think of going home now, if you please."

"Well, sister, if you must go home among the heathens and the

Philistines, I will not hinder you; but with the hope of seeing you soon

again, I will now offer up a prayer."

It was truly sickening even to Mrs. Oakley, whose feelings the reader

will think could not be very fine, to see such an arch hypocrite

offering up a prayer to that Deity whom he must so bitterly have

offended by his awful crimes.

But Mr. Lupin cut the prayer tolerably short, and then giving to Mrs.

Oakley what he called the kiss of peace, and to which, loathsome as it

was from him, she felt herself forced to submit, he bade her good day.

And now, indeed, she began to entertain a sanguine hope, that she would

be released from his company, and she should soon be in a condition to

denounce him to justice for the awful crime which she had seen him

commit. She could not possibly avoid a slight feeling of satisfaction to

appear upon her face.

"You seem pleased," said Lupin.

"I am, reverend sir."

"May I ask what at?"

"Ah, how can I be otherwise than delighted, when I am assured by such a

saint upon earth as yourself that I am one of the elect?"

This was an answer with which, whether it was satisfactory or not, Mr.

Lupin was, as it were, compelled to put up with; but taking up his hat,

he said--

"Truly, sister Oakley, it will become me to see you a part of the way

home."

Mrs. Oakley expressed her satisfaction with the holy man's company, and

they both descended the stairs together. She felt, however, an exquisite

pang of alarm upon finding that Lupin led her down the staircase that

led to the chapel, and not down the one which would have conducted them

to the ordinary door of exit from the domestic portion of the building.

But even with all the dread upon her soul that he might be meditating

some awful act in the chapel, she felt that she must assume a calmness

though she felt it not.

"Why this leads to the chapel," she said. She thought it would sound

more natural for her to make that remark, than to say nothing about it.

"Yes, sister it does, and here is the trap-door that conducts to the

vaults."

He suddenly turned upon her, and clutched her by the arm, as he spoke.

Poor Mrs. Oakley then really thought that her last hour was come, and

that all along in pretending to have no suspicion of her, he was only

dissembling. It was a mercy she did not at that terrible moment commit

herself in some way. Surely Heaven supported her, for she did not.

"Reverend sir," she said, "what mean you?"

"What mean I? I mean will you descend to the vaults with me."

"And pray? Yes, if you wish it."

"Nothing--nothing," muttered Lupin. "What a fool I am. I might have been

well convinced long ago, and yet I cannot forbear new trials. All is

safe, all is safe. This way, sister Oakley, this way. I will only see

you to the corner of your own street."

"Many thanks."

They both emerged from the chapel. Lupin slammed the door after him, and

arm in arm they walked up the court together.

Poor Mrs. Oakley felt that to be the most trying moment of all for her

nerves. While she had much to do--while she was alone with Lupin in the

domestic portion of the chapel, and while she knew that the least slip

of the tongue, or the least want of control over her feelings might be

her death--she conducted herself gallantly; but now when she was fairly

in the open air, now that she was in comparative safety, her feelings

almost got the better of her.

It was only by a powerful effort that she could at all control them.

She felt that by suddenly quitting the arm of Lupin, and making a rush

for it, she might escape him, but then she did not want him to escape

the consequences of his crime, for Mrs. Oakley had a woman's sympathy

with the fate even of the not very respectable Mrs. Lupin. Besides, with

all the vindictive hate that he might be supposed to feel upon finding

that his guilt was known, he might yet pursue her, and before she could

find aid, kill her.

"I must still dissemble," she thought, "and speak this most monstrous

villain fairly."

"Quite a charming morning, reverend sir," she said.

"Very," said Lupin.

"I really am afraid that I am sadly intruding upon your time, by letting

you come with me?"

"Oh, no--no--no."

He seemed to be getting very thoughtful, and Mrs. Oakley was

proportionably more and more upon her guard, for she felt convinced that

if he really thought she knew anything of his guilt he would kill her.

Now they emerged from the court; but it was yet rather an early hour in

the morning, and but very few passengers were in the streets. The only

person that was tolerably close to them was an elderly woman, and Mrs.

Oakley much as she panted for an opportunity of separating herself from

Lupin, felt that the time to do so had not yet come.

On they went, in the direction of Mrs. Oakley's house, that house that

she now began to feel she had so much neglected, to look after what, in

the language of scripture, might truly have been termed "Strange

Idols"--that home which she now looked to as a haven of safety from the

terror of death itself.

"How silent you are, sister," said Lupin.

"Yes, I was thinking."

"Of what?" he said, fiercely.

"Of how much I should be able to take from Mr. Oakley's till, to bring

to you, this day week."

"Oh! oh!"

"You may depend, reverend sir, it shall be as much as possible. Of

course I must be cautious, though."

"Oh, yes--yes."

They had now reached within a few paces of the corner of the street, and

yet Mrs. Oakley had seen no one upon whom, from their appearance, she

thought she could rely to call to for aid against the murderer. Suddenly

then round the corner, there came a bulky form. The heavy tread of some

one of unusual weight sounded upon the street pavement.

Big Ben, the beef-eater, with his arms behind him, and in a very

thoughtful mood, came pacing slowly along.

As Mrs. Oakley said afterwards, her heart, at that moment, was in her

mouth.

She could not dissemble an instant longer with Lupin, but with a loud

shriek that echoed far and wide in the streets, she suddenly sprang from

him, crying--

"Ben, Ben, dear strong Ben, seize this man! He is a murderer!"

"D--n! Done at last!" cried Lupin.

He turned to fly, but treading upon a piece of cabbage-leaf that was

upon the pavement, down he fell.

"Easy does it," said Ben, and he flung himself upon the top of Lupin,

spreading out his arms and legs, and holding him by sheer weight as

firmly to the pavement as though he had been nailed there.

"Help, help, help! Murder! help!" shouted Mrs. Oakley. "Murder, murder,

murder!"

People began to flock to them from all parts. Lupin succeeded in getting

a knife from his pocket, but Mrs. Oakley held him by the wrist with both

hands, and in a minute more he was in the grasp of two strong men, one

of whom was a police-officer, and who gloried in the job.