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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lost Lady of Lone
+
+Author: E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+Release Date: June 11, 2005 [EBook #16039]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST LADY OF LONE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE LOST LADY OF LONE
+
+                       By MRS. E.D.E.N. SOUTHWORTH
+
+     Author of "Nearest and Dearest," "The Hidden Hand," "Unknown,"
+     "Only a Girl's Heart," "For Woman's Love," etc.
+
+                                   1876
+
+
+
+
+PUBLISHERS' NOTICE.
+
+
+"THE LOST LADY OF LONE" is different from any of Mrs. Southworth's other
+novels. The plot, which is unusually provocative of conjecture and
+interest, is founded on thrilling and tragic events which occurred in the
+domestic history of one of the most distinguished families in the
+Highlands of Scotland. The materials which these interesting and tragic
+annals place at the disposal of Mrs. Southworth give full scope to her
+unrivalled skill in depicting character and developing a plot, and she
+has made the most of her opportunity and her subject.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+       I. The bride of Lone
+
+      II. An ideal love
+
+     III. The ruined heir
+
+      IV. Salome's choice
+
+       V. Arondelle's consolation
+
+      VI. A horrible mystery on the wedding-day
+
+     VII. The morning's discovery
+
+    VIII. A horrible discovery
+
+      IX. After the discovery
+
+       X. The letter and its effect
+
+      XI. The vailed passenger
+
+     XII. The house on Westminster Road
+
+    XIII. A surprise for Mrs. Scott
+
+     XIV. The second bridal morn
+
+      XV. The cloud falls
+
+     XVI. Vanished
+
+    XVII. The lost Lady of Lone
+
+   XVIII. The flight of the duchess
+
+     XIX. Salome's refuge
+
+      XX. Salome's protectress
+
+     XXI. The bridegroom
+
+    XXII. At Lone
+
+   XXIII. A startling charge
+
+    XXIV. The vindication
+
+     XXV. Who was found?
+
+    XXVI. Off the track
+
+   XXVII. In the convent
+
+  XXVIII. The soul's struggle
+
+    XXIX. The stranger in the chapel
+
+     XXX. The haunter
+
+    XXXI. The abbess' story
+
+   XXXII. The duke's double
+
+  XXXIII. After the earthquake
+
+   XXXIV. Risen from the grave
+
+    XXXV. Face to face
+
+   XXXVI. A gathering storm
+
+  XXXVII. A sentence of banishment
+
+ XXXVIII. The storm bursts
+
+   XXXIX. The rivals
+
+      XL. After the storm
+
+     XLI. Father and son
+
+    XLII. Her son
+
+   XLIII. The duke's ward
+
+    XLIV. Retribution
+
+     XLV. After the revelation
+
+    XLVI. Retribution
+
+   XLVII. The end of a lost life
+
+  XLVIII. Husband and wife
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST LADY OF LONE.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE BRIDE OF LONE.
+
+
+"Eh, Meester McRath? Sae grand doings I hae na seen sin the day o' the
+queen's visit to Lone. That wad be in the auld duke's time. And a waefu'
+day it wa'."
+
+"Dinna ye gae back to that day, Girzie Ross. It gars my blood boil only
+to think o' it!"
+
+"Na, Sandy, mon, sure the ill that was dune that day is weel compensate
+on this. Sooth, if only marriages be made in heaven, as they say, sure
+this is one. The laird will get his ain again, and the bonnyest leddy in
+a' the land to boot."
+
+"She _is_ a bonny lass, but na too gude for him, although her fair
+hand does gie him back his lands."
+
+"It's only a' just as it sud be."
+
+"Na, it's no all as it sud be. Look at they fules trying to pit
+up yon triumphal arch! The loons hae actually gotten the motto
+'HAPPINESS' set upside down, sae that a' the blooming red roses
+are falling out o' it. An ill omen that if onything be an ill omen. I
+maun rin and set it right."
+
+The speakers in this short colloquy were Mrs. Girzie Ross, housekeeper,
+and Mr. Alexander McRath, house-steward of Castle Lone.
+
+The locality was in the Highlands of Scotland. The season was early
+summer. The hour was near sunset. The scene was one of great beauty and
+sublimity. The occasion one of high festivity and rejoicing.
+
+The preparations were being completed for a grand event. For on the
+morning of the next day a deep wrong was to be made right by the marriage
+of the young and beautiful Lady of Lone to the chosen lord of her heart.
+
+Lone Castle was a home of almost ideal grandeur and loveliness, situated
+in one of the wildest and most picturesque regions of the Highlands, yet
+brought to the utmost perfection of fertility by skillful cultivation.
+
+The castle was originally the stronghold of a race of powerful and
+warlike Scottish chieftains, ancestors of the illustrious ducal line of
+Scott-Hereward. It was strongly built, on a rocky island, that arose from
+The midst of a deep clear lake, surrounded by lofty mountains.
+
+For generations past, the castle had been but a picturesque ruin, and the
+island a barren desert, tenanted only by some old retainer of the ancient
+family, who found shelter within its huge walls, and picked up a scanty
+living by showing the famous ruins to artists and tourists.
+
+But some years previous to the commencement of our story, when
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott succeeded his father, as seventh Duke of
+Hereward, he conceived the magnificent, but most extravagant idea of
+transforming that grim, old Highland fortress, perched upon its rocky
+island, surrounded by water and walled in by mountains--into a mansion of
+Paradise and a garden of Eden.
+
+When he first spoke of his plan, he was called visionary and extravagant;
+and when he persisted in carrying it into execution, he was called mad.
+
+The most skillful engineers and architects in Europe were consulted and
+their plans examined, and a selection of designs and contractors made
+from the best among them. And then the restoration, or rather the
+transfiguration, of the place was the labor of many years, at the cost
+of much money.
+
+Fabulous sums were lavished upon Lone. But the Duke's enthusiasm grew
+as the work grew and the cost increased. All his unentailed estates in
+England were first heavily mortgaged and afterwards sold, and the
+proceeds swallowed up in the creation of Lone.
+
+The duchess, inspired by her husband, was as enthusiastic as the duke.
+When his resources were at an end and Lone unfinished she gave up her
+marriage settlements, including her dower house, which was sold that the
+proceeds might go to the completion of Lone.
+
+But all this did not suffice to pay the stupendous cost.
+
+Then the duke did the maddest act of his life. He raised the needed money
+from usurers by giving them a mortgage on his own life estate in Lone
+itself.
+
+The work drew near to its completion.
+
+In the meantime the duke's agents were ransacking the chief cities in
+Europe in search of rare paintings, statues, vases, and other works of
+art or articles of virtu to decorate the halls and chambers of Lone; for
+which also the most famous manufacturers in France and Germany were
+elaborating suitable designs in upholstery.
+
+Every man directing every department of the works at Lone, whether as
+engineer, architect, decorator, or furnisher, every man was an artist in
+his own speciality. The work within and without was to be a perfect work
+at whatever cost of time, money, and labor.
+
+At length, at the end of ten years from its commencement, the work was
+completed.
+
+And for the sublimity of its scenery, the beauty of its grounds, the
+almost tropical luxuriance of its gardens, the magnificence of its
+buildings, the splendor of its decorations, and the luxury of its
+appointments, Lone was unequalled.
+
+What if the mad duke had nearly ruined himself in raising it?
+
+Lone was henceforth the pride of engineers, the model of architects, the
+subject of artists, the theme of poets, the Mecca of pilgrims, the eighth
+wonder of the world.
+
+Lone was opened for the first time a few weeks after its completion, on
+the occasion of the coming of age of the duke's eldest son and heir, the
+young Marquis of Arondelle, which fell upon the first of June.
+
+A grand festival was held at Lone, and a great crowd assembled to do
+honor to the anniversary. A noble and gentle company filled the halls and
+chambers of the castle, and nearly all the Clan Scott assembled on the
+grounds.
+
+The festival was a grand triumph.
+
+Among the thousands present were certain artists and reporters of the
+press, and so it followed that the next issue of the _London News_
+contained full-page pictures of Castle Lone and Inch Lone, with their
+terraces, parterres, arches, arbors and groves; Loch Lone, with its
+elegant piers, bridges and boats; and the surrounding mountains, with
+their caves, grottoes, falls and fountains.
+
+Yes, the birthday festival was a perfect triumph, and the fame of Lone
+went forth to the uttermost ends of the earth. The English Colonists at
+Australia, Cape of Good Hope, and New Zealand, read all about it in
+copies of the _London News_, sent out to them by thoughtful London
+friends. We remember the day, some years since, when we, sitting by our
+cottage fire, read all about it in an illustrated paper, and pondered
+over the happy fate of those who could live in paradise while still on
+earth. Five years later, we would not have changed places with the
+Duke of Hereward.
+
+But this is a digression.
+
+The duke was in his earthly heaven; but was the duke happy, or even
+content?
+
+Ah! no. He was overwhelmed with debt. Even Lone was mortgaged as deeply
+as it could be--that is, as to the extent of the duke's own life
+interests in the estate. Beyond that he could not burden the estate,
+which was entailed upon his heirs male. Besides his financial
+embarrassments, the duke was afflicted with another evil--he was
+consumed with a fever too common with prince and with peasant, as well
+as with peer--the fever of a land hunger.
+
+The prince desires to add province to province; the peer to add manor to
+manor; the peasant to own a little home of his own, and then to add acre
+to acre.
+
+The Lord of Lone glorying in his earthly paradise, wished to see it
+enlarged, wished to add one estate to another until he should become
+the largest land-owner in Scotland, or have his land-hunger appeased.
+He bought up all the land adjoining Lone, that could be purchased at any
+price, paying a little cash down, and giving notes for the balance on
+each purchase. Thus, in the course of three years, Lone was nearly
+doubled in territorial extent.
+
+But the older creditors became clamorous. Bond, and mortgage holders
+threatened foreclosure, and the financial affairs of the "mad duke,"
+outwardly and apparently so prosperous, were really very desperate. The
+family were seriously in danger of expulsion from Lone.
+
+It was at this crisis that the devoted son came to the help of his
+father--not wisely, as many people thought then--not fortunately, as it
+turned out. To prevent his father from being compelled to leave Lone, and
+to protect him from the persecution of creditors, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle performed an act of self-sacrifice and filial devotion seldom
+equalled in the world's history. He renounced all his own entailed
+rights, and sold all his prospective life interest in Lone. His was a
+young, strong life, good for fifty or sixty years longer. His interest
+brought a sum large enough to pay off the mortgage on Lone and to settle
+all others of his father's outstanding debts.
+
+Thus peaceable possession of Lone might have been secured to the family
+during the natural life of the duke. At the demise of the duke, instead
+of descending to his son and heir, it would pass into the possession of
+other parties, with whom it would remain as long the heir should live.
+
+Thus, I say, by the sacrifice of the son the peace of the father might
+have been secured--for a time. And all might have gone well at Lone but
+for one unlucky event which finally set the seal on the ruin of the ducal
+family.
+
+And yet that event was intended as an honor, and considered as an honor.
+
+In a word the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the royal family, were
+coming to the Highlands. And the Duke of Hereward received an intimation
+that her majesty would stop on her royal progress and honor Lone with a
+visit of two days. This was a distinction in no wise to be slighted by
+any subject under any circumstances, and certainly not by the duke of
+Hereward.
+
+The Queen's visit would form the crowning glory of Lone. The chambers
+occupied by majesty would henceforth be holy ground, and would be pointed
+out with reverence to the stranger in all succeeding generations.
+
+In anticipation of this honor the "mad" Duke of Hereward launched out
+into his maddest extravagances.
+
+He had but ten days in which to prepare for the royal visit, but he made
+the best use of his time.
+
+The guest chambers at Lone, already fitted up in princely magnificence,
+had new splendors added to them. The castle and the grounds were adorned
+and decorated with lavish expenditure. The lake was alive with
+gayly-rigged boats. Triumphal arches were erected at stated intervals
+of the drive leading from the public road, across the bridge connecting
+the shore with the island, and--maddest extravagance of all--the ground
+was laid out and fitted up for a grand tournament after the style of the
+time of Richard Coeur de Lion, to be held there during the queen's
+visit--that fatal visit spoken of in the early part of this chapter.
+
+Yes, fatal!--for a hundred thousand pounds sterling, won by the son's
+self-sacrifice, which should have gone to satisfy the clamorous creditors
+of the duke, was squandered in extravagant preparations to royally
+entertain England's expensive royal family.
+
+A second time Lone was the scene of unparalleled display, festivity, and
+rejoicing. Once more all the country round about was assembled there;
+again the artists and reporters of the London press were among the crowd;
+and again full-page pictures of the ceremonies attending the queen's
+reception and entertainment were published in the illustrated papers, and
+the fame of that royal visit went out to the uttermost parts of the
+earth.
+
+But mark this: Every footman that waited at the grand state-dinner table
+was a bailiff in disguise, in charge of the plate and china, which,
+together with all the fabulous riches of art, literature, science and
+_virtu_ collected at Lone had been taken in execution, by the
+officers secretly in possession.
+
+The royal party, with their retinue, left Lone on the afternoon of the
+third day.
+
+And then the crash came? The blow was sudden, overwhelming and utterly
+destructive.
+
+The shock of the fall of Lone was felt from one end of the kingdom to the
+other.
+
+For the last time a crowd gathered around Castle Lone. But they came not
+as festive guests but as a flock of vultures around a carcass, bent on
+prey. For the last time artists and reporters came not to illustrate the
+triumphs, but to record the downfall of the great ducal house of
+Scott-Hereward; to make sketches, take photographs and write descriptions
+of the magnificent and splendid halls and chambers, picture-galleries and
+museums, before they should be dismantled by the rapacious purchasers who
+flocked to the vendue of Lone, to profit by the ruin of the proprietor.
+
+And for the last time illustrations of Lone and its glories went forth
+over every part of the world where the English language is spoken, or the
+English mails penetrate.
+
+Another heavy blow fell upon the doomed duke. Even while the grand vendue
+was still in progress the duchess died of grief.
+
+When all was over, and the good duchess was laid in the family vault, the
+duke and the young marquis disappeared from Lone and none knew whither
+they went. Some said that they had gone to Australia; some that they were
+in America; some that they were on the Continent. Others declared that
+they had hidden themselves in the wilderness of London, where they were
+living in great poverty and obscurity, and even under assumed names.
+
+Opinions and rumors differed also concerning the character and conduct of
+the young marquis. Many called him a devoted son, filled with the spirit
+of heroic self-sacrifice. Many others affirmed that he was a hypocrite
+and a villain, addicted to drinking, gambling, and other vices and even
+cited times, places, and occasions of his sinning.
+
+There never lived a man of whom so much good and so much evil was
+said as of the young Marquis of Arondelle. A stranger coming into the
+neighborhood of Lone, would hear these opposite reports and never be able
+to decide whether the absent and self-exiled young nobleman was a model
+of virtue or a monster of vice.
+
+But there was one whose faith in him was firm as her faith in Heaven.
+
+Rose Cameron was the daughter of a Highland shepherd, living about ten
+miles north of Ben Lone. No court lady in the land was fairer than this
+rustic Highland beauty. Her form was tall, fine, and commanding. Her step
+was stately and graceful as the step of an antelope. Her features were
+large, regular, and clear cut, as if chiseled in marble, yet full of
+blooming and sparkling life as ruddy health and mountain air could fill
+them. Her hair was golden brown, and clustered in innumerable shining
+ringlets closely around her fair open forehead and rounded throat. Her
+eyes were large, and clear bright blue. Her expression full of innocent
+freedom and joyousness.
+
+Rumor said that the fast young Marquis of Arondelle, while deer-stalking
+from his hunting lodge in the neighborhood of Ben Lone, had chanced to
+draw rein at the gate of Rob. Cameron's sheiling, and had received from
+the shapely hand of the beautiful shepherdess a cup of water, and had
+been so suddenly and forcibly smitten by her Juno-like beauty, that
+thenceforth his visits to his hunting lodge became very frequent, both in
+season and out of season, and that he was a very dry soul, whose thirst
+could be satisfied by nothing but the spring water that spouted close by
+the shepherd's sheiling, dipped up and offered by the hands of the
+beautiful shepherdess.
+
+Much blame was cast by the rustic neighbors upon all parties
+concerned--first of all, upon the young marquis, who they declared "meant
+nae guid to the lass," and then to the old shepherd, who they said, "suld
+tak mair care o' his puir mitherless bairn," and lastly, to the girl,
+who, as they affirmed, "suld guide hersel' wi' mair discretion."
+
+None of these criticisms ever came to the ears of the parties concerned:
+they never do, you know.
+
+Besides the lovers seemed to be infatuated with each other, and the
+shepherd seemed to be blind to what was going on in his sheiling. To be
+sure, he was out all day with his sheep, while his lass was alone in the
+sheiling. Or, if by sickness _he_ was forced to stay home, then
+_she_ was out all day with the sheep alone.
+
+Gossip said that the young marquis visited the handsome shepherdess in
+her sheiling, and met her by appointment, when she was out with her
+flock.
+
+And as the occasion grew, so grew the scandal, and so grew indignation
+against the marquis and scorn of the shepherdess.
+
+"He'll nae mean to marry the quean! If she were my lass, I'd kick him
+out, an' he were twenty times a markis!" said the shepherd's next
+neighbor, and many approved his sentiment. These were among the
+detractors of the young nobleman.
+
+But he had warm defenders--who affirmed that the Marquis of Arondelle
+would never seek a peasant girl to win her affections, unless he intended
+to make her his marchioness--which was an idea too preposterous to be
+entertained for an instant--therefore there could be no truth in these
+rumors.
+
+And at length, when the great thunderbolt fell that destroyed Lone and
+banished the ducal family, there were not wanting "guid neebors" who
+taunted Rose Cameron with such words as these:
+
+"The braw young markis hae made a fule o' ye, lass. Thoul't ne'er see him
+mair. And a guid job, too. Best ye'd ne'er see him at a'!"
+
+But the handsome shepherdess betrayed no sign of mortification or doubt.
+When such prognostics were uttered, she crested her queenly head with a
+smile of conscious power, and looked as though--"she could, an if she
+would,"--tell more about the Marquis of Arondelle, than any of these
+people guessed.
+
+Meanwhile, princely Lone passed into the possession of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, a London banker of enormous wealth. He had not always been Sir
+Lemuel Levison. But he had once been Lord Mayor of London, and for some
+part that he had taken in a public demonstration or a royal pageant, (I
+forget which,) he had been knighted by her Majesty.
+
+He was, at this time, a tall, spare, fair-faced, gray-haired and gray
+bearded man of sixty-five. He was a widower, with "one only daughter,"
+the youngest and sole survivor of a large family of children.
+
+This daughter, Salome, had never known a mother's love nor a father's
+care. She was under three years old when her mother passed away.
+
+Then her father, hating his desolate home, broke up his establishment on
+Westbourne Terrace, London, and placed his infant daughter under the care
+of the nuns in the Convent of the Holy Nativity in France.
+
+Here Salome Levison passed the days of her dreamy childhood and early
+youth. Her father seldom found time to visit her at her convent school,
+and she never went home to spend her holidays. She had no home to go to.
+
+When Salome was eighteen years of age, the Superior of the convent wrote
+to Sir Lemuel Levison, enclosing a letter from his daughter that
+considerably startled the absorbed banker and forgetful father. He had
+not seen his daughter for two years, and now these letters informed him
+that she wished to become a Nun of the Holy Nativity, and to enter upon
+her novitiate immediately! But that being a minor, she could not do so
+without his consent.
+
+His sole surviving child! The sole heiress of his enormous wealth! On
+whom he depended, to make a home for him in his declining years, when he
+should have made a few more millions of millions upon which to retire!
+
+And now this long neglected daughter had found consolation in devotion,
+and wished to take the vail which was to hide her forever from the world!
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison hastened to France, and brought his daughter back to
+England. He took apartments at a quiet London hotel, and looked about for
+a suitable country-seat to purchase.
+
+At this time Lone was advertised. He went thither with the crowd.
+
+He saw Lone, liked it, wanted it, and determined to "pay for it and take
+it."
+
+He stopped the vandalish dismantling of the premises by outbidding
+everybody else and purchasing all the furniture, decorations, plate,
+pictures, statues, vases, mosaics, and everything else, and ordering
+them to be left in their old positions.
+
+He then engaged the house-steward, the housekeeper, and as many more of
+the servants of the late proprietor as he could induce to remain at Lone.
+
+And when the princely castle was cleared of its crowds, and once more
+restored to order, beauty and peace, Sir Lemuel Levison went back to
+London to bring his daughter home.
+
+Salome, submissive to her father's will, yet disappointed in her wish to
+take the vail, met every event in life with apathy.
+
+Even when the splendors of Lone broke upon her vision she regarded them
+with an air of indifference that amused, while it mortified, her father.
+
+"I see how it is, my girl," he said. "You have renounced the world, and
+are pining for the convent. But you know nothing of the world. Give it a
+fair trial of three years. Then you will be twenty-one years old, of
+legal age to act for yourself, with some knowledge of that which you
+would ignorantly renounce; and then if you persist in your desire to take
+the vail--well! I shall then have neither the power nor the wish to
+prevent you," added the wise old banker, who felt perfectly confident
+that at the end of the specified time his daughter would no longer pine
+to immure herself in a convent.
+
+Salome, grateful for this concession, and feeling perfectly self-assured
+that she would never be won by the world, kissed her father, and roused
+herself to be as much of a comfort and solace to him as she might be in
+the three years of probation. And she took her place at the head of her
+father's magnificent establishment at Lone with much of gentle quiet and
+dignity.
+
+And now it is time to give you some more accurate knowledge of the
+outward appearance and the inner life of this motherless, convent-reared
+girl, who, though a young and wealthy heiress, was bent on forsaking the
+world and taking the vail. In the first place, she was not beautiful at
+all in repose. There can be no physical beauty without physical health.
+And Salome Levison partook of the delicate organization of her mother,
+who had passed away in early womanhood, and of her brothers and sisters,
+who had gone in infancy or childhood.
+
+Salome, when still and silent, was, at first sight plain. She was rather
+below the medium height, slight and thin in form, pale and dark in
+complexion, with irregular features, and quiet, downcast, dark-gray eyes,
+whose long lashes cast shadows upon pallid cheeks, and which were arched
+with dark eyebrows on a massive forehead, shaded with an abundance of
+dark brown hair, simply parted in the middle, drawn back and wound into
+a rich roll. Her dress was as simple as her station permitted it to be.
+
+Altogether she seemed a girl unattractive in person and reserved in
+speech.
+
+The very opposite of the handsome shepherdess of Ben Lone.
+
+And yet when she looked up or smiled, her face was transfigured into a
+wondrous beauty; such intellectual and spiritual beauty as that perfect
+piece of flesh and blood never could have expressed. And she was a
+"sealed book." Yet the hour was at hand when the "sealed book" was to be
+opened--when her dreaming soul, like the sleeping princess in the wood,
+was to be awakened by the touch of holy love to make the beauty of her
+person and the glory of her life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+AN IDEAL LOVE.
+
+
+A few weeks after their settlement at Lone, Sir Lemuel Levison returned
+to London on affairs connected with his final retirement from active
+business.
+
+Salome was left at the castle, with the numerous servants of the
+establishment, but otherwise quite alone. She had neither governess,
+companion, nor confidential maid. She suffered from this enforced
+solitude. She had seen all the splendors of the interior of Lone, and
+there was nothing new to discover--except--yes, there was Malcom's Tower,
+which tradition said was the most ancient portion of the castle, whose
+foundations had been dug from the solid rock, hundreds of feet below the
+surface of the lake.
+
+The tower had been restored with the rest of the castle, but had never
+been fitted up for occupation.
+
+Salome determined to spend one morning in exploring the old tower from
+foundation to top.
+
+She summoned the housekeeper to her presence, and made known her purpose.
+
+"Macolm's Watch Tower, Miss! Weel, then, it's naething to see within,
+forbye a few auld family portraits and sic like, left there by the auld
+duke; but there'll be an unco' foine view frae the top on a braw day like
+this," said Dame Ross, as she detached a bunch of keys from her belt, and
+signified her readiness to attend her young mistress.
+
+I need not detail the explorations of the young lady from the horrible
+dungeon of the foundation--up the narrow, winding steps, cut in the
+thickness of the outer wall, which was perforated on the inner side by
+doorways on each landing, leading into the strong, round stone rooms or
+cells on each floor, lighted only by long narrow slits in the solid
+masonry. All the lower cells were empty.
+
+But when they reached the top of the winding steps and opened the door of
+the upper cell, the housekeeper said:
+
+"Here are deposited some o' the relics left by the auld duke until such
+time as he shall be ready to tak' them awa'."
+
+Salome followed her into the room and suddenly drew back in surprise.
+
+She saw standing out from the gloom, the form of a young man of majestic
+beauty and grace.
+
+A second look showed her that this was only a full-length life-sized
+portrait--but of whom?
+
+Her gaze became riveted on the glorious presence.
+
+The portrait represented a young man of about twenty-five years of age,
+tall, finely formed, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with a well-turned,
+stately head, a Grecian profile, a fair, open brow, dark, deep blue eyes,
+and very rich auburn hair and beard. He wore the picturesque highland
+dress--the tartan of the Clan Scott.
+
+But it was not the dress, the form, the face that fascinated the gaze of
+the girl. It was the air, the look, the SOUL that shone through
+it all!
+
+A sun ray, glancing through the narrow slit in the solid wall, fell
+directly upon the fine face, lighting it up as with a halo of glory!
+
+"It is the face of the young St. John! Nay, it is more divine! It is
+the face of Gabriel who standeth in the presence of the Lord! But it
+expresses more of power! It is the face of Michael rather, when he put
+the hosts of hell to flight! Oh! a wondrously glorious face!" said the
+rapt young enthusiast to herself, as she gazed in awe-struck silence on
+the portrait.
+
+"Ye are looking at that picture, young leddy? Ay it weel deserves your
+regards! It is a grand one!" said Dame Ross, proudly.
+
+"_Who is it? One of the young princes?_" inquired Salome, in a low
+tone, full of reverential admiration.
+
+"Ane o' the young princes? Gude guide us! Nae, young leddy; I hae seen
+the young princes ance, on an unco' ill day for Lone! And I dinna care
+if I never see ane mair. But they dinna look like that," said the
+housekeeper, with a deep sigh.
+
+"Who is it, then?" whispered Salome, still gazing on the portrait with
+somewhat of the rapt devotion with which she had been wont to gaze on
+pictured saint, or angel, on her convent walls. "Who is it, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Wha is it? Wha suld it be, but our ain young laird? Our ain bonny
+laddie? Our young Markis o' Arondelle? Oh, waes the day he ever left
+Lone!" exclaimed Dame Girzie, lifting her apron to her eyes.
+
+"The Marquis of Arondelle!" echoed Salome, catching her breath, and
+gazing with even more interest upon the glorious picture.
+
+Even while she gazed, the ray that had lighted it for a moment was
+withdrawn by the setting sun, and the picture was swallowed up in sudden
+darkness.
+
+"The Marquis of Arondelle," repeated Salome in a low reverent tone, as
+if speaking to herself.
+
+"Ay, the young Markis o' Arondelle; wae worth the day he went awa'!" said
+the housekeeper, wiping her eyes.
+
+Salome turned suddenly to the weeping woman.
+
+"I have heard--I have heard--" she began in a low, hesitating voice, and
+then she suddenly stopped and looked at the dame.
+
+"Ay, young leddy, nae doubt ye hae heard unco mony a fule tale anent our
+young laird; but if ye would care to hear the verra truth, ye suld do so
+frae mysel. But come noo, leddy. It is too dark to see onything mair in
+this room. We'll gae out on the battlements gin ye like, and tak' a luke
+at the landscape while the twilight lasts," said Dame Girzie.
+
+Salome assented with a nod, and they climbed the last steep flight of
+stairs, cut in the solid wall, and leading from this upper room to the
+top of the watch-tower.
+
+They came out upon a magnificent view.
+
+The bright, long twilight of these Northern latitudes still hung
+luminously over island, lake and mountain.
+
+While Salome gazed upon it Dame Girzie said:
+
+"All this frae the tower to the horizon, far as our eyes can reach, and
+far'er, was for eight centuries the land of the Lairds of Lone. And noo!
+a' hae gane frae them, and they hae gane frae us, and na mon kens where
+they bide or how they fare. Wae's me!"
+
+"It was indeed a household wreck," said Salome, with sigh of sincere
+sympathy.
+
+"Ye may say that, leddy, and mak' na mistake."
+
+"What is that lofty mountain-top that I see on the edge of the horizon
+away to the north, just fading in the twilight?" inquired Salome, partly
+to divert the dame from her gloomy thoughts.
+
+"Yon? Ay. Yon will be, Ben Lone. It will be twenty miles awa', gin it be
+a furlong. Our young laird had a braw hunting lodge there, where in the
+season he was wont to spend weeks thegither wi' his kinsman, Johnnie
+Scott, for the young laird was unco' fond of deer stalking, and sic like
+sport. I dinna ken wha owns the lodge now, or whether it went wi' the
+lave of the estate," said Dame Girzie, with a deep sigh.
+
+"It is growing quite chilly up here," said Salome, shivering, and drawing
+her little red shawl more closely around her slight frame. "I think we
+will go down now, Mrs. Ross. And if you will be so good as to come to me
+after tea, this evening, I shall like to hear the story of this sorrowful
+family wreck," she added, as she turned to leave the place.
+
+That evening, as the heiress sat in the small drawing room appropriated
+to her own use, the housekeeper rapped and was admitted.
+
+And after seating herself at the bidding of her young mistress, Girzie
+Ross opened her mouth and told the true story of the fall of Lone, as I
+have already told to my readers.
+
+"And this devoted son actually sacrificed all the prospects of his whole
+future life, in order to give peace and prosperity to his father's
+declining days," murmured Salome, with her eyes full of tears and her
+usually pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.
+
+"He did, young leddy, like the noble soul, he was," said Dame Girzie.
+
+"I never heard of such an act of renunciation in my life," murmured
+Salome.
+
+"And the pity of it was, young leddy, that it was a' in vain," said the
+housekeeper.
+
+"Yes, I know. Where is he now?" inquired the young girl, in a subdued
+voice.
+
+"I dinna ken, leddy. Naebody kens," answered Girzie Ross, with a deep
+sigh, which was unconsciously echoed by the listener.
+
+Then Dame Ross not to trespass on her young mistress's indulgence, arose
+and respectfully took her leave.
+
+Salome fell into a deep reverie. From that hour she had something else to
+think about, beside the convent and the vail.
+
+The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and
+employed her thoughts. That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir,
+a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall
+on the next morning.
+
+In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie
+Ross a simple question. And she wondered at her own hesitation to do it.
+At length she asked it:
+
+"Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord Arondelle?"
+
+"Like him, young leddy? Why, it is his verra sel'! And only not sae bonny
+because it canna move, or smile, or speak. Ye should see him _alive_
+to ken him weel," said the housekeeper, heartily.
+
+That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent a
+dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing
+upon the face.
+
+That evening, while the housekeeper attended her at tea, she took courage
+to make another inquiry, in a very low voice:
+
+"Is Lord Arondelle engaged, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+She blushed crimson and turned away her head the moment she had asked the
+question.
+
+"Engaged? What--troth-plighted do you mean, young leddy?"
+
+"Yes," in a very low tone.
+
+"Bless the lass! nay, nor no thought of it," answered the housekeeper.
+
+"I was thinking that perhaps it would be well if he were not, that is
+all," explained Salome, a little confusedly.
+
+That night, as she undressed to retire to bed, she looked at herself in
+the glass critically for the first time in her life.
+
+It was not a pretty face that was reflected there. It was a pale, thin,
+dark face, that might have been redeemed by the broad, smooth forehead,
+shaped round by bands of dark brown hair, and lighted by the large,
+tender, thoughtful gray eyes, had not that forehead worn a look of
+anxious care, and those eyes an expression of eager inquiry.
+
+"But then I am so plain--so very, very plain," she said to herself, as if
+uttering the negation of some preceding train of thought.
+
+And with a deep sigh she retired to rest.
+
+The next day Girzie Ross herself was the first to speak of the young
+marquis.
+
+"I hae been thinking, young leddy, what garred ye ask me gin the young
+laird, were troth plighted. And I mistrust ye must hae heard these fule
+stories anent his hardship, having a sweetheart at Ben Lone. There's
+nae truth in sic tales, me leddy. No that I'm denying she's a handsome
+hizzy, this Rose Cameron; but she's nae one to mak' the young laird
+forget his rank. Ye'll no credit sic tales, me young leddy."
+
+"I have heard no tales of the sort," said Salome, looking up in surprise.
+
+"Ay, hae ye no? Aweel, then, its nae matter," said the dame.
+
+"But what tales are there, Mrs. Ross?" uneasily inquired the heiress.
+And then she instantly perceived the indiscretion of her question, and
+regretted that she had asked it.
+
+"Ou aye, it's just the fule talk o' thae gossips up by Ben Lone. They
+behoove to say that's its na the game that draws the young laird sae
+often to Ben Lone; but just Rab Cameron's handsome lass, Rose, and she
+_is_ a handsome quean as I said before; but nae 'are to mak' the
+young master lose his head for a' that! Sae ye maun na beleiv' a word
+of it, me young leddy," said Dame Girzie.
+
+And she hastened to change the subject.
+
+"Ah! what a power beauty is! It can make a prince forget his royal state,
+and sue to a peasant girl," sighed Salome to herself. "I wonder--I
+wonder, if there _is_ any truth in that report? Oh, I hope there is
+not, for his own sake. I wonder where he is--what he is doing? But that
+is no affair of mine. I have nothing at all to do with it! I wonder if I
+shall ever meet him. I wonder if he would think me very ugly? Nonsense,
+what if he should? He is nothing to me. I--I _do_ wonder if a young
+man so noble in character, so handsome in person as he is, ever could
+like a girl without any beauty at all, even if she--even if she--Oh,
+dear! what a fool I am! I had better never have come out of the convent.
+I will think no more about him," said Salome, resolutely taking up a
+volume of the "Lives of the Saints," and turning to the page that related
+how--
+
+                 "St. Rosalie,
+Darling of each heart and eye,
+From all the youth of Italy
+Retired to God."
+
+"That is the noblest love and service, after all," she said--"the
+noblest, surely, because it is Divine!"
+
+And she resolved to emulate the example of the young and beautiful
+Italian virgin. She, too, would retire to God. That is, she would enter
+her convent as soon as her three probationary years should be passed.
+
+But though she so resolved to devote herself to Heaven in this abnormal
+way, the natural human love that now glowed in her heart, would not be
+put down by an unnatural resolve.
+
+Days and nights passed, and she still thought of the banished heir all
+day, and dreamed of him all night--the more intensely as well as purely
+perhaps, because she had never looked upon his living face.
+
+To her he was an abstract ideal.
+
+Later in the month her father returned to Lone--on business of more
+importance than that which had hurried him away.
+
+He had only retired from one phase of public life to enter upon another.
+
+There was to be a new Parliament. And at the solicitations of many
+interested parties, and perhaps also at the promptings of his own late
+ambition, Sir Lemuel Levison consented to stand for the borough of Lone.
+In the absence of the young Marquis of Arondelle there was no one to
+oppose him, and he was returned by an almost unanimous vote.
+
+Early in February, Sir Lemuel Levison took his dreaming daughter and went
+up to London to take his seat in the House of Commons at the meeting of
+Parliament.
+
+He engaged a sumptuously furnished house on Westbourne Terrace, and
+invited a distant relative, Lady Belgrave, the childless widow of a
+baronet, to come and pass the season with him and chaperone his daughter
+on her entrance into society.
+
+Lady Belgrade was sixty years old, tall, stout, fair-complexioned,
+gray-haired, healthy, good-humored, and well-dressed--altogether as
+commonplace and harmless a fine lady as could be found in the fashionable
+world.
+
+Salome had never seen her, scarcely ever heard of her before the day of
+her arrival at Westbourne Terrace.
+
+Salome met Lady Belgrade with courtesy and kindness, but with much
+indifference.
+
+Lady Belgrade, on her part, met her young kinswoman with critical
+curiosity.
+
+"She is not pretty, not at all pretty, and one does not like to have a
+plain girl to bring out. She is not pretty, and what is worse than all,
+she seems _to know it_. And she can only grow pretty by believing
+that she is so. A girl with such a pair of eyes as hers can always get
+the reputation of beauty if she can only be made to believe in herself,"
+was Lady Belgrade's secret comment; but--
+
+"What beautiful eyes you have, my dear!" she said with effusion, as she
+kissed Salome on both cheeks.
+
+The girl smiled and blushed with pleasure, for this was the first time
+in all her life that she had been credited with any beauty at all.
+
+Lady Belgrade was partly right and partly wrong.
+
+A girl with such a physique as Salome could never be pretty, never be
+handsome, but, with such a soul as hers, might grow beautiful.
+
+At her Majesty's first drawing-room, Salome Levison was presented at
+court, where she attracted the attention, only as the daughter of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, the new Radical member for Lone, and as the sole heiress
+of the great banker's almost fabulous wealth.
+
+Then under the experienced guidance of Lady Belgrade, she was launched
+into fashionable society. And society received the young expectant of
+enormous wealth, as society always does, with excessive adulation.
+
+Salome was admired, followed, flattered, feted, as though she had been
+a beauty as well as an heiress. She was petted at home and worshiped
+abroad. Her father gave unlimited pocket-money in form of bank-cheques,
+to be filled up at her own discretion. For she was his only daughter, and
+he wished to get her in love with the world and out of conceit of a
+convent. And surely the run of his bank, and of all the fine shops of
+London, would do that, he thought, if anything could.
+
+But Salome remained a "sealed book" to the wealthy banker, and a great
+trial to the fashionable chaperon who had her in training. Salome
+_would not_ grow pretty, in spite of all that could be done for her.
+Salome would not make a sensation, for all her father's wealth and her
+own expectations. She remained quiet, shy, silent, dreamy, even in the
+gayest society, as in the Highland solitudes, with one worship in her
+soul--the worship of that self-devoted son--that self-banished prince,
+whose "counterfeit presentment" she had seen in the tower at Lone, and
+who had become the idol of her religion.
+
+But all this did not hinder the heiress from receiving some very matter
+of fact and highly eligible offers of marriage; for though Salome, in the
+holiness of her dreams, was almost unapproachable, the banker was not
+inaccessible. And it was through her father that Salome, in the course of
+the season, had successively the coronet of a widowed earl, the title of
+a duke's younger son, and the fortune of a baronet who was just of age,
+laid at her feet.
+
+She rejected them all--to her father's great disappointment and
+disturbance.
+
+"I fear--I do much fear that her mind still runs on that convent. She
+does nothing but dream, dream, dream, and absolutely ignore homage that
+would turn another girl's head. I wish she were well married, or--I had
+almost said ill married! anything is better than the convent for my only
+surviving child! If she will not accept an earl or a baronet, why cannot
+her perversity take the form of any other girl's perversity? Why can she
+not fall in love with some penniless younger son, or some dissipated
+captain in a marching regiment? I am sure even under such circumstances
+I should not perform the part of the 'cruel parent' in the comedies! I
+should say, 'Bless you my children,' with all my heart! And I should
+enrich the impecunious young son, or reform the tipsy soldier. Anything
+but the convent for my only child!" concluded the banker, with a sigh.
+
+But Salome had ceased to think of the convent. She thought now only of
+the missing marquis.
+
+The offers of marriage that had been made to Salome, rejected though they
+were, had this good effect upon her mind. They encouraged her to think
+more hopefully of herself. Salome was too unworldly, too pure, and holy,
+to suspect that these offers had been made her from any other motive than
+personal preference. It was possible, then, that she might be loved. If
+other men preferred her, so also might he on whom she had fixed. And now
+it had come to this with the dreaming girl--she resolved to think no more
+of retiring to a convent, but to live in the world that contained her
+hero; to keep herself free from all engagements for his sake, to give
+_herself_ to him, if possible, if not to give his land back to him
+some day, at least. So in her secret soul she consecrated herself in a
+pure devotion to a man she had never seen, and who did not even know of
+her existence.
+
+When Parliament rose at the end of the London season, Sir Lemuel Levison
+took his daughter on an extended Continental tour, showing her all the
+wonders of nature, and all the glories of art in countries and cities.
+And Salome was interested and instructed, of course. Yet the greatest
+value her travels had for her was in the possibility of their bringing
+her to a meeting with the missing heir. It had been said that the mad
+duke and his son were somewhere on the Continent. A wide field! Yet, on
+the arrival of Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison at any city, Salome's first
+thought was this:
+
+"Perhaps they are living here, and I shall see him."
+
+But she was always disappointed. And at the end of a seven months'
+sojourn on the Continent, Sir Lemuel Levison brought his daughter back
+to London, only in time for the meeting of Parliament.
+
+Only two years of Salome's probation was left--only two more seasons
+in London. Her father's anxiety increased.
+
+He sent for her chaperone again, and opened his house in Westbourne
+Terrace to all the world of fashion. Again the young heiress was
+followed, flattered, feted as much as if she had been a beauty as well.
+Again she received and rejected several eligible offers of marriage. And
+so the second season passed.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison took his daughter to Scotland, and invited a large
+company to stay with them at Lone, thinking that, after all, more matches
+were made in the close daily intercourse of a country house, than in the
+crowded ball-rooms of a London season.
+
+But though the banker's daughter received two or three more eligible
+offers of marriage, she politely declined them all, and stole away as
+often as she could to worship the pictured image in the old tower.
+
+Her chaperone was in despair.
+
+"How many good men and brave has she refused, do you know, Lemuel?"
+inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Seven, to my certain knowledge," angrily replied the banker.
+
+"Perhaps she likes some one you know nothing about," suggested the
+dowager.
+
+"She does not; I would let her marry almost any man rather than have her
+enter a convent, as she is sure to do when she is of age. I would let her
+marry any one; aye, even Johnnie Scott, who is the most worthless scamp I
+know in the world."
+
+"And pray who is Johnnie Scott!"
+
+"Oh, a handsome rascal; is sort of kinsman and hanger-on of the young
+Marquis of Arondelle; he used to be. I don't know anything more about
+him."
+
+"Perhaps he _is_ the man."
+
+"Oh, no, he is not. There is no man in the convent. Well, we go up to
+London again in February. It will be her last season. If she does not
+fall in love or marry before May, when she will be twenty-one years of
+age, she will immure herself in a convent, as I am pledged not to prevent
+her."
+
+The conversation ended unsatisfactorily just here.
+
+In the beginning of February Sir Lemuel Levison, with his daughter and
+her chaperone, went up to London for her third season. They established
+themselves again in the sumptuous house on Westbourne Terrace, and again
+entered into the whirl of fashionable gayeties.
+
+It was quite in the beginning of the season that Sir Lemuel and Miss
+Levison received invitations to a dinner party at the Premier's.
+
+It was to be a semi-political dinner, at which were to be entertained
+certain ministers, members of Parliament, with their wives, and leading
+journalists.
+
+Sir Lemuel accepted for himself and Miss Levison. On the appointed day
+they rendered themselves at the Premier's house, where they were
+courteously welcomed by the great minister and his accomplished wife.
+
+After the usual greetings had been exchanged with the guests that were
+present, and while Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison were conversing with their
+hostess, the Premier came up with a stranger on his right arm.
+
+Salome looked up, her heart gave a great bound and then stood still.
+
+The original of the portrait in the tower, the self-devoted son, the
+self-exiled heir, the idol of her pure worship, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle stood before her.
+
+And while the scene swam before her eyes, the Premier bowed, and
+presenting him, said:
+
+"Sir Lemuel, let me introduce to you, Mr. John Scott of the _National
+Liberator_. Mr. Scott, Sir Lemuel Levison, our new member for Lone."
+
+Mr. John Scott!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE RUINED HEIR.
+
+
+Where, meanwhile, was the "mad" duke with his loyal son?
+
+Various reports had been circulated concerning them, so long as they had
+been remembered. Some had said that they had emigrated to Australia;
+others that they had gone to Canada; others again that they were living
+on the Continent. All agreed that wherever they were, they must be in
+great destitution.
+
+But now, three years had passed since the fall of Lone and the
+disappearance of the ruined ducal family, and they were very nearly
+forgotten.
+
+Meanwhile where were they then?
+
+They were hidden in the great wilderness of London.
+
+On leaving Lone, the stricken duke, crushed equally under domestic
+affliction and financial ruin, and failing both in mind and body, started
+for London, tenderly escorted by his son.
+
+It was the last extravagance of the young marquis to engage a whole
+compartment in a first-class carriage on the Great Northern Railway
+train, that the fallen and humbled duke might travel comfortably and
+privately without being subjected to annoyance by the gaze of the
+curious, or comments of the thoughtless.
+
+On reaching London they went first to an obscure but respectable inn in
+a borough, where they remained unknown for a few days, while the marquis
+sought for lodgings which should combine privacy, decency and cheapness,
+in some densely-populated, unfashionable quarter of the city, where their
+identity would be lost in the crowd, and where they would never by any
+chance meet any one whom they had ever met before.
+
+They found such a refuge at length, in a lodging-house kept by the widow
+of a curate in Catharine street, Strand.
+
+Here the ruined duke and marquis dropped their titles, and lived only
+under their baptismal name and family names.
+
+Here Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of
+Arondelle in the Peerage of England, and Baron Lone, of Lone, in the
+Peerage of Scotland, was known only as old Mr. Scott.
+
+And his son Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, by courtesy Marquis of
+Arondelle, was known only as young Mr. John Scott.
+
+Now as there were probably some thousands of "Scotts," and among them,
+some hundreds of "John Scotts," in all ranks of life, from the old landed
+proprietor with his town-house in Belgravia, to the poor coster-monger
+with his donkey-cart in Covent Garden, in this great city of London,
+there was little danger that the real rank of these ruined noblemen
+should be suspected, and no possibility that they should be recognized
+and identified. They were as completely lost to their old world as
+though they had been hidden in the Australian bush or New Zealand
+forests.
+
+Here as Mr. Scott and Mr. John Scott, they lived three years.
+
+The old duke, overwhelmed by his family calamity, gradually sank deeper
+and deeper into mental and bodily imbecility.
+
+Here the young marquis picked up a scanty living for himself and father
+by contributing short articles to the columns of the _National
+Liberator_, the great organ of the Reform Party.
+
+He wrote under the name of "Justus." After a few months his articles
+began to attract attention for their originality of thought, boldness
+of utterance, and brilliancy of style.
+
+Much speculation was on foot in political and journalistic circles as to
+the author of the articles signed "Justus." But his incognito was
+respected.
+
+At length on a notable occasion, the gifted young journalist was
+requested by the publisher of the _National Liberator_, to write
+a leader on a certain Reform Bill then up before the House of Commons.
+
+This work was so congenial to the principles and sentiments of the
+author, that it became a labor of love, and was performed, as all such
+labors should be, with all the strength of his intellect and affections.
+
+This leader made the anonymous writer famous in a day. He at once became
+the theme of all the political and newspaper clubs.
+
+And now a grand honor came to him.
+
+The Premier--no less a person--sent his private secretary to the office
+of the _National Liberator_ to inquire the name and address of the
+author of the articles by "Justus," with a request to be informed of them
+if there should be no objection on the part of author or publisher.
+
+The private secretary was told, with the consent of the author, what the
+name and address was.
+
+"Mr. John Scott, office of the _National Liberator_."
+
+Upon receiving this information, the Premier addressed a note to the
+young journalist, speaking in high terms of his leader on the Reform
+Bill, predicting for him a brilliant career, and requesting the writer
+to call on the minister at noon the following day.
+
+The young marquis was quite as much pleased at this distinguished
+recognition of his genius as any other aspiring young journalist might
+have been.
+
+He wrote and accepted the invitation.
+
+And at the appointed hour the next day he presented himself at Elmhurst
+House, the Premier's residence at Kensington.
+
+He sent up his card, bearing the plain name:
+
+"Mr. John Scott."
+
+He was promptly shown up stairs to a handsome library, where he found the
+great statesman among his books and papers.
+
+His lordship arose and received his visitor with much cordiality, and
+invited him to be seated.
+
+And during the interview that followed it would have been difficult to
+decide who was the best pleased--the great minister with this young
+disciple of his school, or the new journalist with this illustrious head
+of his party.
+
+This agreeable meeting was succeeded by others.
+
+At length the young journalist was invited to a sort of semi-political
+dinner at Elmhurst House, to meet certain eminent members of the reform
+party.
+
+This invitation pleased the marquis. It would give him the opportunity
+of meeting men whom he really wished to know. He thought he might accept
+it and go to the dinner as plain Mr. John Scott, of the _National
+Liberator_, without danger of being recognized as the Marquis of
+Arondelle.
+
+For in the days of his family's prosperity he had been too young to enter
+London society.
+
+And in these days of his adversity he was known to but a limited number
+of individuals in the city, and only by his common family name.
+
+On the appointed evening, therefore, he put on his well-brushed
+dress-suit, spotless linen, and fresh gloves, and presented himself at
+Elmhurst House as well dressed as any West End noble or city nabob there.
+
+He was shown up to the drawing-room by the attentive footman, who opened
+the door, and announced:
+
+"Mr. John Scott."
+
+And the young Marquis of Arondelle entered the room, where a brilliant
+little company of about half a dozen gentlemen and as many ladies were
+assembled.
+
+The noble host came forward to welcome the new guest. His lordship met
+him with much cordiality, and immediately presented him to Lady ----, who
+received him with the graceful and gracious courtesy for which she was
+so well known.
+
+Finally the minister took the young journalist across the room toward
+a very tall, thin, fair-skinned, gray-haired old gentleman, who stood
+with a pale, dark-eyed, richly-dressed young girl by his side.
+
+They were standing for the moment, with their backs to the company, and
+were critically examining a picture on the wall--a master-piece of one
+of the old Italian painters.
+
+"Sir Lemuel," said the host, lightly touching the art-critic on the
+shoulder.
+
+The old gentleman turned around.
+
+"Sir Lemuel, permit me to present to you Mr. John Jones--I beg
+pardon--Mr. John Scott, of the _National Liberator_--Mr. Scott, Sir
+Lemuel Levison, our member for Lone," said the minister.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison saw before him the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom he
+had know as a boy and young man for years in the Highlands, and of whom,
+indeed, he had purchased his life interest in Lone. But he gave no sign
+of this recognition.
+
+The young marquis, on his part, had every reason to know the man who had
+succeeded, not to say supplanted, his father at Lone Castle. But by no
+sign did he betray this knowledge.
+
+The recognition was mutual, instantaneous and complete. Yet both were
+gravely self-possessed, and addressed each other as if they had never met
+before.
+
+Then the banker called the attention of the young lady by his side:
+
+"My daughter."
+
+She raised her eyes and saw before her the idol of her secret worship,
+knowing him by his portrait at Lone. She paled and flushed, while her
+father, with old-fashioned formality, was saying:
+
+"My daughter, let me introduce to your acquaintance, Mr. John Scott of
+the _National Liberator_. You have read and admired his articles
+under the signature of Justus, you know!--Mr. Scott, my daughter, Miss
+Levison."
+
+Both bowed gravely, and as they looked up their eyes met in one swift
+and swiftly withdrawn glance.
+
+And before a word could be exchanged between them the doors were thrown
+open and the butler announced:
+
+"My lady is served."
+
+"Sir Lemuel, will you give your arm to Lady ----, and allow me to take
+Miss Levison in to dinner?" said the noble host, drawing the young lady's
+hand within his arm.
+
+"Mr. John Scott" took in Lady Belgrave.
+
+At dinner Miss Levison found herself seated nearly opposite to the young
+marquis. She could not watch him, she could not even lift her eyes to his
+face, but she could not chose but listen to every syllable that fell from
+his lips. It was the cue of some of the leading politicians present to
+draw out this young apostle of the reform cause. And of course they
+proceeded to do it.
+
+The young journalist, modest and reserved at first, as became a disciple
+in the presence of the leaders of the great cause, gradually grew more
+communicative, then animated, then eloquent.
+
+Among his hearers, none listened with a deeper interest than Salome
+Levison. Although he did not address one syllable of his conversation
+to her, nor cast one glance of his eyes upon her, yet she hung upon his
+words as though they had been the oracles of a prophet.
+
+If the high ideal honor and reverence in which she held him, could have
+been increased by any circumstance, it must have been from the sentiments
+expressed, the principles declared in his discourse.
+
+She saw before her, not only the loyal son, who had sacrificed himself
+to save his father, but she saw also in him the reformer, enlightener,
+educator and benefactor of his race and age.
+
+Of all the men she had met in the great world of society, during the
+three years that she had been "out," she had not found his equal, either
+in manly beauty and dignity, or in moral and intellectual excellence.
+
+_His_ brow needs no ducal coronet to ennoble it! _His_ name
+needs no title to illustrate it. The "princely Hereward!" "If all the men
+of his race resembled him, they well deserved this popular soubriquet.
+And whether this gentleman calls himself Mr. Scott or Lord Arondelle,
+I shall think of him only as the 'princely Hereward.'" mused Salome, as
+she sat and listened to the music of his voice, and the wisdom of his
+words.
+
+She was sorry when their hostess gave the signal for the ladies to rise
+from the table and leave the gentlemen to their wine.
+
+They went into the drawing-room, where the conversation turned upon the
+subject of the brilliant young journalist. No one knew who he was. Scott,
+though a very good name, was such a common one! But the noble host's
+endorsement was certainly enough to pass this gifted young gentleman
+in any society. The ladies talked of nothing but Mr. Scott, and his
+perfection of person, manner and conversation, until the entrance of
+the gentlemen from the dining-room.
+
+The host and the member for Lone came in arm in arm, and a little in the
+rear of the other guests, and lingered behind them.
+
+"This most extraordinary young man, this Mr. Scott--you have known him
+some time, my lord?" said Sir Lemuel Levison, in a low tone.
+
+"Ay, probably as long as you have, Sir Lemuel," replied the Premier, with
+a peculiarly intelligent smile.
+
+"Ah, yes! I see! Your lordship has possibly detected my recognition of
+this young gentleman," said Sir Lemuel.
+
+"Of course. And I, on my part, knew him when I first saw him again after
+some years."
+
+"His name was common enough to escape detection."
+
+"Yes, but his face was not, my dear sir. The profile of the 'princely
+Hereward' could never be mistaken. Our first meeting was purely
+accidental. He was pointed out to me one evening at a public meeting,
+as the 'Justus' of the '_National Liberator_.' I looked and
+recognized the Marquis of Arondelle. Nothing surprises or _should_
+surprise a middle-aged man. Therefore, I was not in the least degree
+moved by what I had discovered. I sent, however, to the office of the
+_Liberator_ to inquire the address, not of the Marquis of Arondelle,
+but of the writer, under the signature of 'Justus.' Received for answer
+that it was Mr. John Scott, office of the _Liberator_. I wrote to
+Mr. John Scott, and invited him to call on me. That was the beginning of
+my more recent acquaintance with this gifted young gentleman. Why he has
+chosen to drop his title I cannot know. He has every right to be called
+by his family name, only, if he so pleases. And, Sir Lemuel, we must
+regard his pleasure in this matter. Not even to my wife have I betrayed
+him," said the Premier, as they passed into the drawing-room.
+
+"Umph, umph, umph," grunted the banker, who, surfeited with wealth though
+he was, could think of but one cause to every evil in the world, and
+that the want of money, and of but one remedy for that evil, and that
+was--plenty of money. "Umph, umph, umph! It is his poverty has made him
+drop the title that he cannot support. If he would only marry my girl
+now, it would all come right."
+
+The entrance of the tea-service occupied the guests for the next half
+hour, at the end of which the little company broke up and took leave.
+
+Salome Levison went home more thoughtful and dreamy than ever
+before--more out of favor with herself, more in love with her "paladin,"
+more resolved never to marry any man except he should be John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+She almost loathed the hollow world of fashion in which she lived. Yet
+she went more into society than ever, though she enjoyed it so much less.
+She had a powerful motive for doing so. She attended all the balls,
+parties, dinners, concerts, plays, and operas to which she was invited,
+only with the hope of meeting again with him whose image had never left
+her heart since it first met her vision.
+
+But she never was gratified. She never saw him again in society. John
+Scott was unknown to the world of fashion.
+
+The season drew to its close. Constant going out, day after day, and
+night after night, would have weakened much stronger health than that
+possessed by Salome Levison. And, when added to this was constant longing
+expectation, and constant sickening disappointment, we cannot wonder that
+our pale heroine grew paler still.
+
+Her chaperone declared herself "worn out" and unable to continue her
+arduous duties much longer.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was puzzled and anxious.
+
+"I cannot see what has come to my girl! She goes out all the time; she
+accepts every invitation; gives herself no rest; yet never seems to enjoy
+herself anywhere. She grows paler and thinner every day, and there is a
+hectic spot on her cheeks and a feverish brightness in her eyes that I do
+not like at all. I have seen them before, and I have too much reason to
+know them! I do believe she is fretting herself into a decline for her
+convent. I do believe she only goes out as a sort of penance for her
+imaginary sins! Poor child! I must really have a talk and come to an
+understanding with her!" said the anxious father to himself, as he mused
+on the condition of his daughter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+SALOME'S CHOICE.
+
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was taking his breakfast in bed. The London season was
+near its close. Parliament sat late at night, and often all night. Sir
+Lemuel, a punctual and diligent member of the House, seldom returned home
+before the early dawn.
+
+So Sir Lemuel was taking his breakfast in bed, and "small blame to him."
+
+It was a very simple breakfast of black tea, dry toast, fresh eggs, and
+cold ham.
+
+"Take these things away now, Potts. Go and find Miss Levison's maid, and
+tell her to let her mistress know that I wish to see my daughter here,
+before she goes out," said the banker, as he drained and set down his
+tea-cup.
+
+"Yes, Sir Lemuel," respectfully answered the servant, as he lifted the
+breakfast tray and bore it off.
+
+"Umph! that is the manner in which I have to manoeuvre for an interview
+with my own daughter, before I can get one," grumbled the banker, as he
+lay back on his pillow and took up a newspaper from the counter-pane.
+
+Before he had time to read the morning's report of the night's doings at
+the House, Salome entered the room.
+
+The banker darted a swift keen look at her, that took in her whole aspect
+at a glance.
+
+She was dressed for a drive. She wore a simple suit of rich brown silk,
+with hat, vail and gloves to match, white linen collar and cuffs, and
+crimson ribbon bow on her bosom, and a crimson rose in her hat. Her face
+was pale and clear, but so thin that her broad, fair forehead looked too
+broad beneath its soft waves of dark hair, and her deep gray eyes seemed
+too large and bright under their arched black eyebrows.
+
+"You wished to see me, dear papa?" she said, gently.
+
+"Yes, my love. But--you are going out? Of course you are. You are always
+going out, when you are not gone. I hope, however, that I have not
+interfered with any very important engagement of yours, my dear?" said
+the banker, half impatiently, half affectionately.
+
+"Oh, no, papa, love! I was only going with Lady Belgrade to a flower-show
+at the Crystal Palace. I will give it up very willingly if you wish me to
+do so," said Salome, gently, stooping and pressing her lips to his, and
+then seating herself on the side of his bed.
+
+"I do not wish you to do so, my child. I shall be going out myself in
+a couple of hours. But I want to have a little conversation with you.
+I suppose a few minutes more or less will make no difference in your
+enjoyment of the flower-show."
+
+"None whatever, papa, dear."
+
+"Humph! Salome, now that I look at you well, I do not believe you care
+a penny for the flower-show. Come, tell me the truth, girl. Do you care
+one penny to go to the flower-show?" he inquired, looking keenly into her
+pensive face.
+
+"No, papa, dear," she answered, in a very low tone.
+
+"Humph! I thought not. Now do you care for _any_ of the shows,
+plays, balls, and other tom-fooleries that occupy you day and night?
+I pause for a reply, my daughter."
+
+"No, papa, I do not," she answered, in a still lower tone.
+
+"Then why the deuce do you go to them?" demanded the banker.
+
+His daughter's soft, gray eyes sank beneath his scrutinizing gaze, but
+she did not answer. How _could_ she confess that she went out into
+company daily and nightly only in the hope of seeing again the one man
+to whom she had given her unsought heart, and for whose presence her very
+soul seemed famishing.
+
+"What is it that you _do_ care for, then, Salome?" demanded her
+father, varying his question.
+
+Her head sank upon her bosom, but still she did not answer. How could she
+tell him that she cared only for a man who did not care for her.
+
+"This is unbearable!" burst forth the banker. "Here you are with every
+indulgence that affection can yield you, every luxury that money can give
+you, and yet you are not well nor content. What ails you girl? Are you
+pining after your convent? Set fire to it. Are you pining after your
+convent, I ask you, Salome?"
+
+"Indeed, _no_, papa!"
+
+"What!" demanded her father, starting up at her reply and gazing with
+doubt into her pale, earnest face.
+
+"I am not thinking of the convent, dear papa. Indeed I had forgotten all
+about it. If it will give you any pleasure to hear it, dear papa, let me
+tell you that I have quite given up all ideas of entering a convent,"
+added Salome, with a pensive smile.
+
+"What!" exclaimed the banker, starting up in a sitting position and
+bending toward his daughter as if in doubt whether to gaze her through
+and through or to catch her to his heart.
+
+She met that look and understood her father's love for his only child,
+and reproached herself for having been so blind to it for these three
+years past.
+
+"Dearest papa," she said, with tender earnestness, "I have no longer the
+slightest wish or intention of ever entering a convent. And I wonder now
+how I ever could have been so insane as to think I could live all my life
+contentedly in a convent, or so selfish as to forget that by doing so I
+should leave my father alone in the world!"
+
+"My darling child! Is this truly so? Are these really your thoughts?"
+exclaimed the banker, with such a look of delight as Salome had not
+believed possible in so aged a face.
+
+"Really and truly, my father! And does it give you so much pleasure?"
+
+"Pleasure my daughter! It gives me the greatest joy! Hand me my
+dressing-gown, my dear. I must get up. I cannot lie here any longer.
+You have put new life into me!"
+
+Salome handed him his gown, socks, and slippers, and then went to clear
+off his big easy-chair, which was burdened with his yesterday's dress
+suit, and draw it up for his use.
+
+And in a few minutes the banker, wrapped in his gown, with his feet in
+his slippers, was seated comfortably in his arm-chair.
+
+"Now, shall I ring for Potts, papa, dear?" inquired Salome.
+
+"No, my love, I don't want Potts, I want you. Sit down near me, Salome,
+and listen to me. You have made me very happy this morning, my darling;
+and now I wish to make you happy; you are not so now; but I am your
+father; you are my only child; all that I have will be yours; but in the
+meantime, you are not happy. What can I do, my beloved child, to make
+you so?" said the banker, drawing her to his side and kissing her
+tenderly, and then releasing her.
+
+"Papa, dear, I should be a most ungrateful daughter if I were not happy,"
+answered the girl.
+
+"Then you _are_ a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you
+are very far from happy," said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet
+looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.
+
+Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.
+
+"My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only
+tell me how. Tell me, my dear," persisted her father.
+
+But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.
+
+"If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide
+in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you," said
+Sir Lemuel, sadly.
+
+"Father, dear father, I _do_ love you; and I will confide in you,"
+said Salome, earnestly.
+
+For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting
+out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.
+
+"What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you
+have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me
+all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is
+holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor
+girl, not your awkward, blundering old father," suddenly said the banker,
+breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon
+his shoulder.
+
+"My dear, gentle father, no mother could be tenderer than you," murmured
+Salome.
+
+"Tell me all, then, my darling. It is the first wish of my heart to see
+you happily married. And no trifling obstacle shall stand in the way of
+its accomplishment. _Who is he, Salome?_" he inquired, in a low
+whisper, as he passed his hand around her neck.
+
+She did not answer, but she kissed and fondled his hand.
+
+"You cannot bring yourself to tell me yet? Well, take your own time, my
+love. You will tell me some time or another," he continued, returning her
+soft caresses.
+
+"Yes, I will tell you sometime, dear, good, tender father. But now--when
+do we leave town papa?"
+
+"In less than three weeks, my dear."
+
+"And where do we go?"
+
+"To Lone Castle, if you like; if not, anywhere you prefer, my dear."
+
+"Then we _will_ go to Lone, if you please, papa."
+
+"Certainly, my dear."
+
+"Papa?"
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"Will you do something for me before we leave town?"
+
+"I will do anything on earth that you wish me to do for you, my dear,"
+said the banker, looking anxiously toward her.
+
+She hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
+
+"Papa, I want you to give just such a semi-political dinner party as that
+given by the Premier in the beginning of the season."
+
+"What! my little, pale Salome taking an interest in politics!" exclaimed
+the banker, in droll surprise.
+
+"Yes, papa; and turning politician on a small, womanish scale. You will
+give this semi-political dinner?"
+
+"Why of course I will! Whom shall we invite?"
+
+"Papa, the very same party to a man, whom we met at the Premier's
+dinner."
+
+"Let me see. Who was there? Oh! there were three members of Parliament
+and their wives; two city magnates and their daughters; you and myself,
+Lady Belgrade, and--and the Marquis of--John--Mr. John Scott, I mean."
+
+"Yes, papa, that was the company. Send the invitations out to-day, for
+this day week please--if no engagement intervenes to prevent you."
+
+"Very well, my dear. You see to it. I leave it all in your hands. Now you
+may ring for Potts, my dear. I have to dress and go down to the House. I
+am chairman of a committee there, that meets at two. And you, my love,
+must be off to your flower-show. You must not keep Lady Belgrade
+waiting."
+
+Salome touched the bell, and on the entrance of the valet, she kissed her
+father's hand and retired.
+
+"Now I wonder," mused the old gentleman, "who it is she wants to meet
+again, out of that dinner company? It cannot be either of the old M.P.'s
+or their wives; nor the two elderly city magnates, or their tall
+daughters; that disposes of ten out of the fourteen invited guests.
+The remainder included Lady Belgrade, myself, Salome herself, and--Lord,
+bless my soul, alive!" burst forth the banker, with such a start, that
+his valet, who was brushing his hair, begged his pardon, and said that he
+did not mean it.
+
+"Lord, bless my soul alive," mentally continued the banker, without
+paying the slightest attention to the apologizing servant. "The Marquis
+of Arondelle! He was the fourteenth guest, and the only young man
+present! And upon my word and honor, the very handsomest and most
+attractive young fellow I ever saw in all the days of my life! Come!" he
+added to himself, as the full revelation of the truth burst upon his
+mind; "_that_ can be easily enough arranged. If he is the sensible,
+practical man I take him to be, he will get back his estates and the very
+best little wife that ever was wed into the bargain; and my girl will be
+a marchioness, and in time a duchess. But stay--what is that I heard up
+at Lone about the young marquis and a handsome shepherdess? Chut! what is
+that to us? That is probably a slander. The marquis is a noble young
+fellow; and I will bring him home with me this evening. I will not wait
+a week until that dinner comes off. We cannot afford to lose so much time
+at the end of the season," mused the banker, through all the time his
+valet was dressing him.
+
+And now we must glance back to that evening when John Scott, Marquis of
+Arondelle, first met Salome Levison. He had met many statuesque, pink and
+white beauties in his young life; and he had admired each and all with
+all a young man's ardor. But not one of them had touched his heart, as
+did the first full gaze of those large, soft gray eyes that were lifted
+to his and immediately dropped as the old banker had presented him to--
+
+"My daughter, Miss Levison."
+
+She was not statuesque. She was not pink and white. She was not at all
+handsome, or even pretty; yet something in the pale, sweet, earnest face,
+something in the soft clear gray eyes touched his heart even before he
+was presented to her. But when she lifted those eloquent eyes to his
+face, there was such a world of sympathy, appreciation and devotion in
+their swift and swiftly-withdrawn gaze, that her soul seemed then and
+there to reveal itself to his soul.
+
+He never again met the full gaze of those spirit eyes. He never exchanged
+a word with her after the first few formal words of greeting. He had only
+bowed to her, in taking leave that evening.
+
+Yet those eyes had haunted him in their meek appealing tenderness ever
+since. He did not meet her anywhere by accident, and he did not try to
+meet her by design. He only thought of her constantly. But what had he to
+do with the banker's wealthy heiress, the future mistress of Lone? If he
+were so unwise as to seek her acquaintance, the world would be quick to
+ascribe the most mercenary motives to his conduct. But like weaker minded
+lovers, he comforted himself by writing such transcendental poetry as
+"The Soul's Recognition," "The Meeting of the Spirits," "What Those Eyes
+Said," etc. He did not publish these. After having relieved his mind of
+them, he put them away to keep in his portfolio. So you see the handsome,
+"princely" Hereward was as much in love with our pale, gray-eyed girl as
+She could possibly be with him.
+
+And so with the young marquis also the season passed slowly and heavily
+away, until the day came when into his den at the office of the
+_Liberator_ walked Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+His heart really beat faster, although it was only her father who
+entered.
+
+He arose, and placed a chair for his visitor.
+
+"Lord Arondelle, you _know_ I knew you when I met you at Lord P.'s
+dinner-party, and I saw that you knew me. It was not my business to
+interfere with your incognito, and so I met you as you met me--as a
+stranger. But surely here and now we may meet as friends without
+disguise," said the banker, as he slowly sank into his seat.
+
+"We must do so, Sir Lemuel, since we are _tete-a-tete_. It would
+be idle and useless to do otherwise," replied the young marquis,
+courteously.
+
+"And now, my young friend, you are wondering what has brought me here,"
+continued the banker.
+
+"I am at least most grateful to any circumstance that gives me the
+pleasure of your company, Sir Lemuel," courteously replied the young
+marquis.
+
+"Well, my lord, I come to beg you to waive ceremony, and go home with me
+to dinner this evening. I hope you have no engagement to prevent you from
+coming," added Sir Lemuel, with more earnestness than the occasion seemed
+to call for.
+
+"I have no engagement to prevent me," answered the young man frankly, but
+slowly and thoughtfully, for he was wondering not only at the invitation
+but at the suddenness and earnestness with which it was given.
+
+"Then I _hope_ you will come?" said the banker.
+
+"You are very kind, Sir Lemuel. Yes, thanks, I will come," said the
+marquis.
+
+"So happy! Will you allow me to call for you--at--at your lodgings?"
+
+"Thanks, Sir Lemuel, if you will kindly call _here_ at your own
+hour, it will be more directly in your way home, and you will find me
+ready to accompany you."
+
+"Quite right. I will be here at seven. Good morning."
+
+And with this the banker went away.
+
+"He wants me to make an article about something, I suppose," mused the
+young man when the elder had gone. "I will go. I will see that sweet girl
+again, even if I never see her afterwards."
+
+The temptation was certainly very strong. And so, at the appointed hour,
+when the banker called at the office of the _National Liberator_ he
+found the young gentleman in evening dress ready to accompany him home.
+
+Salome Levison was dressed for dinner, and seated in the drawing-room
+with her chaperone, Lady Belgrade.
+
+Salome was certainly not expecting any guest. But she intended to go to
+the opera that evening with Lady Belgrade, to hear the last act of Norma.
+Luckily for Sir Lemuel's plan, it was not a peremptory engagement, and
+could easily be set aside.
+
+On this evening she was beautifully dressed. She wore a delicate tea-rose
+tinted rich silk skirt, with an over skirt of point lace, looped up with
+tea-rose buds, a tea-rose in her dark hair, a necklace of opals set in
+diamonds, and bracelets of the same beautiful jewels. Refined, elegant,
+and most interesting she certainly looked.
+
+Meanwhile, the banker came home, and himself conducted the unexpected
+guest to the drawing-room.
+
+"Mr. John Scott, my dear," said Sir Lemuel, bringing the young gentleman
+up to his daughter.
+
+The young marquis caught the sudden lighting up of those soft, gray eyes,
+and the sudden flushing of those delicate cheeks.
+
+It was but for an instant; for even as he bowed before her, her eyes fell
+and her color faded.
+
+It was but for an instant, yet in that glance those eyes had again
+revealed her soul to his.
+
+The young marquis was not a vain man. He could not at once believe the
+evidence of his own consciousness. But he found it rather more awkward to
+sit down and open a conversation with this pale, shy girl, than he ever
+had in his palmiest days to make himself agreeable to the brightest
+beauty that ever honored Castle Lone with a visit.
+
+For once the presence of a chaperone was not unwelcome to a pair of young
+people secretly in love with each other.
+
+Lady Belgrade chattered of the weather, the opera the park, and what not,
+and relieved the embarrassment of the lovers during the interval in which
+Sir Lemuel Levison had gone to change his dress.
+
+The young marquis seldom spoke to Salome, but when he did, his voice sank
+to a low, tender, reverential tone that thrilled her inmost spirit. She
+replied to him only in soft monosyllables, but her drooping eyelids, and
+kindling cheeks, told him all he wished to know. He might have wondered
+more at the interest he had seemed to excite in a girl he had met but
+once before, had he not had a corresponding experience himself. He knew
+that he himself had been deeply impressed by this sweet, shy, pale girl,
+on the first meeting of her soft gray eyes, with their soul of love
+shining through them.
+
+He did not know that this "soul of love" had first been awakened in her,
+by hearing his story and seeing his portrait, and that it was which so
+powerfully attracted him--for love creates love.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison hurried over his toilet, and soon entered the
+drawing-room.
+
+Dinner was immediately announced.
+
+"Mr. Scott, will you take my daughter to the table?" said the banker, as
+he gave his own arm to Lady Belgrade.
+
+It was an elegant little dinner for four, arranged upon a round table.
+There was no possibility of estrangement, in so small a party as that.
+
+Sir Lemuel talked gayly, and without effort, for he was very happy. Lady
+Belgrade chattered, because she was spiritually a magpie. And as both
+constantly appealed to "Mr. Scott," or to Salome, it was impossible for
+either of the lovers to relapse into awkward silence. The conversation
+was general and lively.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison and Lady Belgrade would have talked in the most
+flattering manner of "Mr. Scott's" leaders, if that young gentleman had
+not laughingly waived off all such direct compliments.
+
+When dinner was over, Lady Belgrade gave the signal, and arose from the
+table. Salome followed her, and left the two gentlemen to their wine.
+
+"It afflicts me to have to call you Mr. Scott, my lord," said Sir Lemuel,
+when he found himself alone with his guest.
+
+"Then call me John, as you used to do when I rode upon your foot in my
+childhood, and when I used to come to you in all my worst scrapes in
+boyhood--I shall never resume my title, Sir Lemuel," replied the young
+man.
+
+"Never!" exclaimed the banker.
+
+"Never, Sir Lemuel. A pauper lord is rather a ridiculous object. I will
+never be one."
+
+"You _could_ not be one. I won't hear you say such things about
+yourself. See here, John. Do you know why I bought Lone when I knew it
+was to be sold?"
+
+"I suppose because you wanted it."
+
+"Now what did I want with Lone? I, an old widower, without family, except
+one little girl at school? I did not want Lone. I wanted you to have it.
+But I knew that if I did not buy it some one else would. And--I had this
+only daughter, who would have Lone after me. And I thought perhaps--But
+then you disappeared, you know, and no one on earth could tell for three
+years what had become of you, when you suddenly turned up as Mr. John
+Scott at the Premier's dinner."
+
+The banker paused, and ran his hand through his gray hair.
+
+The young man looked at him with curiosity and interest.
+
+"Plague take it all! her mother, if she has one, could manage this matter
+so much better than I can," muttered the banker, as he poured out a glass
+of wine and drank it. "Well, Lord Arondelle--I will give myself the
+pleasure of calling you so while we are _tete-a-tete_ 'over the
+walnuts and wine.' Lord Arondelle, there is my daughter; what do you
+think of her?" he demanded, bending down his gray brows and fixing his
+keen blue eyes scrutinizingly upon the young man's face which flushed at
+the suddenness of the question. But he quickly recovered himself, and
+replied in a low, reverent tone:
+
+"I think Miss Levison the loveliest young creature I have ever had the
+happiness to know."
+
+"You do! So do _I_! I think so too. And the man who gets my girl to
+wife will get a pearl of price."
+
+"I truly believe that," said the young man, with an involuntary sigh.
+
+"That is right! Ahem! Bother it! a woman could do this so much better
+than such a blundering old fellow as I! Well, there! Salome has, in the
+three years since her first entrance into society, refused half a score
+of eligible men. She is, and always has been, perfectly free from any
+such engagement. If you are equally free, my dear marquis--(If I could
+only be her mother for three seconds)--Ahem! if you are equally free,
+and if you admire my girl as you say you do, and if you can win her
+affections--she--she shall be yours, and I will settle Lone upon her.
+There, her mother would have done this better, I know. So much better
+that you would have proposed to my daughter without ever dreaming that
+the suggestion came from our side. But as for me, I have flung my girl
+at your head, nothing less!" grumbled the banker.
+
+"My dear Sir Lemuel," said the young man, with some emotion, as he left
+his seat and came and stood by the banker's chair, leaning affectionately
+over him; "when I first met your lovely daughter, I was so deeply
+impressed by her rare sweetness, gentleness, intelligence--ah! Heaven
+knows what it was! It was something more than all these. In a word, I was
+so deeply impressed by her perfect loveliness, that had I been as really
+the heir of Lone as I was the Marquis of Arondelle, I should at once have
+cultivated her further acquaintance, and, before this, have laid my heart
+and hand, titles and estates, at her feet."
+
+"Well, well, my boy? Well, my dear lad, why didn't you do it?" inquired
+the banker, with tears rising to his kind eyes.
+
+"I have just told you, because I was a ruined man," said the marquis with
+mournful dignity.
+
+"'A ruined man?'" echoed the banker, with almost angry earnestness.
+"_I_ know that you are _not_ a ruined man! And you know, even
+better than I do, because you have more brains than I have; YOU
+know that no young man, sound in body and sound in mind, can be ruined
+by any financial calamity that can fall upon him. You love my daughter,
+you say. Well, then, you have my authority to ask her to be your wife.
+There, what do you say?"
+
+The young marquis sat down and covered his face with his hand for one
+thoughtful moment, and then replied:
+
+"This is a happiness so unexpected that it seems unreal. Sir Lemuel, do
+you really appreciate the fact that I am a man without a shilling that
+I do not earn by my labor?"
+
+"I really appreciate the fact, and most highly appreciate the fact that
+you are Marquis of Arondelle, and to be Duke of Hereward--and that you
+are personally as noble in nature as you are fortunately noble in
+descent. And although my first motive in favoring this marriage is the
+pure desire for yours and for my daughter's happiness, still I assure
+you, my lord, I am keenly alive to its eligibility in a mere worldly
+point of view. Your ancient historical title is, (to speak as a man of
+the world,) much more than an equivalent for my daughter's expectations.
+But it is not, as I said before, as a highly eligible, conventional
+marriage that I most desire it, but as a marriage that I feel sure will
+secure the happiness of yourself and my daughter, whom I shall,
+nevertheless, be very proud to see, some day, Duchess of Hereward.
+Come, now, I never saw a gallant young man hesitate so long. I shall grow
+angry presently."
+
+"Sir Lemuel," said the marquis, with some irrepressible emotion, "were
+I now really the Duke of Hereward, and the owner of Lone, and were your
+lovely daughter as dowerless as I am penniless at this moment, and did
+you give her to me, my deepest gratitude would be due you, and you have
+it now. When may I see Miss Levison and put my fate to the test?"
+
+"That's right. Upon my word, my boy, if I were a galvanic foreigner
+instead of a staid Englishman, I should jump up and embrace you. Consider
+yourself embraced. When shall you see her? We will go into the dining
+room now and get a cup of tea from the ladies; after which, you shall see
+her as soon and as often as you please. And after you win her, as I am
+sure you will, we will have a blithe wedding and you and your bride will
+do the Continent for a wedding-tour, and then come back and spend the
+Autumn at Lone. We two old papas, the duke and myself, will join you
+there, and everything will be quite as it used to be in the old days."
+
+"Ah! my poor father!" sighed the young man.
+
+"What of the duke, my dear boy? You told me he was well," said the
+banker, anxiously.
+
+"Yes, he is well in body, better in body than he has been for years; but
+I think that is only because his mind is failing."
+
+"I am very sorry to hear that! In what respect does this failure show
+itself--in loss of memory?"
+
+"In partial loss of memory; but chiefly in a hallucination that possesses
+him. He thinks that he is still the master of Lone as well as the Duke
+of Hereward. He thinks that he lives in London, and in the most
+Objectionable part of London, only to gratify my 'eccentric whim' of
+being a journalist. And he daily and hourly urges me to return with him
+to Lone!"
+
+"In the name of Heaven, then gratify him! Take him to Lone as my guest,
+until you can keep him there as your own. Let him be happy in the
+illusion that he is still its master. I will see that the servants there,
+who are most of them his own old people, do not say or do anything to
+dispel the illusion! Come, my son-in-law, that is to be, will you take
+your father at once to Lone?"
+
+For all answer the young marquis grasped and wrung the hand of his old
+friend.
+
+"But will you do it?" persisted the banker, who wanted to be satisfied on
+that point.
+
+"I will think of it. I will think most gratefully of your kind
+invitation, Sir Lemuel. And now shall we join the ladies?"
+
+"Certainly," said the banker.
+
+They went into the drawing-room.
+
+Lady Belgrade was presiding over the tea urn.
+
+Salome, who was seated near her, looked up and saw him. Again the marquis
+noted the sudden, beautiful lighting up of those soft, gray eyes, as they
+were lifted for a moment to his face. Again they fell beneath his glance,
+as her pale cheeks flushed up. He could not be mistaken. This sweet girl
+whom he loved, loved him in return.
+
+"I was just about to send for you. You lingered long at table, Sir
+Lemuel," said Lady Belgrade, as the two gentlemen bowed and seated
+themselves.
+
+"Oh, important political and journalistic matters to discuss," said Sir
+Lemuel. ("Only they were _not_ discussed,") he added, mentally.
+
+"So I supposed," said Lady Belgrade, as she handed him a cup of tea,
+which he immediately passed to his guest.
+
+After tea, when the service was removed, Sir Lemuel challenged Lady
+Belgrade for a game of chess, and told his daughter to show Mr. Scott
+those chromoes of the Madonnas of Raphael which had arrived in the last
+parcel from Paris.
+
+Salome flushed to the edges of her dark hair as she arose, glanced
+shyly at her guest for an instant, and walked to the other end of the
+drawing-room.
+
+There, on a gilded stand, under a brilliant gasolier, lay a large and
+handsome volume, which Salome indicated as the one referred to by her
+father.
+
+The marquis brought two chairs to the stand, and they sat down to go over
+the book.
+
+Meanwhile, the banker and the dowager commenced their game of chess. But
+from time to time, each looked furtively in the direction of the young
+people. _They_ were looking at the Madonnas of Raphael, and, once
+in a while, shyly into each other's eyes. All that Sir Lemuel saw there
+pleased him. All that Lady Belgrade saw there _dis_pleased her.
+
+At length she put her hand over that of her antagonist, and stopped his
+move while she said:
+
+"Sir Lemuel, a conflagration may be arrested by stamping out a spark of
+fire."
+
+"Whatever do you mean, my lady!" inquired the perplexed banker.
+
+"An inundation may be prevented by stopping up a small leak."
+
+"I am more mystified than ever!"
+
+"Look at Salome and Mr. Scott, then," said her ladyship, solemnly.
+
+"Well, what of them? They seem to be very happy and very well pleased
+with each other."
+
+"Ah! that is it, and worse may come of it."
+
+"What worse can come of it?"
+
+"Sir Lemuel, this Mr. Scott, you must remember, is nothing but an
+adventurer, who only gains an entrance into respectable circles on
+account of his journalistic reputation. He is probably also a pauper,
+but being a very handsome and attractive man, he is certainly a very
+dangerous, and likely to be a very successful fortune-hunter."
+
+"You mean he may try to marry my heiress?"
+
+"Yes, Sir Lemuel."
+
+"He has my full consent to do so."
+
+"Sir Lemuel!"
+
+"Listen, my good lady, I have a secret to tell you. That gentleman whom
+we have known as Mr. John Scott only, is really Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Marquis of Hereward."
+
+A woman of the world is hardly ever "taken aback." Lady Belgrade gave no
+exclamation. But she caught her breath and stared at the speaker.
+
+"It is as I have told you. He is the Marquis of Arondelle. He is going to
+marry my daughter. He will get back Lone through her. And she will be
+Marchioness of Arondelle, and in due time Duchess of Hereward."
+
+"You--don't--say--so!" breathed her ladyship, slowly.
+
+"And now, you know how to manage it. You must aid the young couple as
+much as you can by giving them as much as possible of each other's
+society."
+
+"Yes, I see," said her ladyship. "And now--don't look toward them again."
+
+The banker nodded intelligently. And they gave their attention to the
+game.
+
+And the two young people seemed to find inexhaustible interest in the
+volume they were bending over.
+
+It was eleven o'clock before the young marquis arose to take leave.
+
+"I have asked Miss Levison to ride with me in the Park to-morrow, and she
+has kindly consented--with your approbation, Sir Lemuel," said the young
+man.
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Scott. I consider horseback riding one of the most
+healthful of exercises," said the banker, heartily.
+
+The young marquis then bowed and took his leave.
+
+Lady Belgrade gathered up her embroidery work and bade them good-night.
+
+"My girl, what do you think of Mr. Scott?" asked the banker, when he was
+left alone with his daughter.
+
+"Oh, papa," she breathed in an embarrassed manner.
+
+"Do you know who he really is, my dear?"
+
+"Yes, papa, I knew him when I first met him at the Premier's dinner.
+I knew him by his portrait that I saw at Castle Lone!"
+
+"Oh, you did!" said the banker, musing.
+
+His daughter looked at him for a moment, and then suddenly threw herself
+into his arms, clasped his neck and kissed him fervently, exclaiming,
+with her face radiant with delight:
+
+"Oh, papa! this is all your doing! I understand it all, dear papa! Bless
+you! bless you! bless you, my own, own dear papa! You have made your
+child so happy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ARONDELLE'S CONSOLATION.
+
+
+On the next day, at the appointed hour, Salome came down to the
+drawing-room dressed for her ride.
+
+She wore a rich habit of dark blue summer-cloth, fastened with small
+gold buttons, fine, tiny white linen cuffs and collar, dark blue gloves,
+dark blue velvet hat with a short, white ostrich plume secured by a small
+gold butterfly, and she carried in her hand a slender ivory-handled
+riding-whip, set with a sapphire. Her dress was neat, elegant, and
+appropriate; and her face was for the moment radiant and beautiful
+from inward joy.
+
+In due time, the young marquis presented himself, and the lovers went
+forth for their ride.
+
+It is not necessary to linger over this courtship, in which "the course
+of true love" ran so smooth as to seem monotonous to all but the lovers
+themselves.
+
+The ride was followed by the small dinner party. And after that the young
+marquis became a daily visitor at Elmthorpe House, where he was ever
+received with fatherly affection by Sir Lemuel, and with subdued delight
+by Salome.
+
+The lovers had come to a mutual understanding for days before the marquis
+made a formal proposal for Miss Levison's hand.
+
+But it happened one evening that they found themselves alone in the
+drawing-room. They were seated at a table, loaded with books of
+engravings, photographs, and so forth.
+
+Salome was turning over the pages of Dore's Milton.
+
+"Close the volume, now, Miss Levison," Lord Arondelle said at length,
+uttering the formal words with a tone and look of such reverential
+tenderness as to seem a caress.
+
+Salome shut the book, and looked up to read the open volume of his
+eloquent face; but her eyes instantly sank beneath the gaze of ardent
+passion that met them.
+
+"Listen to me, Salome, my beloved; for I love you, and have loved you
+ever since the first moment when I met the beautiful spirit beaming
+through your sweet eyes--'Sweetest eyes were ever seen!' Dear eyes! look
+on me!"
+
+Salome, for all her profound and ardent affections, was still a very shy
+maiden. She wished to raise her eyes to his; she wished to pour her heart
+out to him; to let him have the comfort of knowing how perfectly she
+loved him, how utterly she was his own. But she could not look at him,
+she could not speak to him as yet. Her dark eyelashes drooped to her
+crimson cheeks.
+
+"My beloved, do you hear me? I am telling you how I have loved you since
+I first met your heavenly eyes. This is no lover's rhapsody, my own, for
+your eyes are heavenly in their spiritual beauty. And they have haunted
+me, Salome, like the eyes of a guardian angel ever since they first
+looked upon me. Daily they would have drawn me to your side but for my
+wrecked and ruined state," he said, with a half suppressed sigh.
+
+His look, his tone, and, more than all, his allusion to the calamity of
+his house, reached her soul, and broke the spell of reserve by which she
+was bound.
+
+"Oh, do not say that you are ruined!" she cried, in a voice thrilled and
+thrilling with profound emotion. "Do not think that you are ruined.
+_You_ could _never_ be ruined. _Nothing_ could ruin
+_you_. It is not in the power of fate to ruin a man like
+YOU. And if you loved me when you first met my eyes it was
+because you read in them the soul that was created yours! And if these
+eyes have haunted you ever since it was because this soul has been always
+longing, yearning, aspiring towards yours!" And she dropped her face in
+her hands and wept for pure joy.
+
+"Salome, Salome, can this be indeed true? Can I have been so blessed? Am
+I indeed so happy? Then is this abundant compensation for all that I have
+lost in this world! Heavenly consolation for all I have suffered on
+earth! Speak again, oh, my dearest! Tell me once more, for I can scarcely
+realize my happiness! Speak again, beloved, for your words are life to
+me!" he exclaimed, with profound emotion.
+
+"Yes, I will tell you all!" she said, wiping away her joyful tears and
+looking up. "I will tell you everything for it is your right! You have
+made me so happy to-day! I loved you from the beginning. First, I loved
+the magnanimous, self-sacrificing man who, at the age of twenty-one
+years, with a brilliant future before him, could renounce all his
+prospects to give peace to his father's latter years. I loved you then,
+Lord Arondelle, before I knew what manner of man you looked!"
+
+"How blessed, how surely blessed I am in hearing you," he breathed, in
+a low and reverent tone.
+
+"Afterward I saw your portrait in Malcolm's Tower at Lone," she
+continued, in a soft voice. "And I saw a beauty and a grandeur in the
+face and form that seemed the fitting manifestation of a soul like yours.
+And I loved you more than ever. My mornings were passed in the tower near
+the glory of that picture. But I gazed on it so hopelessly! You were
+missing, you were lost to your world! And then I was so plain, so pale,
+and dark and gray-eyed. If I should ever be so fortunate as to meet you,
+I thought you would never be likely to love me!"
+
+"My consolation! You are most lovely from your spirit, and now you
+_know_ that I loved you from my first meeting with you," he
+breathed, in a low, earnest tone, pouring his whole soul's devotion
+through the gaze that he fixed on her face.
+
+Again her eyes drooped as she murmured:
+
+"If I am lovely in the very least, it must be that my love for you has
+made me so; for, even then, when I had only heard your story and seen
+your portrait, I loved you so, that I could not think of marriage with
+any other man."
+
+"And that was the reason why you refused so many excellent offers?" he
+inquired, with a smile.
+
+"Perhaps that was the reason," she replied, lowly bending her head.
+
+"Tell me more, my consolation! I thirst for your words; they are as the
+words of life to me," he murmured, eagerly.
+
+She continued, still speaking in a low, thrilling voice:
+
+"At last--at last--at last--after three long years of waiting, longing,
+aspiring, I met you face to face. Oh!" she exclaimed, and as she spoke
+her hand for the first time went out to meet his, which closed upon it
+with a close clasp, and her eyes lifted themselves to his in a full
+blaze of love that seemed to blend their spirits into one.
+
+"Oh! if in that moment you loved me, it must have been because you read
+my soul, for in that moment I consecrated my life to you for acceptance
+or rejection. I recorded a vow in heaven to be no man's wife unless
+I could be yours; but to live unmarried so that when, in the course of
+nature, my dear father should pass to the higher life and leave me Castle
+Lone, I might be free to transfer it to its rightful owner."
+
+"Ah! my beloved! you would have been capable of such an act of
+renunciation as that! But I could not have accepted the sacrifice,
+Salome."
+
+"In that case I should have made a will and bequeathed it to you, and
+then prayed to the Lord to take me from the earth, that you might have it
+all the sooner. But let that pass. Thanks be to Heaven, there is no need
+of that. It would have been sweet to die for you, but it is so much
+sweeter to _live_ for you, dearest!" she said, lifting up a face
+in which rosy blushes, radiant smiles, and beaming eyes were blended in
+dazzling beauty.
+
+"Oh! angel of my destiny, what can I render you for all the blessings you
+have brought me?" exclaimed her lover, clasping her to his bosom in a
+close embrace.
+
+"Your love--your love! which will crown me a queen among women!" she
+whispered, softly.
+
+The morning succeeding this scene, Lord Arondelle called and asked for
+a private interview with Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+He was invited up into the library, where he found the banker alone among
+his books.
+
+"Good morning, Arondelle. Glad to see you. Take this chair," said the old
+gentleman, rising, shaking hands with his visitor, and placing a seat for
+him.
+
+The young marquis returned the hearty shake of the banker's hand, and
+took the offered chair.
+
+"Now, I suppose that you have come to tell me that you have taken up the
+girl I flung at your head about a month ago?" said the banker, rubbing
+his hands.
+
+"No, nothing of the sort," replied the young marquis, effectually
+declining to understand the jest of his host. "I do not remember that you
+ever flung any girl at my head. I came, Sir Lemuel, to tell you that I am
+so happy as to have won Miss Levison's consent to be my wife, if we have
+your approbation," he added, with a bow.
+
+"Humph! It amounts to about the same thing. Well, my dear boy, you have
+my consent and blessing on two conditions."
+
+"Name them, Sir Lemuel."
+
+"The first is, that you can assure me on your honor that you really do
+love my daughter. I would not give her to an emperor who did not love her
+as she deserves to be loved," said the banker, emphatically.
+
+"Love her!" repeated the young man, in a deep and earnest tone. "Love is
+scarcely the word, nor adoration, nor worship! She is the soul of my
+soul! She lives in my life, and my life is the larger, higher, holier for
+her!"
+
+"Humph! I don't understand one word of what you are talking about, but I
+suppose it means that you really do love Salome. So the first condition
+will be fulfilled," said the banker, with a smile.
+
+"And the second, sir. What is the second?"
+
+"The second is, that the marriage shall take place within a month from
+this time."
+
+"Agreed, sir. The sooner the better. The sooner I may call your lovely
+daughter mine, the sooner I shall be the most blessed among men,"
+exclaimed the young marquis, earnestly clapping his palm into the open
+hand of the banker, and shaking it heartily.
+
+"There! well, the second condition will be fulfilled. And now I will tell
+you what I never told you in so many words before, namely, that on the
+day Salome Levison becomes Marchioness of Arondelle, I will give her Lone
+as a marriage portion. There, now, not a word more upon that subject. I
+will send a message to my attorney to meet us here to-morrow morning,"
+said the banker, rising and ringing the bell.
+
+"You will let me thank--" began the marquis.
+
+"No, I won't!" exclaimed the banker, cutting short the young gentleman's
+acknowledgements. "Excuse me now half a minute, I want to write a line,"
+he added, as he hastily scribbled off a note.
+
+A footman entered in answer to the bell.
+
+"Take this to the office of the Messrs. Prye, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and
+wait an answer," said Sir Lemuel, handing the folded note to the man, who
+bowed and retired.
+
+"Prye must meet us here to-morrow morning to see to the marriage
+settlements. And I must see to Prye! Even lawyers may be hurried if they
+be well paid for making haste!" concluded the banker, rubbing his hands.
+"But now go and find Salome, and tell her it is all right! She has not
+got a stern father to ruffle the course of her true love, but a spooney
+old fellow who spreads out his hands over your heads and says: 'Bul-less
+you, my chee-ild-der-en!'"
+
+Lord Arondelle smiled at the dry banker's imitation of the heavy
+stage-father, but made no comment.
+
+"Yes, go see Salome; and then go to the duke, your father, and acquaint
+him with the result of your proposal. I take it for granted that you had
+his grace's authority for making it."
+
+"I had, sir. He told me to be guided by my own judgment."
+
+"Well tell him all about the settlements as I have told them to you.
+Agree to any amendment he may propose, for I will make it all right."
+
+"That is allowing a very large margin, indeed. I thank you, Sir Lemuel;
+but I must reflect before taking advantage of it."
+
+"Well, well; perhaps the duke will meet my solicitor here to-morrow
+morning in regard to the settlements. I consider the fact that he has
+steadily declined every invitation I have sent him to come to us on any
+occasion. Still, I hope he may be induced to honor us with his presence
+to-morrow in the interest of these marriage settlements, and to remain
+and dine with us in honor of this betrothal," said the banker.
+
+"I hope you will kindly continue to excuse my father, sir. His age, his
+infirmities, his failing mind and body, will, I trust, be his sufficient
+apologies," said the young marquis gravely.
+
+"You think that he will not come, then!"
+
+"I fear that he cannot."
+
+"I'm sorry for that. However, tell him all that I have told you, and
+agree to any alterations in the settlements that he may see fit to
+suggest. There! Go to Salome! Go to Salome! I must be off to the House,"
+said the conscientious M.P. rising, and putting an end to the interview.
+
+It was subsequently arranged that the marriage should be celebrated at
+Castle Lone on that day three weeks.
+
+Two weeks out of the three, Sir Lemuel Levison remained in town to give
+his daughter and her chaperon an opportunity of getting up as good a
+trousseau as could be prepared in so short a time. But jewellers,
+milliners, and dressmakers may be hurried as well as lawyers, when they
+are well paid to make haste. And so, in two weeks, the banker's heiress,
+the future Marchioness of Arondelle and Duchess of Hereward, had a
+trousseau as magnificent and splendid as if it had been in preparation
+for two years. When it was all carefully packed and sent down to Lone,
+Sir Lemuel Levison and his household prepared to follow.
+
+On the day before their departure a very curious thing happened.
+
+Sir Lemuel was waiting in his library, when a footman entered and laid a
+card before him. It was not a visiting card, but a business card. And it
+bore the name of a firm:
+
+Dazzle and Sparkle, jewellers, Number Blank, Bond street.
+
+"What is the meaning of this?" inquired the banker.
+
+"If you please, sir, the person who brought it directed me to say, that
+he craves to speak with you on the most important business," answered the
+man.
+
+"Important to himself most likely, and not in the least so to me. Well,
+show him up," said Sir Lemuel.
+
+The servant withdrew and, after a few moments, reappeared and announced:
+
+"Mr. Dazzle, of Dazzle and Sparkle, Bond street."
+
+A little, round-bodied, bald-headed man entered the library.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison received him with some surprise, but with much
+politeness.
+
+"I have come, sir, on a little business," began the visitor, who
+forthwith proceeded and explained his business at length.
+
+It seemed that the imbecile Duke of Hereward, being well pleased with his
+son's marriage, and imagining himself still to be the master of Lone and
+of a princely revenue, went to Messrs. Dazzle and Sparkle, and ordered
+a splendid set of diamonds for his prospective daughter-in-law.
+
+The firm, who, as well as all the world of London, had heard of the
+forthcoming marriage between the son of the pauper duke and the daughter
+of the wealthy banker, gravely accepted the order, pondered over it, and
+finally determined to lay the whole matter before the banker himself.
+
+"You have acted with much discretion, Mr. Dazzle. Fill the duke's order,
+and hold me responsible for the amount. And say nothing of the affair,"
+was the banker's answer to the tradesman, who bowed and left the room.
+
+The next morning Sir Lemuel Levison, his daughter, her chaperon, and
+their household, went down to Castle Lone.
+
+Active preparations were at once commenced for the wedding, which was to
+take place at Lone on the Tuesday of the following week.
+
+The first thing that Salome did on reaching the castle was to have the
+portrait of the Marquis of Arondelle brought down from the tower and
+mounted in state between the two lofty front windows of her favorite
+sitting-room.
+
+Among the servants at Lone, none received the bride elect with more
+effusive love than the old housekeeper, Girzie Ross.
+
+"Eh, me leddy! Heaven, sent ye to redeem Lone. My benison on ye, me
+leddy! and my ban on yon hizzie, wha hae been makin' sic' an ado, ever
+sin the report o' your betrothal has been noised about!" said the dame.
+
+"But who are you talking about, my dear Mrs. Ross?" inquired Salome.
+
+"Ou just that handsom hizzie, Rosy Cameron, wha will hae it that she, her
+vera sel', is troth-plighted to our young laird--the jaud!" replied the
+housekeeper.
+
+"But, Mrs. Ross, surely that must be a mistake of yours. No girl could
+have the impertinence to say such a false thing of Lord Arondelle,"
+exclaimed Salome, in disgust and abhorrence of the very idea presented.
+
+"Indeed, then, my young lady, _she_ ha' the impertinence to say just
+that thing--not in a whisper and in a corner, but loudly in the vera
+castle court, to whilk she cam yestreen, sae noisily that I was fain to
+threaten her wi' the constable before I could get shet o' her," said the
+housekeeper nodding her head.
+
+"What can the girl mean by it? What excuse can she possibly have to
+justify such a mad charge?" inquired Salome, in a painful anxiety that
+she could neither conquer nor yet explain to herself. She did not doubt
+the honor of her promised husband. She would have died rather than doubt
+him. Why, then, should this sudden anguish wring her heart. "What excuse
+can she have, Mrs. Ross?" repeated Salome.
+
+"Eh, me leddy, wha kens? Boys will be boys. And whiles the best o' them
+will be wild where a bonny lassie is concerned. No that's I'm saying sic
+a thing anent our young laird. But ye ken he used to be unco fond o' the
+sport o' deer stalking up by Ben Lone, where this handsome hizzie, Rose
+Cameron, bides wi' her owld feyther. And I e'en think the young laird,
+may whiles, hae putten a speak on the lass. Nae mair nor less than just
+that," said the housekeeper as she left the room to look after some
+important household work.
+
+A few minutes after her exit, Sir Lemuel Levison entered.
+
+Finding his daughter almost in tears, he naturally inquired:
+
+"What on earth is the matter with you, my child?"
+
+"Nothing, papa! At least nothing that should trouble me!"
+
+"But what is it?"
+
+"Well then, papa, dear, here has been a foolish girl--_very_
+foolish, I think she must be, going about, intruding even into the
+Castle, and telling all that will listen to her, that _she_ is
+betrothed to the Marquis of Arondelle."
+
+"Oh! Just as I feared!" muttered the banker, in a tone that instantly
+riveted the attention of his daughter.
+
+"_What_ did you fear, my father?" she inquired, fixing her eyes upon
+his face.
+
+The banker hesitated.
+
+His daughter repeated her question:
+
+"_What_ did you fear, my dear father?"
+
+"Why, just what has happened, my love!" impatiently answered the banker.
+"That this silly report would reach your ears and give you uneasiness. It
+_has_ reached you; but do not, I beseech you, let it trouble you!"
+
+"There is no truth in it of course, papa?" said Salome, in a tone of
+entreaty.
+
+"No, no, at least none that need concern you. Lord bless my soul, girl,
+young men will be young men! Arondelle is now about twenty-five years of
+age. And he was not brought up in a convent, as you were. He has lived
+for a quarter of a century in the world! Surely, you do not expect that
+a young man should live as long as that without ever admiring a pretty
+face, and even telling its owner so, do you?"
+
+"I never once thought about that, at all, papa," said Salome, in a
+mournful tone.
+
+"No, I'll warrant you didn't! Well, don't think anything more of it now.
+And don't expect too much of human nature. In this year of grace there
+are no saints left alive! Believe that, and accept it, my girl!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+A HORRIBLE MYSTERY ON THE WEDDING DAY.
+
+
+On the day before the wedding all the preparations were completed.
+
+The grounds around the castle, paradisial in their own natural beauty
+under this heavenly blue sky of June, were adorned with all that art and
+taste and wealth could bring to enhance their attractions in honor of the
+occasion.
+
+Triumphal arches of rare exotic flowers were erected at intervals along
+the avenue leading from the castle courtyard down to the bridge that
+spanned Loch Lone from the island, to the mountain hamlet on the main
+land. The bridge itself was canopied with evergreens, and starred with
+roses. Every house in the little hamlet of Lone was so wreathed and
+festooned with flowers as to look like a fairy bower. The little gothic
+church, said to be coeval in history with the castle itself, was
+decorated within and without as for an Easter or Christmas festival. And
+the only inn of the place, an antiquated but most comfortable public
+house, known for centuries as the "Hereward Arms," was almost covered
+with flags, banners and bushes, in honor of the presence of the Duke of
+Hereward, and the Marquis of Arondelle, especially, and of other noble
+guests who had arrived there to assist at the wedding of the next day.
+
+Yes, the expectant bridegroom and his aged father were at the Hereward
+Arms. Etiquette did not admit of their being guests at the Castle on the
+day before the expected marriage. And much ado had the young marquis to
+keep the duke quietly at the inn. The old man enjoying his pleasing
+hallucination of being still the proprietor of Lone, and the possessor of
+a princely revenue, fretted against the delay that detained him at the
+Hereward Arms, when he was so anxious to go on to Castle Lone. And his
+son did not venture to leave him until late at night, when he left him in
+bed and asleep.
+
+Then the young marquis walked out and crossed the evergreen covered
+bridge leading to the Castle grounds. He knew that custom did not
+sanction his visit to his bride-elect on the night before their wedding,
+but he could at least gaze on the walls that sheltered her, while he
+rambled over the rich lawns, parterres, shrubberies, and terraces.
+
+Within the Castle, meanwhile, all the arrangements for the morning's
+festivity were completed.
+
+Halls, drawing-rooms, parlors, chambers, and dining-rooms, all
+sumptuously furnished and beautifully decorated, were ready for the
+wedding guests.
+
+In the dining-room the luxurious wedding-breakfast was set. The service
+was of solid gold and finest Sevres china; the viands comprised every
+foreign and domestic delicacy fitting the feast.
+
+In the drawing-room the magnificent bridal presents were
+displayed--coronets, necklaces, earrings, brooches, bracelets, rings,
+of pearls, diamonds, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and amethysts; jewel
+caskets, dressing cases, work boxes, and writing desks, of ormolu, of
+malachite, of pearl, and of ivory, of silver, and of gold; illuminated
+prayer-books and Bibles, with antique covers and clasps set with precious
+stones; tea and dinner sets of solid gold; camel's hair and Cashmere
+shawls and scarfs; sets of lace in Honiton, Brussels, Valencia. Irish
+point and old point--on to an endless list of the most splendid
+offerings.
+
+"The wealth of Ormus and of Ind"
+
+seemed to load the tables in costly gifts to the banker's daughter, and
+marquis' bride.
+
+In the bride's own luxurious dressing-room, the elegant bridal costume
+was displayed. It consisted of a fine point-lace dress over a
+trained-skirt of rich white satin, a full-length vail of priceless
+cardinal point-lace; white kid boots, embroidered with small pearls;
+white kid gloves, trimmed at the wrists with lace; wreath and bouquet of
+orange flowers; necklace and pendant earrings and bracelets of rich
+Oriental pearls, set with diamonds. These jewels were the imaginary gift
+of the mad duke to the bride-elect of his son, and were paid for, as has
+been already explained, by the bride's own father. A sentiment of tender
+reverence for the unfortunate old duke had inspired Salome to select
+these jewels from all the others that had been lavished upon her, to wear
+on her wedding day.
+
+To the credit of the good banker's delicacy and discretion let it be
+said, that not even Salome knew but that this elegant gift had been given
+by the duke in reality as it was in intention.
+
+The Castle was now full of guests, friends of the bride and of her
+father's family. The eight young ladies who were to attend her to the
+altar, had arrived early in the afternoon, each chaperoned by her mother,
+aunt, or some matronly friend. These had all been shown to their separate
+apartments.
+
+They assembled again at the seven o'clock dinner in the family
+dining-room, and afterwards made a little tour of inspection through
+the rooms, looking with approval and admiration upon the sumptuous
+wedding-breakfast table, set in the great dining-room, and with surprise
+and enthusiasm at the splendid wedding presents displayed in the
+drawing-room. Finally, after a social cup of tea, they separated and
+retired to their several rooms, that they might be up in good time the
+next morning.
+
+When Salome entered her own bed-chamber, she found the old housekeeper,
+Girzie Ross, awaiting her.
+
+"I took the liberty, me leddy, to come to see ye, gin ye hae ony commands
+for me the night," said the dame, courtesying.
+
+"No, Mrs. Ross, I have no orders to give. All is done, as I understand.
+If there be anything left undone, you will use you own discretion about
+it. I can thoroughly trust you," said Salome.
+
+"Guid-night, then, me leddy. And a guid rest and a blithe waking till
+ye," said the dame, courtesying again, and turning to leave the room.
+
+"One moment, Mrs. Ross, if you please," said the young lady, gently
+arresting her steps.
+
+"Ay, me leddy, as mony as ye'll please," promptly replied the dame,
+returning to her place.
+
+"I wish to ask you a question," began Salome, in a slow and hesitating
+manner. "Have you seen or heard anything more of that girl, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Meaning that ne'er-do-weel light o' love Rose Cameron, me leddy!"
+inquired the housekeeper.
+
+"Yes, Rose Cameron. There have been such crowds of people on the island
+today to inspect the decorations, that I thought--I thought--"
+
+"As that handsome jaud might be amang 'em, me leddy? Ou, ay, and sae she
+waur! But when I caught her prowling about here, I sent Mr. McRath to
+warn her off the place, and threaten her wi' the constable gin she
+didna gang!" said the housekeeper.
+
+"But that was cruel, Mrs. Ross."
+
+"Na, na, me leddy. It waur unco well dune! She was after no guid prowling
+about here, and making an excuse o' luking at the deekorated grounds. She
+didna care for the sight a bodle! Aweel she's gane, and a guid riddance."
+
+"What does the girl look like, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Eh, leddy, she's a strapping wench! tall and broad-shouldered, and
+full-breasted, with a handsome head that she carries unco high, and big,
+bold blue eyes, and a heap o' long, red hair. That's Rosy Cameron, me
+leddy."
+
+This was a rather rough portrait of the Juno-like Highland beauty; but
+then, it was drawn by an enemy, you know.
+
+"But dinna fash yersel' about yon hizzie ony mair, me young leddy. She'll
+na be permitted to trouble ye," concluded the housekeeper.
+
+"That will do, Mrs. Ross. Thanks. But pray do not let anyone be harsh
+with that poor girl. If she is a little crazy, she is all the more to be
+pitied. Good-night," said Salome, thus gently dismissing her talkative
+attendant.
+
+"Guid night, me young leddy. Guid rest and blithe waking to ye," repeated
+the old woman, as she courtesied and left the room.
+
+"Poor girl!" mused Salome. "I cannot help sympathizing with her tonight.
+What if Arondelle who is so courteous to all, were courteous to her also.
+And she, unused to courtesy in her rude Highland home, mistook such
+gentle courtesy for preference, for love, and gave him her love in
+return? He would not be in the least to be blamed, while she would be
+much to be pitied. What a cruel sight these wedding preparations must be
+to her! What a miserable night this must be for her! I must see to that
+poor girl's welfare," concluded Salome.
+
+A low rap at her door disturbed her.
+
+"Come in."
+
+Her maid entered.
+
+"What is it, Janet?"
+
+"If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel's man has just brought me a message for
+you. Sir Lemuel requests, Miss, that you will come to his room before you
+retire."
+
+"Dear papa, I will go at once. You need not wait for me here, Janet. Just
+turn the lights down low--they make the room so warm--and leave the
+windows partly open, and then go to bed, my girl, I shall not want you
+again tonight," said Salome, as she passed out of the chamber and went
+down to the long hall, at the opposite extremity of which was her
+father's room.
+
+She entered silently, and found the banker wrapped in his gray silk
+dressing-gown and seated in his large resting-chair.
+
+"Come and sit by me, my dear. I only wanted to have a little talk with
+you tonight," he said, holding out his hand to her.
+
+She went up to him, clasped and kissed the out-stretched hand, and then
+seated herself, not on the chair by his side, for that would not have
+brought her near enough to him, but on the footstool at his feet, so that
+she could lay her head upon his knees.
+
+"Salome, my darling, I have not been a good father to you," he said,
+sadly, as he ran his long white fingers through the tresses of the little
+dark-haired head that lay upon his knees.
+
+"Oh, papa! the best and dearest papa that ever lived!" she answered,
+drawing his hand to her lips and kissing it fondly.
+
+"No, no; I have not been a good father to you, my poor motherless child.
+I feel it to-night. I left you fourteen years in a foreign convent, and
+scarcely ever saw you. Was that being a good father to you, my child?"
+
+"Yes, dear, it was. I had to be educated. And the nuns did their whole
+duty by me, did they not?" said Salome, soothingly.
+
+"They sent me home a sweet and lovely child, who in the three years that
+she has been my greatest blessing and comfort has made me feel and know
+how much I lost in banishing her from my presence so long--fourteen
+years!--a time never to be redeemed!" said the banker, with a sigh.
+
+"Yes, papa, dear. It can and shall be redeemed. For now you know I shall
+live with you as long as you live. My marriage will not deprive you of
+your daughter, but give you a dear and noble son. You know it is settled
+that after our brief wedding we shall return to Lone, and you and the
+duke, and Arondelle and myself, will all live here together until the
+meeting of Parliament in February, and then we shall go up to London
+together. So cheer up, papa. All the coming years shall compensate
+for all we have lost in the past," said Salome, gayly caressing him.
+
+"'The coming years?' Ah, my darling! do you forget that I am quite an old
+man to be your father? You were the child of my old age, Salome! I was
+nearly fifty when you were born. I am nearly seventy now!"
+
+"_Dear father!_" murmured Salome, caressing him with ineffable
+tenderness.
+
+"Do not let me sadden you, my darling. I would not be a day younger. It
+is well to be old. It is well to have lived a long time in this world,
+for it is a good world. But good as it is, it is but rudimentary. It is
+to the human being only what the soil is to the seed--the germinating
+bed; the full and perfect world is beyond. Young Christians believe this.
+Aged Christians know it. There, brighten up! And think that this marriage
+of yours and Arondelle's if it be as true as I feel assured it is--will
+be not for time only but for all eternity! Believe this and be happier
+than you were ever before! There now, my darling! I called you in here
+to make my little confession. I have received absolution. Now go to your
+rest. Good night," said the banker, bending and kissing her forehead.
+
+"Dear, dearest father! bless your daughter before she goes," said Salome,
+in a voice thrilling with emotion, as she raised from her seat and knelt
+at her father's feet.
+
+The old man laid his hand upon her bowed head and solemnly invoked a
+blessing upon her.
+
+"May the Lord look down on you, my daughter. May He give you health and
+grace to bear your burdens and do your duties as wife and mother, and
+save and bless you and yours, now and ever more, for Christ's dear sake.
+AMEN."
+
+She arose in silence from her knees, put her arms around his neck, kissed
+him, and glided from the room.
+
+And now a terrible and mysterious thing happened to the bride-elect.
+
+The lights had been turned very low in the hall. The household had all
+retired to rest. The stillness and the sense of darkness awed her as she
+glided noiselessly along in the deep shadows. Suddenly she saw the form
+of a man approaching from the direction of her own room. He might be some
+belated servant on some legitimate business for one of the guests, yet he
+startled her. She looked intently toward him, but in the obscure light
+she could only see that he was a tall man in dark clothing, and with a
+very white face. She shrank back in the shadow of the wall as he swiftly
+and silently approached her.
+
+Then with amazement she recognized the face and form of her betrothed
+husband. But the face was deadly pale, and the form was shaking as with
+an ague fit.
+
+"ARONDELLE! _You here!_" she exclaimed, starting towards
+him.
+
+But she met only the empty air, the form had vanished.
+
+In unbounded amazement she stared all around to see where it could have
+gone, and in what part of the darksome hall she herself then stood.
+
+She found herself opposite to the entrance of a long, narrow passage
+opening from the hall and leading to the door of a staircase
+communicating with the dungeons of Malcolm's Tower.
+
+She looked down that passage. It was black as the mouth of Hades!
+
+A nameless terror seized her, and she fled precipitately down the hall,
+nor stopped until she had reached her own room, rushed in, and shut and
+bolted the door. Then she sank down into the nearest chair, feeling cold
+as ice, and trembling from head to foot.
+
+Her maid had over-acted her instructions, and had not only turned the
+lights low, but had turned them out entirely.
+
+There was no need of artificial light, however; for the windows were open
+and the room was flooded with the brilliant moonshine of these northern
+latitudes.
+
+Salome did not know or care how the room was lighted. She sat there
+thrilled with awe of what she had just experienced.
+
+Had she really seen the marquis?--or his spirit? Or had she been the
+victim of an optical illusion?
+
+If she had seen the marquis, what could have brought him secretly into
+the house and up into the hall of the bed-rooms, at that hour of the
+night? And why did he not answer her, when she called him?
+
+It surely could not have been the marquis whom she saw! He never would
+have crept into the house and up to their private-rooms, at that hour of
+the night, or fled from her, when she called him?
+
+What was it then that she had seen in the likeness of her lover?
+
+Was it the disembodied spirit of Arondelle? _Could_ the spirit of a
+living man appear in one place, while the body of the man was present in
+another? She had heard and read of such wonders, yet she could not accept
+them as facts.
+
+No, this was no spirit.
+
+What then? Had she been the subject of an optical illusion? She had heard
+of those wonders also!
+
+But no! This was too real, too solid, too substantial for an optical
+illusion!
+
+Was the form she had seen possibly that of some other person, some guest
+of the house, who had lost his way.
+
+No, and a thousand noes! She knew every guest staying at the castle, and
+knew that not one of them bore the slightest resemblance to the Marquis
+of Arondelle.
+
+No, the form that she had seen in the murky hall seemed that of her
+betrothed husband, or it was his spirit.
+
+She could not tell which, nor could she test the question now. The house
+was full of wedding guests, who were now most probably sound asleep in
+their beds. And the household all had long since retired. She could not
+rouse them only to satisfy her own doubts without any other practical
+result. For what if the intruder were Lord Arondelle? He was not in the
+least an objectional guest. And in the morning he would explain his
+strange presence.
+
+By this time Salome had reasoned herself into some degree of calmness.
+But she was still too much excited to feel sleepy or to think of retiring
+to bed.
+
+The mid-summer night was warm and close, even there in the Highlands--or
+in her nervous condition it seemed to her to be so. She wanted more air.
+She went to the window, and seated herself in an easy-chair, and looked
+out.
+
+A heavenly night!
+
+The deep-blue sky was spangled with myriads of sparkling stars. The full
+harvest moon was at the zenith and pouring down a flood of silvery
+radiance over mountain, lake and island.
+
+Right opposite the window was the elegant little bridge that spanned the
+lake between the island and the mountain, at the base of which stood the
+little Gothic church with the cottages of the hamlet clustered around it.
+
+A beautiful scene!
+
+This morning it had been gay and noisy with a rejoicing crowd come to
+inspect the decorated grounds, and to triumph over the approaching
+marriage of their disinherited young lord, with the present heiress of
+his lost estate.
+
+To-morrow this scene would be even more gay and more noisy, with a
+greater and more rejoicing crowd. For all the Clan Scott were to gather
+here to do honor to the nuptials of their hereditary chieftain.
+
+But to-night the beautiful scene was holy in its solitude and stillness.
+
+Hark!
+
+A sound of voices beneath the window.
+
+Salome started, and drew back. And the next moment, paralyzed by
+consternation and despair, she overheard the following conversation:
+
+"_Hist!_ are you there, Rose?" inquired a dear familiar voice.
+
+"Ay, I'm here, me laird! After being turnit frae the castle like a thief,
+or a beggar, or a dog! after being threatened wi' a constable and a
+prison if I ever showed my face here; but once mair I hae come agen, in
+obedience to your bidding! Come creeping, creeping, creeping ander the
+castle wa', by night, like ony puir cat afeared o' scauding water! Ay, me
+laird, I'm here, mair fule I!" replied a woman's voice.
+
+"Hush, Rose! Do not say so, my girl. And do not call me 'lord;' I am your
+slave and not your 'lord,' my lady queen! You know I love you--you only
+of all women."
+
+"Luve me? Ou, ay, sae ye tell me. But this gran' wedding is coming unco
+near to be naething but a jest. How far will ye carry the jest? Up till
+the altar railings? Into the bridal chamber? It's deceiving and fuling
+me, ye are, me laird! But I'll tell ye weel! Ye sail no marry yon girl,
+I say! Gin ye gae sae far as to lead her to the kirk mesel' will meet you
+at the altar and forbid the marriage. And _then_ see wha will put me
+out!"
+
+"Hush, hush, you wild Highland witch, and listen to me. I shall not marry
+that girl! How can I, when I am married to you? I have had an object in
+letting this thing go on thus far. My plans could not all be accomplished
+until to-night. But to-night something will happen that will put all
+thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage effectually out of the heads
+of all parties concerned, I will warrant. And to-morrow, you and I will
+be far away from this place--together, and never to part again. Wait here
+for me, my love; I shall not be long away. But on your life, do not stir,
+or speak, or scarcely breathe until you see me again."
+
+"How long will you be gone?"
+
+"Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two hours. You can be patient?"
+
+"Ay, I can be patient."
+
+Here the low, whispering voice ceased. And Salome?
+
+Before that conversation was half through, Salome had fallen back in her
+chair in a deadly swoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE MORNING'S DISCOVERY.
+
+
+When Miss Levison recovered her consciousness it was broad daylight. The
+rising sun glancing over the top of the Eastern mountain sent arrows of
+golden light in through the window at which she sat.
+
+Music filled the morning air!
+
+Salome passed her hands over her eyes, and gazed around. So long and
+deep had been her swoon that, for the time, she had utterly lost her
+memory, and now found difficulty in trying to recover it. Bewildered,
+she looked about, and listened to the strange, wild music sounding under
+her window--a sort of morning serenade or reveille, it seemed.
+
+Next her eyes fell upon her magnificent bridal array, displayed on stands
+near the elegant dressing-table.
+
+Then she remembered that this was her wedding-day, and a flush of joy
+lighted up her face.
+
+But it passed in a moment.
+
+What was this that lay so heavy at her heart! Was it the remnant of an
+evil dream?
+
+What had happened? Something must have happened! Else why should she find
+herself seated in that easy-chair at the open window, and see that her
+bed had not been occupied?
+
+Then, slowly, she recollected the events of the previous night--her
+retirement to her chamber; her talk there with the housekeeper about Rose
+Cameron, the "handsome hizzie," who had been haunting the premises and
+giving trouble all that day; the message from her father; her affecting
+interview with him in his bedroom; her return to her own apartment
+through the dimly-lighted, deserted hall, where she met the pale and
+spectral form of Lord Arondelle, who vanished as she called to him!
+her terrified flight into her own chamber!
+
+All these incidents she clearly remembered.
+
+Then her excited vigil in the easy-chair, by the open window, and the two
+voices that broke upon it--that of her betrothed husband and that of a
+woman--of this same Rose Cameron, whose name had been so disreputably
+connected with Lord Arondelle's; who then and there claimed to be his
+wife and was not contradicted!
+
+There! that was the weight that lay so heavy at her heart!
+
+"And yet it must have been a dream!" she said to herself. Of course she
+had fallen asleep there in the easy-chair, and with her thoughts running
+on the apparition she had met in the hall, and on the country people's
+gossip about Lord Arondelle and Rose Cameron, she had had that evil
+dream. Unquestionably it was only a dream! Lord Arondelle could never
+play so base a part as he had seemed to do in her dream! She reproached
+herself for having even involuntarily been the subject of it.
+
+And yet! and yet! the weight lay heavy at her heart, and although this
+was a warm June morning, she shivered as though it had been January.
+
+She arose to close the window.
+
+Then--
+
+What a magnificent and beautiful scene burst upon her vision! The eastern
+horizon was ablaze with glory. Lovely morning clouds, soft, transparent
+white, tinted with rose, violet and gold, tempered the dazzling splendor
+of the rising sun, and half vailed the opal-hued mountain tops, and even
+hung upon the emerald mountain side. Morning sky, rosy clouds, and opal
+mountains, were all reflected as by a mirror in the clear water of the
+lake below.
+
+The hamlet at the foot of the mountain was gay with flags and banners and
+festoons of flowers. The bridge spanning the lake and connecting the
+hamlet with the island, was grand with triumphal arches. The lake was
+alive with gayly-trimmed pleasure-boats of every description. The island,
+with its groves, shrubberies, parterres, arbors, terraces, statues, was
+decorated with flags and banners, innumerable colored lamps and floral
+mottoes and devices.
+
+The streets of the hamlet, the bridge and the island was each alive with
+a merry crowd of tenantry and peasantry in their picturesque holiday
+suits, coming to see the wedding pageant.
+
+Gayer than all was the gathering of the Clan Scott, in their brilliant
+tartans, and with their national music to do honor to the nuptials of the
+heir of their chief.
+
+As Miss Levison looked and listened, the shadows of the night vanished
+from her mind as clouds before the sun!
+
+How strange the thought that the evil dream should have troubled her at
+all! But the dream had seemed as real as any waking experience. But then,
+again, dreams often do seem so! She would think no more of it, except
+to repent having been so unjust to Lord Arondelle, even though it was but
+in an involuntary dream.
+
+It was as yet very early in the morning--not seven o'clock. Her
+serenaders had waked her betimes, and the country people had clearly
+determined to lose not one hour of that festive day. But Miss Levison was
+still shivering in the mild June morning. She thought she would ask for a
+cup of coffee to warm her.
+
+She rang her bell.
+
+Her maid entered the room, courtesied, and stood waiting
+
+"Janet, tell the housekeeper to send me a strong, hot cup of coffee," she
+said.
+
+"Yes, Miss. If you please, Miss, my lord's gentleman is below with a note
+and a parcel for you, Miss."
+
+"Very well, Janet. Do you bring it up and ask the man to wait. There may
+be answer," replied Miss Levison, as the rose clouds rolled over her
+clear, pale cheeks.
+
+The girl courtesied and withdrew.
+
+"To think of my being so wicked as to have such a dream about
+him--_him_!" she said to herself, as again she shivered with cold.
+
+Presently the housekeeper entered with a tiny cup of coffee on a small
+silver tray in her hand, and with many cordial congratulations on her
+lips.
+
+Fortunately the lace curtains of the bed were down, so that she could not
+see that it had not been slept in, and annoy her young mistress with
+exclamations and questions.
+
+"Eh, me young leddy! a blithe bridal morn ye hae got; and a braw sight on
+the ramparts of a' the Scotts, wi' their tartans and bag-pipes, come to
+do ye honor!" said the housekeeper, as she held the tray to her mistress.
+
+Miss Levison drank the coffee, returned the cup, and then inquired:
+
+"Where is Janet? I sent her with a message; she should have returned by
+this time."
+
+"Ou, aye, sae she should. She's clacking her clavvers wi' yon lad frae
+the 'Hereward Arm.' But here she is now, me young leddy," answered the
+housekeeper, as the maid entered the room and placed in her mistress'
+hand a note and a small parcel, tied up in white paper with narrow white
+ribbon, and sealed with the Hereward crest.
+
+Miss Levison opened the note and read:
+
+"HEREWARD ARMS INN, Tuesday Morning.
+
+"I greet you, my only beloved, on this our bridal morning--the
+commencement of a long and happy union for both of us! Yes, a long union,
+for it will stretch into eternity, and a happy one, for come what will,
+we shall be happy in each other. I send you the richest jewel that has
+ever been in our possession, the only one which has survived the wreck of
+our fortunes. It has been preserved more on account of its traditionary
+interest than for its intrinsic value. Tradition tells us that at the
+taking of Jerusalem, in the first crusade, this jewel was snatched from
+the turban of Saladin, the Sultan, in single combat, by our wild
+crusading ancestor, Ranulph d' Arondelle. It adorned his own hemlet at
+the siege of St. Jean d' Acre, some years later. In short, it has been
+handed down from father to son through six centuries and sixteen
+generations. It has "in the thickest carnage blazed" on battle-fields,
+and in the maddest merriment flashed in festive scenes. Yet it is an
+offering all too poor for my great love to make, or your great worth to
+receive. But take it as the best I have to give.
+
+"ARONDELLE."
+
+She read this note with tearful eyes, roseate cheeks' and smiling lips.
+And then she untied the white ribbon and opened the white paper. It first
+disclosed a golden casket about four inches square, richly chased and
+bearing the Hereward arms set in small precious stones. The tiny key was
+in the lock. She opened it and found, lying on a bed of rich white satin,
+a large, burning, blazing ruby heart--the famous ruby of the Hereward,
+said to be the largest in the world. Miss Levison had read of this jewel
+as one of the most valuable among precious stones. She had heard also,
+what evidently the young marquis did not think worth while to tell her in
+connection with its history, namely, that it had been held as an amulet
+of such power that it was believed the ducal house of Hereward would
+never be without a male heir as long as it possessed that priceless ruby
+heart. Miss Levison supposed this to be the reason why it had been
+preserved by the old duke from the total wreck of his fortune. And the
+marquis had given it to her! Well, that was not giving it out of the
+family, since she was to be his wife. While offering it he had
+undervalued the royal gift. But how highly she appreciated it, rating
+it far above all the other jewels that blazed upon her table.
+
+"And to think I should have had such an evil dream about him, and even
+suffered myself to be troubled by it!" she said, pressing his note to her
+lips.
+
+Then she shivered so hardly that her old housekeeper exclaimed:
+
+"Me dear young leddy, ye hae surely taken cauld. Let me order a fire
+kindled here."
+
+"Nonsense, Mrs. Ross--a fire on this warm summer morning? I could not
+bear it. Besides if I shiver with cold one moment, I glow with heat the
+next," said Miss Levison, smiling.
+
+"Ay; I am sair afeard ye's gaun to be ill, wi' all thae shivers and
+glows," replied the dame, shaking her head.
+
+"Nonsense again, Mrs. Ross, dear woman. I am well enough. Now, Janet, did
+you tell his lordship's messenger to wait?"
+
+"Yes, Miss."
+
+Miss Levison drew a little writing-stand to her side, opened the desk,
+took out materials and penned the following note:
+
+"LONE CASTLE, Tuesday.
+
+"MY MOST BELOVED AND HONORED: Your right royal gift is beyond all
+price for richness, beauty, traditional interest, and symbolism, and as
+such I shall hold it above all other gifts, and cherish it to the end of
+my life. But it is not only to speak of your invaluable gift I write; it
+is also to ask you to do a strange thing to please me this morning. It is
+now eight o'clock. We are appointed to meet at the church at eleven. Will
+you meet me _here_ first at half-past nine? I wish to tell you
+something before we go to the altar. It is nothing important that I have
+to tell you--you will probably only laugh at it; but I must get it off my
+mind; for it weighs there like a sin. Come and receive my little
+confession, and give absolution to YOUR OWN SALOME."
+
+She enveloped and directed this note, and gave it to Janet, with orders
+to hand it to Lord Arondelle's man.
+
+When the girl had left the room, Miss Levison turned to the housekeeper
+and inquired:
+
+"Has my father's bell rung yet, do you know?"
+
+"Na, me young leddy, it has na rung yet. Sir Lemuel's man, Mr. Peter, is
+down-stairs, waiting for the summons."
+
+"Perhaps he had better call his master," suggested Miss Levison.
+
+"Na, Miss, sae I tauld him; but he said his orders were no to call his
+master the morn', but to wait till he heard his bell ring. He's waiting
+for that e'en noo."
+
+"Very well, Mrs. Ross. Papa was up late last night, I know, and is
+probably tired this morning. So we must let him sleep as long as
+possible. But as soon as his bell rings, be sure to take him up a cup
+of coffee."
+
+"Verra weel, Miss."
+
+"And, Mrs. Ross, I hope that all our guests are cared for, and served in
+their own rooms with tea and toast, or coffee and muffins, as they
+choose?"
+
+"Ou, ay, me dear young leddy, I hae ta'en care of a' that. And what will
+I bring yersel', Miss, before ye begin to dress?"
+
+"Nothing; I have had a cup of coffee. That is sufficient for the
+present."
+
+"Neathing but ae wee bit cup o' coffee, my dear young leddy?"
+
+"No; I have no appetite. I suppose no girl ever did have on her wedding
+morning," said Miss Levison, shivering and then flushing.
+
+The housekeeper contemplated her young mistress with growing anxiety.
+
+"I am sure ye are no weel," she ventured again to suggest.
+
+"I am quite well, my dear Mrs. Ross. Do not disturb yourself. But go now
+and send Janet and Kitty to me. I must begin to dress."
+
+The housekeeper left the room, and was soon replaced by the lady's maid
+and the upper house-maid.
+
+"Is my bath ready, Kitty?"
+
+"Yes, Miss; and I have poured six bottles of ody collone intil it," said
+the girl, with a very self-approving air.
+
+"You needn't have done that," said Miss Levison, with an amused smile,
+"but you meant well, and I thank you."
+
+She took her customary morning bath, and slipping on a soft, white,
+cashmere wrapper, placed herself in the hands of her maidens to be
+dressed for the altar.
+
+Janet combed, and brushed and arranged the shining dark brown hair. Kitty
+laced the dainty white velvet boots. Janet arrayed her in her bridal
+robes, and Kitty clasped the costly jewels around her neck and arms. One
+placed the bridal vail and wreath upon her head, while the other drew the
+pretty pearl-embroidered gloves upon her hands.
+
+At length her toilet was complete, and she stood up, beautiful in her
+youth, love, and joy, and imperial in her array.
+
+She wore a long trained dress of the richest white satin, trimmed with
+deep point lace flounces, headed with trails of orange flower buds; an
+over-dress of fine cardinal point lace, looped up with festoons of orange
+buds; a point lace berthe and short sleeve ruffles; a necklace, pendant,
+and bracelets of pearls set in diamonds, white kid gloves, embroidered
+with fine white silk; white satin boots worked with pearls. On her head
+the rich, full orange flower wreath. And over all, like mist over frost
+and snow, fell the long bridal vail of finest point lace, softening the
+whole effect.
+
+"The young ladies, your bridesmaids, bid me tell you, Miss, that they are
+quite ready to come to you, when you are so to receive them," said Kitty,
+as she placed the bouquet of orange flowers in its jewelled holder, and
+handed it to her mistress.
+
+"Very well. I will send for them in good time," answered Miss Levison,
+glancing at the little golden clock upon the mantel-piece, and noticing
+that it was nearly half-past nine, the hour at which she expected Lord
+Arondelle. "But now, Kitty, my good girl, go and inquire if my father is
+up, and return and let me know. I would like to see him in his room."
+
+The house-maid courtesied and went out, and after a few minutes' absence
+returned running.
+
+"If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel hasn't rung his bell yet, and Mr. Peters
+says, with his duty to you, Miss, as it is so late, hadn't he better call
+his master?"
+
+"By no means! Let Mr. Peters obey his master's orders not to disturb him
+until his bell rings," answered the young lady.
+
+"Yes, Miss; and if you please, Miss, here is a card, and his lordship,
+Lord Arondelle, is down stairs asking for you, Miss," said the girl,
+laying the pasteboard in question before her young mistress.
+
+"Lord Arondelle! Yes, I expected his lordship. Where is he?"
+
+"Mr. McRath showed him into the library, Miss."
+
+"Quite right. None of our guests have left their rooms yet?"
+
+"No, Miss, they be all busy a dressing of themselves, as I think."
+
+"Ah! then go before me and open the door, and tell his lordship that
+I shall be with him in a moment," said Miss Levison.
+
+The girl dropped another courtesy and preceded her mistress down stairs.
+In going down the great upper hall, Miss Levison passed the door of the
+dark, narrow passage at right angles with the hall, and leading to the
+tower stairs, where she had seen the apparition of the night before. She
+shivered and hurried on. She paused a moment before the door leading to
+the ante-room of her father's bed-chamber, and listened to hear if he
+were stirring; but all within seemed as still as death. She went on and
+descended the stairs and reached the library-door, just as Kitty opened
+it and said:
+
+"Miss Levison, my lord," and retired to give place to the young lady.
+
+Miss Levison entered the library.
+
+Lord Arondelle, in his wedding dress, stood by the central book-table. As
+his costume was the regulation uniform of a gentleman's full dress, it
+needs no description here. Gentlemen array themselves much in the
+same style for a dinner or a ball, a wedding or a funeral--the only
+difference to mark the occasion being in the color of the gloves.
+
+Lord Arondelle advanced to meet his bride.
+
+"My love and queen! this meeting is a grace granted me indeed! How
+beautiful you are!" he exclaimed, taking both her hands and carrying them
+to his lips. "But you are shivering, sweet girl! You are cold!" he added
+anxiously, as he looked at her more attentively.
+
+"I have been shivering all the morning. I sat at my open window late
+last night and got a little chilled; but it is nothing," she answered,
+smiling.
+
+"You shall not do such suicidal things, when I have the charge of you, my
+little lady," he said, half jestingly, half seriously, as he led her to a
+sofa and seated her on it, taking his own seat by her side.
+
+"Come, now," he gayly continued, "was that indiscreet star-gazing which
+has resulted in a cold the little sin for which you wish me to give you
+absolution?"
+
+"No, my lord. My sin was an evil dream."
+
+"A dream!"
+
+"Ay, a dream."
+
+"But a dream cannot be a sin!"
+
+"Hear it, and then judge. But first--tell me--were you in the castle late
+last night?" she gravely inquired.
+
+He paused and gazed at her before he replied:
+
+"_I_ in the castle late last night? Why, most certainly not! Why
+ever should you ask me such a question, my love?"
+
+"Because if you were not in the castle last night--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I met your 'fetch,' as the country people would call it."
+
+"My--I beg your pardon."
+
+"Your 'fetch,' your double, your spectre, your spirit, whatever you may
+call it."
+
+"Whatever do you mean, Salome?"
+
+"Shall I tell you all about it?"
+
+"Of course--yes, do."
+
+Miss Levison began and related all the circumstances in detail of her
+night visit to her father's room, and her meeting with an appearance
+which she took to be that of her betrothed husband, but which, on being
+called by her, instantly vanished.
+
+Lord Arondelle mused for awhile. Miss Levison gazed on him in anxious
+suspense for a few minutes, and then inquired:
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"My love, if I were a transcendental visionary, I might say, that at
+the hour you saw my image before you, my thoughts, my mind, my spirit,
+whatever you choose to call my inner self, was actually with you, and
+so became visible to you; but--" he paused.
+
+"But--what?" she inquired.
+
+"Not being a transcendentalist or a visionary, I am forced to the
+conclusion that what you thought you saw, was, really nothing but an
+optical illusion!"
+
+"You think that?"
+
+"Indeed I do!"
+
+"I assure you, that the image seemed as real, as substantial, and as
+solid to me then as you do now."
+
+"No doubt of it! Optical illusions always seem very real--perfectly
+real."
+
+"It was an optical illusion then! That is settled! And now!" exclaimed
+Salome. Then she paused.
+
+"Yes, and now! About the sinful dream! What did you dream of? Throwing me
+over at the last moment and marrying a handsomer man?" gayly inquired the
+young marquis.
+
+"I will tell you presently what I dreamed; but first tell me, were you in
+our grounds last night?" she gravely inquired.
+
+"Yes, my little lady; but how did you know of it?" inquired the young
+marquis in surprise.
+
+"I did not know it. Were you under my window?" she asked, in a low,
+tremulous tone.
+
+"Yes, love. How came you to suspect me?" he inquired, more than ever
+astonished.
+
+"I did not suspect you. Had you a companion with you?" she murmured.
+
+"No, Salome. Certainly not. Why, sweet, do you ask me?"
+
+"I thought I heard your voice speaking to some one who answered you under
+my window."
+
+"But, love, there was no one with me. I was quite alone. And I
+did not speak at all--not even to myself. I am not in the habit of
+soliloquizing."
+
+"Please tell me, if you can, at what hour you were under my window."
+
+"It was between ten and eleven o'clock. I was walking in the grounds,
+and I went under your wall and looked up. I saw three shadows pass
+the lighted windows, which I took to be those of yourself and your
+attendants, and then suddenly the lights were turned off and all was
+dark. I knew then that you had retired to rest, and of course I turned
+away and walked back to the hamlet. But, love, instead of telling the
+little story you promised, it seems that you have put me through a very
+sharp examination," said his lordship, laughing. "Now, what do you mean
+by it? There is something behind all this," he added, gravely.
+
+"Of course there is something behind. Did I not tell you that I had a
+confession to make concerning a wicked dream? Listen, Lord Arondelle. At
+the time you stood under my window and saw the light turned off, and
+supposing that I had gone to rest, you turned away and left the grounds,
+at that time I had _not_ gone to rest, but had gone to my father's
+room, in returning from which I experienced that strange optical
+illusion. My nerves must have been strangely disordered, for when I
+reached my own chamber again, and finding it quite dark, opened the
+window and sat down to look out upon the moonlit lake, I immediately fell
+asleep, and had a terrible, and a terribly real and distinct dream--a
+dream, dear, that nearly overturned my reason, I do believe."
+
+"What was it, love?" he inquired.
+
+She told him without the least reserve.
+
+He listened to her with interest, and then laughed aloud.
+
+"The idea of your having such a dream about me as that! I do not wonder
+it weighed upon your mind. Yes, it was very wicked of you, my sinful
+child--very. But since you sincerely repent, I freely absolve you.
+_Benedicite!_"
+
+Salome looked and listened to him with surprise; for as she spoke of
+dreaming that he called Rose Cameron his wife, he not only laughed at
+that idea, but really appeared as if the very existence of the girl was
+unknown to him.
+
+Then Salome ventured another question:
+
+"Do you know any one of the name of Rose Cameron?"
+
+"No, not personally. I believe one of our shepherds, up at Ben Lone, has
+a very handsome daughter of that name, but I have never seen her," said
+the young marquis, with an open sincerity that carried conviction with
+it.
+
+Salome was amazed, but convinced. What could have started the false
+reports concerning the young marquis and the handsome shepherdess?
+Clearly Rose's own hallucination. She had seen the marquis somewhere,
+without having been seen by him; she had fallen in love with him, and
+had partly lost her reason and imagined all the rest, she thought.
+
+"And so you have never even looked upon the beauty of that dream?" she
+said, with a smile.
+
+"Never even looked upon her," assented the marquis.
+
+"Then I do, in downright earnest, beg your pardon for my dream," said
+Salome, gravely.
+
+"But I have already given you absolution, my erring daughter?
+_Benedicite! Benedicite!_" replied the marquis still laughing.
+
+At that moment there was a light rap at the library door, followed by the
+entrance of a footman who placed a small, twisted note in the hands of
+Miss Levison. She opened it and read:
+
+"MY DEAR CHILD: It is after ten o'clock. We go to church at
+eleven. Sir Lemuel has not yet rung his bell. His valet having received
+his orders last night not to call him this morning, has declined to do
+so. What is to be done under these circumstances? Send me a verbal
+message by the bearer. Your loving Aunt,
+
+"SOPHIE BELGRADE."
+
+"My father not yet risen!" exclaimed Salome in surprise. "He must have
+overslept himself with fatigue. Tell Lady Belgrade, with my thanks, that
+I will go to my father's room and waken him," she added, turning to the
+footman, who bowed and went to deliver his message.
+
+"I hope Sir Lemuel is quite well?" said the young marquis, earnestly.
+
+"He is quite well. My father regulates his habits so well as to live in
+perfect harmony with the laws of life and health. If he fatigues himself
+over night, he always takes a compensating rest in the morning. That is
+what he is doing now. But I think he is sleeping even longer than he
+intended to do, so I really must arouse him now, if we are to keep our
+appointment with the minister. Good-by, until we meet at the church, Lord
+Arondelle," she said, as she floated from the room in her bridal robe,
+and vail.
+
+"Who says that she is not beautiful, belies her? She is lovely in person
+and in spirit," murmured the young marquis, as he took up his hat to
+leave the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+A HORRIBLE DISCOVERY.
+
+
+In order not to attract the attention of the crowds of people who swarmed
+in the village, on the bridge, and on the island, Lord Arondelle had
+driven over to the castle in a closed cab that now waited at the gates
+to take him back again.
+
+He left the library and went out into the great hall.
+
+The hall porter, an elderly, stout, and important-looking functionary,
+slowly arose from his chair to honor the young marquis by opening the
+doors with his own official hands instead of leaving that duty to the
+footman.
+
+And Lord Arondelle was just in the act of passing out when his steps were
+suddenly arrested.
+
+A WILD AND PIERCING SHRIEK RANG THROUGH THE HOUSE, STARTLING ALL ITS
+ECHOES!
+
+It was followed by a dead silence, and then by the sound of many hurrying
+feet and terrified exclamations.
+
+"Salome! my bride! Oh, what has happened!" thought the startled young
+marquis, rushing back into the hall and up the stairs.
+
+In the upper hall he found a crowd of terrified people, all hurrying in
+one direction--toward the bedroom of the banker.
+
+"The dear old gentleman has got a fit, I fear, and his daughter has
+discovered him in it," was the next thought that flashed upon the mind of
+the marquis as, without waiting to ask questions, he rushed through and
+distanced the crowd, and reached the door of the banker's bedroom, which
+was blocked up by men and women, wedding guests, and servants, some
+questioning and exclaiming, some weeping and wailing, some standing in
+panic-stricken silence.
+
+"What has happened?" cried the young marquis pushing his way with more
+violence than ceremony through all that impeded his entrance into the
+chamber.
+
+No one answered him. No one dared to do so.
+
+"It is Lord Arondelle--let his lordship pass," said one of the wedding
+guests, recognizing the expectant bridegroom as he entered the room.
+
+An awe-struck group of persons was gathered around some object on the
+floor; they made way in silence for the approach of the marquis.
+
+He passed in and looked down.
+
+HORROR UPON HORRORS! There lay the dead body of the banker,
+full-dressed as on the evening before, but with his head crushed in and
+surrounded by a pool of coagulated blood! The face was marble white; the
+eyes were open and stony, the jaws had dropped and stiffened into death.
+Across the body lay the swooning form of his daughter, with her bridal
+vail and robes all dabbled in her father's blood.
+
+"HEAVEN OF HEAVENS! Who has done this?" cried the marquis, a
+cold sweat of horror bursting from his pallid brow as he stared upon this
+ghastly sight!
+
+A dozen voices answered him at once, to the effect that no one yet knew.
+
+"Run! run! and fetch a doctor instantly! Some of you! any of you who can
+go the quickest!" he cried, as he stooped and lifted the insensible form
+of his bride and laid her on the bed--the bed that had not been occupied
+during the night. Evidently from these appearances, the banker had been
+murdered before his usual hour of retiring.
+
+"Who has gone for a doctor?" inquired Lord Arondelle, in an agony of
+anxiety, as he bent over the unconscious form of his beloved one.
+
+"I have despatched Gilbert, yer lairdship. He will mak' unco guid haste,"
+answered the steward, who stood overcome with grief as he gazed upon the
+ghastly corpse of his unfortunate master.
+
+"My lord," said Lady Belgrade, who stood by too deeply awed for tears,
+and up to this moment for action either--"my lord, you had better go out
+of the room for the present, and take all these men with you, and leave
+Miss Levison to the care of myself and the women. This is all unspeakably
+horrible! But our first care should be for her. We must loosen her dress,
+and take other measures for her recovery."
+
+"Yes, yes! Great Heaven! yes! Do all you can for her! This is maddening!"
+groaned the marquis, smiting his forehead as he left the bedside,
+yielding his place to the dowager.
+
+"Do try to command yourself, Lord Arondelle. This is, indeed, a most
+awful shock. It would have been awful at any time, but on your wedding
+day it comes with double violence. But do summon all your strength of
+mind, for _her_ sake. Think of her. She came to this room in her
+bridal dress to call her father, that he might get ready to take her to
+the altar, to give her to you, and she found him here murdered--weltering
+in his blood. It was enough to have killed her, or unseated her reason
+forever," said the lady, as she busied herself with unfastening the rich,
+white, satin bodice of the wedding robe.
+
+"Oh, Salome! Salome! that I could bear this sorrow for you! Oh, my
+darling, that all my love should be powerless to save you from a sorrow
+like this!" cried the young man, dropping his head upon his clenched
+hands.
+
+"My lord," continued Lady Belgrade, who was now applying a vial of sal
+ammonia to her patient's nostrils: "my dear Lord Arondelle, rouse
+yourself for her sake! She has no father, brother, or male relative to
+take direction of affairs in this awful crisis of her life. You, her
+betrothed husband, should do it--must do it! Rouse yourself at once. Look
+at this stupefied and gaping crowd of people! Do not be like one of them.
+Something must be done at once. Do WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE!" she
+cried with sudden vehemence.
+
+"I know what should be done, and I will do it," said the young man, in
+a tone of mournful resolution. Then turning to the crowd that filled the
+chamber of horror, he said:
+
+"My friends we must leave this room for the present to the care of Lady
+Belgrade and her female attendants."
+
+Then to the dowager he said:
+
+"My lady, let one of your maids cover that body with a sheet and let no
+one move it by so much as an inch, until the arrival of the coroner. As
+soon as it is possible to do so, you will of course have Miss Levison
+conveyed to her own chamber. But when you leave this room pray lock it
+up, and place a servant before the door as sentry, that nothing may be
+disturbed before the inquest."
+
+Lastly addressing the stupefied house-steward, he said:
+
+"McRath, come with me. The castle doors must all be closed, and no
+one permitted to learn the arrival of a police force, which must be
+immediately summoned."
+
+So saying, after a last agonized gaze upon the insensible form of his
+bride, he left the room of horrors, followed by the house-steward and all
+the male intruders.
+
+The news of the murder spread through the castle and all over the island,
+carrying consternation with it. Yet the wedding guests outside, who were
+quite at liberty to go, showed no disposition to do so. They had come to
+take part in a joyous wedding festival--they remained, held by the
+strange fascination of ghastly interest that hangs over the scene of
+a murder--and such a murder!
+
+So, the crowd, instead of diminishing, greatly increased. Peasants from
+the hills around, who, having had no wedding garments, had forborne to
+appear at the feast, now came in their tattered plaids, impelled by an
+eager curiosity to gaze upon the walls of the castle, and see and hear
+all they could concerning the mysterious murder that had been perpetrated
+within it.
+
+The country side rang with the terrible story. And soon the telegraph
+wires flashed it all over the kingdom.
+
+The coroner hastened to the castle, inspected the corpse, and ordered
+that everything should remain untouched. He then empanelled a jury for
+the inquest, whose first session was held in the chamber of death, from
+which the suffering daughter of the deceased banker had been tenderly
+removed.
+
+Such among the guests who were not detained as witnesses, found
+themselves at liberty to depart. But very few availed themselves of
+the privilege. They preferred to stop and see the end of the inquest.
+
+Skillful and experienced detectives were summoned by telegraph from
+Scotland Yard, London, and arrived at the castle about midnight.
+
+The house was placed in charge of the police while the investigation was
+pending.
+
+But the materials for the formation of a decided verdict seemed very
+meagre.
+
+A careful examination of the body showed that the banker had been killed
+by one mortal blow inflicted by a blunt and heavy instrument that had
+crushed in the skull. The instrument was searched for, and soon found
+in a small but very heavy bronze statuette of Somnes that used to stand
+on the bedroom mantel-piece; but was now picked up from the carpet,
+crusted with blood and gray hair. But the miscreant who had held that
+deadly weapon, and dealt that mortal blow, could not be detected.
+
+Investigation further brought to light that an extensive robbery had been
+committed. From the banker's person his diamond-studded gold watch,
+chain, and seals, his gold snuff-box, set with emeralds, a heavy
+cornelian seal ring set in gold, and his diamond studs and sleeve buttons
+were taken. A patent safe, which stood in his room, and contained
+valuable documents as well as a large amount of money, had been broken
+open, the documents scattered, and the money carried off.
+
+Yet no trace of the robber could be found.
+
+The broken safe was the only piece of "professional" burglary to be seen
+anywhere about the house. The fastenings on every door and every window
+were intact.
+
+The most plausible theory of the murder was, that some burglar, or
+burglars, attracted and tempted by the rumor of almost fabulous treasure
+then in the castle in the form of wedding offerings to the bride, had
+gained access to the building, and penetrated to the upper chambers,
+where, finding the banker still up and awake, they had killed him by one
+fell blow, to prevent discovery.
+
+True, the priceless wedding presents had not been disturbed. They still
+blazed in their open caskets upon the drawing-room table--a splendid
+spectacle. But then they had been guarded all through the night by two
+faithful men-servants armed with revolvers and seated at the table under
+a lighted chandelier. It was supposed that the robbers, seeing this
+lighted and guarded room, had crept past it and mounted to the banker's
+chamber to pursue their nefarious purpose there; that simple robbery was
+their first intention, but being seen by the watchful banker, they had
+instantly killed him to prevent his giving the alarm.
+
+For no alarm had been given!
+
+Every inmate of the house who was examined testified to having passed
+a quiet night, undisturbed by any noise.
+
+The hall porter and footmen whose duty it was to see to the closing of
+the castle at night, and the opening of it in the morning, testified to
+having fastened every door at eleven o'clock on the previous night, and
+to having found them still fastened at six in the morning.
+
+How, then, did the murderers and robbers gain access to the house, since
+there was no sign of a broken lock or bolt to be seen anywhere, except in
+the safe in the banker's room.
+
+Suspicion seemed to point to some inmate of the castle, who must have let
+the miscreants in.
+
+Yes, but what inmate?
+
+No member of the small family, of course; no visitor, certainly; no
+servant, probably! Yet, for want of another subject, suspicion fell upon
+Peters, the valet. He was always the last to see his master at night, and
+the first to see him in the morning. He had a pass-key to the ante-room
+of his master's chamber. It was believed to be a very suspicious
+circumstance, also that he had so persistently declined to call his
+master that morning, asserting as he did to the very last that Sir Lemuel
+had given orders that he should not be disturbed until he rang his bell.
+
+This story of the valet was doubted. It was suspected that he might have
+been in league with the robbers and murderers, might have admitted them
+to the house that night after the family had retired, and concealed them
+until the hour came for the commission of their crime; and that he made
+excuses in the morning not to call his master so as to prevent as long as
+possible the discovery of the murder, and give the murderers time to get
+off from the scene of their awful crime.
+
+The valet was not openly accused by any one. The officers of the law were
+too discreet to permit that to be done.
+
+But he was detained as a witness, and subjected to a very severe
+examination.
+
+Peters was a very tall, very spare, middle-aged man, with a slight stoop
+in his shoulders, with a thin, flushed face, sharp features, weak, blue
+eyes, and scanty red hair and whiskers, dressed with foppish precision.
+He looked something like a fool; but as little like the confederate
+of robbers and murderers as it was possible to imagine.
+
+Witness testified that his name was Abraham Peters, that he was born in
+Drury Lane, London, and was now forty years of age; that he had been in
+the service of Sir Lemuel Levison for the last five years; that he loved
+and honored the deceased banker, and had every reason to believe that his
+master valued him also. He said that it was his service every night to
+assist his master in undressing and getting to bed, and every morning in
+getting up and dressing.
+
+A juror asked the witness whether he was in the habit of waiting every
+morning for his master's bell to ring before going to his room.
+
+The witness answered that he was not; that he had standing orders to call
+his master every morning at seven o'clock, except otherwise instructed by
+Sir Lemuel.
+
+Another juror inquired of the witness whether he had received these
+exceptional instructions on the previous night.
+
+The witness answered that he had received such; that his master had sent
+him with a message to his daughter, Miss Levison, requesting her to come
+to his room, as he wished to have a talk with her. He delivered his
+message through Miss Levison's maid, and returned to his master's room.
+But when Miss Levison was announced Sir Lemuel dismissed him with
+permission to retire to bed at once, and not to call his master in the
+morning, but to wait until Sir Lemuel should ring his bell.
+
+"I left Miss Levison with her father, your honor, and that was the last
+time as ever I saw my master alive," concluded the valet, trembling like
+a leaf.
+
+"I presume that Miss Levison will be able to corroborate this part of
+your testimony. Where _is_ Miss Levison? Let her be called," said
+the coroner.
+
+The family physician, who was present at the inquest, arose in his place
+and said:
+
+"Miss Levison, sir, is not now available as a witness. She is lying in
+her chamber, nearly at the point of death, with brain fever."
+
+"Lord bless my soul, I am sorry to hear that! But it is no wonder, poor
+young lady, after such a shock," said the kind-hearted coroner.
+
+"But here, sir," continued the doctor, "is a witness who, I think, will
+be able to give us some light."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+AFTER THE DISCOVERY.
+
+
+"Sir, if you please, I request that this witness be immediately placed
+under examination," said Lord Arondelle, who sat, with pale, stern
+visage, among the spectators, now addressing the coroner.
+
+"Yes, certainly, my lord. Let the man be called," answered the latter.
+
+A short, stout, red-haired and freckle-faced boy, clothed in a well-worn
+suit of gray tweed, came forward and was duly sworn.
+
+"What is your name, my lad?" inquired the coroner's clerk.
+
+"Cuddie McGill, an' it please your worship," replied the shock-headed
+youth.
+
+"Your age?"
+
+"Anan?"
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew's Eve, at night."
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"Wi' my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone."
+
+"Well now, then, what do you know about this case?" inquired the clerk,
+who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant,
+preliminary answers of the witness under examination.
+
+"Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just
+happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa', and doctor here,
+he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just,"
+replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.
+
+"But tell us what you saw."
+
+"Aweel, then, your worship, I had been hard at wark a' the day, and could
+na get awa to see the wedding deecorations. But after my wark was dune
+and I had my bit aitmeal cake and parritch, I e'en cam' my way over the
+brig to hae a luke at them."
+
+"Well, and what did you see besides the decorations?"
+
+"An it please your worship, as I cam through the thick shrubbery I spied
+a lassie, standing under the balcony on the east side o' the castle wa'."
+
+"At what hour was this?"
+
+"I dinna ken preceesely. It may hae been ten o'clock; for I ken the moon
+was about twa hours high."
+
+"Ay, well; go on."
+
+"I hid mysel' in the firs and watchit the lassie; for I said to mysel' it
+wair a tryste wi' her lad, and I behoove to find out wha they were. Sae I
+watchit the lassie. And presently a tall gallant cam' up till her, and
+they spake thegither. I could na hear what they said. But anon the tall
+mon went his ways, and the lassie bided her lane under the balcony. I
+wondered at that. And I waited to see the end. I waited, it seemed to me,
+full twa hour. The moon was weel nigh overhead, when at lang last the
+gallant cam' on wi' anither tall mon. And they passed sae nigh that I
+heard their talk. Spake the gallant: 'I would na hae had it happened for
+a' we hae gained.' Said the ither ane: 'It could na be helpit. The auld
+mon skreekit. He would hae brocht the house upon us, and we hadna stappit
+his mouth.' And the twa passit out o' hearing, and sune cam' to the
+lassie under the balcony. And the three talkit thegither, but I just
+couldna hear a word they spake. And sae I went my ways home, wondering
+what it a' meant. But I thocht nae muckle harm until the morn when I
+heerd o' the murder."
+
+"Would you know the tall man again if you were to see him?" inquired the
+coroner.
+
+"Na, for ye ken I could na see a feature o' his face."
+
+"Would you know the girl again?"
+
+"Na. I could na see the lass ony mair than the gallant."
+
+"Nor the third man?"
+
+"Na, nor the ither ane."
+
+"Did you hear any name or any place spoken of between the parties?"
+
+"Na, na name, na pleece. I hae tuld your honor all I heerd. I heerd no
+mair than I hae said," replied the witness.
+
+And the severest cross-examination could not draw anything more from him.
+
+The officials put their heads together and talked in whispers.
+
+This last witness gave, after all, the nearest to a clue of any they had
+yet received.
+
+The notes of the testimony were put in the hands of the London detective
+then present.
+
+"Allow me to remind you, sir," said Lord Arondelle, "that this interview
+testified to by the last witness, was said to have taken place between
+ten and twelve at night, and that there is a train for London which stops
+at Lone at a quarter past twelve. Would it not be well to make inquiries
+at the station as to what passengers, if any, got on at Lone?"
+
+"A good idea. Thanks, my lord. We will summon the agent who happened to
+be on duty at that hour," said the coroner.
+
+And a messenger was immediately dispatched to Lone to bring the railway
+official in question.
+
+In the interim, several of the household servants were examined, but
+without bringing any new facts to light.
+
+After an absence of two hours, the messenger returned accompanied by
+Donald McNeil, the ticket-agent who had been in the office for the
+midnight train of the preceding day.
+
+He was a man of middle age and medium size, with a fair complexion, sandy
+hair and open, honest countenance. He was clothed in a suit of black and
+white-checked cloth.
+
+He was duly sworn and examined. He gave his name as Donald McNeil, his
+age forty years, and his home in the hamlet of Lone.
+
+"You are a ticket-agent at the Railway Station at Lone?" inquired the
+coroner's clerk.
+
+"I am, sir."
+
+"You were on duty at that station last night, between twelve midnight and
+one, morning?"
+
+"I was, sir."
+
+"Does the train for London stop at Lone at that hour?"
+
+"The up-train stops at Lone, at a quarter past twal, sir, and seldom
+varies for as muckle as twa minutes."
+
+"It stopped last night as usual, at a quarter past twelve?"
+
+"It did, sir, av coorse."
+
+"Did any passengers get on that train from Lone?"
+
+"_One_ passenger did, sir; whilk I remarked it more particularly,
+because the passenger was a young lass, travelling her lane, and it is
+unco seldom a woman tak's that train at that hour, and never her lane."
+
+"Ah! there was but one passenger, then, that took the midnight train from
+Lone for London?"
+
+"But one, sir."
+
+"And she was a woman?"
+
+"A young lass, sir."
+
+"Did she take a through ticket?"
+
+"Ah, sir, to London."
+
+"What class?"
+
+"Second-class."
+
+"Had she luggage?"
+
+"An unco heavy black leather bag, sir, that was a'."
+
+"How do you know the bag was heavy?"
+
+"By the way she lugged it, sir. The porter offered to relieve her o' it,
+but she wad na trust it out o' her hand ae minute."
+
+"Ah! Was it a large bag?"
+
+"Na, sir, no that large, but unco heavy, as it might be filled fu' o'
+minerals, the like of whilk the college lads whiles collect in the
+mountains. Na, it was no' large, but unco heavy, and she wad na let it
+out o' her hand ae minute."
+
+"Just so. Would you know that young woman again if you were to see her?"
+
+"Na, I could na see her face. She wore a thick, dark vail, doublit over
+and over her face, the whilk was the moir to be noticed because the nicht
+was sae warm."
+
+"You say her face was concealed. How, then, did you know her to be a
+young woman?"
+
+"Ou, by her form and her gait just, and by her speech."
+
+"She talked with you, then?"
+
+"Na, she spak just three words when she handed in the money for her
+ticket: 'One--second-class--through.'"
+
+"Would you recognize her voice again if you should hear it?"
+
+"Ay, that I should."
+
+"How was this young woman dressed?"
+
+"She wore a lang, black tweed cloak wi' a hood till it, and a dark vail."
+
+A few more questions were asked, but as nothing new was elicited the
+witness was permitted to retire.
+
+Other witnesses were examined, and old witnesses were recalled hour after
+hour and day after day, without effect. No new light was thrown upon the
+mystery.
+
+No one, except Cuddie McGill, the saddler's apprentice, could be found
+who had seen the suspicious man and woman lurking under the balcony.
+
+Certainly Lord Arondelle remembered the "dream" Miss Levison had told him
+of the two persons whom she mistook to be himself and Rose Cameron
+talking together under her window. But Miss Levison was so far incapable
+of giving evidence as to be lying at the point of death with brain fever.
+So it would have been worse than useless to have spoken of her dream, or
+supposed dream.
+
+The coroner's inquest sat several days without arriving at any definite
+conclusion.
+
+The most plausible theory of the murder seemed to be that a robbery had
+been planned between the valet and certain unknown confederates, who had
+all been tempted by the great treasures known to be in the castle that
+night in the form of costly bridal presents; that no murder was at first
+intended; that the confederates had been secretly admitted to the castle
+through the connivance of the valet; that the strong guard placed over
+the treasures in the lighted drawing-room had saved them from robbery;
+that the robbers, disappointed of their first expectations, next went,
+with the farther connivance of the valet, to the bedchamber of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, for the purpose of emptying his strong box; that being detected
+in their criminal designs by the wakeful banker, they had silenced him by
+one fatal blow on the head; that they had then accomplished the robbery
+of the strong box, and of the person of the deceased banker; and had been
+secretly let out of the castle by the valet.
+
+Finally, it was thought that the man and the woman discovered under the
+balcony by Cuddie McGill on the night of the murder, were confederates
+in the crime, and the woman was the midnight passenger to whom Donald
+McNeil sold the second-class railway ticket to London, and that the heavy
+black bag she carried contained the booty taken from the castle.
+
+On the evening of the third day of the unsatisfactory inquest a verdict
+was returned to this effect.
+
+That the deceased Sir Lemuel Levison, Knight, had come to his death by
+a blow from a heavy bronze statuette held in the hands of some person
+unknown to the jury. And that Peters, the valet of the deceased banker,
+was accessory to the murder.
+
+A coroner's warrant was immediately issued, and the valet was arrested,
+and confined in jail to await the action of the grand jury.
+
+An experienced detective officer was sent upon the track of the
+mysterious, vailed woman, with the heavy black bag, who on the night
+of the murder had taken the midnight train from Lone to London.
+
+Then at length the coroner's jury adjourned, and Castle Lone was cleared
+of the law officers and all others who had remained there in attendance
+upon the inquest.
+
+And the preparations for the funeral of the deceased banker were allowed
+to go on.
+
+In addition to the long train of servants there remained now in the
+castle but seven persons:
+
+The young lady of the house, who lay prostrate and unconscious upon the
+bed of extreme illness or death; Lady Belgrade, who in all this trouble
+had nearly lost her wits; the Marquis of Arondelle, who had been
+requested to take the direction of affairs; the old Duke of Hereward,
+who had been brought to the castle in a helpless condition; the family
+physician, who had turned over all his other patients to his assistant,
+and was now devoting himself to the care of the unhappy daughter of the
+house; and lastly the family solicitor, and his clerk, who were down
+for the obsequies.
+
+Beside these, the undertaker and his men came and went while completing
+their preparations for the funeral.
+
+There had been some talk of embalming the body, and delaying the burial,
+until the daughter of the deceased banker should view her father's face
+once more; but the impossibility of restoring the crushed skull to shape
+rendered it advisable that she should not be shocked by a sight of it. So
+the day of the funeral was set.
+
+But before that day came, another important event occurred at Lone
+Castle. It was not entirely unexpected. The old Duke of Hereward, since
+his arrival at the castle, had sunk very fast. He had been carefully
+guarded from the knowledge of the tragedy which had been enacted within
+its walls. He knew nothing of the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, or even
+of the banker's presence in the castle. His failing mind had gone back to
+the past, and he fondly imagined himself, as of yore, the Lord of Lone
+and of all its vast revenues. The presence and attendance of all his old
+train of servants, who, as I said before, had been kindly retained in the
+service of the banker's family, helped the happy illusion in which the
+last days of the old duke were passed, until one afternoon, just as the
+sun was sinking out of sight behind Ben Lone, the old man went quietly
+to sleep in his arm-chair, and never woke again in this world.
+
+A few days after this, in the midst of a large concourse of friends,
+neighbors and mourners, the mortal remains of Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of Arondelle, in the peerage of
+England, and Lord of Lone and Baron Scott, in the peerage of Scotland,
+were laid side by side with those of Sir Lemuel Levison, Kt., in the
+family vault of Lone.
+
+The reading of the late banker's will was deferred until his daughter and
+sole heiress should be in a condition to attend it.
+
+And the family solicitor took it away with him to London to keep until it
+should be called for.
+
+The crisis of Salome's illness passed safely. She was out of the imminent
+danger of death, though she was still extremely weak.
+
+The family physician returned to his home and his practice in the village
+of Lone, and only visited his patient at the castle morning and evening.
+
+Now, therefore, besides the train of household servants, there remained
+at the castle but three inmates--Salome Levison, reduced by sorrow and
+illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady
+Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and
+the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the
+Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was "of the most
+straitest sect, a Pharisee" of conventional etiquette, nevertheless
+implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the
+heiress, and the reading of the father's will.
+
+The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily
+consented to stay.
+
+But Salome's recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she
+seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.
+
+Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost
+the memory of its cause--her father's shocking death. Thus she had no new
+grief or horror to experience.
+
+No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to
+allude to it.
+
+The occasion was this:
+
+On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and
+sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her
+boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent
+for the young duke to come to her.
+
+He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.
+
+He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was
+almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her
+former self she had faded.
+
+As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair
+flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked,
+that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her
+away.
+
+He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and
+then sat down next her.
+
+After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and
+asking:
+
+"Has the murderer been discovered yet?"
+
+"No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will
+lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch," answered the young
+duke, in a low voice.
+
+"Where have they laid the body of my dear father?" she next inquired in
+a low hushed tone.
+
+"In the family vault beside those of my own parents," gravely replied the
+young man.
+
+"Your own--_parents_, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone
+before, but--your father--"
+
+"My father has passed to his eternal home. It is well with him as with
+yours. They are happy. And we--have a common sorrow, love!"
+
+"I did not know--I did not know. No one told me," murmured Salome, as she
+dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.
+
+"Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible. Yet
+I _did_ think, they had told you of my father's departure, else I
+had not alluded to it so suddenly. There! weep no more, love! Viewed in
+the true light, those who have passed higher are rather to be envied than
+mourned."
+
+Then to change the current of her thoughts he said:
+
+"Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?"
+
+"Yes, if it concerns you," she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.
+
+"It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love. You
+are of age, my Salome?"
+
+"Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday."
+
+"Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance--an onerous and
+responsible position."
+
+"But you will sustain it for me. I shall not feel its weight," she
+murmured.
+
+"There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would
+gladly relieve me of the dear trust," said the duke, with a smile. "We
+must, however, be guided by your father's will, which I am happy to know
+is in entire harmony with your own wishes. And that brings me to what I
+wished to say. Kage, your late father's solicitor, is in possession of
+his last will. He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately
+after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your
+presence at its perusal. But he only waits for your recovery and a
+summons from me to bring it. Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the
+exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down,"
+concluded the duke.
+
+"My father's last will!" softly murmured Salome. "Send the telegram
+to-day, please. To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing
+from him."
+
+"There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you,
+and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the
+will, in the case of his, the writer's, sudden death," gravely added the
+duke.
+
+"A letter from my dear father to me? A letter from the grave! No, rather
+a letter from Heaven! Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at
+once, dear John," said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her
+pale, transparent cheek.
+
+"I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal
+importance with the will--though no lawyer would think so," said the
+duke.
+
+"You know its purport then?"
+
+"No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations
+that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison."
+
+As he spoke the door opened and Lady Belgrade entered the room, saying
+softly, as she would have spoken beside the cradle of a sick baby:
+
+"I am sorry to disturb your grace; but the fifteen minutes permitted by
+the doctor have passed, and Salome must not sit up longer."
+
+"I am going now, dear madam," said the duke, rising.
+
+He took Salome's hand, held it for a moment in his, while he gazed into
+her eyes, then pressed it to his lips, and so took his morning's leave of
+her.
+
+The same forenoon he rode over to the Lone Station, and dispatched a
+telegram to the family solicitor, Kage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+
+
+Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received
+the duke's telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private
+interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the
+will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of
+the assembled household.
+
+"The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his
+daughter?" inquired the duke.
+
+"No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will
+recognize when you hear it read," answered the lawyer.
+
+"Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it.
+Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?"
+
+"None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker
+anticipated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in
+the event of his sudden decease."
+
+"Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?"
+
+"None that I have heard of."
+
+"Or to the mysterious woman who was supposed to have carried off the
+booty?"
+
+"None, Detective Keightley called on me yesterday for some information
+regarding the stolen property, and I furnished him with a photograph of
+that snuff-box given to Sir Lemuel Levison by the Sultan of Turkey--the
+gold one richly set with precious stones. Sir Lemuel had it photographed
+by my advice, for identification in case of its being stolen. And he left
+several duplicate copies with me. I gave one to Keightley. But the man
+could give me no information in return. The missing woman seemed lost in
+London. And the proverbial little needle in the haystack might be as
+easily found," said the lawyer.
+
+The announcement of luncheon put an end to the interview.
+
+The two gentlemen passed on into the smaller dining-room where Lady
+Belgrade awaited them. She received the solicitor politely and invited
+him to the table.
+
+After the three were seated and helped to what they preferred, her
+ladyship turned to the lawyers and said:
+
+"My niece understands that you have a letter for her, left in your charge
+by her father. She wishes you to send it to her immediately. Her maid is
+here waiting to take it."
+
+"Pardon me, my dear lady, the letter must remain in my possession until
+after the reading of the will, when, for certain reasons, it must be
+read, as the will, in the presence of the household. Pray explain this to
+Miss Levison, and tell her that I shall be ready to read and deliver both
+at five o'clock this afternoon, if that will meet her convenience," said
+the lawyer, respectfully.
+
+"That will suit her; but I hope the forms will not occupy more than an
+hour. Miss Levison is still extremely feeble, and ought not to sit up
+longer," said the dowager.
+
+"It will not require more than half an hour, madam," replied Mr. Kage.
+
+Lady Belgrade gave the message to the maid for her mistress. And when the
+girl retired, the conversation turned upon the proceedings of the London
+detectives in pursuit of the unknown murderers.
+
+At the appointed hour the household servants were all assembled in the
+dining-room. At the head of the long table sat the family attorney and
+his clerk. Before them lay a japanned tin box, secured by a brass
+padlock. It contained the last will, the letter, and other documents
+appertaining to the deceased banker's estate. They were only waiting for
+the entrance of Miss Levison and her friends. No one else was expected.
+There was not the usual crowd of poor relatives who "crop up" at the
+reading of almost every rich man's will. The late Sir Lemuel Levison had
+no poor relations whatever. His people were all rich, and all scattered
+over Europe and America, at the head of banks, or branches of banks, in
+every great capital, of the almost illustrious house of "Levison,
+Bankers."
+
+The assembled household had not to wait long. The door opened and the
+young lady of Lone entered, supported on each side by the Duke of
+Hereward and the dowager, Lady Belgrade.
+
+Her fair, transparent, spiritual face looked whiter than ever, in
+contrast to her deep black crape dress, as she bowed to the lawyer, and
+passed to her seat at the table.
+
+The duke and the dowager seated themselves on either side of her.
+
+"Are you quite ready, Miss Levison, to hear the will of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison?" inquired the attorney.
+
+"I am quite ready, Mr. Kage, thanks," replied the young lady, in a low
+voice, and speaking with an effort.
+
+The attorney unlocked the box, took out the will, unfolded and proceeded
+to read it.
+
+The document was dated several years back. It was neither long nor
+complex. After liberal bequests to each one of his household servants,
+rich keepsakes to his dear friends, an annuity to the dowager Lady
+Belgrade, and a princely endowment to found an orphan asylum and
+children's hospital in the heart of London, he bequeathed the residue of
+his vast estates, both real and personal, without reserve and without
+conditions, to his only and beloved child, Salome.
+
+After the reading of the will was finished, the attorney arose, came
+around to where the ladies sat, and congratulated Miss Levison and Lady
+Belgrade, on their rich inheritance.
+
+"How could he do it?" thought the unconventional and weeping heiress.
+"Oh, how could he congratulate me on an inheritance which came, and could
+only have come, through my dear father's decease!" Then in a voice broken
+with emotion, she said:
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage. Will you please now to read my dear papa's
+letter?--since you _are_ to read it aloud, I think," she added.
+
+"Such was the deceased Sir Lemuel's direction, my dear Miss Levison,"
+said the lawyer. And returning to his place at the head of the table, he
+took the letter from the japanned box, opened it, and said:
+
+"This letter from my late honored client to his daughter was committed by
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison to my charge to be retained and read after
+the will, in the event of a circumstance which has already occurred--I
+mean the sudden and unexpected death of the writer. The letter will
+explain itself."
+
+Here the lawyer cleared his throat, and began to read:
+
+"ELMHURST HOUSE, Kensington, London,
+
+"Monday, May 1st, 18--.
+
+"MY DEAREST ONLY CHILD: Blessings on your head! Nothing could
+have made me happier, than has your betrothal to so admirable a young man
+as the Marquis of Arondelle. Had I possessed the privilege of choosing
+a husband for you, and a son-in-law for myself, from the whole race of
+mankind, I should have chosen him above all others. But, my dearest
+Salome, the satisfaction I enjoy in your prospects of happiness is
+shadowed by one faint cloud. It is not much, my love; it is only the
+consciousness of my age and of the precarious state of my health. I may
+not live to see you united to the noble husband of your choice. Therefore
+it is that I have urged your speedy marriage with what your good
+chaperon, Lady Belgrade, evidently considers indecorous haste. She must
+continue to think it indecorous, because unreasonable. I cannot, and will
+not, darken your sunshine of joy, by giving to you _now_ the real
+reason of my precipitation--the extremely precarious state of my health.
+Yet, in the event of my being suddenly taken from you, I must prepare
+this letter to be delivered to you after my death, that you may know my
+last wishes. If I live to see you wedded to the good Lord Arondelle,
+this paper shall be torn up and destroyed; if not, if I should be
+suddenly snatched away from you before your wedding-day, this letter will
+be read to you, after my will shall have been read, in the presence of
+your betrothed husband, your good chaperon and your assembled household,
+that you and they and all may know my last wishes concerning you, and
+that none shall dare to blame you for obeying them, even though in doing
+so you have to pursue a very unusual course. My wish, therefore, is that
+your marriage with Lord Arondelle may not be delayed for a day upon
+account of my death; but that it take place at the time fixed or as soon
+thereafter as practicable. In giving these directions, I feel sure that I
+am consulting the wishes of Lord Arondelle, the best interests of
+yourself, and the happiness of both. Follow my directions, therefore, my
+dearest daughter, and may the blessing of our Father in Heaven rest upon
+you and yours, is the prayer of
+
+"Your devoted father, LEMUEL LEVISON."
+
+During the reading of the letter the face of Salome was bathed in tears
+and buried in her pocket-handkerchief.
+
+The duke sat by her, with his arm around her waist, supporting her.
+
+At the end of the reading, without looking up, she stretched out her hand
+and whispered softly:
+
+"Give me my dear father's letter now."
+
+The attorney, who was engaged in re-folding the documents and restoring
+them to the japanned box, left his seat, and came to her side, and placed
+the letter in her hands.
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage," she said, wiping her eyes and looking up. "But now
+will you tell me if you know what my dear father meant by writing of the
+precarious state of his health? He seemed to enjoy a very vigorous
+and green old age."
+
+"Yes, he '_seemed_' to do so, my dear young lady; but it was all
+seeming. He was really affected with a mortal malady, which his
+physicians warned him might prove fatal at any moment," gravely replied
+the lawyer.
+
+"And he never hinted it to us!"
+
+"He did not wish to sadden your young life with a knowledge of his
+affliction."
+
+"My own dear papa! My dear, dear papa! loving, self-sacrificing to the
+end of his earthly life! never thinking of his own happiness--always
+thinking of mine or of others! My dear, dear father!" murmured the still
+weeping daughter.
+
+"He thought of your happiness, and of the happiness of your betrothed
+husband, my dear young lady, when he committed that letter to my care, to
+be delivered to you in case of his sudden death, and when he charged me
+to urge with all my might, your compliance with its instructions. And now
+permit me to add, my dear Miss Levison, that to obey your father's will
+in
+this matter would be the very best and wisest course you could pursue."
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage; I know that you are a faithful friend to our family;
+but--I must have a little time to recover," murmured Salome, faintly.
+
+"Here, you may remember my dear Salome, that when I told you of this
+letter in the possession of Mr. Kage, I said that I thought I knew its
+purport from certain conversations I had held with your late father. He
+had hinted to me the dangerous condition of his health, and he had
+expressed a hope that no accident to himself should be permitted to
+postpone our marriage; and then he told me that he had left a letter with
+his solicitor to be read in case of his sudden death, and that the letter
+would explain itself. He concluded by begging me if anything should
+happen to him to necessitate the delivery of that letter to you, to urge
+upon you the wisdom and policy of following its direction. He could not
+have given me a commission I should be more anxious or earnest in
+executing. My dear Salome, will you obey your good father's wishes? Will
+you give me at once a husband's right to love and cherish you?" he
+added in a low whisper.
+
+"Oh, give me a little time," she murmured--"give me a little time. There
+is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as
+you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so
+weak and broken-spirited. Give me a little time, dear John, to recover
+some strength to overcome my sorrow."
+
+Here she broke down and wept.
+
+"I think we had best take her back to her room," said Lady Belgrade,
+rising.
+
+Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his
+pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.
+
+Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties,
+and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl
+from the room.
+
+The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were
+left alone.
+
+The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses,
+and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.
+
+The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.
+
+It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke
+of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her
+father's wishes.
+
+Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it: Dr. McWilliams, the family
+physician, urged it: above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of
+Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade,
+objected to it.
+
+Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could
+decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.
+
+Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities--the impropriety of
+the daughter's marriage so soon after the father's murder.
+
+Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the
+Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer
+visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.
+
+The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome
+Levison. She contracted a serious cough.
+
+Then the family physician, (so to speak,) "put down his foot" with
+professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.
+
+"This is a question of life or death, my lady," he said to the
+dowager--"a question of life and death, ye mind! And not of
+conventionality and etiquette! Let conventionality and etiquette go to
+the D., from whom they first came. This girl must die, or she must marry
+immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian
+Archipelago. That is all that can save her. And as for you, my laird
+duke," continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he
+always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, "as for
+you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie's scruples, and marry
+her out of hand, the de'il hae me but I'll e'en marry her mysel', and
+tak' her awa to save her life! Now, then will I tak' her mysel' or will
+you?"
+
+"I will take her!" said the young duke, smiling. Then turning to the
+dowager, he added, gravely: "Lady Belgrade, this marriage must and shall
+take place immediately. You must add your efforts to mine to overcome
+your niece's scruples. Your ladyship has been working against me
+heretofore. I hope now, after hearing what the doctor has said, that
+you will work with me."
+
+"Of course, if the child's life and health are in question: and, indeed,
+this climate is much too severe for her, and she certainly does need
+rousing; and as it has been three months now since Sir Lemuel Levison's
+funeral, I don't see--But, of course, after all, it is for you and Salome
+to decide as you please;" answered Lady Belgrade, in a confused and
+hesitating manner, for when the dowager went outside of her
+conventionalities she lost herself.
+
+Salome Levison was again besieged by the pleadings of her lover, the
+counsels of her solicitor, and the arguments of her physician, all with
+the co-operation of her chaperon.
+
+"I do not see what else can be done, my dear," she said to her protegee.
+"The ceremony can be performed as quietly as possible, and you two can go
+away, and the world be no wiser."
+
+"As if I cared for the world! I will do this in obedience to my dear
+father's directions and my betrothed husband's wishes, and I do not even
+think of the world," gravely replied Salome.
+
+"Now, then, to the details, my dear. What day shall we fix? And shall the
+ceremony be preformed here at the castle or at the church at Lone?"
+
+"Oh, not here! not here! I could not bear to be married here, or at the
+Lone church either. No, Lady Belgrade. We must go up to our town house in
+London, and be married quietly at St. Peter's in Kensington, where I used
+to attend divine service with my dear papa," said Salome, becoming
+agitated.
+
+"Very well, my love. But don't excite yourself. We will go. And the
+sooner the better. These horrid Scotch mists are aggravating my
+rheumatism beyond endurance," concluded the dowager.
+
+It was now the last week in September. But so diligently did the dowager,
+and the servants under her orders exert themselves both at Castle Lone
+and in London, that before the first of October, Miss Levison, with her
+chaperon and their attendants, were all comfortably settled in the
+luxurious town-house in the West End.
+
+The Duke of Hereward took lodgings near the home of his bride-elect.
+
+As the marriage settlements had been executed, and the bridal
+paraphernalia prepared for the first marriage day set three months
+before, there was really nothing to do in the way of preparation for the
+wedding, and no reason for even so much as a week's delay. An early
+day was therefore set. It was decided that the ceremony should be
+performed without the least parade.
+
+Since her departure from Castle Lone and her arrival at their town house,
+the change of scene and of circumstances, and the preliminaries of her
+wedding and her journey, had the happiest effects upon Miss Levison's
+health and spirits.
+
+She recovered her cheerfulness, and even acquired a bloom she had never
+possessed before. And her attendants took care to keep from her all that
+could revive her memory of the tragedy at Lone.
+
+One morning the Duke of Hereward came to the house and asked to see Lady
+Belgrade alone.
+
+The dowager received him in the library.
+
+"Has Miss Levison seen the morning papers?" he inquired, as soon as the
+usual greetings were over.
+
+"No, they have not yet come," answered her ladyship.
+
+"Thank Heaven! Do not let her see them on any account! I would not have
+her shocked. The truth is," he added, in explanation of his words to the
+wondering dowager, "I have important news to tell you. The mysterious
+vailed woman, supposed to be connected with the robbery and murder at
+Lone Castle, has been found and arrested. The stolen property has been
+discovered in her possession. And she--you will be infinitely
+shocked--she proves to be Rose Cameron, the daughter of one of our
+shepherds, living near Ben Lone."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE VAILED PASSENGER.
+
+
+We must return to the night of the murder, and to the man and woman whom
+Salome Levison heard, and did not merely "dream" that she heard,
+conversing under her balcony at midnight.
+
+When left alone in her dark and silent hiding-place, the woman waited
+long and impatiently. Sometimes she crept out from her shadowy nook, and
+stole a look up to the casements of the castle, but they were all dark
+and silent, and closely shut, save one immediately above her head, which
+stood open, though neither lighted nor occupied.
+
+She had waited perhaps an hour when stealthy footsteps were heard
+approaching, and not one, but two men came up whispering in hurried and
+agitated tones. She caught a few words of their troubled talk.
+
+"You have betrayed me! I never meant, under any circumstances, that you
+should have done such a deed!" said one.
+
+"It was necessary to our safety. We should have been discovered and
+arrested," said the other.
+
+"You have brought the curse of Cain upon my head!" groaned the first
+speaker.
+
+"Come, come, my lord, brace up! No one intended what has happened. It was
+an accident, a calamity, but it is an accomplished fact, and 'what is
+done, is done,' and 'what is past remedy is past regret.' If the old man
+hadn't squealed--"
+
+"Hush! burn you! the girl will hear!" whispered the first speaker, as
+they approached the woman under the balcony.
+
+"Rose, here; don't speak. Take this bag; be very careful of it; do not
+let it for a moment go out of your sight, or even out of your hand. Go
+to Lone station. The train for London stops there at 12:15. Take a
+second-class ticket, keep your face covered with a thick vail until you
+get to London, and to the house. I will join you there in a few days,"
+said the first speaker, earnestly.
+
+"Why canna ye gae now, my laird?" impatiently inquired the girl.
+
+"It would be dangerous, Rose."
+
+"I'm thinking it is laughing at me ye are, Laird Arondelle. You'll bide
+here and marry yon leddy," said the girl, tossing her head.
+
+"No, on my soul! How can I, when I have married you? Have you not got
+your marriage certificate with you?"
+
+"Ay, I hae got my lines, but I dinna like ye to bide here, near your
+leddy, whiles I gang my lane to London."
+
+"Rose, our safety requires that you should go alone to London. You cannot
+trust me; yet see how much I trust you. You have in that bag, which I
+have confided to your care, uncounted treasures. Take it carefully to
+London and to the house on Westminster Road. Conceal it there and wait
+for me."
+
+"Who is yon lad that cam' wi' ye frae the castle?" inquired the girl,
+pointing to the other man who had withdrawn apart.
+
+"He is one of the servants of the castle, who is in my confidence. Never
+mind him. Hurry away now, my lass. You have just time to cross the bridge
+and reach the station, to catch the train. You are not afraid to go
+alone?"
+
+"Nay, I'm no feared. But dinna be lang awa' yersel', my laird, or
+I shall be thinking my thoughts about yon leddy," said the girl, as she
+folded the dark vail around and around the hat, and without further
+leave-taking, started off in a brisk walk toward the bridge.
+
+She passed through the castle grounds and over the bridge, and went on to
+the station, without having met another human being.
+
+She secured her ticket, as has been related, and when the train stopped,
+she took her place on a second-class car.
+
+Being very much of an animal, and very much fatigued, she could not be
+kept awake even by the excitement of her novel and perilous position,
+but, holding on to her booty, and lulled by the swift motion of the
+train, she fell asleep, and slept until eight o'clock next morning,
+when she was awakened by the stopping of the train and the bustle of the
+arrival at Euston Square Station. Her first thought was for the safety of
+her bag. With a start of dismay she missed it from her lap, where she had
+been holding it so tightly.
+
+"An' it 's yer little valise yer a looking for, my dear, there it be at
+yer feet, where it fell, with a crash, while ye slept. An' there was
+anything in it would break, sure it 's broken entirely," said a kindly
+man, pointing to the bag upon the floor.
+
+She hastily picked it up.
+
+"Oh! if any one had known what it contains, would it have been left there
+in safety all the time I slept?" she asked herself, as her hands closed
+tightly upon her recovered treasure.
+
+But the passengers were all leaving the train, and so she got out with
+the rest.
+
+She was too cunning to take a cab from the station. She left it on
+foot and walked a mile or two, making many turns, before, at length she
+hailed a "four wheeler," hired it and directed the cabman to drive to
+Number ---- Westminster Road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE HOUSE ON WESTMINSTER ROAD.
+
+
+An hour's ride through some of the most crowded streets of London brought
+her to her destination--a tall, dingy, three-storied brick house, in a
+block of the same.
+
+She paid and dismissed the cab at the door, and then went up and rang the
+bell.
+
+It was answered by an old woman, in a black skirt, red sack, white apron,
+and white cap.
+
+"Well, to be sure, ma'am, you have taken me unexpected; but I'm main
+glad to see you so soon. Come in, and I'll make you comfortable in no
+time," said the woman, with kindly respect, as she held the door wide
+open for her mistress.
+
+"Any one been here sin' we left Mrs. Rogers?" inquired the traveller.
+
+"No, ma'am--no soul. It is very lonely here without you. Let me take your
+bag, ma'am. It do seem heavy," said Mrs. Rogers, as she held out her hand
+and took hold of the handle of the satchel.
+
+"Na, I thank ye. It's na that heavy neither," exclaimed the girl,
+nervously jerking back the bag, and following her conductor into the
+house and up stairs.
+
+An unlikely house to be the shelter of thieves and the receptacle of
+stolen goods. There was a look of sober respectability about its
+dinginess that might have appertained to a suburban doctor with a large
+family and a small practice. An old oil cloth, whole, but with its
+pattern half washed off, covered the narrow hall--an old stair-carpet of
+originally good quality, but now thread-bare in places, covered the
+steps. This was all that could be seen from the open door by any chance
+caller. But upstairs all was very different.
+
+As the girl reached the landing, the old woman opened a door on her left
+and ushered her into a bright, glaring room, filled up with cheap new
+furniture, in which blinding colors and bad taste predominated. Carpets,
+curtains, chair and sofa covers, and hassocks, all bright scarlet;
+cornices, mirrors, and picture frames, (framing cheap, showy pictures,)
+all in brassy looking gilt. Through this sitting-room the girl passed
+into a bedroom, where, also, the furniture was in scarlet and gilt,
+except the white draperied bed and the dressing-table. Here the girl
+threw herself down in an easy-chair saying:
+
+"I'll just bide here a bit and wash my face and hands, while ye'll gae
+bring my breakfast."
+
+"Yes, ma'am. What would you like to have?" inquired the woman.
+
+"Ait meal parritch, fust of a', to begin wi' twa kippered herrings; a
+sausage; a beefsteak; twa eggs; a pot o' arange marmalade; a plate of
+milk toast, some muffins, and some fresh rolls," concluded the girl.
+
+"Anything more, ma'am?" dryly inquired Mrs. Rogers.
+
+"Nay--ay! Ye may bring me a mutton chop, wi' the lave."
+
+"Tea or coffee, ma'am?"
+
+"Baith, and mak' haste wi' it," answered the girl.
+
+The old woman, smiling to herself, went out.
+
+The girl being left alone, fastened both doors of her room, hung napkins
+over the key-holes, drew close the scarlet curtains of her windows, and
+then sat down on the floor and opened the bag and turned out its contents
+on the carpet.
+
+Fortunatus! what a sight! Well might her fellow-passenger have heard
+a crash when the bag slipped from her lap to the bottom of the car!
+
+About twelve little canvas bags filled with coins, and marked variously
+on the sides--£50, £100, £500, £1,000.
+
+She gazed at the treasure in a sort of rapture of possession! How fast
+her heart beat! She did not think that there was so much money in the
+whole world! She began to count the bags, and add up their marked
+figures, to try to estimate the amount. There were two bags marked one
+thousand, four marked five hundred, three marked one hundred, and three
+marked fifty pounds--in all twelve little canvas bags containing
+altogether four thousand four hundred and fifty pounds.
+
+What a mine of wealth! How she gloated over it! She longed to cut open
+the little canvas bags and spread the whole glittering mass of gold and
+silver on the carpet before her, that she might gaze upon it--not as a
+miser to hoard it, but as a vain beauty to spend it. How many bonnets and
+dresses and shawls and laces and jewels this money would buy? How she
+longed to lay it out! But she dared not do it yet. She dared not even
+open the canvas bags. She must conceal her riches.
+
+She began to put the bags back in the satchel.
+
+In doing so, she perceived that she had not half emptied it--there was
+something in each of the buttoned pockets on the inside. She opened the
+pockets and turned out their contents.
+
+Rainbows and sunbeams and flashes of lightning!
+
+Her eyes were dazzled with splendor. There was set in a ring a large
+solitaire diamond in which seemed collected all the light and color of
+the sun! There was a watch in a gold hunting case, thickly studded with
+precious stones, and bearing in the center of its circle the initials of
+the late owner, set in diamonds, and which was suspended to a heavy gold
+chain. There was a snuff-box of solid gold encrusted with pearls, opals,
+diamonds, rubies, emeralds, amethysts and sapphires, in a design of
+Oriental beauty and splendor.
+
+There were also diamond studs and diamond sleeve-buttons--each a large
+solitaire of immense value, and there were other jewels in the form of
+seals, lockets, and so forth; and all those delighted her woman's eyes
+and heart. But, above all, the golden box, set with all sorts of flaming
+precious stones, with its splendid colors and blazing fires dazzled her
+sight and dazed her mind.
+
+"I _will_ keep this for mysel'," she said, as she put it in the
+bosom of her dress--"I will, I _will_, I WILL! He shall na hae this
+again. I'll tell him it was lost or sto'en."
+
+Then she opened the satchel and began to put away the other jewels, until
+she took up the watch, looked at it longingly, put it in the bag, took it
+out again, and finally, without a word, slipped it into her bosom beside
+the box.
+
+Next she trifled with the temptation of the diamond ring. She slipped it
+on and off her finger. She had large beautiful hands in perfect
+proportion to her large beautiful form, and the ring that had fitted the
+banker's long thin finger fitted her round white one perfectly. So, she
+took the jewelled box from her bosom, opened it, put the diamond ring in
+it, then closed and returned it to its hiding place.
+
+Finally retaining the box, the watch and the rings, she replaced all the
+jewels and the money-bags in the satchel, and put the satchel for the
+present between the mattresses of her bed. While thus engaged she heard
+her old attendant moving about in the next room, and she knew that she
+was setting the table for her breakfast.
+
+So she hastened to smooth the bed again, and snatch the napkins off the
+keyholes, and unlock the doors lest her very caution should excite
+suspicion.
+
+Then at length she took time to wash the railroad dust from her face, and
+brush it from her hair.
+
+And finally she passed into her sitting-room where she found the table
+laid for her single breakfast.
+
+Presently her housekeeper entered bringing one tray on which stood tea
+and coffee with their accompaniments, and followed by a young kitchen
+maid with another tray on which stood the bread, butter, marmalade,
+meat, fish, etc., with _their_ accompaniments.
+
+When all these were arranged upon the table, Rose Cameron sat down and
+fell to.
+
+Being a very perfect animal, she was blessed with an excellent appetite
+and a healthy digestion. She was therefore, a very heavy feeder; and now
+bread, butter, fish, meat, marmalade disappeared rapidly from the scene,
+to the great amusement of the housekeeper and kitchen maid, who had never
+seen "a lady" eat so ravenously.
+
+When the breakfast service was removed, she went back into her bedroom,
+locked the door, and covered the keyholes as before, and took the satchel
+from between the mattresses, and opened it to gloat over her treasures;
+for she quite considered them as her own. Again she was "tempted of the
+devil." She thought of the fine shops in London, and the fine ready-made
+dresses she could buy with the very smallest of these bags of money.
+
+"Why should I no'? What's his is mine! I'll e'en tak the wee baggie, and
+gae till the fine shops," she said to herself. And selecting one of the
+fifty pound bags, she replaced the others in the satchel, and put the
+satchel in its hiding place.
+
+She got ready for her expedition by arraying herself in a cheap,
+dark-blue silk suit, and a straw hat with a blue feather. Then she
+carefully locked her bedroom door, and took the key with her when she
+left the house.
+
+Her ambition did not take any very high flights, although she did believe
+herself to be a countess. She knew nothing of the splendid shops of the
+West End. She only knew the Borrough and St. Paul's churchyard, both of
+which she thought, contained the riches and splendors of the whole world.
+She went to the nearest cab-stand, took a cab, and drove to St. Paul's
+churchyard, (in ancient times a cemetery, but now a network of narrow,
+crowded streets, filled with cheap, showy shops.) She spent the best part
+of the day in that attractive locality.
+
+When she returned, late in the afternoon, the canvas bag was empty and
+the cab was full, for Rose Cameron, the country girl, ignorant of the
+world, but having a saving faith in the dishonesty of cities, refused to
+trust the dealers to send the goods home, but insisted on fetching them
+herself.
+
+She displayed her purchases--mostly gaudy trash--to the wondering eyes of
+Mrs. Rogers, and then, tired out with her long night's journey and her
+whole day's shopping, she ate a heavy supper and went to bed. Such
+excesses never seemed to over-task her fine digestive organs or disturb
+her sleep. After an unbroken night's rest she awoke the next morning with
+a clear head and a keen appetite, and rang for the housekeeper to bring
+her a cup of tea to her bedside.
+
+While waiting for her tea she wondered if her "guid mon" would arrive
+during the next twenty-four hours.
+
+And that revived in her mind the memory of her supposed rival. During
+the preceding day she had been so absorbed in the contemplation of her
+newly-acquired treasures in jewelry and money that she had scarcely
+thought of what might then be going on at Castle Lone.
+
+Now she wondered what happened there; whether the marriage had failed to
+take place; but, of course, she said to herself, it had failed. Lord
+Arondelle would never commit bigamy--but _how_ had it failed? What
+had been made to happen to prevent it from going on? And what had the
+bride and her friends said or thought?
+
+Above all, why had Lord Arondelle, married to herself as she fully
+believed him to be, _why_ had Lord Arondelle allowed the affair
+to go so far, even to the wedding-morning, when the wedding-feast was
+prepared, and the wedding guests arrived?
+
+It must have been done to mortify and humiliate those city strangers who
+sat in his father's seat, she thought.
+
+Oh, but she would have given a great deal to have seen her hated rival's
+face on that wedding-morning when no wedding took place?
+
+No doubt "John" would tell her all about it when he arrived. And oh! How
+impatient she became for his arrival!
+
+Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper with
+a cup of tea in one hand and the _Times_ in the other.
+
+"Good morning, ma'am. And hoping you find yourself well this morning!
+Here is your tea, ma'am. And here is the paper, ma'am. There's the most
+hawful murder been committed, ma'am, which I thought you might enjoy
+along of your tea," said the worthy woman, as she drew a little stand by
+the bedside and placed the cup and the newspaper upon it.
+
+"A murder?" listlessly repeated Rose Cameron, rising on her elbow, and
+taking the tea-cup in her hand.
+
+"Ay, ma'am, the most hawfullest murder as ever you 'eard of, on an'
+'elpless old gent, away up at a place in Scotland called Lone!"
+
+"EH!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, starting, and nearly letting fall
+her tea-cup.
+
+"Yes, ma'am, and the most hawfullest part of it was, as it was done in
+the night afore his darter's wedding-day, and his blessed darter herself
+was the first to find her father's dead body in the morning."
+
+"Gude guide us!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, putting down her untasted tea,
+and staring at the speaker in blank dismay.
+
+"You may read all about it in the paper, ma'am," said the housekeeper.
+
+"When did it a' happen?" huskily inquired the girl, whose face was now
+ashen pale.
+
+"On the night before last, ma'am. The same night you were traveling up to
+London by the Great Northern. And bless us and save us, the poor bride
+must have found her poor pa's dead body just about the time you arrived
+at home here, ma'am, for the paper says it was ten o'clock."
+
+"Ou! wae's me! wae's me! wae's me!" cried Rose, covering her ashen-pale
+face with her hands and sinking back on her pillow.
+
+"Oh, indeed I'm sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am, if it gives
+you such a turn. I _did_ hope it would amuse you while you sipped
+your tea. But la! there! some ladies do be _so_ narvy!"
+
+"An' that's the way the braw wedding was stappit!" cried Rose, without
+even hearing the words of her attendant.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," replied Mrs. Rogers, not understanding the allusion of the
+speaker, "_that_ was the way the wedding was stopped, in course. No
+wedding could go on after _that_, you know, ma'am, anyhow, let alone
+the bride falling into a fit the minute she saw the bloody corpse of her
+murdered father, and being of a raving manyyack ever since. Instead of a
+wedding and a feast there will be an inquest and a funeral."
+
+"Was--there--a--robbery?" inquired Rose Cameron in a low, faint,
+frightened tone.
+
+"Ay, ma'am, a great robbery of money and jewelry, and no clue yet to the
+vilyuns as did it! But won't you drink your tea, ma'am?"
+
+"Na, na, I dinna need it now. Ou! this is awfu'! Wae worth the day!"
+exclaimed the horror-stricken girl, shivering from head to foot as with
+an ague.
+
+"Indeed, I am very sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am. But I
+thought it would interest you. I didn't think it would shock you. But,
+indeed, if I were you, I wouldn't take on so about people I didn't know
+anything about. And you didn't know anything about _them_. You
+haven't even asked the names," urged the worthy woman.
+
+"Na, na, I did na ken onything anent them; but it is unco awfu'!" said
+Rose, in hurried, tremulous tones.
+
+Not for all her hidden treasures would she have had it suspected that she
+even remotely knew anything about the murder or the man who was murdered.
+
+"And yet you take on about them. Ah! your heart is too tender, ma'am. If
+you are going to take up everybody else's crosses as well as your own,
+you'll never get through this world, ma'am. Take an old woman's word
+for that."
+
+"Thank'ee, Mrs. Rogers. Noo, please gae awa and leave me my lane. I'll
+ring for ye if I want ye," said Rose, nervously.
+
+"Very well, ma'am. I'll go and see after your breakfast."
+
+"Oh, onything at a'! The same as yestreen. Only gae awa!" exclaimed the
+excited girl, too deeply moved now even to care what she should eat for
+breakfast.
+
+When the housekeeper had left her alone she gave way to the emotions of
+horror and fear which prudence had caused her to restrain in the presence
+of the woman. She wept, and sobbed, and cried out, and struck her hands
+together. She was, in truth, in an agony of terror.
+
+For now she understood the hidden meaning of her lover's words, when on
+the night of the murder he had said to her, under the balcony, "Something
+will happen to-night that will put all thoughts of marrying and giving
+in marriage out of the heads of all concerned." And she comprehended also
+how the meaning of the fragmentary conversation she had overheard between
+her lover and his companion, as they approached her from the house: "You
+have brought the curse of Cain upon me." "It could not be helped." "If
+the old man had not squealed out," and so forth.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison had been robbed and murdered, and she--Rose
+Cameron--had been accessory to the robbery and the murder! She had lain
+in wait under the balcony while the burglars went in and slaughtered the
+old banker, and emptied his money chest. She had received the booty, and
+carried it off, and brought it to London. She had it even then in her
+possession!
+
+She was liable to discovery, arrest, trial, conviction, execution.
+
+With a cry of intense horror she covered up her head under the bedclothes
+and shook as with a violent ague. She had suspected, and indeed, she had
+known by circumstance and inference, that the money and jewels contained
+in the bag she had brought from Castle Lone, had been taken from the
+house, but she had tried to ignore the fact that they had been stolen.
+But now the knowledge was forced upon her.
+
+She had been accessory both before and after the facts to the crime of
+robbery and murder, and she was subject to trial and execution. It all
+now seemed like a horrible nightmare, from which she tried in vain to
+wake.
+
+While she shivered and shook under the bedclothes, the housekeeper came
+up and opened the door and said:
+
+"Mr. Scott have come, ma'am. Will he come up?"
+
+"Ay, bid him come till me at ance!" cried the agitated woman, without
+uncovering her head.
+
+A few minutes passed and the door opened again and her lover entered the
+room still wearing his travelling wraps.
+
+"Rose, my lass, what ails you?" he inquired, approaching the bed, and
+seeing her shaking under the bedclothes.
+
+"It's in a cauld sweat, I am, frae head to foot," she answered.
+
+"You have got an ague! Your teeth are chattering!" said Mr. Scott,
+stooping over her.
+
+"Keep awa' frae me! Dinna come nigh me!" she cried, cuddling down closer
+under the clothing. She had not yet uncovered her face or looked at him.
+
+"What is the meaning of all this, Rose?" he inquired, in a tone of
+displeasure.
+
+"Speer that question to yoursel'! no' to me!" she answered, shuddering.
+
+"Look at me!" said the man, sternly.
+
+"I canna look at you! I winna look at you! I hae ta'en an awfu' scunner
+till ye!"
+
+"What have I done to you, you exasperating woman, that you should behave
+to me in this insolent manner?" demanded the man.
+
+"What hae ye dune till me, is it? Ye hae hanggit me! nae less!" cried the
+girl, with a shudder.
+
+"_Hanged_ you? Whatever do you mean? Are ye crazy, girl?"
+
+"Ay, weel nigh!"
+
+"But what do you mean by saying that I have hanged you? Come, I insist on
+knowing!"
+
+"Oh, then I just ken a' anent the murder up at Lone Castle! Ye hae drawn
+me in till a robbery and murder, without me kenning onything anent it
+until a' was ower, and me with the waefu' woodie before me!"
+
+"Rose, if I understand you, it seems that you think I was in some sort
+concerned in the death of Sir Lemuel Levison?"
+
+"Ay, that is just what I _be_ thinking!" said the shuddering girl.
+
+"Then you do me a very foul and infamous injustice, Rose! Look at me! Do
+I look like an assassin? Look at me, I say!" sternly insisted the man.
+
+"I canna luke at ye! I winna luke at ye! I hae lukit at ye ower muckle
+for my ain gude already!" cried the girl, cowering under the clothes.
+
+"See here, lass? I say that you are utterly wrong! I had no connection
+whatever with the death of the banker! I would not have hurt a hair of
+his gray head for all that he was worth! Come! I answer you seriously and
+kindly, although your grotesque and horrible suspicion deserves about
+equally to be laughed at or punished. Come, look into my face now and see
+whether I am not telling you the truth."
+
+"And sae ye did na do the deed?" she inquired at length, uncovering her
+head and showing a pale affrighted face.
+
+"My poor lass, how terrified you have been! No, of course, I did not. But
+how came you to know anything about that horrible affair?"
+
+Rose took up the morning paper and put it in his hands.
+
+"Ah! confound the press!" muttered the man between his teeth.
+
+"What did ye say?"
+
+"These papers, with their ghastly accounts of murders, are nuisances,
+Rose!"
+
+"Ay sae they be! But ye didna do the deed?"
+
+The man made a gesture of impatience.
+
+"Aweel, then sin ye had na knowledge o' the deed until after it was done,
+what did ye mean by saying that something wad happen, wad pit a' thoughts
+o' marriage and gi'eing in marriage out the heads o' a' concerned?--when
+ye spak till me under the balcony that same night?"
+
+"I meant--I meant," said the man, hesitating, "that I would let the
+preparations for the wedding go on to the very altar, and then before the
+altar I would reject the bride! I had heard something about her."
+
+"Ah! I thought ye did it a' for spite!"
+
+"But Rose, I never thought you were such an utter coward as I have found
+you out to be to-day!" said the man reproachfully.
+
+"Ay' I can staund muckle; but I canna staund murder!"
+
+"It is not even certain that there has been any murder committed. The
+coroner's jury have not yet brought in their verdict. Many people think
+that the old man fell dead with a sudden attack of heart-disease, and in
+falling, struck his head upon the top of that bronze statuette, which was
+found lying by him."
+
+"Ay! and that wad be likely eneuch! for na robber wou'd gae to kill a man
+wi' siccan a weepon as that," said Rose, who had begun to recover her
+composure.
+
+Then the man began to question her in his turn:
+
+"You brought the satchel safely?"
+
+"Ay, I brought it safely."
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+"Lock the door and I'll get it."
+
+The man locked the door. While his back was turned, Rose jumped out of
+bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. Then she put her hand in between the
+mattresses and drew out the bag.
+
+"Have you examined its contents?" inquired the man.
+
+"Na, I hanna opened it once," replied the girl, unhesitatingly telling a
+falsehood.
+
+"Oh! then I have a surprise for you. Sir Lemuel Levison was my banker. He
+had my money, and also my jewels, in his charge. He delivered them to me
+last night a few minutes before I brought them out and gave them to you.
+You know I wished you to take them to London because--I meant to reject
+Miss Levison at the altar, and after that, of course, I could not return
+to the castle for anything. Don't you see?"
+
+"Ay, I see! But stap! stap! Noo you mind me about the bag. When you
+brought out the bag that night, I heard you and a man talking. You said
+to the man, 'You hae brocht the curse o' Cain upon me.' Noo, an ye had
+naething to do wi' the murder, what did ye mean by that?"
+
+The man's face grew very dark. "She cross-questions me," he muttered to
+himself. Then controlling his emotions, he affected to laugh, and said:
+
+"How you do twist and turn things, Rose! One would think you were
+interested in convicting me. But I had rather think that you are a little
+cracked on this subject. I never used the words you think you heard. The
+servant had brought me the wrong walking-stick, one that was too short
+for me, and so I said, 'You have brought that cursed cane to me.'"
+
+"Ou, _that_ indeed!" said the credulous girl, "But what did
+_he_ mean when he said, 'It could na be helpit. The auld man
+squealed?'"
+
+"I don't know what he meant, nor do I know whether he used those words.
+Probably he did not; and you mistook him as you have mistaken me. But I
+am really tired of being so cross-questioned, Rose. Look me in the face,
+and tell me whether you really believe me to be guilty or not?" he said,
+in his most frank and persuasive manner.
+
+"Na, na, I canna believe ony ill o' ye, Johnnie Scott," replied the girl.
+
+And, in fact, the man had such magnetic power over her that he could make
+her believe anything that he wished.
+
+"Now let us look into this satchel," he said, proceeding to open it.
+
+He took out the bags of money.
+
+"There is one bag gone! fifty pounds gone!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Na, that canna be, gin it was in the bag. I hanna opened it ance," said
+the girl, unhesitatingly.
+
+The man paid no attention to her words, but took out the jewels and began
+to examine them.
+
+"Confound it! The watch and chain are gone, and the solitaire diamond
+ring is gone, and--" here the man broke out into a volley of curses
+forcible enough to right a ship in a storm, and said: "The jewel
+snuff-box, worth ten times all the other jewels put together, is gone!
+How is this, Rose?"
+
+"I dinna ken. How suld I ken? I took the bag frae your hands, and I put
+it back intil your hands, e'en just as I took it, without ever once
+seeing the inside o' it," boldly replied the girl.
+
+A volley of curses from the man followed, and then he inquired:
+
+"Was the bag out of your possession at any time since you received it?"
+
+"Na, not ance."
+
+"Then that infernal valet has taken the lion's share of the prog! I
+wish I had him by the throat!" exclaimed the man, with a torrent of
+imprecations.
+
+"What do ye mean by a' that?" inquired Rose.
+
+"I mean, that servant I believed in has robbed me, that is all," said the
+man.
+
+With her recovered spirits Rose had regained her appetite. She now rang
+the bell loudly.
+
+The housekeeper answered it.
+
+"_Is_ breakfast ready?" inquired the hungry creature.
+
+"Yes, madam; and I will put in on the table just as soon as you are ready
+for it," answered the old woman.
+
+"Put it on now, then," replied the girl.
+
+The housekeeper left the room.
+
+Rose made a hasty toilet while her husband was washing the railway dust
+from his face and head.
+
+And then both went into the adjoining parlor, where the morning meal was
+by this time laid.
+
+After breakfast the man went out.
+
+The woman remained in the house. She was in a very unenviable state of
+mind. She was not yet quite easy on the subject of the murder at Lone
+Castle. For although her husband and herself might have no connection
+with the crime, still they had undoubtedly been lurking secretly about
+the house on the very night of its perpetration, and therefore might get
+into great trouble. And, besides, she was frightened at having secreted
+the costly watch and chain, snuff-box, and other jewels, from her Scott,
+and then told him a falsehood about them. What if he should find her out
+in her dishonesty and duplicity?
+
+She did not dream of giving up her stolen property. She would risk all
+for the possession of that precious golden box, whose brilliant colors
+and blazing jewels fascinated her very soul; but where could she securely
+hide it from her husband's search? At that moment it was with the watch
+and the diamond ring under the bolster of her bed. But there it was in
+danger of being discovered, should a search be made.
+
+She went into her bedroom and looked about for a hiding-place.
+
+At length she found one which she thought would be secure.
+
+The gilt cornice at the top of her bedroom window was hollow. She climbed
+up on top of her dressing bureau, and reaching as far as she could she
+pushed first the snuff-box, (which also contained the diamond ring,)
+and then the watch and chain, far into the hollow part of the cornice,
+over the window.
+
+There she thought they would be perfectly safe.
+
+The next few days passed without anything occurring to disturb the peace
+of this misguided peasant girl.
+
+Every morning the man who called himself Lord Arondelle, but who was
+known at the house he occupied only as Mr. Scott, and who professed to be
+the husband of the young woman--went out in the morning and remained
+absent until evening.
+
+Every day the girl, known to her servants as Mrs. Scott, spent in
+dressing, going out riding in a cab, and freely spending the money that
+her husband lavished upon her, and in gormandizing in a manner that must
+have destroyed the digestive organs of any animal less sound and strong
+than this "handsome hizzie" from the Highlands.
+
+On the Monday of the week following the tragedy at Castle Lone, however,
+Mr. Scott came home in the evening in a state of agitation and alarm.
+
+"Where is that satchel with the money?" he inquired as he entered the
+bedroom of his wife.
+
+She stared at him in astonishment, but his looks so frightened her that
+she hastened to produce the bag.
+
+He took from it a little bag of gold marked £500, and threw it in her
+lap, saying:
+
+"There, take that!" And before she could utter a word, he hurried out of
+the room.
+
+She ran down stairs after him, calling:
+
+"John! John! what ails you? What hae fashed ye sae muckle?"
+
+But he banged the hall door and was gone.
+
+"That's unco queer!" said Rose, as she retraced her steps, up stairs,
+feeling a vague anxiety creeping upon her.
+
+"He'll be back sune. He has na gane a journey, for he has na ta'en e'en
+sa mickle as a change o' linnen, or a second collar," she said, as she
+regained her room, and sank down breathless into a chair.
+
+The bag of gold he had left her next attracted her attention. £500--ten
+times as much as she had ever possessed in her life. The contemplation of
+this fortune drove all speculations about the movements of "John" out of
+her head. "John" was always queer and uncertain, and _would_ go off
+suddenly sometimes and be gone for days.
+
+"I winna fash mysel' anent him! He may tak' his ain gait, and I'll tak'
+mine!" she said to herself, as she resolved to go out the very next day
+and buy what her heart had long been set upon--a cashmere shawl!
+
+The next morning's papers however contained news from Lone, which, had
+Rose taken the trouble to look at them, must have thrown some light upon
+the sudden departure of Mr. Scott.
+
+They contained this telegraphic item, copied from the evening papers:
+
+"The coroner's inquest that has been sitting at Lone, returned last night
+a verdict of murder against Peters, the valet of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison, and against some person or persons unknown. The valet has been
+arrested and committed to gaol to await the action of the grand jury. It
+is said that he is very much depressed in spirits, and it is supposed
+that he will make a full confession, and save himself from the extreme
+penalty of the law by giving up the names of his confederates in the
+crime, and turning Queen's evidence against them."
+
+Rose did not read the papers at all. They did not interest that fine
+animal.
+
+She went shopping that day, and bought a blazing scarlet cashmere shawl.
+Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she was not troubled. She
+had a roast pheasant, champagne, and candied fruits for supper, and
+she was happy.
+
+She went shopping the next day, and bought a flashing set of jewels.
+
+Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she had another luxurious
+supper, and was still happy. In this way a week passed, and still Mr.
+Scott did not come back. But Rose shopped and gormandized and enjoyed
+her healthy animal life.
+
+Then she felt tempted to wear her gold watch and chain when she dressed
+to go abroad. So one morning she put it on, and went out. She had not the
+slightest suspicion of the danger to which she exposed herself by wearing
+it. She was not afraid of any one finding it in her possession, except
+her husband. So she wore it proudly day after day.
+
+One morning, about ten days after the departure of "Mr. Scott," the
+postman left a letter for her. It was a drop-letter. She opened it and
+read.
+
+It was without date or signature, and merely contained these lines:
+
+"Business detains me from you longer than I had expected to stay. Do not
+be anxious. I will return or send very soon."
+
+Rose was not anxious. She was enjoying herself. Now after shopping and
+eating and drinking all day, she went to the theatre at night. The
+theatre--one of the humblest in the city--was a new sensation to her,
+and her first visit to one was so delightful that she resolved to repeat
+it every evening.
+
+"I shanna fash mysel' anent Johnnie ony mair. He'll come hame when he
+gets ready," she said in her heart.
+
+But weeks grew into months, and "Johnnie" did not come home.
+
+Rose's five hundred pounds had sunk down to fifty pounds, and then indeed
+she did begin to grow impatient for the return of her husband. Suppose
+the money should give out before he came back?
+
+One day, while she was disturbing herself by these questions, she went
+out shopping as usual. When she had made her purchases she looked at her
+watch, and found that it had stopped. She was too ignorant to know what
+was the matter with it. She only knew that when she wound it up it would
+not go.
+
+So she asked the dealer from whom she had bought her goods to direct her
+to a watchmaker.
+
+The dealer gave her the address of a jeweller not far off.
+
+She took her watch to "Messrs. North and Simms, Watchmakers and
+Jewellers," and asked an elderly man behind the counter, who happened to
+be one of the firm, if he could make her watch "gae" while she waited for
+it in the shop. And she detached it from its chain and handed it to him.
+
+Mr. North received the rich, diamond-studded, gold repeater, and
+looked at the tawdry, ignorant, vain creature that presented it, with
+astonishment.
+
+Then he examined the initials set in diamonds, and a change came over
+his face. He went to his desk, taking the watch with him. He drew out a
+small drawer, took from it a photograph, and compared it with the watch
+in his hand. Then he placed both together in the drawer and locked it and
+beckoned a young man from the opposite counter, scribbled a few words on
+a card and sent him out with it.
+
+Rose, who had watched all these movements without the least suspicion of
+their meaning, now moved toward the jeweller and said:
+
+"Aweel then, hae ye lookit at my watch and can ye na mak it ga?"
+
+"The spring is broken, Miss, and it will take a little time to repair it.
+You can leave it with me, if you please," replied Mr. North.
+
+"Indeed, then, and I'm nae sic a fule! I'll na leave it with you at a'.
+If you canna mak it gae just gie it till me," she said.
+
+Now Mr. North did not wish his customer to leave his shop yet a while.
+The truth was that photographs of the late Sir Lemuel Levison's watch and
+snuff-box, in the possession of his legal steward, had been copied and
+the copies distributed by London directory to every jeweller in the city,
+as a means of discovering the stolen property, and finally detecting the
+criminals.
+
+Messrs. North and Simms had received a copy of each.
+
+And when Rose presented the rich watch to be repaired, Mr. North had at
+first suspected and then identified the article as the missing watch of
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison. And he had locked it in the drawer with the
+photographs, and dispatched a messenger to the nearest police station for
+an officer.
+
+His object now was to detain Rose Cameron until the arrival of that
+officer.
+
+"Will you look at something in my line this morning, Miss?" he inquired.
+
+"Na. Gi'e me my watch, and I will gae my ways home," she answered.
+
+"I have a set of diamonds here that once belonged to the Empress
+Josephine. They are very magnificent. Would you not like to see them?"
+
+"Ou, ay! an empress's diamonds? ay, indeed I wad!" cried the poor fool,
+vivaciously.
+
+Mr. North drew from his glass case a casket containing a fine set of
+brilliants, which probably the Empress Josephine had never even heard of,
+and displayed it before the wondering eyes of the Highland lass.
+
+While she was gazing in rapt admiration upon the blazing jewels, the
+messenger returned, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes.
+
+"Excuse me, Miss, I wish to speak to a customer," said the jeweller, as
+he met the officer and silently took him up to the farther end of the
+shop to his desk, opened a little drawer and showed him the watch and the
+photographs.
+
+Then they conferred together for a short time. The jeweller told the
+policeman how the watch had fallen into his hands; but that the pretended
+owner, finding that he could not repair it while she waited, had refused
+to leave it, and insisted on taking it home with her.
+
+"Give it to her. Let her take it home. She can then be followed and her
+residence ascertained. I think, without doubt, that we have now got a
+certain clue to the perpetrators of the robbery and murder at Castle
+Lone."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SCOTT.
+
+
+"Will ye gie me my watch or no?" exclaimed Rose, growing impatient of
+the whispered colloquy between the jeweller and the policeman in plain
+clothes, although she was quite unsuspicious of its subject.
+
+"Here it is, madam," said the jeweller, with the utmost politeness, as he
+came and placed the watch in her hand.
+
+She attached it to her chain and then left the shop.
+
+The policeman sauntered carelessly toward the door and kept his eye
+covertly upon her.
+
+She got into a four-wheeled cab and drove off.
+
+The policeman hailed a "Hansom," sprang into it, and directed the driver
+to keep the first cab in sight and follow it to its destination.
+
+Rose, as it was now late in the afternoon, and she was longing for her
+turbot, green-turtle soup, and roast pheasants and champagne, drove
+directly home.
+
+Her housekeeper met her at the door with good news.
+
+"A letter from the master, ma'am. The postman brought it soon after you
+left home," she said, putting another "drop" letter in the hand of her
+mistress.
+
+"Is dinner ready?" inquired Rose, who was more interested in her meals
+than in her lover.
+
+"Just ready, ma'am," replied the housekeeper.
+
+"Put it on the table directly, then," said Rose, as she ran up stairs to
+her own room.
+
+She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter to read it, at her
+ease.
+
+It was without date and very short. It only informed her that the writer
+was still detained by "circumstances beyond his control," and enjoined
+her to wait patiently in her house on Westminster Road, until she should
+see him.
+
+It was also without signature.
+
+"And there's nae money in it. I dinna ken why he should write to me at
+a', if he will send me nae money," was the angry comment of Rose, as she
+impatiently threw the letter into the fire.
+
+Her "improved" circumstances had not taught the peasant girl any
+refinement of manners. She did not think it at all necessary to change
+her dress, or even to wash her face after her dusty drive. But when
+dinner was announced, she went to the table as she had come into the
+house. And she enjoyed her dinner as only a young person with a perfectly
+healthful and intensely sensual organization could. She lingered long
+over her dessert of candied fruits, creams, jellies, and light wines.
+And when the housekeeper came in at length with the strong black coffee,
+she made the woman sit down and gossip with her about London life.
+
+While they were so employed, "the boy in buttons," whose duty it was to
+attend the street door and answer the bell, entered the room and said:
+
+"A gemman down stairs axing to see the missus. I told 'im 'er was at
+dinner, and mussent be disturbed at meals, which 'e hanswered, and said
+as 'is business were most himportant, and 'e must see you whether or no,
+ma'am, which I beg yer parding for 'sturbing yer agin horders."
+
+"It will be a mon frae Johnnie Scott. He'll be fetching me a message or
+some money. Gae tell him to come in," said Rose, in hopeful excitement.
+
+"Must I bring the gemman up here, missus?" inquired Buttons.
+
+"Ay, ye fule! Where else? Wad ye ask the gentlemon intil the kitchen? And
+we had na that money rooms to choose fra!" said Rose, impatiently.
+
+And indeed, in that great empty old house, she had but three to her own
+use--the tawdry scarlet parlor, which was also her dining room; the
+equally tawdry scarlet chamber; and the dressing-room behind it.
+
+The boy vanished and soon reappeared, ushering in the policeman in plain
+clothes.
+
+"You will be coming frae Mr. Scott, wi' a message?" said Rose, without
+rising to receive him.
+
+"No, mum; haven't the pleasure of that gent's acquaintance, though I
+would like to enjoy it. I come to _Mrs._ Scott, however, and on
+particular unpleasant business. What is your full name, mum?" gruffly
+inquired the policeman, approaching her.
+
+"And what will my name be to you, ye rude mon? And wha ga'ed ye
+commission to force yersel, on my company at my dinner?" indignantly
+inquired Rose.
+
+"My commission, as you call it, mum, lies in this warrant, which
+authorizes me to make a thorough search of these premises for property
+stolen from Lone Castle on the night of the first of June last."
+
+As the policeman spoke, Rose stared at him with eyes that grew larger,
+and a face that grew whiter every minute. And as she stared, she suddenly
+recognized the visitor as the man she had seen in the jeweller's shop,
+talking with the proprietor while the latter was pretending to be
+examining the watch she had put in his hand for repairs.
+
+And now the whole truth burst upon her. The watch had been recognized by
+the jeweller, who perhaps had seen it in Sir Lemuel Levison's possession,
+or perhaps had had it in his own for cleaning, and he had sent for this
+policeman in plain clothes, who had followed her home, "spotted" the
+house, and then taken out a search-warrant. Fright and rage possessed her
+soul. And oh! in the midst of all, how she cursed her own folly in
+secreting those dangerous jewels in the house, and her madness in wearing
+the watch abroad.
+
+"I hope you will submit quietly to the necessary search, mum. It will be
+the better for you," said the officer.
+
+Then rage got the better of fright in Rose Cameron's distracted bosom.
+
+"I'll tear your e'en out, first, ye--" here followed a volley of
+expletives not fit to be reported here--"before ye s' all bring me to sic
+an open shame! Search my house, will ye? Ye daur!" and here the handsome
+Amazon struck an attitude of resistance.
+
+The policeman went to the front window, threw it up, and beckoned to some
+persons below.
+
+In two minutes, the sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, the
+door was opened, and a couple of officers entered the room.
+
+Rose Cameron gazed at them in terror and defiance.
+
+"Mrs. Scott, you are my prisoner. We arrest you on the charge of
+complicity in the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, and the robbery of Castle
+Lone!" said the first policeman, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Tak' yer claws affen me, ye de'il!" exclaimed Rose, springing from under
+his hand, and then shrinking, shuddering, into the nearest chair.
+
+"Perkins, look after this woman, while I direct the search of the house.
+You come with me, Thompson. We will go through this room now," said the
+first policeman, putting his hand on the lock of the chamber door.
+
+"Ye sell na gae into my bedroom, ye de'il! It is na decent for a strange
+mon to gae into a leddy's chamber!" cried Rose, springing before him to
+bar his entrance.
+
+"Never mind her, Mr. Pryor; I'll take care of her," said the man called
+Perkins, as with a firm hand he laid hold of his prisoner, and forced
+her, screaming, scratching, and resisting with all her might from the
+door.
+
+"Excuse me, my girl, but this is a murder case, and we must not stand
+upon politeness to the fair sex; here," added Perkins, as he forced her
+down upon her chair and held her there so firmly that all she could do
+was to spit, glare, and rail at him.
+
+"Oh, my dear, good lady, do be quiet. You are in the hands of the law,
+which I believe you to be as innersent as the dove unborn; but it will be
+the best for you to submit quietly," said the housekeeper, who had
+hitherto sat in appalled silence, taking note of the proceedings.
+
+"I will na submit to ony sic indignity," screamed Rose, with an
+additional torrent of very objectionable language.
+
+Meantime officers Pryor and Thompson passed into the bedroom and began
+the search. Bureau and bureau drawers, wardrobes, boxes, caskets, cases,
+were opened, ransacked, and their contents turned out, but no sign of
+the stolen property was discovered. Closets, wash-stands, and chair
+cushions next underwent a thorough examination, with a similar result.
+Then the bed was pulled to pieces, and the mattresses were closely
+scrutinized, to detect any sign of a recent ripping and re-sewing of any
+part of the seams through which the stolen jewels might have been pushed
+in among the stuffing, but evidently the mattresses had not been tampered
+with.
+
+Then the two officers of the law stopped and looked at each other.
+
+"Before proceeding further in our search, we must be sure as the stolen
+goods are not in this room," said Pryor.
+
+"I don't know where they can be concealed in this room," said Thompson.
+
+"We must apply our infallible square inch rule, now. Take the inside of
+this room from floor to ceiling, and search in succession _every square
+inch of it_. No matter whether the part under review seems a likely or
+an unlikely, or even a possible or an impossible place of concealment,
+search it whether or no. Stolen goods are often found in impossible
+places, or in what seems to be such," said Pryor.
+
+The search was re-commenced on the new principle, and following the
+square inch system into an impossible place, they at last came upon the
+stolen treasure, hidden in the hollow of the cornice at the top of the
+scarlet window curtains, near the bedstead.
+
+"Here we are! all right! The jewel snuff box, and the solitaire
+diamond ring. The watch and chain will be found upon her person. This
+will be sufficient for to-day. We must close and seal these rooms, and
+place a couple of men on guard here before we take the girl to the
+station-house," said Pryor, as he carefully bestowed the recovered
+jewels in the deep breast-pocket of his coat.
+
+The two officers returned to the parlor, where they found Perkins sitting
+by the prisoner, who was now pallid and quiet, merely because she had
+raged herself into a state of exhaustion.
+
+"Go and fetch a close cab, Thompson. And you, good woman, fetch your
+missus' hat and wraps, and whatever else you may think she will need to
+go to the Police Station-House, and spend the night there. I will also
+trouble you for that watch and chain, my dear," said Pryor, turning
+lastly to his prisoner.
+
+"I will na gie my bonny watch! And I will na gae to your filthy
+station-house, ye--!"
+
+Whew! Inspector Pryor was used to storms of abuse from female prisoners,
+and could stand them well on most occasions; but now he turned as from a
+shower of fire, and walked rapidly to the window, while Perkins forcibly
+took from her the watch and chain, and put them for the present into his
+own pocket.
+
+Thompson came in to announce the cab, and the housekeeper entered
+with her mistress's hat and shawl, and a small bundle tied up in a
+handkerchief.
+
+But Rose stormed and wept, and utterly refused either to put on the hat
+and shawl, or to enter the cab. Nor could any amount of pursuasion or
+threats move her obstinacy until she found that the officers of the law
+were about to take her by force, and without her proper out-door dress.
+
+Then, indeed, she yielded to the coaxing of her housekeeper, and allowed
+the old woman to prepare her for her compulsory drive.
+
+When she was ready, Inspector Pryor would have escorted her down stairs,
+but she shook off his hand with angry scorn, and with an expletive that
+made even his case-hardened ears burn and tingle again.
+
+"If I maun gae, I will gae; but I willna hae your filthy hand on me, ye
+beastly de'il!" she added, as she reached the cab. She paused an instant,
+with her foot upon the step, and looked up and down the street, as if
+she contemplated for a moment a flight for liberty and life; but probably
+she did not like the prospect of the hue and cry, the pursuit and
+recapture sure to ensue, for the next instant she stepped into the cab.
+
+That night Rose Cameron passed in the Police Station-House of the
+Westminster precinct. She had slept in much less comfortable, if more
+respectable quarters, when she lived in the Highland hut at the foot of
+Ben Lone.
+
+The officers who had her in charge overlooked all her viciousness in
+consideration of her youth and beauty, and afforded her every indulgence
+which their own duty and her safe-keeping permitted. They gave her a cell
+and a clean cot to herself; and one of them, to whom she gave a
+sovereign, went out at her orders and bought for her a luxurious and
+abundant supper.
+
+And Rose--a perfect animal, as I beg leave to remind you--ate heartily
+and slept soundly, notwithstanding her perils and terrors.
+
+The next morning Rose Cameron was taken before the sitting magistrate of
+the Police Court at Vincent Square.
+
+The two witnesses from Lone, McNeil, the saddler, who had seen her
+lurking under the window of the castle at midnight on the night of the
+murder; and Ferguson, the railway clerk, who had sold her the ticket for
+the twelve-fifteen express to London, had been summoned by telegraph on
+the day before, had come up by the night train, and were now in court
+ready to identify the prisoner. Sir Lemuel Levison's house-steward, also
+summoned by telegraph, was there to identify the stolen jewels which were
+produced in court. The examination was brief and conclusive. McNeil and
+Ferguson swore to the woman as being Rose Cameron, and also as being the
+very woman they had each seen on the night of the murder, under the
+suspicious circumstances already mentioned.
+
+And McRath swore to the watch and chain, the jewelled snuff-box, and the
+solitaire diamond ring as the property of his deceased master, worn upon
+his person on the same night of the murder.
+
+The three policemen swore to finding the stolen property in the
+possession of the prisoner.
+
+Rose Cameron was incapable of inventing a plausible defence.
+
+When asked how this property came into her possession, she said she had
+picked up the watch and chain found upon her person, on the sidewalk, on
+Westminster Road, where she supposed the owner must have dropped it, and
+as she did not know who the owner might be, she had kept it, to her
+sorrow. But as for the gold snuff-box and the solitaire diamond ring, she
+did not know anything about them; she had never seen them in her life,
+until they were drawn out of the hollow cornice by Inspector Pryor, and
+where they must have been hidden by somebody else.
+
+This explanation was not received. And before the morning was over, Rose
+Cameron was remanded to her cell in the police station-house to wait
+until she could be taken back to Scotland for trial.
+
+When she reached her cell, she gave herself up to a passion of hysterical
+weeping and sobbing.
+
+She was interrupted by a visit from her friendly housekeeper.
+
+"My poor, dear, injured lady, I was here early this morning to see you,
+but could not get in," said the woman, after the first exciting greetings
+were over.
+
+"Sit ye down. Dinna staund, and tire yersel'," said the poor creature,
+glad to see any familiar face.
+
+"Oh, my good young lady, you were always very kind to me. And I never can
+believe as you've had anything to do with what you are accused of," said
+the good woman, weeping.
+
+"And sae I hadna. I dinna ken onything anent it. As for yon braw boxie, I
+ne'er set een on it, na, nor the fine ring, till the policeman pu'ed it
+doon frae the tap o' the window curtain. And the fine watch, they fund on
+me, and said belongit to Sir Lemuel Levison; that watch waur gied to me
+by a gude freend," said Rose, wiping the great tears from her stormy
+eyes.
+
+"I will believe it, my good young lady. I can very well believe it. I see
+how you have been imposed upon by bad people; but do you keep a stiff
+upper lip, madam, and don't be in no ways cast down, and your innercence
+will come like pure gold from the furniss, as the saying is. And now, my
+dear young lady, I have some news for you, as will help to divert your
+mind from your troubles, I hope," said the well-meaning woman,
+soothingly.
+
+"Is it about Johnnie Scott? Is it about my gude mon?" eagerly inquired
+Rose.
+
+"No, my dear young lady, it is not about him. You remember the marriage
+that was broken off, for the time between the young Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone?"
+
+"Yes! broken off by the murder of the bride's feyther, the nicht before
+the wedding day--the murder o' Sir Lemuel Levison, wi' whilk I now staund
+accusit. Ou, aye, I mind it! I am na likely to forget it!" sharply
+answered Rose Cameron.
+
+"Well, my dear young lady, the marriage is on again."
+
+"_Eh!_" exclaimed Rose Cameron, springing up.
+
+"Yes, my dear young lady. You know I always take time to look over the
+morning papers that are left at the house for you, and this morning I
+read that a grand marriage would take place at St. George's, Hanover
+Square, between the young Duke of Hereward--he who was Marquis of
+Arondelle before his father's death--and the heiress of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison. And how, after the ceremony, there would be a breakfast
+at the bride's house, and then how the happy pair would set out for their
+wedding tower."
+
+While the well-meaning housekeeper was speaking, Rose Cameron was staring
+at her in dumb amazement.
+
+"I brought the paper in my pocket, ma'am, thinking, under all the
+circumstances, it would interest you and help to make you forget your
+own troubles. Would you like to read it for yourself?"
+
+"Yes! gie me the paper," cried Rose, snatching it from the housekeeper
+before the latter could hand it.
+
+"Where's the place? Where's the place?" cried the impatient young woman,
+wildly turning the pages.
+
+"Here it is ma'am. At the top of the 'FASHIONABLE NEWS,'" said
+the landlady, pointing out the item.
+
+Rose pounced upon it, and read aloud:
+
+"The marriage of His Grace, the Duke of Hereward, with Miss Levison, only
+daughter and heiress of the late Sir Lemuel Levison, will be celebrated
+at twelve, noon, to-day, at St. George's, Hanover Square. After the
+ceremony the noble party will adjourn to Elmhurst House, Westbourne
+Terrace, the home of the bride, to partake of the wedding breakfast,
+after which the happy pair will leave town by the tidal train for Dover,
+_en route_ for their continental tour."
+
+Rose Cameron threw down the paper and sprang to her feet with the bound
+of a tigress.
+
+"Oh, the villain! Oh, the shamfu', fause, leeing villain! This wad be the
+important business that kept him awa' frae me! This wad be the reason why
+he got me lockit up in prison here--for I ken weel that he pit the dogs
+o' the law on my track noo, if I dinna ken before--to keep me fra getting
+out to ban his marriage noo, as I wad ha banned it then hadna something
+else dune it for me. But it isna too late yet! I'll ban his wedding
+travels, gin I couldna ban his wedding! I'll bring him down to disgrace
+and shame afore a' his graund wedding guests--the fause-hearted, leeing,
+shamefu' villain! I will pu' him down frae his grandeur yet, gin ye will
+only help me!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, pouring out this torrent of words,
+as she strode up and down the narrow floor of her cell with the stride of
+an enraged lioness.
+
+"My dear, good young lady, I don't know, the least in the world, why you
+should get so excited over the young duke's marriage," said the
+housekeeper, gazing in amazement and terror upon the face of the
+infuriated young creature.
+
+"Why suld I get excited o'er it, indeed?" exclaimed Rose, stopping
+suddenly in her furious stride, and confronting her unoffending visitor
+with a scowl of rage.
+
+"Come now; come now;" murmured the woman, soothingly, for she began to
+fear that she was in the presence, and in the power, of a lunatic.
+
+"Dinna yo ken then, ye auld fule, that the Dooke o' Hareward is my ain
+gude mon?" imperiously demanded Rose.
+
+"Oh, her poor head! Her poor head is going, and no wonder, poor lass!"
+murmured the old woman, compassionately.
+
+"But how suld ye ken?" cried Rose, scornfully throwing herself down into
+her seat again. "He ca'ed himsel' Mr. John Scott. Mr. John Scott! And
+mysel' Mrs. John Scott. And sae ye kenned us, and nae itherwise."
+
+"Poor girl! Poor girl!" murmured the housekeeper. "She's far gone! Far
+gone! Poor girl!"
+
+"Puir girl, is it? It will be puir dooke before a' is ended! I'll hae him
+hanggit for trigomy, or what e'er ye ca' the marryin' o' twa wives at
+ance. Twa wives! Ou! I'll nae staund it! I'll nae staund it!" cried Rose,
+suddenly bounding to her feet.
+
+"Come now! Come now! my dear, good young lady," said the housekeeper,
+coaxingly.
+
+"Ye'll nae believe it! Ye'll nae believe he's my ain gude mon wha has
+marrit the heiress the morn? Look here, then! And look here! And look
+here!" continued the girl, impetuously, as she took a small morocco
+letter-case from her bosom and opened it, and took out one after
+another--a parchment, a letter, and a photograph.
+
+"Yes, dear, I'll look at anything you like," said the housekeeper, with
+a sigh, for she thought she was only humoring a lunatic.
+
+"Here's my marritge lines. And I was marrit here, in Lunnun town,
+at a kirk ye ca' St. Margaret's, by a minister ca'ed Smith. It's a'
+doon here in the lines. Look for yoursel'. Ye can read. See! Here will
+be my name, Rose Cameron. And here will be my gudeman's--de'il ha'e
+him!--Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis of Arondelle. And here will
+be the minister's name at the fut--James Smith; and the witnesses--John
+Jones, clerk, and Ann Gray, (she waur an auld body in a black bonnet and
+shawl). Noo! is that a' richt and lawfu'?" demanded Rose, triumphantly.
+
+"Indeed, ma'am, it looks so!" said the perplexed housekeeper. And
+these indiscreet words burst from her lips, almost without her own
+volition--"But the idea of the young Marquis of Arondelle marrying of
+you in downright earnest is beyond belief! It is, indeed!"
+
+"And what for nae?" cried Rose, angrily. "What for nae, wad he nae marry
+me, if he lo'ed me? He wad na hae me without marritge ye suld ken."
+
+"No offence, my dear young madam. None at all. I was only astonished,
+that's all," said the housekeeper, deprecatingly, though she wondered and
+doubted whether all she heard and saw was truth.
+
+"And, here! See here! Here is a letter I got frae him sune after the
+wedding. Ye ken the Dooke o' Harewood was Markiss o' Arondelle time when
+he married me?"
+
+"Yes, so it seems," said the housekeeper.
+
+"Aweel then, see here. This letter begins--'_My ain dear Wifie_,' ye
+mind?--'_My ain dear Wifie_'--and gaes on wi' a lot o' luve, and a'
+that, whilk I need na read, till ye. And it ends, look here--'_Your
+devoted husband_--ARONDELLE.' There! what do ye think o'
+that?"
+
+"I'm so astonished, ma'am, I don't know what to think."
+
+"But ye ken weel noo, that my gude mon wha ca'ed himsel' John Scott, was
+the Markiss o' Arondelle, and is noo the Dooke of Harewood?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I know that!--that is, if I'm awake and not dreaming," added
+the woman.
+
+"And ye ken weel that the Dooke of Harewood hae get me lappet up here in
+prison sae I canna get out to prevent him ha'eing his wicked will, in
+marrying the heiress o' Lone?"
+
+"I know that, too, ma'am--that is, if I'm not dreaming, as I said
+before," answered the bewildered old woman.
+
+"Aweel, noo, I canna get out to forestal this graund wickedness. The
+shamefu' villain took gude care to prevent that, but I can circumvent
+him, for a' that, gin ye will help me, Mrs. Brown. Will ye?"
+
+"You may be sure o' that, my poor young lady; for if things be as they
+seem, you have suffered much wrong," earnestly answered the woman.
+
+"Aweel, then, tak' my marritge lines, my letter, and this likeness o' my
+laird--and may the black de'il burn him in--"
+
+"Oh, my dear child, don't say that. It is dreadful. Tell me what I am to
+do with these papers and this picture."
+
+"First of a', ye'll be very carefu' o' 'em, and be sure to bring them
+back safe to me."
+
+"Yes, surely, my dear; but what am I to do with them?"
+
+"Ye'll get a cab, and tak' the papers and the picture to the bride's
+house, and ask to see the bride alone, on a matter o' life and death. And
+ye maun tak' nae denial. Ye maun see her, and tell her anent mysel' here,
+betrayed into prison sae I canna come to warn her. And show her my
+marritge lines, and my letter, and my laird's pictur'--the foul fien' fly
+awa' wi' him!--and tell her, gin she dinna believe them, to gae to the
+auld kirk o' St. Margaret's, Wes'minster, and look at the register, and
+see the minister, Mr. Smith, and the clerk, Mr. Jones, and the auld
+bodie, Mrs. Gray, and she'll find out anent it! Will ye do this for me?"
+
+"Yes, I will, my dear child."
+
+"Here is a half-sovereign then to pay for the cab hire. And, oh! be sure
+ye tak' unco gude care o' my papers! They's a' my fortun', ye ken."
+
+"Yes, indeed, I know how important they are to you, and I will bring them
+back safe," said the housekeeper, as she put the marriage certificate,
+the letter, the portrait, and the money in her pocket, and arose to leave
+the cell.
+
+"And noo, we'll see, an' I dinna bring ye to open shame, ye graund
+de'il!" exclaimed Rose.
+
+"I don't blame your anger, my poor dear, but don't use bad words. And now
+I am off. Good-day to you until I see you again," said the woman, as she
+left the cell.
+
+Mrs. Brown was a good woman, but she did delight in hearing and retailing
+gossip, and in making and seeing a sensation; so she rather enjoyed her
+errand to Westbourne Terrace. She was also a brave woman, so she did not
+shrink from meeting the high-born bridegroom and the bride with her
+overwhelming revelations.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE SECOND BRIDAL MORN.
+
+
+We must return to Elmhurst House and take up the thread of Salome's
+destiny, where we left it on the morning on which the young Duke of
+Hereward had called on Lady Belgrade and informed her ladyship of the
+arrest of the mysterious, vailed passenger, and implored her to keep all
+the papers announcing that arrest, or in any manner referring to the
+tragedy at Castle Lone, from the sight of the bereaved daughter and
+betrothed bride.
+
+"And so the mysterious vailed woman had been discovered, and she turns
+out to be Rose Cameron!" repeated Lady Belgrade, reflectively. Then,
+after a pause, she said: "I wonder who was her confederate in that
+atrocious crime--or, rather, who was her master in it? for she is too
+weak and simple to have been anything but a blind tool, poor creature!"
+
+"You knew her, then?" said the duke.
+
+"Only by report while I was staying at Castle Lone. But the report came
+from the tenantry, who had known her from childhood--a handsome,
+ignorant, vain and credulous fool of a peasant girl, more likely to
+become the victim of some godless man, than the confederate of murderers.
+Did _you_ know her, duke?" meaningly inquired the lady, as she
+remembered the reports in circulation at Castle Lone, that connected the
+name of the handsome shepherdess with that of the young nobleman.
+
+"No, I never saw the girl in my life. I have heard her beauty highly
+praised by some of the late companions of my hunting expeditions at Ben
+Lone; but I had no opportunity of judging for myself; and, moreover,
+I always discouraged such conversation among my comrades. But there, that
+is quite enough of the unhappy girl. I mentioned her arrest not as a most
+important fact only, but in order to warn you not to let our dear Salome
+get a sight of the daily papers, until you have looked over them, and
+assured yourself that they contain no reference to this arrest."
+
+"I see the wisdom of your warning, and I will endeavor to be guided by
+it; but it may be difficult to do so. My very sequestration of the papers
+may excite Salome's suspicions."
+
+"Then lose them; tear them; but do not let her see any part of them which
+may contain any reference to this girl. I thank Heaven that to-morrow I
+shall be able to take her out of the country and guard her peace and
+safety with my own head and hand. I shall take care also to keep her away
+until the trial and conviction of the criminals shall be over and done
+with, so that she may not be in any way harassed or distressed by the
+proceedings."
+
+"Yes, that will be very wise. If she were in England or Scotland during
+the time of the trial, she might be subpoenaed as a witness for the
+prosecution. She was the first, poor child, to discover the dead body of
+her father, you know," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I do not forget that circumstance, or what distress it may yet cause
+her," replied the young duke.
+
+And very soon after he took leave and went away.
+
+Lady Belgrade's task in keeping the day's papers from the sight of Salome
+Levison was easier than she had anticipated.
+
+Salome, deeply interested and absorbed in the final preparations for her
+marriage, did not even think of the newspapers, much less ask for them.
+
+The bridal day dawned, once more, for the heiress of Lone.
+
+Salome, with her attendant, was up early. The young girl, since her
+departure from Lone Castle, the scene of her father's murder, and her
+arrival at Elmhurst House, and occupations with her wedding preparations,
+had wonderfully recovered her health and spirits.
+
+Yet on this, her bridal day, she arose with a heavy heart. A vague dread
+of impending evil weighed upon her spirits.
+
+This occasion might well have brought back vividly cruelly to her memory,
+that fatal bridal morn when, going to invoke her father's presence and
+blessing on her marriage, she found him lying stiff and stark in the
+crimson pool of his own curdled blood. She had no father here on earth,
+now, to give her to the man she loved, and to bless her union with him.
+
+That, in itself might have been enough to account for the gloom that
+darkened her wedding day. But that was not all. For, though her father
+was not visibly present here on earth, she knew that he watched and
+blessed her from his eternal home. No! but her prophetic soul was
+darkened by the shadow of some approaching misfortune.
+
+Margaret, her new maid, brought her a cup of coffee in her chamber. After
+she had drank it, she went sadly in her dressing-room, to make her toilet
+for the altar.
+
+Margaret was her only attendant and dresser.
+
+Salome was still in the deepest mourning for her murdered father. In
+leaving it off, for the marriage altar only, she had resolved to replace
+it only by such a simple dress as might have been worn by any portionless
+bride in the middle class of society.
+
+She wore a plain white tulle dress, over a lustreless white silk, an
+Illusion vail, a wreath of orange buds, and white kid gloves and gaiters.
+She wore no jewels of any sort.
+
+Her bridesmaids, only two in number, were dressed like herself, except
+that they wore no vails, and that their wreaths were of white rose buds.
+
+At eleven o'clock in the morning, a handsome but very plain coach drew up
+before the gate of Elmhurst Terrace.
+
+The bride, attended by her two bridesmaids and Lady Belgrade, entered it,
+and was driven off quietly to St. George's, Hanover square.
+
+No invitations had been issued for the wedding, except to the nearest
+family connections of the bride and bridegroom.
+
+But unfortunately the news of the approaching marriage had crept out, and
+got into the morning papers, and consequently the street before the
+church, the churchyard, and the church itself, were crowded with
+spectators.
+
+Way was made for the small bridal procession, which was met at the
+entrance by the bridegroom's party, consisting of himself, his "best
+man," and his second groomsman.
+
+There, with reverential tenderness, the young Duke of Hereward greeted
+his bride. And the small procession passed up the central aisle, and
+formed before the altar.
+
+Around them stood the nearest friends of the two families.
+
+Behind them, extending back to the farthest extremity of the church,
+crowded a miscellaneous mass of spectators.
+
+This must have happened through the oversight of those parties whose duty
+it was to have had the church doors closed and guarded, so that the
+marriage of the so recently and cruelly orphaned daughter might be as
+private and decorous as it was intended to be.
+
+Baron Von Levison, the head of the Berlin branch of the great European
+banking firm of Levison, had come over to act the part of father to his
+orphan niece, and stood near the chancel to give her away.
+
+The Bishop of London, assisted by two clergymen, all in their sacred
+robes of office, stood within the chancel to perform the marriage
+ceremony.
+
+After the short preliminary exhortation, the ceremony was commenced. The
+bride was very pale, paler than she had ever been, even in those dread
+days when she stood always face to face with death. In making the
+responses her voice faltered, fainted, and died away with every new
+effort. No one would have thought from her look, tone or manner, that she
+was giving her hand, where her heart had so long and so entirely been
+bestowed. She seemed rather like a victim forced unwillingly to the altar
+by despotism or by necessity, than a happy bride about to be united to
+the man of her choice.
+
+At length the trial was over. The benediction was pronounced, and the
+young husband sealed the sacred rites by a kiss on the cold lips of his
+youthful wife.
+
+Friends crowded around with congratulations; but all who took the hand of
+Salome, Duchess of Hereward, felt its icy chill even through her glove
+and theirs.
+
+"No wonder poor child," they said to themselves; "she is thinking of her
+father, murdered on her first appointed wedding-day."
+
+But it was not that. Salome had too clear a spiritual insight not to know
+that her father was more alive than he had been while on earth, and that
+he was bending down and blessing her, even there.
+
+No; but the dark shadow of the approaching ill drew nearer and nearer.
+She could not know what it was. She could only feel it coming and
+chilling and darkening her soul.
+
+After a few minutes passed in the vestry, during which the marriage of
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Salome Levison was
+duly registered and signed and witnessed, the newly-married pair were
+at liberty to return home.
+
+The young duke handed his youthful duchess into his own handsomely
+appointed carriage.
+
+Baron Von Levison took her vacated place in the carriage with Lady
+Belgrade and the bridesmaids.
+
+The few invited guests, being only the nearest family connections of the
+bride and bridegroom, got into their carriages and followed to the
+bride's residence on Westbourne Terrace, where the wedding breakfast
+awaited.
+
+There were now no decorated halls and drawing-rooms, no bands of music,
+no display of splendid bridal presents, no parade whatever.
+
+To be sure, an elegant breakfast-table was laid for the guests. It was
+decorated only with fragrant white flowers from the home conservatory,
+furnished with white Sevres china and silver, and provided with a
+luxurious and dainty repast. That was all. All magnificence and splendor
+of display was carefully avoided in the feast as in the ceremony.
+
+Only ten in all sat down to the table, viz., the bride and bridegroom,
+two bridesmaids, two groomsmen, Lady Belgrade, Baron Von Levison, the
+Bishop of London, and the Rector of St. George's.
+
+A graver wedding party never was brought together. Even the youthful
+bridesmaids and groomsmen, expected to be "the life of the company," were
+awed into silence by the preponderance of age and clerical dignity in the
+little assembly, for the bishop was not ready with his usual harmless
+little jest, and the rector did not care to take precedence over his
+superior.
+
+The conversation was serious rather than merry, and the speeches earnest
+rather than witty.
+
+Near the end of the breakfast, the bride's health was proposed by the
+first groomsman in a complimentary speech, which was acknowledged in a
+few appropriate remarks by her nearest relative, the Baron Von Levison.
+The bridegroom's health was then proposed by the baron, and acknowledged
+by a deep and silent bow from the duke.
+
+Then the health of the bridesmaids, the clergy, Lady Belgrade, and the
+Baron Von Levison were duly honored.
+
+And then the young bride arose, courtesied to her guests, and attended by
+her bridesmaids, retired to change her wedding dress for a traveling
+suit.
+
+"How deadly pale she looks! Is my niece really happy in this marriage?"
+inquired the Baron Von Levison, in a low tone, of Lady Belgrade, as the
+guests left the table.
+
+"She is very happy in this marriage, which she has set her heart on for
+years. In a word, this young wife is madly in love with her husband. But
+you must consider what an awful shock she had on her first appointed
+wedding-day, and how it must recur to her mind in this," answered the
+dowager.
+
+"Ah, to be sure! to be sure! poor child! poor child!" muttered the German
+head of the family.
+
+Meanwhile the young Duchess of Hereward reached her apartments.
+
+Her dresser, Margaret, was in attendance. Her travelling suit of black
+bombazine, trimmed with black crape, was laid out. With the assistance of
+her maid she slowly divested herself of her white vail and robes, and put
+on the black travelling dress. A black sack and a black felt hat, both
+deeply trimmed with crape, and black gloves, completed her toilet.
+
+When she was quite ready she kissed her two bridesmaids and said:
+
+"Leave me alone now for a few minutes, dear girls, and wait for me in the
+drawing-room. I will join you very soon."
+
+The young ladies returned her kisses and retired.
+
+Then Salome dismissed her maid, that Margaret should prepare to accompany
+her mistress.
+
+Finally, as soon as she found herself alone, she sank on her knees to
+pray, that, if possible, this dark shadow might be permitted to pass away
+from her soul; that light and strength and grace might be given her to do
+all her duties and bear all her burdens as Christian wife and neighbor;
+that she and her husband might be blessed with true and eternal love for
+each other, for their neighbor, and above all for their Lord.
+
+As she finished her prayer, and arose from her knees, her maid re-entered
+the room, dressed to attend her mistress on her journey.
+
+The girl did not forget to honor the bride with her new title.
+
+"I beg pardon, your grace," she said, "but there is a strange-looking old
+woman down stairs who says she is a widow from Westminster Road, and that
+she must see your grace on a matter of life and death, before you start
+on your wedding tour."
+
+"I do not know any such person," said the young duchess, slowly, while
+that vague shadow of impending calamity gathered over her spirit more
+darkly and heavily than before.
+
+"Thomas, the hall footman, brought me the message from the woman, your
+grace, and I went down to see her myself before troubling you. I thought
+she might be only a bolder begger than usual. But she is no begger, your
+grace. She looks respectable," answered the girl.
+
+"Go to the woman and explain to her that I have no time to see her now,
+and ask her if she cannot intrust her business to you to be brought to
+me," said the duchess.
+
+The maid courtesied and left the room.
+
+"What is it? What is it? Why does every unusual event strike such deadly
+terror to my heart?" inquired the bride, as she sank, pale and trembling,
+into her resting-chair.
+
+In a few minutes the door opened and Margaret re-appeared.
+
+"I beg your grace's pardon, but the old woman is very obstinate and
+persistent. She will not tell me her business. She says it is with your
+grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter
+of more importance than life or death; and that--indeed I beg your
+pardon, your grace--but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message,
+it seems so impertinent," said the girl, blushing and casting down her
+eyes.
+
+"Nevertheless, deliver it. I will excuse you. The impertinence will not
+be yours," said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.
+
+"Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me
+straight in the face, and said--'Tell your mistress, if she would save
+herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell
+her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!'" answered the girl,
+in a low tone.
+
+"'_Before I see the Duke of Hereward again_.' Ah, what is it? What
+is it?" murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to
+Margaret. "Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once."
+
+Once more the girl obediently left the room.
+
+The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with
+dread of--she knew not what!
+
+A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared,
+ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.
+
+Salome looked up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE CLOUD FALLS.
+
+
+When Rose Cameron's emissary entered the bride's chamber, the young
+duchess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again,
+overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching
+calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her
+bridal day.
+
+And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to
+sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her
+nervous and sensitive organization.
+
+She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying
+before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet,
+shawl, and gown. No very alarming intruder to contemplate.
+
+The woman, on her part, instead of the proud and insolent beauty she had
+expected to see, in all the pomp and pride of her bridal day and her new
+rank, beheld a fair and gentle girl, still clothed in the deepest
+mourning for her murdered father.
+
+And her heart, which had been hardened against the supposed triumphant
+rival of the poor peasant girl, now melted with sympathy.
+
+And she, who had persistently forced her way into the bride's chamber,
+with the grim determination to spring the news upon her without
+hesitation or compassion, now cast about in her simple mind how to
+break such a terrible shock with tenderness and discretion.
+
+"You look very much fatigued. Pray sit down there and rest yourself,
+while you talk to me," said the young duchess, gently, and pointing to
+a chair near her own.
+
+"Ay, I am tired enough in mind and body, my lady, along of not having
+slept a wink all last night on account of--what I'll tell you soon, my
+lady. So I'll even take you at your kind word, my lady, and presume to
+sit down in your ladyship's presence," sighed the woman, slowly sinking
+into the indicated seat, and then adding: "I know as ladyship is not
+exactly the right way to speak to a duke's lady as is a duchess; but I
+don't know as I know what is."
+
+"You must say 'your grace' in speaking to the duchess," volunteered
+Margaret, in a low tone.
+
+"Never mind, never mind," said the bride, with a slight smile. "I am
+quite ready to hear whatever you may have to say to me. What can I do for
+you?"
+
+The visitor hesitated and moaned. All her eager desire to overwhelm Rose
+Cameron's rival with the shameful news of her bridegroom's previous
+marriage and living wife had evaporated, leaving only deep sympathy
+and compassion for the sweet young girl, who looked so kindly, and spoke
+so gentle. Yet deeply she felt that, even for this gentle girl's sake,
+she must reveal the fatal secret! It was dreadful enough and humiliating
+enough to have had the marriage ceremony read over herself and an already
+married man, the husband of a living woman; but it would be infinitely
+worse, it would be horrible and shameful, to let her go off in ignorance,
+believing herself to be that man's wife--to travel with him over Europe.
+
+All this, the honest woman from Westminster Road knew and felt, yet she
+had not the courage now to shock that gentle girl's heart by telling the
+news which must stop her journey.
+
+"Please excuse me; but I must really beg you to be quick in telling me
+what I can do to serve you. My time is limited. Within an hour we have to
+catch the tidal train to Dover. And--I have much to do in the interim,"
+said the young duchess, speaking with gentle courtesy to this poor,
+shabby woman in the rusty widow's weeds.
+
+"Ah, my lady--grace, I mean! there is no need of being quick! When
+you hear all I have to tell you--to my sorrow as well as yours, my
+grace!--your hurry will all be over; and you will not care about catching
+the tidal train--not if you are the lady as I take my--_your_ grace
+to be!"
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired Salome, in low, tremulous tones.
+
+"My lady--grace, I mean! will you send your maid away? What I have to
+tell you, must be told to you alone," whispered the visitor.
+
+"Margaret, you may retire. I will ring when I want you," said the young
+duchess.
+
+And her maid, disgusted, for her curiosity had been strongly aroused,
+left the room and closed the door. And, as Margaret had too much
+self-respect to listen at the key-hole, she remained in ignorance of
+what passed between the young duchess and the uncanny visitor.
+
+"Your strange words trouble me," said Salome, as soon as she found
+herself alone with her visitor.
+
+"Ay, my lady, your grace, I know it. And I am sorry for it. But I cannot
+help it. And, indeed, I'm very much afeared as I shall trouble you more
+afore I am done."
+
+"Then pray proceed. Tell me at once all you have to tell. And permit me
+to remind you that my time is limited," urged the young duchess.
+
+"Ay, madam, my lady--grace, I mean. But grant me your pardon if I repeat
+that there is indeed no hurry. You will not take the tidal train to
+Dover. Not if you be the Christian lady as I take you for," gravely
+replied the visitor.
+
+"I must really insist upon your speaking out plainly and at once," said
+Salome, with more of firmness than she had as yet exhibited, although her
+pale cheeks grew a shade paler.
+
+"My lady--your grace, I should say--when I started to come here this
+morning, to bring you the news I have to tell, my heart was _that_
+full of anger against him and you, for the deep wrongs done to one I know
+and love, that I did not care how suddenly I told it, or how awfully
+it might shock you. But now that I see you, dear lady--grace, I mean--I
+do hate myself for having of such a tale to tell. But, for all that--for
+your sake as well as for hers, I must tell it," said the woman, solemnly.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, go on! What is it you have to tell me?" inquired the
+bride, in a fainting voice.
+
+"Well, then, your lady, my grace--Oh, dear! I know that ain't the right
+way to speak, but--"
+
+"No matter! no matter! Only tell me what you have to tell and have done
+with it!" said Salome, impatiently at last.
+
+"Well, then--I beg ten thousand pardons, my lady, but did your ladyship
+ever hear tell, up your way in Scotland, of a very handsome young woman
+of the lower orders, by the name of Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Yes, I have heard of such a girl," answered the bride, in a low tone,
+averting her face.
+
+"I thought your ladyship must have heard of her. And now--I beg a million
+of pardons, my lady--but did your ladyship ever happen to hear of a
+certain person's name mentioned alongside of hers?"
+
+"I decline to answer a question so improper. What can such a question
+have to do with your present business?" inquired the bride, with more
+of gentle dignity than we have ever known her to assume.
+
+"It has a great deal to do with it, your ladyship. It has everything to
+do with it, as I shall soon prove to your grace. Take no offence, dear
+lady. I won't use any name to trouble you. And I won't say anything but
+what I can prove. Will you let me go on on them terms, your ladyship?"
+humbly inquired the messenger.
+
+"Yes, yes, if you only WILL be quick. I _wish_ you to go
+on. I believe you to mean well, though I do not exactly know what you
+really _do_ mean," said Salome, nervously.
+
+"Well, then, my lady, if you ever heard of this handsome Highland peasant
+girl, called Rose Cameron, you must have heard that she lived long of her
+old father, a shepherd, dwelling at the foot of Ben Lone, near by
+where--a--a certain person had his shooting-lodge. My dear lady, it is
+the same wicked old story as we hear over and over again, and a many
+times too often. Well, the young man--a certain person, I mean--while at
+his shooting-box, foot of Ben Lone, happened to see this handsome lass,
+and fell in love with her at first sight, as certain persons sometimes do
+with young peasant girls as they oughtn't to marry. But mayhap your
+ladyship have heard all this before."
+
+Salome had heard it all before; and now, in silence and sadness, she was
+wondering what she had to hear more; but certainly not expecting to hear
+the degrading revelation her visitor had still to make.
+
+"Well, my lady," resumed the visitor, "a certain person courted handsome
+Rose Cameron a long time, trying to coax her to accept of his heart
+without his hand, after the manner of certain persons, to poor and pretty
+young girls. But the handsome peasant was as proud as a princess, and so
+she was. And she would see him hanged first, and so she would, before she
+would degrade herself for him, especially as she wasn't overmuch in love
+with him herself, but only pleased with his preference, and proud to show
+him off. She didn't worship him at all. She worshiped herself, my lady.
+And she could take care of herself and keep him in his place, even while
+she sort of encouraged his attentions. That was the secret of her power
+over him, my lady. She would neither take him on his terms nor let him
+go. And the more she resisted him the more he fell down and worshiped
+her, until, at length, he was ready to give up everything for her sake,
+and offer her marriage. That was what she really wanted to fetch him to,
+for she was ambitious as well as honest--that she was! Are you listening
+to me, my lady?"
+
+"I am listening," breathed the bride, in a faint voice.
+
+She had turned her chair around, so that her weary head could rest upon
+the corner of the dressing-table, where she now leaned, face downward,
+on her spread hands.
+
+"Well, my lady, when she had fetched him to that pass as to offer her
+marriage, she took him at his word, and he brought her up to London. And
+they were married, sure enough, in the old church at St. Margaret's
+near by where I live, in Westminster."
+
+"It is false! It is false! It is false as--Oh! Heaven of Heavens!" cried
+Salome, wildly, throwing back her head and hands, and then dropping them
+again with a low, heart-broken moan.
+
+"I am cut to the soul, my lady, to say this; but I must say it, even for
+your sake, my lady, and I only say what I can easy prove," spoke the
+woman, humbly.
+
+"Go on, go on," moaned Salome, without lifting her head.
+
+"Well, my lady, after their marriage, they came to my house to live,
+which this was the way of it; I had a three-story brick house on
+Westminster Road, and I took lodgers. But what between getting only a few
+lodgers, and them being bad pay, I got myself over head and ears in debt,
+and was in danger of being sold up by my creditors, when a certain
+person, as called hisself Mr. John Scott, come and took the whole house
+right offen my hands just as it was, and engaged me as his housekeeper,
+telling of me as he was just married, and was agoing to bring home his
+wife. Well, my lady, he advanced me money to pay my debts, and then he
+fetched Mrs. John Scott, which was no other than Rose Cameron, my lady,
+as I soon after found out from herself. Well, he fetches Mrs. John Scott
+to look at the first floor which he was agoing to refit complete for her,
+and according to her taste. Well, your ladyship, she, having of a very
+glarish sort of her own, she chooses furniture all scarlet and gold,
+enough to put your eyes out. And when all was fixed up onto that first
+floor, then he brought her home sure enough."
+
+Without lifting her face, Salome murmured some words in so low and
+smothered a tone that they were inaudible to her visitor.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady. What did you please to say?" inquired the woman,
+bending toward the bowed head of the bride.
+
+"I asked how long ago was it?" she repeated, in a faint voice.
+
+"Just about a year, my lady."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Well, then, my lady, first along he seemed very fond of her, seemed to
+doat on her, and loaded her with dresses, and trinkets, and sweetmeats,
+and nick-nacks of all sorts, and never came home without bringing of her
+something. And she never got anything very nice but what she would call
+me up and give me some; for she made quite a companion of me, my lady.
+But after a few weeks, Mr. John Scott was frequent away from home for
+days together. But this didn't trouble Mrs. John Scott much. I soon saw
+as she wasn't that deep in love with him as she couldn't live without
+him. And so he kept her well supplied with finery and dainties, or with
+the money to get them, he might go off as often, and stay as long as
+he liked. She lived an idle, easy, merry life, and frequent went to the
+play-house, and took me. 'And all was merry as a marriage bell,' as the
+old saying says, until this summer, when Mr. John Scott went off, and
+stayed longer then he ever stayed before. Well, my lady, while he was
+still away, one morning in last June, Mrs. John Scott takes up the
+_Times_ to look over. She didn't often look over the papers, and
+when she did it was only to see what was going to be played at the
+theatres. But _that_ morning her eyes happened to light down on
+something in the paper as put her into a perfect fury. She was so beside
+herself as to let out a good deal that she meant to have kept in. And by
+her own goings on I found out that it was the announcement of the
+marriage, that was to come off in two days at Lone Castle, between the
+young Marquis of Hereward and the daughter and heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, as had set her on fire. I tried my best to quiet her, and even
+asked her what it was to her? She said she would soon let 'em all know
+what it was to her. I begged her to explain. But she would give me no
+satisfaction. She seemed all cock-a-whoop, begging your ladyship's
+pardon, to go somewhere and do something. And that same night she packed
+her carpet-bag and off she went. I asked her what I should say to Mr.
+John Scott if he should come home before she did. And she told me never
+to mind. I shouldn't have any call to say anything. _She_ should
+see him before _I_ could. And so off she went that same night."
+
+"What night was that?" slowly and faintly breathed Salome, without
+lifting her fallen head.
+
+"Two nights before--before the marriage was to have been, my lady,"
+answered the woman, in a low and hesitating tone.
+
+"Proceed, please."
+
+"And now, my lady, I must tell you what happened at Lone, as I received
+it from her own lips this very morning, before I came here. She went down
+to Scotland by the night express of the Great Northern, and arrived at
+Lone early in the morning of the day before the wedding-day that should
+have been. She found great preparations going on for the marriage of the
+markis and the heiress. She went over to the castle with the crowd of the
+country people who gathered there to see the grand decorations for the
+wedding. But she saw nothing of the bride or of the bridegroom; and,
+moreover, she was warned off with threats by the servants of the castle.
+But at length, towards night-fall, my lady, she saw Mr. John Scott, as he
+called himself, hanging about the Hereward Arms, and she 'went for him,'
+as the saying is. But he drew her apart from the crowd. And there she
+charged him with perfidy, and threatened to appear at the church the next
+day with her marriage lines and forbid the banns. He did all he could to
+quiet her, said that she was deceived and mistaken, and that he could not
+marry any one, being already married to herself, and that if she would
+meet him that night at the castle, just under the balcony, near Malcolm's
+Tower, he would explain everything to her satisfaction."
+
+"_It was no dream, then!_ Oh, Heaven! it was no dream! And my own
+senses witness against him!" exclaimed Salome again, throwing up her face
+and hands with a cry of anguish, and then dropping them, as before, upon
+the table in an attitude of abject despair.
+
+"My lady, this is too much for you! too much!" said the compassionate
+woman, weeping over the distress she had caused.
+
+"No, no; go on, go on; I will hear it all. My own senses, pitying Heaven!
+my own senses bear witness to it," moaned Salome, in a smothered voice.
+
+"Ah, my lady, it grieves me deeply to go on, as you bid me. They met, Mr.
+John Scott, as he called himself, and Rose Cameron, at the time and place
+agreed on--at midnight at Castle Lone, under the balcony near Malcolm's
+Tower. And there, my lady, he repeated to her that he was not going to
+marry anybody, reminding her that he was already married to herself; and
+he explained that something would happen before morning, which would put
+all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage out of the heads of all
+parties concerned. And then he--"
+
+A groan of anguish burst from the almost breaking heart of the wretched
+bride, as she lifted a face convulsed and deathly white with her soul's
+great agony.
+
+"My lady! oh, my lady!" exclaimed the woman, in much alarm.
+
+"I heard it all! I heard it all!" cried Salome, as if speaking to herself
+and unconscious of the presence of a hearer. "I heard it all! I heard it
+all! Yea! my own senses were witnesses of my own dishonor and despair!"
+she groaned, as she threw her arms and her head violently forward upon
+the table.
+
+"My lady, for mercy's sake, my lady!" exclaimed the widow, standing up
+and bending over her.
+
+"Oh, what a hell! what a hell is this world we live in! And what devils
+walk to and fro upon the earth!--devils beautiful and deceitful as the
+fallen archangel himself!" moaned Salome, all unconscious of the words.
+
+"Ah, my dear lady, for goodness' sake, now don't talk so, that's a
+darling," coaxed the good woman.
+
+"DO NOT HEED ME! Go on! go on! Give me the death-blow at once,
+and have done with it!" cried Salome, lifting her blanched and writhen
+face and wringing hands, and then dashing them down again.
+
+The appalled visitor seemed stricken dumb.
+
+"Go on, go on," moaned the poor bride in a half smothered tone.
+
+"Lord help me! I have forgotten where I was! I wish it had befallen
+anybody but me to have this here hard duty to do! Where was I again? Ah!
+under the balcony. My lady, he told her to wait there for him until he
+came back. And he went away, and was gone an hour or more. Then he came
+back, and another man along of him. The night was so still, she heard
+them coming before they got in sight. And she heard them a talking in
+a low voice. And Mr. John Scott he seemed awful put out about something
+or other as the other man had done agin his orders. And he said, hoarse
+like, 'I wouldn't have had it done, no, not for all we have got by it!'
+And the other one said, 'It couldn't be helped. The old man squealed, and
+we had to squelch him.' Says Mr. John Scott: 'You've brought the curse of
+Cain upon me!' Says t'other one, 'It was chance. What's done is done,
+and can't be undone. What's past remedy is past regret. And what can't be
+cured must be endured. The old man squealed, and had to be squelched, or
+he'd have brought the house about our ears--'"
+
+"Oh, my father! my dear father! my poor, murdered father! And _you_!
+oh _you_! with the beauty and glory of the archangel, and the
+cruelty and deceit of the arch fiend, I can never look upon your face
+again--never! The sight would blast me like a flame of fire," raved
+Salome, throwing back her head, wringing her hands, and gasping as if
+for breath of life.
+
+"Ah, my dear lady, I know how hard it is! Pardon me, my lady, but I feel
+a mother's heart in my bosom for you. Try to be patient, sweet lady, and
+do not despair. You are so young yet, hardly more than a child you seem.
+You have a long life before you yet. And if you be good, as I am sure you
+will be, it will be a happy life, in which these early sorrows will pass
+away like morning mists," said the woman, soothingly.
+
+"Oh, never more for me will morning dawn! Eternal night rests on my soul!
+For myself I do not care! But, oh, my ruined archangel!" she wailed,
+burying her face in her hands.
+
+A dead silence fell between the two, until Salome, without changing her
+position, murmured;
+
+"Go on to the end; I will not interrupt you again. Oh, that I could wake
+from this night-mare!--or--expire in it! Go on and finish."
+
+"My lady, while the two men were speaking, they came in sight of the
+woman who was waiting under the balcony. Then Mr. John Scott says: 'Hush!
+my girl will hear us.' And they hushed, but it was too late--she had
+heard them. Mr. John Scott came up to her in a hurry, and put a small but
+heavy bag in her hand, saying that she must take it and take care of it,
+and never let it go out of her possession, and that she must hurry back
+to Lone Station and catch the midnight express train back to London, and
+that he himself would follow her, and join her at home the next night."
+
+"And all that, too, was proved--yes, proved by the mouths of two
+witnesses at the inquest, though they did not either of them recognize
+the man or the woman," moaned Salome.
+
+"Mrs. John Scott returned to my house about breakfast time the next
+morning, my lady, bringing that bag with her, which I noticed she
+wouldn't let out of her sight, no, nor even out of her hand, while I was
+near her. She wouldn't answer any of my questions, or give me any
+satisfaction then, even so far as to tell me where she had been, or if
+she had seen Mr. John Scott. So I knew nothing until the next morning,
+when I got the _Times_. I don't in general care about reading the
+papers myself, but opened it that morning to see if there was anything
+in it about the grand wedding at Lone. And oh! My lady, I saw how the
+wedding had been stopped on account of--on account--of what happened to
+Sir Lemuel Levison that night, my lady, as I don't like to talk of it,
+or even t think of it. But when Mrs. John Scott rang her bell that
+morning, my lady, I took up the paper with her cup of tea, which she
+always took in bed. And oh, my lady, when she came to know what had
+happened at Lone, she went off into the very worst hysterics I ever
+saw. I was struck all of a heap! I couldn't imagine why she should take
+it so awfully to heart as that. But that's neither here nor there. I know
+_now_ why she took it so to heart. In the midst of all the hubbub,
+Mr. John Scott returned. And she fairly flew at him! She said, among
+other bitter, things, that he would bring her to the gallows yet! And she
+charged him with what she had overheard. But somehow or other he laughed
+at her, and explained it all away to her satisfaction. He could always
+make her believe whatever he pleased. If he had told her the rainbow was
+only a few yards of striped Leamington ribbon, she would have believed
+him! He didn't stay more than an hour, and was off again in a hurry. We
+didn't see him again until the last of the week. It was the news of the
+coroner's verdict on the Lone murder case was telegraphed to London, when
+he came rushing in at the door and up the stairs like a mad-man. And in
+ten minutes he came rushing down stairs again and out of the street door
+like a madman, but he carried the heavy little bag off with him in his
+hand. And he has never been back since. But, from time to time, he wrote
+to her, and sent her money, and told her that business still kept him
+away. But, mind you, my lady, his letters were all without date or
+signature, and were drop letters, now from one London post-office, and
+now from another, so that she never knew where to address him.
+Not that she cared. As long as her money lasted she was, perfectly
+satisfied. She lived comfortably, and she amused herself, and often
+went to the play and took me with her, and all went merry again until
+yesterday, when, all on a sudden, the police made a descent on the house,
+and arrested Mrs. John Scott on a charge of being implicated in the
+robbery and murder at Castle Lone, and proceeded to search the house,
+where they found the watch-chain, snuff-box, and other valuable property
+belonging to the late Sir Lemuel Levison!"
+
+"Great Heaven! they found these things in the house rented by--by--"
+
+Salome could say no more, but ended with a groan that
+seemed to rend body and soul apart.
+
+"They found the stolen jewels there, my lady. My unhappy mistress denied
+all knowledge of them, but her words availed her nothing. She was carried
+off to prison that same night. This morning she was taken before the
+sitting magistrate, and examined, and remanded to prison, until she can
+be carried back to Scotland for trial. Neither she nor I know at what
+hour she may be removed, or by what train she may be taken to Scotland.
+She may be gone now, for aught I know."
+
+"Where is the poor creature now confined?" inquired Salome, in a dying
+voice.
+
+"In the Westminster police station-house, my lady, if she has not been
+already removed. But I must tell your ladyship--your grace, I mean--how I
+happen to come to you now. I was at the West End this morning, my lady,
+and in returning to the city I passed St. George's Church, Hanover
+Square, and I saw the pageant of your wedding. And when I got back to
+Westminster and looked into the station-house to see my unfortunate
+mistress, and to help her mind often her own troubles, I told her about
+the wedding of the Duke of Hereward with the heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at St. George's Church, my lady. She went off into the most
+terrible fit of excitement I ever seen her in yet, and I have seen her in
+some considerable ones, now I do assure your ladyship. And in her raving
+and tearing, my lady, I first heerd that Mr. John Scott and the young
+Marquis of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward was all one and the same
+gentleman, and he was the lawful husband of Rose Cameron. My lady, I
+thought her troubles had turned her head, and so I did not believe a word
+she said. And, my lady, I do not expect _you_ to believe _me_
+without proof, any more than I believed _her_."
+
+"Oh, Heaven of Heavens! I have the proof! I have the proof in the
+evidence of my own senses, too fatally discredited until now. But if you
+have further proof, give it me at once," groaned Salome.
+
+"Here is the marriage certificate. Look at that first, my lady, if you
+please," said Mrs. Brown, putting the document in her hands.
+
+Salome gazed at it with beclouded vision, but she saw that it was a
+genuine certificate of marriage between Archibald-Alexander-John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle, and, Rose Cameron, signed by James Smith, Rector of
+St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, and witnessed by John Thomas Price,
+Sexton, and Ann Gray, Pew-opener.
+
+"The man must have been mad! mad! to have done this, in the first
+instance, and then--done what he has just this morning," moaned Salome,
+as she returned the certificate to the woman.
+
+"My lady, he thought as he had got Rose Cameron lagged, he would never be
+found out. Here, my lady, is the first letter he wrote to her after they
+were married. I reckon it is a foolish love-letter enough, not worth
+reading; but what I want you to notice is, his handwriting, and the way
+he commences his letter--'My Darling Wife,' and the way he ends it--'Your
+Devoted Husband, Arondelle.'"
+
+"I recognize the handwriting, and I note the signature. I do not wish to
+read the letter," muttered Salome, waving it away.
+
+"Well, then, my lady, here is a photograph of his grace, given to his
+wife a few days before their marriage," said the widow, offering a small
+card.
+
+Salome took it, looked at it, and dropped it with a long, low wail of
+anguish.
+
+It was a duplicate of one presented to herself by the Duke of Hereward,
+from the same negative.
+
+Silence again fell between the lady and her visitor until it was broken
+by a rap at the door, and the voice of the maid without, saying:
+
+"Beg pardon, your grace, but Lady Belgrade desires me to say that you
+have but fifteen minutes to catch the train."
+
+"Very well," replied the young duchess; but her voice sounded strangely
+unlike her own.
+
+"Your ladyship will not go on your bridal tour?" said the visitor,
+imploringly.
+
+"No, I shall not go on a bridal tour. How can I?--I am not a bride. I am
+not a wife. I am not the Duchess of Hereward. I am just Salome Levison,
+as I was before that false marriage ceremony was performed over me! But
+do you be discreet. Say nothing below stairs of what has passed between
+us here," said Salome, speaking now with such amazing self-control that
+no one could have guessed the anguish and despair of her soul but for the
+marble whiteness and rigidity of her face.
+
+"Be sure I shall not say one word, my lady," answered Mrs. Brown.
+
+There was another low rap at the door, and again the voice of the maid
+was heard:
+
+"Please your grace, what shall I say to Lady Belgrade?"
+
+"Tell her ladyship that I am nearly ready," answered the young duchess.
+"And, Margaret," she added, "show this good woman out. And then, do not
+return here until I ring."
+
+The visitor courtesied and went to the door, where she was met by the
+maid, who conducted her down stairs.
+
+Salome locked and double-locked and bolted the doors leading from
+her apartments to the front corridor, and then she retreated to her
+dressing-room, alone with her terrible trial.
+
+Who can conceive the mortal agony suffered by that young, overburdened
+heart and overtasked brain.
+
+Who can estimate the force of the conflict that raged in her bosom,
+between her passion and her conscience? Between her love and her duty?
+Between what she knew of her worshiped husband, from daily association,
+and what she had just heard proved upon him by overwhelming testimony,
+confirmed also by the evidence of her own too long discredited senses!
+
+He--her Apollo--her ideal of all manly excellence--her archangel, as in
+the infatuation of her passion she had called him--he a bigamist, and an
+accomplice in the murder of her father!
+
+It was incredible! incomprehensible! maddening!
+
+Or surely it was some awful nightmare dream, from which she must soon
+awake.
+
+What should she do? How meet again the people below?
+
+She would not look upon _his_ face again. She could not. She felt
+that to do so would be perdition.
+
+In the darkness of her despair a great temptation assailed her.
+
+But we must leave her alone to wrestle with the demon, while we join the
+wedding-party below.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+VANISHED.
+
+
+After the withdrawal of the bride and her attendant from the
+breakfast-table, the bridegroom and his friends remained a few moments
+longer, and then joined Lady Belgrade and the bridesmaids in the
+drawing-room.
+
+They passed some fifteen or twenty minutes in pleasant social chat upon
+the event of the morning, the state of the weather, and the political,
+financial, or fashionable topics of the day.
+
+In half an hour they felt disposed to yawn, and some surreptitiously
+consulted their watches.
+
+Then one of the bridesmaids, at the request of Lady Belgrade, sat down to
+the piano and condescended to favor the company with a very fine wedding
+march.
+
+Three quarters of an hour passed, and then the Baron Von Levison--(Paul
+Levison, the head of the great Berlin branch of the banking-house of
+"Levison," had been ennobled in Germany, as his brother had been knighted
+in England)--Baron Von Levison then inquired of the bridegroom what train
+he intended to take.
+
+"The tidal train, which leaves London Bridge Station at three-thirty,"
+answered the duke.
+
+"Then your grace should leave here in fifteen minutes, if you wish to
+catch that train," said the baron.
+
+The bridegroom spoke aside to Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Had we not better send and see if Salome is ready? We have but little
+time to lose."
+
+"Yes," said her ladyship, who immediately rang the bell, and dispatched
+a message to the young duchess's dressing-maid.
+
+A few minutes elapsed, and an answer was returned to the effect that her
+grace would be ready in time to catch the train.
+
+The travelling carriage was at the door, and all the lighter luggage,
+such as dressing-bags, extra shawls and umbrellas, were put in it.
+
+And they waited full fifteen minutes, without seeing or hearing from the
+loitering bride.
+
+"I will go up to Salome myself," said Lady Belgrade, impatiently.
+
+"No, pray do not hurry her; if we miss this train we can take the next,
+and though we cannot catch the night-boat from Dover to Calais, we can
+stop at the 'Lord Warden' and cross the Channel to-morrow morning,"
+urged the duke.
+
+"At least I will send another message to her, and let her know that the
+time is more than up," said her ladyship.
+
+And again she rang the bell and sent a servant with a message to the
+lady's maid.
+
+Full ten minutes passed, and then Margaret, the maid, came herself to the
+drawing-room door, begged pardon for her intrusion, and asked to speak
+with Lady Belgrade.
+
+Lady Belgrade went out to her.
+
+"What is it? The time is up! This delay is perfectly disgraceful. They
+will never be able to catch the tidal train now--never!" said her
+ladyship in a displeased tone.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I am afraid something has happened," said the
+girl, in a frightened tone.
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired the dowager, sharply.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I went up and found all the doors leading from
+the corridor into her grace's suite of apartments locked fast. I knocked
+and called, at first softly, then loudly, but received no answer. I
+listened, my lady, but I heard no sound nor motion in the rooms."
+
+"I will go up myself," said Lady Belgrade, uneasily.
+
+And she hurried, as fast as her age and her size would permit, to the
+part of the house comprising the apartments of the duchess. Three doors
+opened from the corridor, relatively, into the boudoir, bed-room, and
+dressing-room, which were also connected by communicating doors within.
+
+Lady Belgrade rapped and called at each in succession, but in vain. There
+was no response.
+
+"She has fainted in her room! That is what has happened! This day of
+fatigue and excitement has been too much for her, in the delicate state
+of her health. Every one noticed how ill she looked when she came up
+stairs. Margaret, there is a back door, you are aware, leading from your
+lady's bath-room down to the flower garden. Go around and go up the back
+stairs and see if that door is open--if so, enter the rooms by it and
+open this," said her ladyship, never ceasing, while she talked, to rap
+at and shake the door at which she stood.
+
+Margaret flew to obey, and made such good haste, that in about two
+minutes she was heard within the rooms hurrying to open the closed door.
+In two seconds bolts were withdrawn, keys turned, and the door was
+opened.
+
+"How is she?" quickly demanded the dowager, as she stepped into the
+dressing-room.
+
+"My lady, I haven't seen her grace. If you please, perhaps she is in her
+chamber," replied the maid.
+
+Lady Belgrade bustled into the bed-room, looking all around for the
+bride, then into the boudoir, calling on her name.
+
+"Salome! Salome, my dear! Where are you?" No answer; all in the luxurious
+rooms still and silent as the grave.
+
+"This is very strange! She _may_ be in the garden," said her
+ladyship, passing quickly into the bath-room, and descending the stairs
+that led directly into a small flower-garden enclosed by high walls.
+
+The garden was now dead and sear in the late October frost. No sign of
+the missing girl was there.
+
+"This is very strange! Can she have gone down into the drawing-room,
+after all? I will see. There is no possibility of catching the tidal
+train now. It is already three o'clock; the train leaves London Bridge
+Station at three thirty, and it is a good hour's ride from Kensington!"
+said Lady Belgrade, speaking more to herself than to her attendant, as
+she came out of the rooms.
+
+"Shall I go through the house and inquire if any one has seen her grace,
+my lady?" respectfully suggested Margaret.
+
+"Yes; but first shut and lock that garden door of your lady's bath-room.
+It is not safe to leave it open," replied Lady Belgrade, as she again
+descended the stairs.
+
+As she entered the drawing-room, the young Duke of Hereward came to meet
+her.
+
+"I hope nothing is the matter. Salome was not looking strong this
+morning. And this delay? I trust that she is well?" he said, in an
+anxious, inquiring tone.
+
+"Salome is not in her apartments. I have sent a servant to seek her
+through the house. Her delay has made you miss the train, your grace,"
+said Lady Belgrade, in visible annoyance.
+
+"That does not much matter, so that the delay has not been caused by her
+indisposition," said the young duke, earnestly.
+
+"No indisposition could possibly excuse such eccentricity of conduct at
+such a time. Salome is moving somewhere about the house, according to her
+crazy custom," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I really cannot hear that sweet girl so cruelly maligned, even by her
+aunt," said the duke, with a deprecating smile.
+
+As they spoke, the Baron Von Levison appeared and said:
+
+"I should have been very glad to have seen you off, duke, and to have
+thrown a metaphorical old shoe after you; but your bride seems to have
+taken so long to tie her bonnet strings, that she has made you miss your
+train. And now you can't go until the night express, and I really can't
+wait to see you off by that. I have an appointment at the Bank of England
+at four. God bless you, my dear duke. Make my adieux to my niece, and
+tell her that if the men of her family had been as unpunctual as the
+women seem to be, they never would have established banks all over
+Europe."
+
+And with a hearty shake of the bridegroom's hand, and a deep bow to Lady
+Belgrade, the Baron Von Levison took leave.
+
+His example was followed by the bishop and the rector, who now came up
+and expressed regret at the inconvenience the bridegroom would experience
+by having missed his train, but agreed that it was much better to know
+that fact before starting for it, and having the long drive to London
+Bridge Station and back again for nothing. And they extolled the comfort
+of the night express, and the elegance of accommodations to be found at
+the Lord Warden Hotel. And upon the whole, they concluded that his grace
+had not missed much, after all, in missing the "tidal."
+
+Then again they wished much happiness to attend the married life of the
+young couple, and so bade adieux and departed.
+
+There now remained of the wedding guests only the two bridesmaids and the
+groomsmen.
+
+These were grouped near one of the bay-windows, and engaged in a subdued
+conversation.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade still stood near the door, waiting
+for news of the lingering bride.
+
+To them, at length, came the maid, Margaret, with pallid face and
+frightened air.
+
+"If you please, my lady, we have searched all over the house and inquired
+of everybody in it. But no one has seen her grace, nor can she be found."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE LOST LADY OF LONE.
+
+
+"Cannot be found? Whatever do you mean, girl? You cannot mean to say
+that the Duchess of Hereward is not in this house?" demanded Lady
+Belgrade, in amazement.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady; but we have made a thorough search of the
+premises, without being able to find her grace," respectfully answered
+the maid.
+
+"Oh, but this is ridiculous! The duchess is in some of the rooms; she
+must be! Go and renew your search, and tell her grace, when you find her,
+that she has made the duke miss the tidal train; but that we are waiting
+for her here," commanded the lady.
+
+The girl went, very submissively, on her errand.
+
+Lady Belgrade dropped wearily into her chair, muttering:
+
+"I do think servants are so idiotic. They can't find her because she
+happens to be out of her own room. I would go and hunt her up myself, but
+really the fatigue of this day has been too much for me."
+
+The Duke of Hereward did not reply. He walked restlessly up and down the
+floor, filled with a vague uneasiness, for which he could not account to
+himself--for surely, he reflected, Salome must be in the house somewhere;
+it could not possibly be otherwise; and there were a dozen simple reasons
+why she might be missed for a few minutes; doubtless she would soon
+appear, and smile at their impatience.
+
+Ay, but the minutes were fast growing into hours, and Salome did not
+re-appear.
+
+The maid returned once more from her fruitless search.
+
+"Indeed, I beg your pardon, my lady; but we cannot find her grace, either
+in the house or in the garden," she said, with a very solemn courtesy.
+
+"Now this is really beyond endurance! I suppose I must go and look for
+her myself," answered Lady Belgrade, rising in displeasure.
+
+"Will you let me accompany your ladyship?" gravely inquired the duke.
+
+Lady Belgrade hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
+
+"Well,--yes, you may come. We will go down stairs first."
+
+They descended to the first floor, and went through the dining-room,
+sitting-room, library and little parlors; but without finding her they
+sought.
+
+Then they ascended to the next floor and went through the
+picture-gallery, the music-room, the dancing-saloon, the hall, and
+lastly, the three drawing-rooms, in case that she might have returned
+there while they were absent. But their search was still without success.
+
+Then they ascended to the upper floors, and looked all through the
+handsome suites of private apartments, but still without discovering
+a trace of the missing bride.
+
+And so all over the house, from basement to attic, and from central hall
+to garden wall, they went searching in vain for the lost one.
+
+The dowager and the duke returned to the drawing-room and looked each
+other in the face.
+
+The dowager was stupefied with bewilderment. The duke was pale with
+anxiety.
+
+The mystery was growing serious and alarming.
+
+"What do you think of it, Lady Belgrade?" inquired the duke.
+
+"I cannot think at all. I am at my wit's end," answered the lady. "What
+do _you_ think?" she inquired, after a moment's pause.
+
+"I think--that we had better call the servants up, one at a time, and put
+them separately through a strict examination," answered the duke.
+
+Lady Belgrade rang the bell.
+
+A footman appeared in answer to it.
+
+"Examine him first, your grace," said the lady.
+
+The duke put the young man through a strict catechism, without
+satisfactory results. John was the hall footman, whose business it was
+to answer the street-door bell and announce visitors. And he assured
+his grace that no one had entered or left the house that morning, to
+_his_ knowledge, except the wedding party and their attendants.
+
+The hall-porter was next summoned and examined, and his report was found
+to correspond exactly to that of the footman.
+
+The butler was sent for and questioned, but could throw no light on the
+mystery of the lady's disappearance.
+
+The pantry footman was next called up. His duty was to wait on the butler
+and attend the servants' door, to take in provisions delivered there. And
+the first plausible clue to the mystery of Salome's disappearance was
+received from him.
+
+"Yes, my lady," he said, "there have been a stranger to the servants'
+door this morning--an elderly old widow woman, my lady, dressed in black,
+and werry much in earnest about seeing her grace; would take no denial,
+my lady, on no account; which compelled me to go to her grace's
+lady's-maid, Miss Watson, my lady, and send a message to her grace,"
+said the young footman.
+
+"Did the duchess see this strange visitor?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Miss Watson come down and seen her first, your grace, and told her how
+she mustn't disturb the duchess. But the visitor was so dead set on
+seeing her grace, and used such strong language about it, that at last
+Miss Watson took up her message and in a few minutes come back and took
+up the visitor."
+
+"She did? And what next?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Please, my lady, there was nothing next. In about an hour Miss Margaret
+brought the elderly old lady down, and I showed her out of the servants'
+door."
+
+"Did she leave the house alone?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Yes, your grace, just as she came, alone."
+
+"Go and tell Margaret Watson to come here," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+The man bowed and retired.
+
+In a few minutes the girl made her appearance again.
+
+"How is it, Watson, that you did not mention the visitor you showed up
+into your lady's room this morning?" inquired Lady Belgrade, in a severe
+tone.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I did not think the visitor signified anything,"
+meekly answered the maid.
+
+"How could you tell _what_ signified at a time like this?"
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady; but it was the time itself that made me forget
+the visitor."
+
+"Who was she? What time did she come? What did she want?" sharply
+demanded the lady.
+
+"Please, my lady, she said her name was Smith, or Jones, or some such
+common name as that. I think it was Jones, my lady. And she lived on
+Westminster Road--or it might have been Blackfriars Road. Least-ways
+it was one of those roads leading to a bridge because I remember it made
+me think of the river."
+
+"Extremely satisfactory! At what hour did this Mrs. Smith or Jones, from
+Westminster or Blackfriars, come?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Just as her grace went up to her room to change her dress. She had just
+finished changing it when the woman was admitted."
+
+"And now! what did the woman want of the duchess?"
+
+"I do not know, my lady. Her business was with her grace alone. And she
+requested to have me sent out of the room. I did not see the woman again,
+until her grace called me to show her, the woman, out again."
+
+"And you did so?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. And I have not seen the woman since. And--I have not seen
+her grace since, either, my lady."
+
+"You may go now," answered Lady Belgrade.
+
+And the girl withdrew.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade were once more left alone
+together.
+
+Again their eyes met in anxious scrutiny.
+
+"What do you think now, Duke?" inquired her ladyship.
+
+"I think the disappearance of the duchess is connected with the visit of
+that strange woman. She may have been an unfortunate beggar, who, with
+some story of extreme distress, so worked upon Salome's sympathies as to
+draw her away from home, to see for herself, and give relief to the
+sufferers. Or--I shudder to think of it--she may have been a thief, or
+the companion of thieves, and with just such a story, decoyed the duchess
+out for purposes of plunder. This does not certainly seem to be a
+probable theory of the disappearance, but it does really seem the only
+possible one," concluded the duke, in a grave voice.
+
+And though he spoke calmly, his soul was shaken with a terrible anxiety
+that every moment now increased.
+
+"But is it at all likely that Salome, even with all her excessive
+benevolence, could have been induced to leave her home at such a time
+as this, even at the most distressing call of charity? Would she not
+have given money and sent a servant?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Under normal conditions she would have done as you say. But remember,
+dear madam, that Salome is not in a normal condition. Remember that it is
+but three months since she suffered an almost fatal nervous shock in the
+discovery of her father's murdered body on her own wedding morning.
+Remember that it is scarcely six weeks since her recovery from the nearly
+fatal brain fever that followed--if indeed she has ever fully recovered.
+_I_ do not believe that she has, or that she will until I shall have
+taken her abroad, when total change of scene, with time and distance, may
+restore her," sighed the duke.
+
+"I thought she was looking very well for the last few weeks," said Lady
+Belgrade.
+
+"Yes, until within the last few days, in which she seems to have
+suffered a relapse, easily accounted for, I think, by the association
+of ideas. The near approach of her wedding day brought vividly back to
+her mind the tragic events of her first appointed wedding morning, and
+caused the illness that has been noticed by all our friends this day. The
+excitement of the occasion has augmented this illness. Salome has been
+suffering very much all day. Every one noticed it, although, with the
+self-possession of a gentlewoman, she went calmly through the ceremonies
+at the church, and through the breakfast here. But I think she must
+have broken down in her room, and while in that state of nervous
+prostration she must have become an easy dupe to that beggar, or thief,
+whichever her strange visitor may have been," said the duke; and while
+he spoke so calmly on such an anxious and exciting subject, he, too,
+under circumstances of extreme trial and suspense, exhibited the
+self-possession and self-control which is the birthright of the true
+gentleman no less than of the true gentlewoman.
+
+"It may be as you think. It would be no use to question the servants
+further. They know no more than we do. We can do nothing more now but
+wait, with what patience we may, for the return of that eccentric girl,"
+said Lady Belgrade, with a deep sigh, as she settled herself down in her
+chair.
+
+Another hour passed--an hour of enforced inactivity, yet of unspeakable
+anxiety. Three hours had now elapsed since the mysterious disappearance
+of the bride; and yet no news of her came.
+
+"She does not return! This grows insupportable!" exclaimed Lady Belgrade,
+at length, losing all patience, and starting up from her chair.
+
+"She _may_ be detained by the sick bed, or the death bed, of some
+sufferer who has sent for her," replied the duke, huskily, trying to hope
+against hope.
+
+"As if she would so absent herself on her wedding day, on the eve of her
+wedding tour!" exclaimed the lady, beginning to walk the floor in a
+thoroughly exasperated state of mind.
+
+"Of course she would not, in her normal mental condition; but, as I said
+before--"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know what you said before. You insinuated that Salome may be
+insane from the latent effects of her recent brain fever, developed by
+the excitement of the last few days. And, Heaven knows, you may be right!
+It looks like it! Mysteriously gone off on her wedding day, in the
+interim between the wedding breakfast and the wedding tour! Gone off
+alone, no one knows where, without having left an explanation or a
+message for any one. What can have taken her out? Where can she be? Why
+don't she return? And night coming on fast. If she does not return within
+half an hour, you will miss the next train also, Duke," exclaimed Lady
+Belgrade, pausing in her restless walk, and throwing herself heavily into
+her chair again.
+
+"Perhaps," said the Duke, in great perplexity, "we had better have the
+lady's maid up again, and question her more strictly in regard to the
+strange visitor's name and address; for I feel certain that the
+disappearance of the duchess is immediately connected with the visit of
+that woman. If we can, by judicious questions, so stimulate the memory of
+the girl as to obtain accurate information about the name and residence,
+we can send and make inquiries."
+
+For all answer, Lady Belgrade arose and rung the bell for about the
+twentieth time that afternoon.
+
+And Margaret Watson was again called to the drawing-room and questioned.
+
+"Indeed, if you please, my lady, I am very sorry. I would give anything
+in the world if I could only remember exactly what the old person's name
+was, and where she lived. But indeed, my lady, what with being very
+much engaged with waiting on her grace, and packing up the last little
+things for the journey, and getting together the dressing-bags and such
+like, and having of my mind on them and not on the woman, and no ways
+expecting anything like this to happen, I wasn't that interested in the
+visitor to tax my memory with her affairs. But I know her name was a
+common one, like Smith or Jones, and I _think_ it was Jones. And I
+know she said she lived on Westminster Road or Blackfriars Road, or some
+other road leading over a bridge, which I remember because it made me
+think about the river. But I couldn't tell which," said the girl in
+answer to the cross-questioning.
+
+"And is that all you can tell us?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady, but that is all I can remember," meekly replied
+the girl.
+
+"Then you might as well remember nothing. You can go!" said Lady
+Belgrade, in deep displeasure.
+
+The girl retired, a little crestfallen.
+
+"Is there any other fool you would like to have called up and
+cross-examined, Duke?" sarcastically inquired the lady.
+
+The duke made a gesture of negation. And the lady relapsed into painful
+silence.
+
+And now another weary, weary hour crept by without bringing news of the
+lost one.
+
+The watchers seemed to "possess their souls" in patience, if not "in
+peace." There was really nothing to be done but to wait. There was no
+place where inquiries could be made. At this time of the year nearly all
+the fashionable world of London was out of town. Nor at any time had
+Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone. Nor would
+it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help
+to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible
+anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring
+forth.
+
+But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine
+continues, "in well regulated families," through the most revolutionary
+sort of domestic troubles.
+
+The first dinner bell had rung; but neither of the anxious watchers had
+even heard it.
+
+The groom of the chambers came in and lighted the gas in the
+drawing-rooms, and retired in silence.
+
+Still the watchers sat waiting in a state of intense, repressed
+excitement.
+
+The second dinner bell rang. And almost immediately the butler appeared
+at the door, and announced, with his formula:
+
+"My lady is served," and then:
+
+"Will your grace join me at dinner?" courteously inquired Lady Belgrade,
+thinking at the same time of the unparalleled circumstance of the
+bridegroom dining without his bride upon his wedding day--"Will your
+grace join me at dinner?" she repeated, perceiving that he had not heard,
+or at least had not answered her question.
+
+"I beg pardon. Pray, excuse me, your ladyship. I am really not equal--"
+
+"I see! I see! Nor am I equal to going through what, at best, would be
+a mere form," said her ladyship. Then turning toward the waiting butler,
+she said--"Remove the service, Sillery. We shall not dine to-day."
+
+The man bowed and withdrew.
+
+And the two watchers, whose anxiety was fast growing into insupportable
+anguish, waited still, for still, as yet, they could do nothing else but
+wait and control themselves.
+
+"Your grace has missed the last train," said Lady Belgrade, at length, as
+the little cuckoo clock on the mantel shelf struck ten.
+
+"Yes the night express leaves London Bridge station for Dover at
+ten-thirty, and it is a full hour's drive from Kensington," replied the
+duke.
+
+And both secretly thanked fortune that the wedding guests had all
+departed before the bride's mysterious absence from the house at such
+a time had become known; and they knew not but that "the happy pair
+had left by the tidal train for Dover, _en route_ for their
+continental tour,"--as per wedding programme. And both silently hoped
+that the household servants would not talk.
+
+The time crept wearily on. The clock struck eleven.
+
+"I cannot endure this frightful suspense one moment longer! I never heard
+of such a case in all the days of my life! A bride to vanish away on her
+bridal day! Duke of Hereward you are her husband! WHAT IS TO BE
+DONE?" exclaimed Lady Belgrade, starting up from her seat and giving
+full sway to all the repressed excitement of the last few hours.
+
+"My dear lady," said the duke, controlling his own emotions by a strong
+effort of will, and speaking with a calmness he did not feel--"My dear
+lady, the first thing you should do, should be to command yourself.
+Listen to me, dear Lady Belgrade. I have waited here in constrained
+quietness, hoping for our Salome's return from moment to moment, and
+fearing to expose her to gossip by any indiscreet haste in seeking her
+abroad. But I can wait no longer. I must commence the search abroad at
+once. I shall go immediately to a skillful detective, whom I know from
+reputation, and put the case in his hands. What seems to us so alarming
+and incomprehensible, may be to a man of his experience simple and clear
+enough. We are too near the fact to see it truly in its proper light.
+This man I understand to be faithful and discreet, one who may be
+intrusted with the investigation of the most delicate affairs. I will
+employ him immediately, in the confidence that no publicity will be given
+to this mystery. In the meanwhile, my dear Lady Belgrade, I counsel you
+to call the household servants all together. Do not inform them of the
+nature of my errand out, but caution them to silence and discretion as to
+the absence of their lady. You will allow me to confide this trust to
+you?"
+
+"Assuredly, Duke! And let me tell you that these servants are all so
+idolatrously devoted to their mistress, that they would never breathe, or
+suffer to be breathed in their presence, one syllable that could, in the
+remotest degree, reflect upon her dignity," said the lady.
+
+"I will return within an hour, madam," replied the duke, as he bowed and
+left the room.
+
+He went directly to the nearest police station at Church Court,
+Kensington.
+
+He asked to see Detective Collinson of the force.
+
+Fortunately, Detective Collinson was at the office, and soon made his
+appearance.
+
+The duke asked for a private interview.
+
+The detective invited him to sit down in an empty side-room.
+
+There the duke put the case of the missing lady in his hands, giving him
+all the circumstances supposed to be connected with her disappearance.
+
+The detective exhibited not the slightest surprise at the hearing of this
+unprecedented story, nor did he express any opinion. Detectives never are
+surprised at anything that may happen at any time to anybody, nor have
+they ever any opinions to venture in advance.
+
+Mr. Collinson said he would take the case and give it his undivided
+attention, but would promise nothing else.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, obliged to be contented with this answer, arose to
+leave the room. In passing out he met the chief, who had not been present
+when he first entered.
+
+"Oh, I beg your grace's pardon, but I consider this meeting very
+fortunate," said that officer, respectfully touching his hat.
+
+"Upon what ground?" gravely inquired the duke.
+
+"Your grace is wanted as a witness for the Crown, on the trial of John
+Potts and Rose Cameron, charged with the murder of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison. The girl, who was arrested at a house in Westminster Road a few
+days ago, has been sent down to Scotland, and the trial will commence, on
+the day after to-morrow, at the Assizes now open at Bannff. But,
+according to the newspaper report, we thought your grace to be now on
+your way to Paris, and we were just about to dispatch a special messenger
+to you. So your grace will perceive how fortunate this meeting turns out
+to be."
+
+"Yes, I perceive," said the duke, dryly.
+
+"And your grace will not be inconvenienced, I hope," said the chief, as
+he bowed and placed a folded paper in the duke's hand.
+
+It was a subpoena commanding the recipient, under certain pains and
+penalties, to render himself at the Town Hall of Bannff as a witness for
+the Crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts, alias Abraham Peters,
+and Rose Cameron.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS
+
+
+When the emissary of Rose Cameron had gone, the young Duchess of
+Hereward, in a whirlwind of long-repressed excitement, slammed, locked
+and bolted all the doors leading from her apartments into the hall, and
+then fled into her dressing-room and cast herself head long down upon the
+floor in the collapse of utter, infinite despair--despair in all its
+depth of darkness, without its benumbing calmness!
+
+Her soul was shaken by a tempest of warring passions! Amazement,
+indignation, grief, horror, raged through her agonized bosom!
+
+It was well that no human eye beheld her in this deep degradation of woe!
+For in the madness of her anguish, she rolled on the floor, and tore the
+clothing from her shoulders and the dark hair from her head! She uttered
+such groans and cries as are seldom heard on this earth--such as perhaps
+fill the murky atmosphere of hell. She impiously called on Heaven to
+strike her dead as she lay! She was indeed on the very brink of raving
+insanity.
+
+There was but one thought that held her reason on its throne--the
+necessity of immediate flight and escape--escape from the man whom she
+had just vowed at the altar to love, honor, and obey until death--the man
+whom she had worshiped as an archangel!
+
+The man?--the fiend, rather!
+
+What had she just now found him proved to be?
+
+Yes _proved_ to be, beyond the merciful possibility of a saving
+doubt!--proved to be by the most overwhelming and convicting testimony,
+corroborated also by the evidence of her own eyes and ears, too long
+discredited for his sake.
+
+Her eyes had seen him lurking stealthily in the dark hall, near her
+father's bedroom door, late on the night of that father's murder. She had
+spoken to him, and at the sound of her voice he had shrunk silently out
+of sight.
+
+Yet she had discredited the evidence of her own eyes, and persuaded
+herself that she had been the subject of an optical illusion.
+
+Her ears had heard a part of his midnight conversation with his female
+confederate under the balcony--had heard his prediction that something
+would happen that night to prevent the marriage that he promised her
+should never take place--a prediction so awfully fulfilled in the morning
+by the discovery of the dead body of her murdered father! She had fainted
+at the sound of his voice, uttering such treacherous and cruel words;
+yet on her return to consciousness she had disbelieved the evidence of
+her own ears, and convinced herself that she had been the victim of a
+nightmare dream!
+
+Yes! she had disallowed the direct evidence of her own senses rather
+than believe such diabolical wickedness of her idol! But now the
+evidence of her own eyes and ears was corroborated by the most
+complete and convincing testimony--the conversation under the balcony,
+as reported by Rose Cameron's messenger, corresponded exactly with the
+conversation overheard by herself at the time and place it was said to
+have occurred, but which she dismissed from her mind as an evil dream!
+This corroborating testimony proved it to be an atrocious reality! And
+the man to whom she had given her hand that morning was an accomplice
+in the murder of her father! unintentionally perhaps, for the witness
+testified to the horror he expressed on learning from his confederate
+that a murder had been committed: "The old man squealed and we had to
+squelch him!" How she shuddered at the memory of these horrible words!
+
+But this man was not her husband, after all! Although a marriage ceremony
+had been performed between them by a bishop, he was not her husband, but
+the husband of Rose Cameron. She had overwhelming and convincing proof of
+this also!
+
+The letters written to Rose Cameron, calling her his dear wife, and
+signing himself her devoted husband "Arondelle," were in the handwriting
+of the Duke of Hereward! She could have sworn to that handwriting,
+under any circumstances.
+
+And the photograph shown as the likeness of Rose Cameron's husband, was a
+duplicate of one in her own possession, given her by the duke himself.
+
+And, above all, the certificate of marriage between them, signed by the
+officiating clergyman and witnessed by the officers of the church, was
+unquestionably genuine, regular, and legal!
+
+No! there was not one merciful doubt to found a hope of his innocence
+upon! It was amazing, stupefying, annihilating, but it was true. Her idol
+was a fiend, glorious in personal beauty, diabolical in spirit, as the
+fallen archangel Lucifer, Son of the Morning!
+
+He was deeply, atrociously, insanely guilty!
+
+Yes, insanely! for how could he have acted so recklessly, as well as so
+criminally, if he had not been insane? Would he not have known that swift
+discovery and disgrace were sure to follow the almost open commission
+of such base crimes? And if no feeling of honor or conscience could have
+deterred him, would not the fear of certain consequences have done so?
+
+_His_ insanity was _her_ only rational theory of the case! But
+his supposed insanity did not vindicate him to her pure and just mind.
+For he was not an insane _man_ so much as an insane devil! He had
+only been mad in his recklessness, not in his crimes.
+
+Then quickly through her storm-tossed soul passed the thought that both
+sacred and profane history recorded instances of crimes committed by
+righteous and honorable men. Amazing truth! She remembered the piety and
+the _sin_ of David, when he stole the wife of Uriah, and betrayed
+that loyal servant and brave soldier to a treacherous and bloody death!
+She remembered the loyalty and the _treason_ of that chivalrous
+young Scottish prince who headed a fratricidal rebellion, in which his
+father and his king was slain, and who, as James IV., lived a life of
+remorse and penance, until, in his turn, he was slain on the fatal field
+of Flodden. She thought of these, and other instances, in which it might
+seem as if an angel and a devil lived together, animating one man's body.
+This would, of course, produce inconsistency of conduct, insanity of
+mind.
+
+But among all the harrowing thoughts that hurried through her tortured
+mind, one feeling was predominant--the necessity of instant flight. There
+was no other cause for her to pursue. The bridal train was awaiting her
+down stairs. Soon they would send to summon her again. How could she meet
+them? What could she say to them? How could she ever look upon the face
+of the Duke of Hereward and _live_?
+
+She must fly at once. No, there was no time to write a note and leave it
+pinned on her dressing-table cushion. Besides, what could she say in her
+note? Nothing; or nothing that she would say.
+
+She must go and make no sign. She forced herself to rise from the floor
+and commence hurried preparations for immediate flight.
+
+In all the tumult of her soul, some intuition guided her through her
+hasty arrangements to take the most effectual means to elude pursuit and
+baffle discovery.
+
+She took off her handsome mourning dress of black silk and crape that she
+had put on to travel in, and she packed it, with the black felt hat,
+vail, sack and gloves that belonged to the suit, in one of her trunks,
+which she carefully locked.
+
+Then from some receptacle of her left-off colored dresses, she selected
+a dark-gray silk suit, with sack, hat, vail and gloves to match. And in
+that she dressed herself.
+
+Then she reflected.
+
+"They will think that I went away in my mourning dress, which they will
+miss. If they describe me, they will describe a lady in deep mourning. If
+any one comes in pursuit, they will look for a young woman in black,
+and pass me by, because I shall wear gray and keep my vail down."
+
+Then she concealed in her bosom all the cash she had in hand, being about
+fifteen hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, which she had previously
+drawn out for her own private uses during her bridal tour. This she
+thought would go far to meet the unknown expenses of her future. She also
+took her diamonds. She might have to sell them, she thought, for support.
+
+Then, when she was quite ready, dressed in the dark gray suit, sack, hat,
+vail and gloves, and with a small valise in her hand, she went into her
+bath-room, and to the back door at the head of the private stairs leading
+down to the little garden of roses that was her own favorite bower.
+
+She watched for a few seconds, to be sure that no one was in sight, and
+then she slipped swiftly down the stairs and crossed the garden to a
+narrow back door, which she quickly opened and passed through, shutting
+it after her. It closed with a spring and cut off her re-entrance there,
+even if she had been disposed to turn back.
+
+But she was not.
+
+She glanced nervously up and down the lane at the back of the garden
+wall, but saw no one there.
+
+Then she walked rapidly away, and turned into a narrow street, keeping
+her gray vail doubled over her face all the time.
+
+She purposely lost herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, getting
+farther and farther from her home, before she ventured near a cab-stand.
+
+At length she hailed a closed cab, engaged it, entered it, closed all
+the blinds, and directed the driver to take her to the Brighton, Dover,
+and South Coast Railway Station at London Bridge, and promised him a
+half-sovereign if he would catch the next train.
+
+Yes! after a few moments of rapid reflection, as to whither she would go,
+she resolved to leave London by that very same tidal-train on which she
+and her husband were to have commenced their bridal tour, for there, of
+all places, she felt that she would be safest from pursuit; that, of all
+directions, would be the last in which they would think of seeking her!
+
+And while they should be waiting and watching for her at Elmhurst House,
+she would be speeding towards the sea coast, and by the time they should
+discover her flight, she would be on the Channel, _en voyage_ for
+Calais.
+
+Beyond this she had no settled plan of action. She did not know where she
+would go, or what she should do, on reaching France.
+
+She only longed, with breathless anxiety, to fly from England, from the
+Duke of Hereward, and all the horrors connected with him. She felt that
+she was not his wife, could never have been his wife, and that the
+mockery of a marriage ceremony, which had been performed for them by the
+Bishop of London that morning, at St. George's Hanover Square, had made
+the duke a felon and not a husband!
+
+If she should remain in England she might even be called upon, in the
+course of events, to take a part in his prosecution. And guilty as she
+believed him to be, she could not bring herself to do that!
+
+No! she must fly from England and conceal herself on the Continent!
+
+But where?
+
+She knew not as yet!
+
+Her mind was in a fever of excitement when she reached London Bridge.
+
+She paid and discharged her cab, giving the driver the promised half
+sovereign for catching the train.
+
+Then, with her thick vail folded twice over her pale face, and her little
+valise in her hand, she went into the station, made her way to the office
+and bought a first-class ticket.
+
+Then she went to the train, and stopping before one of the first
+carriages called a guard to unlock the door and let her enter.
+
+"Oh, you can't have a seat in this compartment, Miss," said a somewhat
+garrulous old guard, coming up to her. "This whole carriage is reserved
+for a wedding party--the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, as were married
+this morning, and their graces' retinue, which they are expected to
+arrive every minute, Miss. But you can have a seat in _this_ one,
+Miss. It is every bit as good as the other," concluded the old man,
+leading the way to a lady's carriage some yards in advance.
+
+"Reserved for a wedding party--reserved for the Duke and Duchess of
+Hereward and their retinue!"
+
+How her heart fainted, almost unto death, with a new sense of infinite
+disappointment and regret at what might have been and what was! Reserved
+for the Duke and Duchess of Hereward! Ah, Heaven!
+
+"Here you are, Miss!" said the guard, opening the door of an empty
+carriage.
+
+"How long will it be before the train starts?" inquired the fugitive in
+a low voice.
+
+The guard looked at his big silver watch and answered:
+
+"Time'll be up in three minutes, Miss."
+
+"But if the--the--wedding party should not arrive before that?"
+hesitatingly inquired Salome.
+
+"Train starts all the same, Miss! Can't even wait for dukes and
+duchesses. 'Gin the law!" answered the old guard, as he touched his
+hat and closed and locked the door.
+
+Salome sank back in her deeply-cushioned seat, thankful, at least, that
+she was alone in the carriage.
+
+And in three minutes the tidal train started.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+SALOME'S REFUGE.
+
+
+Salome was scarcely sane. Married that morning, with the approval and
+congratulations of all her friends, by one of the most venerable fathers
+of the church, to one of the most distinguished young noblemen in the
+peerage, who was also the sole master of her heart, and--
+
+Flying from her bridegroom this afternoon as from her worst and most
+hated enemy!
+
+She could not realize her situation at all.
+
+All seemed a horrible nightmare dream, from which she was powerless to
+arouse herself; in which she was compelled to act a painful part, until
+some merciful influence from without should awaken and deliver her!
+
+In this dream she was whirled onward toward the South Coast, on that
+clear, autumnal afternoon.
+
+In this dream she reached Dover, and got out at the station amid all the
+confusion attending the arrival of the tidal train, and the babel of
+voices from cabmen, porters, hotel runners, and such, shouting their
+offers of:
+
+"Carriage, sir!"
+
+"Carriage, ma'am!"
+
+"Steamboat!"
+
+"Calais steamer!"
+
+"Lord Warden's!"
+
+"Victoria!" and so forth.
+
+Acting instinctively and mechanically, she made her way to the steamboat.
+
+There seemed to be an unusually large number of people going across.
+
+She saw no one among the passengers, whom she recognized; but still she
+kept her vail folded twice across her face, as she passed to a settee on
+deck.
+
+She was scarcely seated before the boat left the pier.
+
+Wind and tide was against her, and the passage promised to be a slow and
+rough one.
+
+And soon indeed the steamer began to roll and toss amid the short, crisp
+waves of Dover Straits, now whipped to a froth by wind against tide.
+
+Most of the passengers succumbed and went below.
+
+Now, whether intense mental pre-occupation be an antidote to
+sea-sickness, we cannot tell. But it is certain that Salome did not
+suffer from the violent motion of the boat. She was indeed scarcely
+conscious of it.
+
+She sat upon the deck, wrapped in a large shepherd's plaid shawl, with
+her gray vail thickly folded over her face, which was turned toward the
+west, where the setting sun was sinking below the ocean horizon, and
+drawing down after him a long train of glory from over the troubled
+waters.
+
+But it is doubtful if Salome even saw this, or knew what hour, what
+season it was!
+
+A rough night followed. Wrapped in her shawl, absorbed in her dream,
+Salome remained on deck, unaffected by the weather, and indifferent to
+its consequences, although more than once the captain approached and
+kindly advised her to go below.
+
+It was after midnight when the boat reached her pier at Calais.
+
+In the same dream Salome left her seat and landed among the sea-sick
+crowd.
+
+In the same dream she allowed the custom-house officers to tumble out the
+contents of her little valise, and satisfied, without cavil, all their
+demands, and answered without hesitation all the questions put to her by
+the officials.
+
+In the same dream she made her way to a carriage on the railway train
+just about to start for Paris.
+
+There were three other occupants of the carriage, which was but dimly
+lighted by two oil lamps. Salome did not look toward them, but doubled
+her vail still more closely over her face as she sat down in a corner and
+turned toward the window, on the left side of her seat.
+
+The night was so dark that she could see but little, as the train
+flashed past what seemed to be but the black shadows of trees, fields,
+farm-houses, groves, villages, and lonely chateaux.
+
+A weird midnight journey, through a strange land to an unknown bourne.
+
+Occasionally she stole a glance through her thick vail toward her three
+fellow passengers, who sat opposite to her, on the back seat--three
+silent, black-shrouded figures who sat mute and motionless as watchers
+of the dead.
+
+Very terrifying, but very appropriate figures to take part in her
+nightmare dream.
+
+She turned her eyes away from those silent, shrouded, mysterious figures,
+and prayed to awake.
+
+She could not yet.
+
+But as she peered out through the darkness of the night, and saw the
+black shadows of the roadway flying behind her as the train sped
+southward, her physical powers gradually succumbed to fatigue, and her
+waking dream passed off in a dreamless sleep.
+
+She slept long and profoundly. She slept through many brief stoppages and
+startings at the little way stations. She slept until she was rudely
+awakened by the uproar incident upon the arrival of the train at a large
+town.
+
+She awoke in confusion. Day was dawning. Many passengers were leaving the
+train. Many others were getting on it.
+
+She rubbed her eyes and looked around in amazement and terror. She did
+not in the least know where she was, or how she had come there.
+
+For during her deep and dreamless sleep she had utterly forgotten the
+occurrences of the last twenty-four hours.
+
+Now she was rudely awakened, bewildered, and frightened to find herself
+in a strange scene, amid alarming circumstances, of which she knew or
+could remember nothing; connected with which she only felt the deep
+impression of some heavy preceding calamity. She saw before her the three
+silent, black, shrouded forms of her fellow-passengers, but their
+presence, instead of enlightening, only deepened and darkened the gloomy
+mystery.
+
+She pressed her icy fingers to her hot and throbbing temples, and tried
+to understand the situation.
+
+Then memory flashed back like lightning, revealing all the desolation of
+her storm-blasted, wrecked and ruined life.
+
+With a deep and shuddering groan she threw her hands up to her head, and
+sank back in her seat.
+
+"Is Madame ill? Can we do anything to help her?" inquired a kindly voice
+near her.
+
+In her surprise Salome dropped her hands, and at the same time her vail
+fell from before her face.
+
+Suddenly she then saw that the three mute, shrouded forms before her were
+Sisters of Mercy, in the black robes of their order, and knew that they
+had only maintained silence in accordance with their decorous rule of
+avoiding vain conversation.
+
+Even now the taller and elder of the three had spoken only to tender her
+services to a suffering fellow-creature.
+
+The fugitive bride and the Sister of Mercy looked at each other, and at
+the instant uttered exclamations of surprise.
+
+In the sister, Salome recognized a lay nun of the Convent of St. Rosalie,
+in which she had passed nearly all the years of her young life, and in
+which she had received her education, and to which it had once been her
+cherished desire to return and dedicate herself to a conventual service.
+
+In Salome the nun saw again a once beloved pupil, whom she, in common
+with all her sisterhood, had fondly expected to welcome back to her
+novitiate.
+
+"Sister Josephine! You! Is it indeed you! Oh, how I thank Heaven!"
+fervently exclaimed the fugitive.
+
+"Mademoiselle Laiveesong! You here! My child! And alone! But how is that
+possible?" cried the good sister in amazement.
+
+Before Salome could answer the guard opened the door with a party of
+passengers at his back. But seeing the compartment already well filled by
+the three Sisters of Mercy and another lady, he closed the door again and
+passed down the platform to find places for his party elsewhere.
+
+The incident was little noticed by Salome at the time, although it was
+destined to have a serious effect upon her after fate.
+
+In a few minutes the train started.
+
+"My dear child," recommenced Sister Josephine, as soon as the train was
+well under way--"my dear child, how is it possible that I find you here,
+alone on the train at midnight! Were you going on to Paris, and alone?
+Was any one to meet you there?"
+
+"Dear, good Sister Josephine, ask me no questions yet. I am ill--really
+and truly ill!" sighed Salome.
+
+"Ah! I see you are, my dear child. Ill and alone on the night train! Holy
+Virgin preserve us!" said the sister, devoutly crossing herself.
+
+"Ask me no questions yet, dear sister, because I cannot answer them. But
+take me with you wherever you go, for wherever that may be, there will be
+peace and rest and safety, I know! Say, will you take me with you, good
+Sister Josephine?" pleaded Salome.
+
+"Ah! surely we will, my child. With much joy we will. We--(Sister
+Francoise and Sister Felecitie--Mademoiselle Laiveesong,)" said Sister
+Josephine, stopping to introduce her companions to each other.
+
+The three young persons thus named bowed and smiled, and pressed palms,
+and then sat back in their seats, while the elder Sister, Josephine,
+continued:
+
+"We have come up from Fontevrau, and are now going straight on to our
+convent. With joy we will take you with us, my dear child. Our holy
+mother will be transported to see you. Does she expect you, my dear
+child?" inquired the sister, forgetting her tacit promise to ask no more
+questions.
+
+"No, no one expects me," sighed the fugitive, in so faint a voice that
+the good Sister forbore to make any more inquiries for the moment.
+
+The train rushed onward. Day was broadening. The horizon was growing red
+in the east.
+
+The party travelled on in silence for some ten or fifteen minutes, and
+then, Sister Josephine growing impatient to have her curiosity satisfied,
+made a few leading remarks.
+
+"And so you were coming to us unannounced by any previous communication
+to our holy mother? And coming alone on the night train! You possess a
+noble courage, my child, but the adventure was hazardous to a young and
+lovely unmarried woman. The Virgin be praised we met you when we did!"
+said the Sister, devoutly crossing herself.
+
+"Amen, and amen, to that!" sighed Salome.
+
+"Our holy mother will be overjoyed to see you. You are sure she does not
+expect you, my dear child?"
+
+"No, Sister, she does not expect me, unless she has the gift of second
+sight. For I did not expect myself to return to St. Rosalie, to-day, or
+ever. When I took my place in this carriage at midnight, I did not know
+how far I should go, or where I should stop. I took a through ticket to
+Paris; but I did not know whether I should stop at Paris, or go on to
+Marseilles, or Rome, or St. Petersburg, or New York, or where!" moaned
+the fugitive.
+
+"The holy saints protect us, my child! What wild thing is this you are
+saying?" exclaimed Sister Josephine, making the sign of the cross.
+
+"No matter what I say now, good Sister, I will tell our holy mother all.
+Is la Mere Genevieve now your lady superior?" softly inquired the
+fugitive.
+
+"Yes, surely, my child. And she will be transported to behold her best
+beloved pupil again. You are sure that she will be taken by surprise?"
+said the good, simple minded Sister, still innocently angling for a
+farther explanation.
+
+"Yes, I feel sure that I shall surprise our good mother if I do
+_not_ delight her; for, as I told you before, I gave her no
+intimation of any intended visit. I repeat that when I set foot upon this
+train, I had no fixed plan in my mind. I did not know where I should go.
+My meeting with you is providential. It decides me, nay, rather let me
+say, it directs me to seek rest and peace and safety there where my happy
+childhood and early youth were passed, and where I once desired to spend
+my whole life in the service of Heaven. I, too, fervently praise the
+Virgin for this blessed meeting. I too thank the Mother of Sorrows for
+being near me in my sorrow and in my madness!" murmured Salome, in a low,
+earnest tone.
+
+"Holy saints, my child! What can have happened to you to inspire such
+words as these?" exclaimed Sister Josephine in alarm.
+
+"Never mind what, good Sister. You shall hear all in time. I am forced by
+fate to keep a promise that I made and might have broken. That is all."
+
+"Ah, my dear child, I comprehend sorrow and despair in your words; but I
+do not comprehend your words!" sighed Sister Josephine.
+
+"When I left your convent three years ago, I promised did I not, that
+after I should have become of age and be mistress of my fate, I would
+return, dedicate my life to the service of Heaven, and spend the
+remainder of it here? Did I not?" inquired Salome, in a low voice.
+
+"You did, you did, my child. And for a long time we looked for you in
+vain. And when you did not come, or even write to us, we thought the
+world had won you, and made you forget your promise," sighed Sister
+Josephine crossing herself.
+
+The two youthful Sisters followed her example, sighed and crossed
+themselves.
+
+There was a grave pause of a few minutes, and then the voice of Salome
+was heard in solemn tones:
+
+"The world won me. The world broke me and flung me back upon the convent,
+and forced me to remember and keep my promise. I return now to dedicate
+myself to the service of Heaven, at the altar of your convent, if indeed
+Heaven will take a heart that earth has crushed!"
+
+She sighed.
+
+"It is the world-crushed, bleeding heart that is the sweetest offering
+to all-healing, all-merciful Heaven," said Sister Josephine, tenderly
+lifting the hand of Salome and pressing it to her bosom.
+
+Again a solemn silence fell upon the little party.
+
+Salome was the first to break it.
+
+"It seems to me we have come a very long way, since we left the last
+station. Are we near ours?" she inquired, in a voice sinking with
+fatigue.
+
+"We will be at our station in a very few minutes. A comfortable close
+carriage will meet us there to convey us to St. Rosalie," said Sister
+Josephine, soothingly.
+
+Salome sank wearily back in her corner seat. The short-lived energy that
+enabled her to talk was dying out. Her hands and feet were cold as ice.
+Her head was hot as fire. Her frame was faint almost to swooning.
+
+The train sped on. The party in the carriage fell into silence that
+lasted until the train "slowed," and stopped at a little way station.
+
+"Here we are!" said Sister Josephine, rising to leave the carriage with
+her companions.
+
+The guard opened the door.
+
+Sister Josephine led the way out, and then took the hand of the half
+fainting Salome, to help her on.
+
+The two other sisters followed. A close carriage, with an aged coachman
+on the box, awaited them. The old man did not leave his seat; but Sister
+Josephine opened the door and helped Salome into the carriage, and placed
+her comfortably on the cushions in a corner of the back seat, and then
+sat down beside her.
+
+The two younger sisters followed and placed themselves on the front seat.
+
+The aged coachman, who knew his duty, did not wait for orders, but turned
+immediately away from the station, and drove off just as the train
+started again on its way to Paris.
+
+They entered a country road running through a wood--a pleasant ride, if
+Salome could have enjoyed it--but she leaned back on her cushions, with
+closed eyes, fever-flushed cheeks, and fainting frame. The sisters,
+seeing her condition, refrained from disturbing her by any conversation.
+
+They rode on in perfect silence for about a mile, when they came to a
+high stone wall, which ran along on the left-hand side of their road,
+while the thick wood continued on their right-hand side. The road here
+ran between the wood and the wall of the convent grounds.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+SALOME'S PROTECTRESS.
+
+
+"We have arrived. Welcome home, my dear child," said Sister Josephine, as
+the carriage drew up before the strong and solid, iron-bound, oaken gates
+of the convent.
+
+The aged coachman blew a shrill summons upon a little silver whistle that
+he carried in his pocket for the purpose.
+
+The gates were thrown wide open and the carriage rolled into an extensive
+court-yard, enclosed in a high stone wall, and having in its centre the
+massive building of the convent proper, with its chapel and offices.
+
+A straight, broad, hard, rolled, gravelled carriage-way led from the
+gates through the court-yard and up to the main entrance of the building.
+This road was bordered on each side by grass-plots, now sear in the late
+October frosts, and flower-beds, from which the flowers had been removed
+to their winter quarters in the conservatories. Groups of shade trees,
+statues of saints, and fountains of crystal-clear water adorned the
+grounds at regular intervals. In the rear of the convent building was a
+thicket of trees reaching quite down to the back wall.
+
+The carriage rolled along the gravelled road, crossing the court-yard,
+and drew up before the door of the convent.
+
+Sister Josephine got out and helped Salome to alight.
+
+The sun was just rising in cloudless glory.
+
+"See, my child," said Sister Josephine, cheerily pointing to the eastern
+horizon; "see, a happy omen; the sun himself arises and smiles on your
+re-entrance into St. Rosalie."
+
+Salome smiled faintly, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her companion
+as they went slowly up the steps, passed through the front doors, and
+found themselves in a little square entrance hall, surrounded on three
+sides by a bronze grating, and having immediately before them a grated
+door, with a little wicket near the centre.
+
+Behind this wicket sat the portress, a venerable nun, whom age and
+obesity had consigned to this sedentary occupation.
+
+"_Benedicite_, good Mother Veronique! How are all within the house?"
+inquired Sister Josephine, going up to the wicket.
+
+"The saints be praised, all are well! They are just going in to matins.
+You come in good time, my sisters! But who is she whom you bring with
+you?" inquired the old nun, nodding toward Salome, even while she
+detached a great key from her girdle, and unlocked the door, to admit the
+party.
+
+"Why, then, Mother Veronique, don't you see? An old, well-beloved pupil
+come back to see our holy mother? Don't you recognize her? Have you
+already forgotten Mademoiselle Laiveesong, who left us only three years
+ago?" inquired Sister Josephine, as she led Salome into the portress'
+parlor, followed by the two younger sisters, Francoise and Felecitie.
+
+"Ah! ah! so it is! Mademoiselle Salome come back to us!" joyfully
+exclaimed the old nun, seizing and fondling the hands of the visitor,
+and gazing wistfully into her flushed and feverish face. "Yes, yes,
+I remember you! Mademoiselle Laiveesong! Mademoiselle, the rich banker's
+heiress! I am very happy to see you, my dear child! And our holy mother
+will be filled with joy! She has gone to matins now, but will soon return
+to give you her blessing. Ah! ah! Mademoiselle Salome! _Mais Helas!_
+How ill she looks! Her hands are ice! Her head is fire! Her limbs are
+withes! She is about to faint!" added Mother Veronique, aside to Sister
+Josephine.
+
+"She is just off a long and fatiguing journey. She is tired and hungry,
+and needs rest and refreshment. That is all," answered the sister,
+drawing the arm of the fainting girl through her own, and supporting her
+as she led her from the portress' parlor.
+
+"Ah! ah! is this so? The dear child! Take her in and rest and feed her,
+my sisters! And when matins are over, bring her to our venerable mother,
+whose soul will be filled with rapture to see her," twaddled the old nun,
+until the party passed in from her sight.
+
+Sister Josephine led Salome to her own cell, and made her loosen her
+clothes and lie down on the cot-bed, while Sister Francoise and Sister
+Felecitie went to the refectory and brought her a plate of biscuit and
+a glass of wine and water.
+
+Wine was not the proper drink for Salome, in her flushed and feverish
+condition. But she was both faint and thirsty, and the wine, mixed with
+water, seemed cool and refreshing, and she quaffed it eagerly.
+
+But she refused the biscuits, declaring that she could not swallow. And
+so she thanked her kind friends for their attention, and sank back on her
+pillow and closed her eyes, as if she would go to sleep.
+
+The sisters promised to bring the mother abbess to her bedside as soon as
+the matins should be over. And so they left her to repose, and went
+silently away to the chapel to take their accustomed places, and join,
+even at the "eleventh hour," in the morning worship.
+
+But did Salome sleep?
+
+Ah! no. She lay upon that cot-bed with her hands covering her eyes, as if
+to shut out all the earth. She might shut out all the visible creation,
+but she could not exclude the haunting images that filled her mind. She
+could not banish the forms and faces that floated before her inner
+vision--the most venerable face of her dear, lost father, the noble face
+of her once beloved--ah! still too well beloved Arondelle!
+
+The music of the matin hymns softened by distance, floated into her room,
+but failed to soothe her to repose.
+
+At length the sweet sounds ceased.
+
+And then--
+
+The abbess entered the cell so softly that Salome, lying with closed eyes
+on the cot, remained unconscious of the presence standing beside her,
+looking down upon her form.
+
+The abbess was a tall, fair, blue-eyed woman, upon whose serene brow the
+seal of eternal peace seemed set. She was about fifty years of age, but
+her clear eyes and smooth skin showed how tranquilly these years had
+passed. She was clothed in the well-known garb of her order--in a black
+dress, with long, hanging sleeves, and a long, black vail. Her face was
+framed in with the usual white linen bands, her robe confined at the
+waist by a girdle, from which hung her rosary of agates; and her silver
+cross hung from her neck.
+
+The abbess was a lady of the most noble birth, connected with the royal
+house of Orleans.
+
+In the revolution which had driven Louis Philippe from the throne, her
+father and her brother had perished. Her mother had passed away long
+before. She remained in the convent of St. Rosalie, where she was being
+educated.
+
+And when, early in the days of the Second Empire, her fortune was
+restored to her, instead of leaving the cloister, where she had found
+peace, for the world, where she had found only tribulation, she took the
+vail and the vows that bound her to the convent forever, and devoted her
+means to enriching and enlarging the house. The convent had always
+supported itself by its celebrated academy for young ladies. It had also
+maintained a free school for poor children. But now the heiress of the
+noble house of de Crespignie added a Home for Aged Women, an asylum for
+Orphan Girls and Nursery for Deserted Infants. And all these were placed
+under the charge of the Sisters of Mercy.
+
+Of the fifty years of this lady's life, forty had been spent in the
+convent where she had lived as pupil, novice, nun and abbess. Her
+cloistered life had been passed in active good works, if nurturing
+infancy, educating orphans, cheering age, and ordering and governing
+an excellent academy for young ladies, can be called so.
+
+And whatever such a life may have brought to others, it brought to this
+princess of the banished Orleans family perfect peace.
+
+She stood now looking down with infinite pity on the stricken form and
+face of her late pupil. She saw that some heavy blow from sorrow had
+crushed her. And she did not wonder at this.
+
+For to the apprehension of the abbess, the world from which her late
+pupil had returned was full of tribulation, as the convent was full of
+peace.
+
+She stood looking down on her a moment, and then murmured, in tones of
+ineffable tenderness:
+
+"My child!"
+
+"Mother Genevieve! My dear mother!" answered Salome, clasping her hands
+and looking up.
+
+The abbess drew a chair to the side of the cot, sat down, and took the
+hand of her pupil, saying:
+
+"You have come back to us, my child. I thought you would. You are most
+welcome."
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I am _driven_ back to you for shelter from
+a storm of trouble!" exclaimed Salome, in great excitement, her cheeks
+burning, and her eyes blazing with the fires of fever.
+
+"We will receive you with love and cherish you in our
+hearts--_unquestioned_--for, my child, you are too ill
+to give us any explanation now," said the abbess, gently, laying
+her soft, cool hand upon the burning brow of the girl.
+
+"Oh! mother, mother, let me talk now and unburden my heavy heart! You
+know not how it will relieve me to do so to _you_. I could not do so
+to any other. Let me tell you, dear mother, while I may, before it shall
+be too late. For I am going to be very ill, mother; and perhaps I may
+die! Oh Heaven grant I may be permitted to die!" fervently prayed Salome,
+clasping her hands.
+
+"Hush, hush, my poor, unhappy child. I know not what your sorrow has
+been, but it cannot possibly justify you in your sinful petition. Life,
+my child, is the greatest of boons, since it contains within it the
+possibility of eternal bliss. We should be deeply thankful for simple
+_life_, whatever may be its present trials, since it holds the
+promise of future happiness," said the gentle abbess.
+
+"Oh, mother, my life is wrecked--is hopelessly wrecked!" groaned Salome.
+
+"Nay, nay, only storm-tossed on the treacherous seas of the world. Here
+is your harbor, my child. Come into port, little, weary one!" said the
+abbess, with a tender, cheerful smile.
+
+"Oh, mother, your wayward pupil has wandered far, far from your
+teachings! She has become a heathen--an idolator! Yes, she set up unto
+herself an idol, and she worshiped it as a god, until at last, IT
+FELL!--IT FELL! AND CRUSHED HER UNDER ITS RUINS!" said Salome,
+growing more and more excited and feverish.
+
+"It is well for us, my child, when our earthly idols do fall and crush
+us, else we might go on to perdition in our fatal idolatry. Yes, my
+child, it is well that your idol has fallen, even though you lie buried
+and bleeding under its ruins; for our fraternity, like the good Samaritan
+of the parable, will raise you up and dress your wounds, and set you on
+your feet again, and lead you in the right path--the path of peace and
+safety."
+
+"Mother, mother, will you now hear my story, my confession?" said Salome,
+earnestly.
+
+"My child, I would rather you would defer it until you are better able to
+talk."
+
+"Mother, mother, I have the strength of fever on me now; but my mind is
+growing confused. Let me speak while I may!"
+
+"Speak on, then, my dear child, but don't exhaust yourself."
+
+"Mother, though I have failed, through very shame of broken promises, to
+write to you lately, yet you must have heard from other sources of my
+father's tragic death?"
+
+"I heard of it, my child. And I have daily remembered his soul in my
+prayers."
+
+"And you heard, good mother, of how I forgot all my promises to devote
+myself to a religious life, and how I betrothed myself to the Marquis of
+Arondelle, who is now the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"You yielded to the expressed wishes of your father, my child, as it was
+natural you should do."
+
+"I yielded to the inordinate and sinful affections of my own heart, and I
+have been punished for it."
+
+"My poor child!"
+
+"Listen, mother! Yesterday morning, at St. George's church, Hanover
+Square, in London, I was married by the Bishop of London to the Duke of
+Hereward. Yesterday afternoon I received secret but unquestionable proof
+that the duke was an already married man when he met me first, and that
+his wife was living in London!"
+
+"Holy saints, Mademoiselle! What is this that you are telling me?"
+exclaimed the astonished abbess. "Surely, surely she is growing delirious
+with fever," she muttered to herself.
+
+"I am telling you a terrible truth, my mother! Listen, and I will tell
+you everything, even as I know it myself!" said Salome, earnestly.
+
+The abbess no longer opposed her speaking, although it was evident that
+her illness was hourly increasing.
+
+And Salome told the terrible story of her sorrows, commencing with the
+first appointed wedding-day at Castle Lone, and ending with the second
+wedding-day at Elmhurst House, and her own secret flight from her false
+bridegroom, just as it is known to our readers.
+
+The deeply shocked abbess heard and believed, and frequently crossed
+herself during the recital.
+
+As Salome proceeded with what she called her confession, her fever and
+excitement increased rapidly. Toward the end of her recital her thoughts
+grew confused and wandered into the ravings of a brain fever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+THE BRIDEGROOM.
+
+
+According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Hereward
+returned to Elmthorpe House to make his report.
+
+He found the dowager waiting for him where he had left her, in the back
+drawing-room.
+
+He greeted her only by a silent bow, and she questioned him only by a
+mute look.
+
+"I have placed the case in the hands of Setter, confidentially, of
+course. He will commence secret investigations to-night," he said.
+
+"This morning, you mean, Duke. It is now two o'clock," remarked the
+dowager.
+
+"Is it, indeed, so late?"
+
+"So early you should say. Yes, it is. But what thinks the detective of
+this affair?"
+
+"He is inclined to think as we do, that our dear Salome has been decoyed
+away by some tale of extreme distress, and for purposes of robbery,"
+answered the young duke, pressing his white lips firmly together in
+his effort to control all expression of the anguish that was secretly
+wringing his heart.
+
+"And what does he think of the chances of finding her soon and finding
+her safe?" inquired the dowager.
+
+The duke slowly shook his head.
+
+"Well, and what does that mean?" asked the lady.
+
+"It means that Detective Setter cannot form an opinion, or will not
+commit himself to the expression of one at present. And now, dear Lady
+Belgrade, as it is after two o'clock, I must bid you good-night--"
+
+"Good-morning, rather," interrupted the dowager.
+
+"And return to my lodgings," continued the duke, passing his hand across
+his forehead, like one "dazed" with trouble.
+
+"I beg you will do nothing of the sort, Duke," said Lady Belgrade,
+hastily interposing. "You have left your lodgings for a wedding tour. You
+are not expected back there. Your people think that you are far from
+London with your bride. In the name of propriety, let them think so
+still. Do not go back there to-night, and wake them all up, and start
+a nine days' wonder of scandal. Stay where you are, Duke, quietly,
+until we recover our Salome. When we do, you can both leave for Paris.
+All the world will know nothing of this distressing affair, which, if it
+were to come to their knowledge, would be exaggerated, perverted, turned
+and twisted out of all its original shape, into some horrid story of
+scandal. Remember now, how few people know anything about it--only you,
+I, the detective necessarily taken into your confidence, and the
+servants, for whose discretion I can answer. Remain quietly here,
+therefore, that all gossip may be stopped."
+
+The duke resumed his seat, but did not immediately answer.
+
+"Do you not think my counsel good?" inquired the lady.
+
+"Very good. Thanks, Lady Belgrade. I will follow your advice. There is
+another reason why I should do so, but with which you are not acquainted.
+In the absorption of my thoughts with the subject of our Salome, I
+totally forgot to tell you that I have just been subpoenaed as a witness
+for the crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts and Rose Cameron
+for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison. The case will come on at the
+Assizes at Banff on Thursday next. I must leave for Scotland to-morrow,"
+said the young duke.
+
+"Why--you surprise me very much! When was the subpoena served upon you?"
+inquired the dowager.
+
+"In a chance recounter at the police-office, where I went to find the
+detective, and where I also found a sheriff's officer holding a subpoena
+for me, which he was about to send across the channel by a special
+messenger--supposing me to be in Paris. So you see, my dear Lady
+Belgrade, my wedding tour would have been stopped at Paris, if not
+nearer."
+
+"That is well; for now, if the wedding tour is delayed, it will be known
+to be a legal necessity, which in no way reflects upon the wedding party.
+And now, my dear Duke, since you consent to stay all night, let me advise
+you to retire to rest. You will find your valet waiting your orders in
+the cedar suite of rooms, to which I had your dressing case and boxes
+taken."
+
+"Thanks, Lady Belgrade. Your ladyship anticipates everything."
+
+"I certainly anticipated the necessity of your remaining here all night,
+as soon as I found that you could not leave London. And now, Duke, I must
+really send you to bed. I am exhausted. I must lie down, even if I do not
+sleep," said the dowager, as she arose and touched the bell.
+
+The Duke of Hereward raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and left the
+room.
+
+Lady Belgrade followed his example.
+
+And the weary groom of the chambers entered, in answer to the bell, to
+turn off the gas and fasten up the rooms.
+
+The young duke knew where to find the cedar suite--a sumptuous set of
+apartments finished and fitted up in the costly and fragrant wood which
+gave them their name.
+
+He found his servant waiting in the dressing-room.
+
+His grace's valet was no fine gentleman from Paris, as full of
+accomplishments as of vices; but a simple and honest young man from the
+estate. The extra gravity which young James Kerr put into his manner of
+waiting, alone testified of the reverential sympathy he felt for his
+beloved master.
+
+The duke threw off the travelling coat that he had assumed for his
+journey and had worn up to this moment; and he took the wadded silk
+dressing gown, handed him by his valet, and having put it on, he dropped
+into an easy resting-chair, and ordered Kerr to lower the gas and then
+leave the room for the night.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward did not retire to bed that night. As soon as
+he found himself alone in the half-darkened rooms, he arose from his
+chair and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor, relieving the
+pent-up anguish of his bosom by such deep groans as had required all his
+self-control to suppress while he was in the presence of others.
+
+Thus walking and groaning in great agony of mind, he passed the few
+remaining dark hours of the morning.
+
+At daylight he sank exhausted into his easy-chair. But even then he
+neither "slumbered nor slept," but passed the time in waiting and longing
+for the rising sun, that he might go out and renew his search for his
+lost bride.
+
+The sun had scarcely risen when he rang for his valet.
+
+The young man appeared promptly.
+
+The duke made a hasty toilet, and then called his servant to attend him
+down stairs.
+
+None of the household were yet astir.
+
+But, by the direction of the duke, Kerr unlocked, unbolted and unbarred
+the street door to let his master out.
+
+"Close and secure the house after me, James, for it will be hours yet
+before the household will be up," said the duke, as he passed out.
+
+It was a clear October day for London. The sun was not more than twenty
+minutes high, and it shone redly and dully through a morning fog. The
+streets were still deserted, except by milkmen, bakers, costermongers,
+and other "early birds."
+
+He walked rapidly to the Church Court police station.
+
+Detective Setter was not there. But the Duke left word for him to call at
+Elmthorpe as soon as he should return.
+
+He left the police station and went on toward Elmthrope. But he did not
+enter the house. He could not rest. He walked up and down the sidewalk in
+front of the iron railings until he thought Lady Belgrade might have
+risen.
+
+Then he went up the steps and rang the bell.
+
+The hall porter opened the door and admitted him.
+
+"Has Lady Belgrade come down yet?" was his first question.
+
+"My lady has, your grace. My lady is waiting breakfast for your grace,"
+respectfully answered the footman.
+
+He longed to ask if any news had been heard of the missing one, but he
+forbore to do so, and hurried away up-stairs to the breakfast parlor.
+
+There he found Lady Belgrade, dressed in a purple cashmere robe, and
+wrapped in a rich India shawl, reclining in a rocking-chair beside a
+breakfast-table laid for two.
+
+"Good morning, madam. I fear I have kept your ladyship waiting," said the
+duke, as he entered the room.
+
+"Not a second, my dear duke. I have but just this instant come down,"
+answered the dowager, politely, and unhesitatingly telling the
+conventional lie, as she put out her hand and touched the bell.
+
+"I fear that it is useless to ask you if there is any news of our missing
+girl," said the duke, in a low tone.
+
+"I have heard nothing. And you? Of course, you have not, or you would not
+have asked me the question. But, good Heaven, Duke, you are as pale as a
+ghost! You look as if you had just risen from a sick bed! You look full
+twenty years older than you did yesterday. What have you been doing with
+yourself? Where have you been?" inquired the dowager.
+
+The duke answered her last question only.
+
+"I have been to Church Court to look up Detective Setter. I left orders
+for him to report here this morning. I expect him here very soon. I must
+do all that I can do in London to-day, as it is absolutely necessary for
+me to leave town by the night express of the Great Northern Railroad, in
+order to attend the trial for which I am subpoenaed as a witness,
+to-morrow."
+
+"I see! Of course, you must go. There is no resisting a subpoena. But who
+is to co-operate with Setter in the search for Salome?"
+
+"_You_ must do so, if you please, Lady Belgrade, until my return. Of
+course, I will hurry back with all dispatch."
+
+"No fear of that. The only fear is that you will hurry into your grave.
+But here is breakfast," said her ladyship, as a footman entered with a
+tray.
+
+Mocha coffee, orange pekoe tea, Westphalia ham, poached eggs, dry toast,
+muffins, rolls, and so forth, were arranged upon the table to tempt the
+appetite of the two who sat at meat.
+
+Lady Belgrade made a good meal. She was at the age of which physicians
+say, "the constitution takes on a conservative tone," and which poets
+call "the time of peace." In a word, she was middle-aged, fat, and
+comfort-loving; and so she was not disposed to lose her rest, or food,
+or peace of mind for any trouble not personally her own.
+
+She was vexed at the unconventionality of Salome's disappearance, fearful
+of what the world would say, and anxious to keep the matter as close as
+possible. That was all, and it did not take away her appetite.
+
+But the anxious young husband could not eat. A feverish and burning
+thirst, such as frequently attends excessive grief or anxiety, consumed
+him. He drank cup after cup of tea almost unconsciously, until at length
+Lady Belgrade said:
+
+"This makes four! I am your hostess, duke; but I am also your aunt by
+marriage, and upon my word I cannot let you go on ruining your health in
+this way! You shall not have another cup of tea, unless you consent to
+eat something with it."
+
+The young duke smiled wanly, and submitted so far as to take a piece of
+dry toast on his plate and crumble it into bits.
+
+Meanwhile, the dowager, having finished her breakfast, took up the
+_Times_ to look over.
+
+Presently she startled the duke by exclaiming:
+
+"Thank Heaven!"
+
+"What is it?" hastily inquired the duke, setting down his cup and gazing
+at the silent reader. "Any news of Salome?" he added, and then nearly
+lost his breath while waiting for the answer.
+
+"Oh, yes, news of Salome! But scarcely authentic news. Listen! Here
+is a full account of the wedding--with a description of the bride
+and bridesmaids, and their dresses and attendants, and of the ceremony
+and the officiating clergy, and the attending crowd, and the
+wedding-breakfast, speeches, presents, and so on, all tolerably
+correct for a newspaper report. But now listen to this--"
+
+Her ladyship here read aloud:
+
+"Immediately after the wedding-breakfast, the happy pair left town, by
+the London and South Coast Railway, _en route_ for Dover, Paris and
+the Continent."
+
+"There! what do you think of that?" inquired Lady Belgrade, looking up.
+
+"I think it is not the first occasion upon which a paper has anticipated
+and described an expected event that some unforeseen accident prevented
+from coming off," answered the duke, with a sigh.
+
+"I thank fortune for this! Now you have really started on your wedding
+tour in the belief of all London, and all outside of London who take the
+_Times_; and all _our_ world _do_ take it. And now, if any
+rumor of this most inopportune disappearance of our bride _should_
+get out, why, it will never be believed! That is all! For has not the
+departure of the 'happy pair' been published in the _Times_? Yes,
+I am very glad of the news reporter's indiscreet precipitancy on this
+occasion, at least," concluded Lady Belgrade, as she turned to other
+"fashionable intelligence."
+
+At that moment a footman entered the breakfast parlor and handed a
+business-looking card to the duke, saying, with a bow:
+
+"If you please, your grace, the person is waiting in the hall."
+
+"By your leave, Lady Belgrade?--Sims! show the man into the library, and
+tell him I will be with him in a few moments.--It is Detective Setter,"
+said the duke, as he arose and left the breakfast parlor.
+
+He found that officer awaiting him in the library.
+
+"Any news?" inquired the duke, as he sank into a chair and signed to the
+visitor to follow his example.
+
+"None, your grace. I have made diligent and careful investigations, in
+the neighborhoods mentioned by the lady's maid, but have found no trace
+of any Mrs. White or Brown that answered the rather vague description
+given. I shall, however, resume my search there," answered the man.
+
+"There must be no cessation of the search until that woman is found.
+I need not caution you to use great discretion," said the duke,
+earnestly, but wearily, like a man breaking down under an intolerable
+burden of mental anxiety.
+
+"Discretion is the very spirit of my business, your grace."
+
+"What is to be your next step?"
+
+"If your grace will permit me, I should like to examine the rooms of the
+lost lady, and I should like to question, singly and privately, the
+servants of the house."
+
+"A thorough search has been made of the premises, including the
+apartments of the duchess. And every domestic on the premises has been
+examined and cross-examined."
+
+"I do not doubt, your grace, that all this has been done as effectually
+as it could be done by any one, except a skillful and experienced
+detective; but if you will pardon me, I should like to make an
+examination and investigation in person."
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Setter. Every facility shall be afforded you," said the
+duke, touching the bell.
+
+A footman entered.
+
+The duke drew a card from his pocket and wrote upon it:
+
+"Detective Setter wishes to search the premises and cross-examine the
+servants. What does your ladyship say?"
+
+The duke then placed the card in the hand of the footman, saying:
+
+"Be so good as to take this to Lady Belgrade, and wait an answer."
+
+The servant bowed and left the room.
+
+"You are aware, Mr. Setter, that I am under the necessity of leaving
+London to-night, to attend the trial of Potts and Cameron to-morrow."
+
+"As a witness for the Crown. I am, your grace."
+
+"I shall get back to London as soon as possible. In the meantime, I wish
+you to pursue your investigations with the utmost diligence, sparing no
+expense. Report in person every morning and evening to Lady Belgrade
+in this house, and by telegraph to me at Lone, in Scotland. Use great
+discretion in wording your telegrams. Avoid the use of names, or titles,
+or, in fact, any terms, in referring to the duchess, that may identify
+her. I hope you understand me?"
+
+"Perfectly, your grace. I also understand how to speak and write in
+enigmas. It is a part of my profession to do so," answered Mr. Setter.
+
+The duke then drew out his portmonaie, opened it, selected two notes of
+fifty pounds each and put them in the hands of Setter, saying:
+
+"Here are one hundred pounds. Spare no expense in prosecuting this
+search. Draw on me if you have occasion."
+
+The detective bowed.
+
+At the same moment the footman re-entered the room, bringing a card on
+a silver waiter, which he handed to the duke.
+
+The duke took it and read:
+
+"Your grace surely forgets that, as the husband of the heiress, you are
+the absolute master of the house, and your will is law here. Do as you
+think proper."
+
+"You may go," said the duke to the messenger, who immediately retired.
+
+"Now, Mr. Setter, do you wish to search the premises, or examine the
+servants first?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Examine the servants first, your grace; as I may thereby gain some clew
+to follow in my search."
+
+"Very well," said the duke, again touching the bell.
+
+The prompt footman re-appeared.
+
+"Whom do you wish called first?" inquired the duke.
+
+"The lady's maid," answered the detective.
+
+"Go and tell the duchess's maid that she is wanted here immediately,"
+said the duke.
+
+The footman bowed and went away on his errand.
+
+A few minutes passed, and the lady's maid entered.
+
+"This is--I really forget your name, my good girl," said the duke,
+apologetically.
+
+"Margaret, sir; Margaret Watson," said the lady's maid, with a courtesy.
+
+"Ay. This is Margaret Watson, the confidential maid of her grace, Mr.
+Setter. Margaret, my good girl, Mr. Setter wishes to put some questions
+to you, relating to the disappearance of your mistress. I hope you will
+answer his inquiries as frankly and fearlessly as you have answered
+ours," said the duke, as he took up a paper for a pretext and walked to
+the other end of the library, leaving the detective officer at liberty to
+pursue his investigations alone.
+
+It is needless for us to go over the ground again. It is sufficient to
+say that Detective Setter questioned and cross-questioned the girl with
+all the skill of an old and experienced hand, and at the end of half an
+hour's sharp and close examination, he had obtained no new information.
+
+The girl was dismissed, with a warning not to talk of the affair. And she
+was followed by the housekeeper, with no better result.
+
+Thus all the domestics of the establishment were called and examined
+singly; but without success.
+
+When the last servant was done with, and sent out of the room, the
+detective walked up to the duke.
+
+"Well, Mr. Setter?" inquired the latter.
+
+"Your grace, I have learned nothing from the servants but what you have
+already told me."
+
+"Do you still wish to search the premises?"
+
+"If your grace pleases. And I wish to begin with the apartments of the
+duchess."
+
+"Then follow me. I myself will be your guide," said the duke, leading the
+way from the library.
+
+It would be useless to accompany the detective in this third search.
+Let it be sufficient to say that this search was thorough, complete,
+exhaustive, and--unsuccessful.
+
+It was late in the day when it was finished, and the duke and the
+detective returned to the library.
+
+"You now perceive Mr. Setter, that a day has been lost in these repeated
+searchings and questionings, and no new information, no sign of a clew to
+the fate of the duchess has been gained. In an hour I must leave the
+house to catch the Great Northern Night Express. I leave--I am
+_forced_ for the present, to leave the fate of my beloved wife in
+your hands. In saying that, I say that I leave more than my own life in
+your keeping. Use every means, employ every agency, spend money freely,
+the day you bring her safely to me, I will deposit ten thousand pounds in
+the Bank of England to your account."
+
+"Your grace is munificent. If the duchess is on earth, I will find
+her;--not for the reward only, though it is certainly a very great
+inducement to a poor man with a large family; but for the love and honor
+I bear your grace and the late Sir Lemuel Levison," said the detective,
+earnestly, as he bowed and took leave.
+
+The first dinner-bell rang.
+
+The duke hastened to his own room, not to dress for dinner, but to
+prepare for his night journey to Scotland.
+
+He ordered his valet to pack a valise with all that would be necessary
+for a few days' absence, and then sent him to call a close cab.
+
+By this time the second dinner-bell rang, and the duke went down, not to
+dine, but to take leave of Lady Belgrade.
+
+He found her ladyship in the drawing-room.
+
+"Give me your arm to dinner, if you please, Duke," she said, rising.
+
+"I hope you will excuse me; but I have only come to say good-by. I have
+but time to catch the train. Kerr has already put my luggage in the cab,
+which is waiting for me at the door. Good-by, dear Lady Belgrade. You
+will co-operate with Setter in all things necessary to a successful
+search, I know. Setter has my orders to report to you--"
+
+"You take my breath away!" gasped the dowager.
+
+"Write to me by every mail. Keep me informed of events--"
+
+"You will kill yourself, Duke! flying off without your dinner, and
+looking fitter for going to bed than on a journey!" panted the dowager.
+
+"Now then, good-by in earnest, dear Lady Belgrade, and God bless you,"
+concluded the duke, raising her hand to his lips and bowing.
+
+And before the dowager could say another word he was gone.
+
+"Well, if he lives to be as old as I am, he will take things easier.
+Though, if he goes on at this rate, he won't live to be old," mused the
+old lady, as she slowly waddled into the dining-room, and took her seat
+at the table to enjoy her solitary green turtle soup.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+AT LONE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward went out to the close cab that was waiting for him
+before the door.
+
+He found his valet standing by it, with a pair of railroad rugs over his
+arm.
+
+He directed the man to mount to a seat beside the cabman, and gave the
+latter orders where to drive.
+
+Then he entered the cab and closed all the doors and windows, that he
+might not be seen by any chance acquaintance.
+
+He was supposed by all the world of London to be away on his wedding
+tour, and he was willing to let them continue to believe so, until they
+should be enlightened by a report of the great trial, when they would
+learn the fact and the explanation at once, and thus be prevented
+from making undesirable conjectures and speculations concerning his
+presence at such a time in England.
+
+He leaned back on his seat, and the cabman, having received directions
+from the valet, drove rapidly off toward the Great Northern Railway
+Station at Kings Cross.
+
+An hour's fast drive brought them to their destination.
+
+The duke dispatched his valet to the ticket office to engage a coupe on
+the express train, so that he might be entirely private.
+
+And he remained in the cab with closed doors and windows until the
+servant had secured the coupe, and conveyed all the light luggage into
+it.
+
+Then he left the cab, and passed at once into the coupe, leaving his
+servant to pay and discharge the cab, and to follow him on the train.
+
+James Kerr, after performing these duties, went to the door of his
+master's little compartment to ask if he had any further orders, before
+going to take his place in the second-class carriages.
+
+"No, Kerr, but come in here with me. I want you at hand during the
+journey," replied the duke, who, much as he confided in the young man's
+devotion and loyalty, could not quite trust his discretion, and therefore
+desired to keep him from talking.
+
+The valet bowed and entered the coupe, taking the seat that his master
+pointed out.
+
+The train moved slowly out of the station, but gaining speed as it left
+the town, soon began to fly swiftly on its northern course.
+
+The October sun was setting as the train flew along the margin
+of the "New River," as Sir Hugh Myddellen's celebrated piece of
+water-engineering is called.
+
+The October evening was chill, and the swift flight of the train drawing
+a strong draught that could not be kept out, increased the chilliness.
+
+The duke leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
+
+The valet attentively tucked the railway rug around his master's knees.
+
+The sun had set. The long twilight of northern latitudes came on.
+
+At the first station where the express stopped, the guard opened the door
+and offered to light the lamps, but the duke forbade him, saying that he
+preferred the darkness.
+
+The guard closed the door and retired, and the train started again, and
+flew on northward through the deepening night.
+
+It stopped only at the largest towns and cities on its route--at
+Peterboro', at York, at Newcastle, and Edinboro'.
+
+It was sunrise when the train reached Lone, the only small station at
+which it stopped on the route.
+
+The guard opened the door of the coupe, and the young duke got out,
+attended by his valet.
+
+The train stopped but one minute, and then shot out of the station and
+flew on toward Aberdeen.
+
+The distance between the railway station and the "Hereward Arms," was
+very short, so the duke preferred to walk it, followed by his valet and
+a railway porter carrying his light luggage.
+
+The sun had risen indeed, although it was nowhere visible.
+
+A Scotch mist had risen from the lake, and settled over the mountains,
+vailing all the grand features of the landscape.
+
+Early as the hour was, the hamlet, as they passed through it, seemed
+deserted by all its male inhabitants. None but women and children were
+to be seen, and even they, instead of being at work, were loitering about
+their own doors or gossiping with each other.
+
+Though the duke and his servant were the only passengers that got off
+the train at Lone, the whole force of the "Hereward Arms,"--landlord,
+head-waiter, hostler, boots and stable boys--turned out to meet them.
+
+"Your grace is unco welcome to the 'Hereward Arms,'" said Donald Duncan,
+the worthy host, bowing low before his distinguished guest.
+
+And all his underlings followed his example by pulling their red
+forelocks and scraping their right feet backwards.
+
+"Your hamlet seems to be deserted to-day, landlord. What fair or what
+else is going on?" inquired the young duke, as he followed the bowing
+host to the neat little parlor of the inn.
+
+"Ah! wae's the day! Dinna your grace ken! It will be the trial at
+Banff--the trial of yon grand villain, Johnnie Potts, for the murder
+of his master."
+
+"Oh, yes, I know the trial will be commenced to-day; but I did not think
+that the people here would take so much interest in it as to leave their
+work and go such a distance to see it," remarked the duke.
+
+"Would they nae? They'd gae to the North Pole to see it, if necessary,
+and they'd gae farrer still to see the murtherer weel hanggit! Ay, your
+grace, and what will make it a' the mair exciting, is the rumor whilk
+goes round to the effect that the ne'er-do-well, hizzie, Rose Cameron,
+hae turnit Crown's evidence to save her ain life, and will gie up all her
+accomplices. Sae we are a' fain to hear the mystery of the murther
+cleared up."
+
+"Indeed! Is that so? The girl has turned Crown's witness? Then, we
+_shall_ get at the truth!" exclaimed the duke, with more interest
+than he had hitherto shown.
+
+"It is a' true, your grace! And your grace may weel ken how the report
+drawed the heart of the hamlet out to gae to Banff, and hear a' aboot the
+murther."
+
+"Yes, yes," murmured the duke to himself.
+
+"And now, will your grace please to have a room? And what will your grace
+please to have for breakfast?" inquired the landlord, remembering his
+duty, and again bowing to the ground.
+
+"You may show me to a bed-room, where I may get rid of this railway dust,
+and--for breakfast, anything you please, so that it is quickly prepared.
+Also, landlord, have a chaise at the door, with a good pair of horses. I
+must start for Banff within half an hour," said the traveller.
+
+"Save us and sain us! Your grace, also! A' the warld seem ganging to
+Banff!" cried honest Donald Duncan.
+
+"I am summoned there as a witness on the trial, landlord."
+
+"Ay, to be sure. Sae your grace maun be. For it is weel kenned that your
+grace was amung the first to discover the dead body of the murthered man,
+Heaven rest him! And noo, your grace, I will show ye till your room,"
+said the landlord, leading the way to a neat bedchamber on the same
+floor.
+
+"Be good enough to send my servant here with my luggage," said the duke.
+
+The landlord bowed and went out to deliver the message.
+
+And in another minute the valet entered the room with the valise,
+dressing-case, and so forth.
+
+The duke made a rapid morning toilet, and then returned to the parlor,
+where the little breakfast table was already laid--coffee, rolls,
+oat-meal cake, broiled haddock, broiled black cock, and Dundee marmalade,
+formed the bill of fare.
+
+The duke forced himself to partake of some solid food in addition to the
+two cups of coffee he hastily swallowed.
+
+And then, as the chaise was announced, he arose to depart.
+
+"I desire to keep these rooms until further notice, landlord. I shall
+return here this evening, and stop here during my attendance upon the
+trial at Banff," said the duke, as he got into the chaise, followed by
+the valet.
+
+The driver cracked his whip and the horses started.
+
+"Aweel," said the landlord to himself, as he watched the chaise winding
+its way up the mountain-pass. "Aweel, I waur e'en just confounded to see
+the dook here away without the doochess; and I just after reading in the
+_Times_ how they were married o' the day before yesterday, and gane
+for their wedding trip to Paris! Aweel, I suppose, it will be this
+witness business as hae broughten him back. But where's the young
+doochess? Ay, to be sure, he hae left her in her grand toon house in
+London. He wad na be bringing her here at siccan a painfu' time and
+occasion as the trial of her ain father's murtherer. Nae, indeed! that
+is nae likely," concluded honest Donald Duncan, as he returned into his
+house.
+
+Banff was but ten miles north-east of Lone. But the mountain road was
+difficult; and now that the morning mist lay heavy on the landscape, it
+was necessary for our travelers to drive slowly and carefully to avoid
+precipitating themselves over some rocky steep, into some deep pool or
+stony chasm.
+
+They were, thus, an hour in getting safely through the mountain-pass.
+
+At the end of that time, they came out upon a good road, through a forest
+of firs, covering a hilly country.
+
+Then the mist began to roll away before the bright beams of the advancing
+sun.
+
+And another hour of fast driving brought them into the town of Banff.
+
+The duke directed the driver to turn into the street where was situated
+the town-hall, where the court was being held.
+
+The very looks of the street must have informed any stranger that some
+event of unusual interest was then transpiring. The sidewalks were filled
+with pedestrians, whose steps were all bent in one direction--toward the
+town hall.
+
+As our travellers drew up before the front of the building, the duke
+alighted and beckoned to a bailiff to come and clear the way for his
+passage into the court-room.
+
+The officer hurried to the duke, and using his official authority, soon
+made a narrow path through the dense crowd that choked up every avenue
+into the edifice.
+
+So, elbowing, pushing and wedging his way, the bailiff led the duke into
+the court-room, which was even more closely packed than the ante-rooms.
+Pressing through this solid mass of human beings, the bailiff led him to
+a seat directly in front of the bench of judges, and there left him.
+
+The duke bowed to the Bench, sat down and looked around upon the strange
+and painful scene.
+
+The famous Scotch judge, Baron Stairs, presided. On his right and left
+sat Mr. Justice Kinloch and Mr. Justice Guthrie.
+
+Quite a large number of lawyers, law officers, and writers to the seal
+were present.
+
+Mr. James Stuart, Q.C., was the prosecutor on the part of the crown. He
+was assisted by Messrs. Roy and McIntosh.
+
+Mr. Keir and Mr. Gordon, two rising young barristers from Aberdeen, were
+counsel for the prisoner.
+
+John Potts, alias Peters, the accused man, stood alone in the prisoner's
+dock.
+
+He was a tall, gaunt, dark man, whose pallid face looked ghastly in
+contrast with his damp, lank, black hair, that seemed pasted to his
+cheeks by the thick perspiration, and with his black coat and pantaloons
+that hung loosely on his emaciated form.
+
+The young duke thought he had never seen a man so much broken down in so
+short a time.
+
+While the duke was looking at him, the poor wretch turned caught his eye
+and bowed. And then he quickly grasped the front railing of the dock with
+both his hands, as if to keep himself from falling.
+
+The young duke turned away his eyes. The sight was too painful. He looked
+around him over the densely packed crowd, in which he recognized many of
+his old friends and neighbors, a great number of his clansmen and nearly
+all the old servants of his family.
+
+Although the month was October, and the weather cool in that northern
+climate, the atmosphere of such a packed crowd would have been unbearable
+but for the fact that the six tall windows that flanked the court-room
+on each side were let down from the top for ventilation.
+
+The duke turned his attention to the Bench.
+
+There seemed to be some pause in the proceedings. The judges were sitting
+in perfect silence. The prosecuting counsel were arranging papers and
+occasionally speaking to each other in low tones.
+
+The duke turned to a gentleman, a stranger, who was sitting on his left,
+and inquired:
+
+"I have heard that the girl Cameron is not to be arraigned. I have also
+heard that she is held as a witness for the crown. Can you inform me
+whether it is so?"
+
+"Yes, sir, it is so. You perceive that she is not in the dock with the
+other prisoner. She is in custody, however, in the sheriff's room. The
+prosecution cannot afford to arraign her, because they cannot do without
+her testimony," answered the stranger.
+
+A buzz of conversation passed like a breeze through the impatient crowd.
+
+"Silence in the court!" called out the crier.
+
+And all became as still as death.
+
+Mr. Roy, assistant counsel for the crown, arose and read the indictment,
+charging the prisoner at the bar with the willful murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at Castle Lone, on the twenty-first day of June, Anno Domini,
+so and so. Without making any comment, the prosecutor sat down.
+
+The Clerk of Arraigns then arose, and demanded of the accused--
+
+"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty of the crimes with
+which you stand indicted?"
+
+Potts, who stood pale and trembling and clutching the rails in front of
+the dock, replied earnestly though informally:
+
+"Not guilty, upon my soul, my lords and gentlemen, before Heaven, and as
+I hope for salvation."
+
+And overpowered by fear, he sank down on the narrow bench at the back of
+the dock.
+
+The trial proceeded.
+
+Queen's Counsel, Mr. James Stuart, took the indictment from the hands of
+his assistant, and proceeded to open it with a short, pithy address to
+the judges and the jury, and closed by requesting that Alexander McRath,
+house-steward of Castle Lone, in the service of the deceased, should be
+called.
+
+The venerable, gray-haired old Scot, being duly called, came forward and
+took the stand.
+
+Mr. McIntosh, assistant Queen's Counsel, conducted his examination.
+
+Being duly sworn, Alexander McRath testified as to the facts within his
+own knowledge relating to the case, and which have already been laid
+before our readers--briefly, they referred to the finding of the dead
+body of the late Sir Lemuel Levison in his bed-chamber, to which no one
+except his confidential valet, the prisoner at the bar, had a pass-key,
+or could have gained admittance during the night.
+
+The witness was cross-examined by Mr. Keir of the counsel for the
+prisoner, but without having his testimony weakened.
+
+Other domestic servants were called, who corroborated the evidence given
+by the last one as to the finding of the dead body, and the intimate and
+confidential relations which had subsisted between the deceased and the
+prisoner at the bar, who always carried a pass-key to his master's
+private apartments.
+
+Then the boy, Ferguson, a saddler's apprentice from the village of Lone,
+was called to the stand; and being sworn and examined, testified to the
+meeting and the conspiracy at midnight before the murder, under the
+balcony, near Malcolm's Tower, at Castle Lone, to which he had been an
+eye and ear-witness.
+
+This witness was subjected to a very severe cross-examination, which
+rather developed and strengthened his testimony than otherwise.
+
+McNeil, the ticket agent of the railway station at Lone, was next called,
+sworn, and examined. He testified to having sold a ticket just after
+midnight on the night of the murder to a vailed woman, who carried a
+small but very heavy leathern bag, which she guarded with jealous care.
+His description corresponded with that given by young Ferguson of the
+vailed woman, and the bag he had seen given to her by the balcony at
+Castle Lone on the same night.
+
+This witness, also, was sharply cross-examined without effect.
+
+"Now, my lords and gentlemen of the jury," began Queen's Counsel Stuart,
+speaking more gravely than he had ever done before, "I shall proceed to
+call a witness whose testimony will assuredly fix the deep guilt in the
+case we are trying where it justly belongs. Let Rose Cameron be placed
+upon the stand."
+
+There was a great sensation in the court-room. The dense crowd was
+stirred with emotion as thick forest leaves are stirred with the wind.
+
+"Silence in the court!" called out the crier.
+
+And silence fell like a pall upon the crowd.
+
+A door was opened on the left of the Judge's Bench, and the handsome
+Highland girl was led in by a sheriff's officer. She was dressed in a
+dark-blue merino suit, with a black felt hat and blue feather to match,
+and dark-blue gloves. Her long light hair flowed down her shoulders, a
+cataract of gold. She stepped with an elastic and imperial step as
+natural to her as to the reindeer. A very Juno of stately beauty she
+seemed as she rolled her large, fearless eyes over the crowded
+court-room, until, at length, they fell on the form of the young Duke
+of Hereward, seated on a front seat.
+
+She started and flushed. Then recovered herself, caught his eyes, and
+fixed them with her bold, steady gaze, smiled a vindictive, deadly smile,
+and so passed with stately steps to her place on the witness stand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+A STARTLING CHARGE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward was quite unable to account for the look of
+vindictive and deadly hatred and malice cast on him by Rose Cameron. He
+could only suppose that she mistook him for some one else, or that she
+unreasonably resented his active share in the prosecution of the search
+for the murderers of Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+He sat back in his seat and watched her while she stepped upon the
+witness-stand and turned to face the jury.
+
+Every pair of eyes in the court-room were also fixed upon her. For it was
+believed that she had been an accomplice in the murder, as well as in the
+robbery, at Castle Lone, and that she had turned Queen's evidence in
+order to escape the extreme penalty of the law. And all there who looked
+upon her were as much dazzled by her wondrous beauty, as appalled by her
+awful guilt.
+
+The Clerk of the Court administered the oath. The assistant Queen's
+Counsel proceeded to examine her.
+
+"Your name is Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Na! I'm nae Rose Cameron. I'm Rose Scott, and an honest, married woman,"
+said the witness, turning a baleful look upon the Duke of Hereward, and
+letting her large, bold, blue eyes rove defiantly, triumphantly over the
+sea of human faces turned toward her. She never blenched a bit under the
+fire of glances fixed upon her. These glances would have pierced like
+spears any finer and more sensitive spirit. They never seemed to touch
+hers.
+
+"What a handsome quean it is!" said some.
+
+"What a diabolical malignity there is in her looks. Eh, sirs! The vera
+cut of her 'ee wad convict her, handsome as she is!" whispered another.
+
+"Ay, she looks as if she could ha ta'en a hand in the murther as well as
+in the robbery," muttered a third. And so on.
+
+These comments were made in so low a tone that they did not in the least
+disturb the decorum of the court.
+
+"Your name is Rose Scott, then?" proceeded Counsellor Keir.
+
+"Ay, it is."
+
+"What is your age?"
+
+"Twenty-six come next Michael-mas."
+
+"Your residence?"
+
+"Are ye meaning my hame?"
+
+"Yes, your home."
+
+"I dinna just ken. It used to be Ben Lone on the Duk' o Harewood's
+estate, when I waur a lass. Sin I hae been a guid wife I hae bided in
+Westminster Road, Lunnun."
+
+At the mention of Westminster Road, the Duke of Hereward started
+slightly, and bent forward to give closer attention to the words of
+the witness.
+
+"With whom did you live in Westminster Road?" proceeded the examiner.
+
+"Wi' my ain guid man, ye daft fule!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, in a rage.
+"Wha else suld I bide wi'? And noo, ye'll speer nae mair questions anent
+my ain preevit life, for I'll nae answer any sic. A woman maunna gie
+testimony in open coort against her ain husband, I'm thinking."
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Sae I thocht!" said Rose Cameron, cunningly. "And sae ye'll speer nae
+mair questions anent my ain preevit affair; but just keep ye to the
+point, and it please ye! I am here to tell all I ken anent the murther
+and robbery at Castle Lone! Ay! and I will tell a' hang wha' it may!" she
+added, with a most vindictive glare at the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"The witness is right so far. We have nothing whatever to do with her
+domestic status. Proceed with the examination, and keep to the point,"
+interposed the judge.
+
+"We will, my lord. We only wished to prove the fact that the witness was
+living on the most intimate terms with one of the parties suspected of
+the murder."
+
+"I waur living wi' my ain husband, as I telt ye before, ye born idiwat!
+An' I'm no ca'd upon to witness for or against him. Sae I'll tell ye a' I
+ked anent the murther and the robbery at Castle Lone; but de'il hae me
+gin I tell ye onything else!" exclaimed Rose Cameron.
+
+"The witness is quite right in her premises, though censurable in her
+manner of expressing them. Proceed with the examination," said the judge.
+
+The assistant Q.C. bowed to the Bench and turned to the witness.
+
+"Tell us, then, where you were on the night of the murder."
+
+"I waur in the grounds o' Castle Lone."
+
+"At what time were you there?"
+
+"Frae ten till twal o' the clock."
+
+"Were you alone?"
+
+"For a guid part of the time I waur my lane i' the castle court."
+
+"What took you out on the castle grounds alone at so late an hour?"
+
+"I went there to keep my tryste with the Markis of Arondelle," answered
+the witness, with a sly, malignant glance at the young nobleman whose
+name she thus publicly profaned!
+
+The Duke of Hereward started, and fixed his eyes sternly and inquiringly
+upon the bold, handsome face of the witness.
+
+Her eyes did not for an instant quail before his gaze. On the contrary,
+they opened wide in a bold, derisive stare, until she was recalled by the
+questions of the examiner.
+
+"Witness! Do you mean to say, upon your oath, that you went to Castle
+Lone at midnight to meet the Marquis of Arondelle?"
+
+"Aye, that I do. I went to the castle to keep tryste wi' his lairdship,
+the Marquis of Arondelle. He wha was troth-plighted to the heiress o'
+Lone. Ae wha is noo ca'd his grace the Duk' o' Harewood!" said the
+witness, emphatically, triumphantly.
+
+The statement fell like a thunderbolt on the whole assembly.
+
+When Rose Cameron first said that she went to the castle to keep tryste
+with the Marquis of Arondelle, those who heard her distrusted the
+evidence of their own ears, and turned to each other, inquiring in
+whispers:
+
+"What did she say?"
+
+Or answering in like whispers:
+
+"I don't know."
+
+But now that she had reiterated her statement with emphasis and with
+triumph, they asked no more questions, but gazed in each other's faces
+in awe-struck silence.
+
+And as for the Duke of Hereward! What on earth could a gentleman have
+to say to a charge as absurd as it was infamous, thus made upon him by
+a disreputable person in open court?
+
+Why, to notice it even by denial would seem to be an infringement of his
+dignity and self-respect.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, after his first involuntary start and stare of
+amazement, controlled himself absolutely, and sat back in his chair,
+perfectly silent and self-possessed under this ordeal.
+
+Not so the senior counsel for the defence.
+
+Rising in his place, he addressed the bench:
+
+"My lord, we object to the question put to the witness, which, while it
+tends to compromise a lofty personage of this realm, can, in no manner,
+concern the case in hand. My lord, we are not trying his grace the Duke
+of Hereward."
+
+"The bench has already instructed the counsel for the Crown to keep to
+the point at issue while examining the witness," said the presiding
+judge.
+
+"Ou, ay! Ye are nae trying the Duk' o' Harewood, are ye nae? Aweel, then,
+I'm thinking ye'll be trying him before a's ower!" put in Rose Cameron,
+spitefully.
+
+"Witness, tell the jury what occurred, within your own knowledge, while
+you were in the grounds of Castle Lone," said Mr. Keir.
+
+"And how will I tell onything right gin I am forbid to name the name o'
+him wha wur maistly concernit?" demanded Rose Cameron.
+
+"You are to give your own testimony in your own way, unless otherwise
+instructed by the bench," said Mr. Keir.
+
+"Aweel, then, first of a', I went to the castle by appointment to meet
+Laird Arondelle, as he was then ca'd. I walked about and waited fu' an
+hour before his lairdship cam' till me."
+
+"At what hour was that?"
+
+"I heard the castle clock aboon Auld Malcom's Tower strike eleven when I
+cam' under the balcony o' the bride's chamber, whilk is nigh it. I waited
+fu' half an hour there before his lairdship cam' stealing through the
+shrubbery--De'il hae him, wha ha brocht a' this trouble on me!" exclaimed
+the witness, vehemently, as her eyes, fairly blazing with blue fire,
+fixed themselves on the face of the young duke.
+
+The Duke of Hereward bore the searching glare quite calmly. He simply
+leaned back in his chair, with folded arms and attentive face, on which
+curiosity was the only expression.
+
+"Mr. Keir," said the venerable Counsellor Guthrie, of the defence, "is
+all this supposed to concern the case before the jury?"
+
+"Ay, does it!" cried Rose Cameron, before the lawyer addressed could
+reply. "Ay, does it, as ye will sune see, gin ye will gie me leave to
+speak."
+
+Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward took out his note-book and wrote these
+lines:
+
+"_Pray let the witness proceed without regard to her use of my name.
+I think the ends of justice require that she be suffered to give her
+testimony in her own way_. HEREWARD."
+
+He tore this leaf out and passed it on to Mr. Guthrie, who read it with
+some surprise, and then waved his hand to Mr. Keir, and sat down with the
+air of a man who had complied with an indiscreet request, and washed his
+hands of the consequences.
+
+"The time of the court is being unnecessarily wasted. Let the examination
+of the witness go on," said the presiding judge.
+
+"It shall, my lord," answered the Queen's Counsel, with an inclination of
+his white-wigged head. Then turning to the bold blonde on the stand, he
+proceeded:
+
+"Witness, tell the jury what occurred that night under the balcony of
+Miss Levison's apartments at Castle Lone."
+
+Rose Cameron threw another vindictive glance at the Duke of Hereward, and
+commenced her narrative.
+
+Now, as her story was substantially the same that has been already given
+to the reader, it is not necessary to recapitulate it here. Only in one
+respect it differed from the stories she had hitherto told to her
+landlady or housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, of Westminster Road; as on this
+occasion she reserved all allusion to any real or fancied marriage
+between herself and the nobleman she claimed as her lover, and then
+accused as the accomplice of thieves and assassins, in the murder and
+robbery at Castle Lone, on the night preceding the day appointed for his
+own marriage with its heiress!
+
+It would be impossible to describe the effect of this terrible testimony
+on the minds of all who heard it.
+
+The Bench, the Bar, and the Jury, whom, it would seem, nothing in this
+world had power to startle, astonish, or discompose, sat like statues.
+
+Scarcely less immovable was the young Duke of Hereward, the subject
+of this awful charge, who sat back in his seat with an air of grave
+curiosity, and with the composure of a man who was master of the
+situation.
+
+But the crowd which filled the court-room seemed utterly confounded by
+what they heard. Upon the whole, they either disbelieved this witness, or
+distrusted their own ears. Their young laird, as she called the present
+duke, was their model of all wisdom, goodness, magnanimity. Truly, they
+had heard a rumor of some little love-making between the young laird and
+a handsome shepherdess at Ben Lone, probably this same Rose Cameron; even
+these rumors they did not fully credit; but that the noble young Duke of
+Hereward should be the accomplice of thieves and murderers in the robbery
+at Castle Lone, and the assassination of Sir Lemuel Levison, on the very
+night preceding the morning appointed for his marriage with Sir Lemuel's
+daughter!
+
+Oh! the charge was too preposterous, as well as too horrible, to be
+entertained for an instant.
+
+Finally the prevailing opinion settled into this: that the young laird
+had probably admired the handsome shepherdess a little, and had left her
+for the heiress; and that, from jealousy and for revenge, the girl was
+now perjuring herself to ruin her late lover.
+
+Would her testimony be believed? Would it have weight enough to cause the
+arrest of the young duke?
+
+"Eh, sirs! what an awfu' event the like o' that wad be!" whispered one
+gray-haired clansman to another.
+
+And all bent eager ears to hear the remainder of the testimony which was
+still going on.
+
+After relating the history of her journey to London, with the stolen
+treasure in charge, she proceeded to tell of the abrupt flight of "the
+duke," with the bulk of the treasure in his possession, and of her own
+subsequent arrest with the stolen jewels found in her apartments.
+
+She was cross-examined by the defence, but without effect.
+
+Her testimony, if it could be established, would ruin the Duke of
+Hereward, but could in no way affect the prisoner at the bar.
+
+When the prosecution perceived this, they realized that they had been, in
+common parlance, "sold."
+
+They were to be sold again.
+
+"You may stand down," said Mr. Keir, sharply.
+
+"Na, I hanna dune yet. I hae mair to say," persisted the witness.
+
+"Say it, then."
+
+"I ken it is nae lawfu' for a wife to gie testimony against her ain
+husband," said Rose Cameron, with a cunning leer that marred the beauty
+of her fine blue eyes.
+
+"Certainly not. What has that to do with this case?"
+
+"It hae a' things to do with it."
+
+"Explain yourself, witness; and remember that you are on your oath."
+
+"Ay, I weel ken the solemnity of an aith. And I hae telt the truth under
+aith; nathless, maybe my teestimony suld na be received."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why no'? Why, gin a wife maunna teestify agin her ain husband, I suld na
+hae teestified agin the Duk' o' Harewood, who is my ain lawfu' husband!"
+said Rose Cameron, purposely raising her voice to a clear, ringing tone
+that was distinctly heard all over the court-room.
+
+Had a shell fallen and exploded in their midst, it could scarcely have
+caused greater consternation.
+
+"What said the lass?" questioned many.
+
+"I dinna just ken," answered many others.
+
+They certainly did not believe the report of their own ears on this
+occasion.
+
+As for the Duke of Hereward, who was then engaged in writing a few lines
+on the fly-leaf of his note-book, he just looked up for a moment and was
+surprised into the first smile that had lighted his grave face since the
+opening of the trial.
+
+The cool counsel who was conducting the examination of the witness,
+and whom nothing on earth could throw off his track, now proceeded to
+inquire:
+
+"Witness! Do we understand you to say that you are the wife of his grace
+the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Ay, just!" replied Rose Cameron, pertly. "Gin ye hae ony understanding
+at a', and gin ye are na the auld daft idiwat ye luke, ye'll understand
+me to say I am the lawfu' wedded wife o' the Duk' o' Harewood. Him as
+was marrit o' Tuesday last to the heiress o' Lone! Gin ye dinna believe
+me, I hae my marriage lines, gie me by the minister o' St. Margaret's
+Kirk, Weestminster, where he marrit me! Ou, ay! and I wad hae tell ye a'
+this in the beginning, only I kenned weel, if I _did_, ye wad na hae
+let me gae on gie' ony teestimony agin me ain husband. De'il hae him! But
+noo, as ye hae heerd the truth anent the grand villainy up in Castle
+Lone, I dinna mind telling ye wha I am. Ay, and ye may set aside my
+witness, gin ye like! But the whole coort hae noo heard it. Ay, and the
+whole warld s'all hear it, or a' be dune! And noo I am thinking ye'll een
+let the puir mon in the dock just gae free; and pit my laird, his greece,
+the nubble duk', intil the prisoner's place. Ye'll no hae to seek him
+far," added the woman, suddenly whisking around and facing the young Duke
+of Hereward, with a perfectly fiendish look of malice distorting her
+handsome face. "There he sits noo! he wha marrit me and afterwards marrit
+the heiress o' Lone! he wha betrayed me intil a prison, and wad hae
+betrayed me to the gallows, gin I had na been to canny for him! There he
+is noo, and he can na face me and deny it!"
+
+The Duke of Hereward did not deign to deny anything. He passed the fly
+leaf, upon which he had written some lines, on to the old lawyer,
+Guthrie, who looked over it, nodded, and then rising in his place,
+addressed the Bench:
+
+"My lord, we desire that the witness, who is now transcending the duties
+and privileges of the stand, be ordered to sit down."
+
+"Oh! I'll sit down!" pertly interrupted Rose Cameron. "I hae had my ain
+way, and I hae said my ain say, and now I'll e'en gae--gin this auld fule
+be done wi' me."
+
+"We have done with you; you can stand down," replied Mr. Keir, in
+mortification and disgust.
+
+Rose Cameron stepped down from the stand with the air of a queen
+descending from her throne. In look and motion she was graceful and
+majestic as the antelope. You had to hear her speak to learn how really
+low and vulgar she was.
+
+She darted one baleful blast of hatred from her blue eyes, as she passed
+the Duke of Hereward, and was then conducted back to the sheriff's room,
+where she was to be detained in custody until the conclusion of the
+trial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+THE VINDICATION.
+
+
+Mr. Guthrie now requested that the witness Ferguson might be recalled.
+
+The order was given. And the Lone saddler's red-headed apprentice took
+the stand.
+
+Mr. Guthrie referred to the notes that had been passed to him by the Duke
+of Hereward, and then said:
+
+"Witness, you told the jury that on the night before the murder of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, you were employed in your master's service up to a late
+hour."
+
+"Ay, your honor; but I waur fain to see the wedding decorations, for a'
+that," said the boy.
+
+"Precisely. But now tell the jury what was the service upon which you
+were employed to so late an hour that night."
+
+"It wad be a bit wedding offering to our laird, wha hae always favored
+his ain folks wi' his custom. It waur a Russia leather traveling
+dressing-bag for his lairdship, the whilk the master had ta'en unco guid
+care suld be as brawa bag as ony to be boughten in Lunnen town itsel',
+whilk mysel' was commissioned, and proud I waur, to tak', wi' my master's
+duty, to his lairdship."
+
+"Doubtless. Now tell the jury at what hour you took this wedding offering
+to Lord Arondelle."
+
+"Aweel, it wad be about half-past nine o'clock. I went wi' the
+dressing-case to the Arondelle Arms, where his lairdship and his
+lairdship's feyther, the auld duk' were biding. The hostler telt me that
+his lairdship had gane for a walk o'er the brig to Castle Lone. Sae I
+were fain to wait there for him."
+
+"How long did you wait?"
+
+"Na lang. I was na mair than five minutes before I saw his lairdship
+coming o'er the brig toward the house. And sune his lairdship came into
+the inn, and I made my bow, and offered his lairdship the wedding-gift,
+wi' my maister's respectful guid wishes. His lairdship smiled pleasantly,
+and tauld me to fetch it after him up to his chamber. I followed my laird
+up-stairs to his ain room, where his lairdship's valet, Mr. Kerr, was
+waiting on him. His lairdship wrote a braw note of acknowledgements
+to my maister, and gie it me to take away. My laird also gie me a
+half-sovereign, for mysel'. I dinna tak' the note just then to my
+maister. I saw by the clock on the mantel that it only lacked a quarter
+to ten o'clock, sae I e'en made my duty to his lairdship and run down
+stairs, ran a' the way o'er to Castle Lone, for I war fain to see the
+decorations. I got to Malcolm's Tower just in time to hear the auld clock
+in the turret strike eleven, and to see the mon and the woman meet
+thegither in the shadows."
+
+"Are you sure that you could not identify that man or woman?"
+
+"Anan?"
+
+"Would you know either of them again?" inquired Mr. Guthrie, changing the
+manner of his question.
+
+"Na! I tauld ye sae before. They were half hidden i' the bushes."
+
+"You say it was a quarter to ten when you left Lord Arondelle in his room
+at the inn?"
+
+"Ay, war it."
+
+"And that it was eleven o'clock when you witnessed the meeting between
+the man and the woman at Castle Lone!"
+
+"Ay, war it. And I had to run a' the way to do it in that time. It waur
+guid rinning."
+
+"You left his lordship's valet with him, do you say?"
+
+"Ay, I did. And the head waiter o' the Arondelle Arms, too, wha was just
+gaeing in wi' his lairdship's supper."
+
+"That will do. You may now stand down," said Mr. Guthrie.
+
+The shock-headed apprentice, who had done such good service to his Grace
+the Duke of Hereward, and such damage to the false witness against him,
+now left the stand and made his way through the crowd to his distant
+seat.
+
+Mr. Guthrie once more got upon his feet to address the Bench, and said:
+
+"May it please the Court, I move that the testimony of the Crown's
+witness, Rose Cameron, alias Rose Scott, be set aside as totally
+unreliable; and, further, that she be indicted for perjury."
+
+Upon this motion of Mr. Guthrie there followed some discussion among the
+lawyers.
+
+Finally it was decided to put the duke's valet, the hotel waiter, and
+other witnesses, on the stand, who would be able to corroborate or rebut
+the evidence given by the lad Ferguson, and thereby break down or
+establish the testimony offered by Rose Cameron.
+
+James Kerr was, therefore, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.
+
+He said that he had been in the service of the duke's family ever since
+he was nine years of age, first as page to the late duchess, but for the
+last three years as valet to the present duke; that he was with his
+master at the "Arondelle Arms" on the night of the murder; that the duke,
+who was then the Marquis of Arondelle, left the inn at half-past eight
+o'clock, to walk over the bridge to Castle Lone; that he returned at
+half-past nine, accompanied to his room by the boy Ferguson, who brought
+a handsome Russia leather travelling-case; that the marquis sat down to
+his writing-table, wrote a note and gave it to the boy, who immediately
+left the house.
+
+"At what hour was this?" inquired Mr. Guthrie.
+
+"It was a few minutes before ten. The clock struck very soon after the
+boy left. I remember it well, because his lordship's supper had been
+ordered for ten, and the waiter just entered to lay the cloth when the
+lad left, and his lordship sat down to supper at ten precisely. After the
+supper-service had been removed, his lordship went to his writing-desk
+and wrote for an hour, and then sealed and dispatched a packet directed
+to the _Liberal Statesman_. I took it myself to the Post-Office, to
+ensure its being in time for the midnight mail. It was then about
+half-past eleven o'clock. I was gone on my message for about five
+minutes. On my return I found my master where I had left him, sitting at
+his writing-desk, arranging his papers. But when I entered he locked his
+desk and said he would go to bed. I waited on him at his night toilet.
+And then, as the inn was very much crowded, I slept on a lounge in my
+master's bed-room. The house was full of noise; so many of the Scots
+were present, making merry over the approaching marriage of their
+chieftain's son. Neither my master nor myself rested well that night.
+I arose early to see my master's bath. The marquis arose at eight
+o'clock."
+
+Such was the substance of James Kerr's testimony, which perfectly
+corroborated that of the lad Ferguson, and greatly damaged that of Rose
+Cameron.
+
+The hotel waiter happened to be among those who had cast all their
+worldly interests to the winds, abandoned their callings of whatever
+sort, and come at all risk of consequences to be present at the trial.
+He was found in the court-room, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.
+
+His testimony corroborated that of the two last witnesses, and utterly
+broke down that of Rose Cameron.
+
+There was further consultation between the Bar and the Bench. Finally the
+testimony of the Crown's witness was set aside, and a warrant was made
+out for the arrest of Rose Cameron, otherwise Rose Scott, upon the
+charge of perjury.
+
+The warrant was sent out to the sheriff's room, to which, after leaving
+the witness-stand, Rose Cameron had been conducted.
+
+And now the crowd in the court-room, composed chiefly of neighbors,
+friends, kinsmen, and clansmen of the young Duke of Hereward, breathed
+freely.
+
+The thunder-cloud had passed.
+
+Their hero was vindicated. Truly they had never for an instant doubted
+his integrity, much less had they suspected him of a heinous, an
+atrocious crime. Still, it was an immense relief to have the black shadow
+of that bloody charge withdrawn.
+
+There was but one more witness for the prosecution to be examined; that
+witness was no less a person than the young Duke of Hereward himself.
+
+He was called to the stand, and sworn.
+
+Every pair of eyes in the court-room availed themselves of the
+opportunity afforded by the elevated position of the witness-stand,
+to gaze on the man who had so recently been the subject of such a
+terrible accusation; and all admired the calmness, self-possession,
+and forbearance of his conduct during the fearful ordeal through which
+he had just passed.
+
+He simply testified as to the finding of the dead body, the position of
+the corpse, the condition of the room, and so forth. He was not subjected
+to a cross-examination, but was courteously notified that he was at
+liberty to retire.
+
+He resumed his former seat.
+
+The case for the prosecution was closed.
+
+Mr. Kinlock, junior counsel for the prisoner, arose for the defence. He
+made a short address to the jury, in which he spoke of the slight grounds
+upon which his unhappy client had been charged with an atrocious crime,
+and brought to trial for his life. The law demanded a victim for that
+heinous crime, which had shocked the whole community from its centre to
+its circumference, and his unfortunate client had been selected as a sin
+offering. He reminded the jury how the very esteem and confidence of the
+master and the fidelity and obedience of the servant had been most
+ingeniously turned into strong circumstantial evidence, to fix the
+assassination of the master upon the servant. The deceased, had entirely
+trusted the prisoner; had given him a pass-key with which he might enter
+his chambers at any hour of the day or night; and hence it was argued
+that the prisoner, being the only one who had the entree to the
+deceased's apartments, must have been the person who admitted the
+murderer to his victim. The prisoner had faithfully obeyed his master's
+orders for the day, in declining to enter his rooms before his bell
+should ring; and thence it was argued that he only delayed to call his
+master because he knew that master lay murdered in his room, and he
+wished to give the murderers, with whom he was said to be confederated,
+time to make good their escape. He was sure, he said, that a just and
+intelligent jury must at once perceive the cruel injustice of such
+far-fetched inferences. In addition he would call witnesses who would
+testify to the good character of the accused, and prove that the great
+esteem and confidence in which he had been held by his late master was
+abundantly justified by the excellent character and blameless conduct of
+the servant.
+
+Mr. Kinlock then proceeded to call his witnesses.
+
+They were the fellow-servants of the accused. Some of them were the very
+same witnesses that had been called by the prosecution, and were now
+re-called for the defence. One and all, in turn, testified to the uniform
+good behavior of the valet while in the service of Sir Lemuel Levison,
+deceased.
+
+The presiding judge, Baron Stairs, summed up the evidence in a very few
+words.
+
+The evidence against the prisoner at the bar was circumstantial only. It
+had appeared in evidence that some servant of the family had admitted the
+assassin to the house. It did not appear who that servant was. The valet
+John Potts, was the only one who had the pass-key to the apartments of
+the deceased. That circumstance had fixed suspicion upon him; had brought
+him to trial; the trial had brought out no new facts; the witness
+principally relied on by the prosecution had not only failed to give any
+testimony to convict the prisoner, but had certainly perjured herself to
+shield the real criminal, whoever he was, and to accuse a noble
+personage, whose high character and lofty station alike placed him
+infinitely above suspicion. On the other hand, many witnesses had
+testified to the good character and conduct of the prisoner, and the
+estimation in which he had been held by his late master. Such was the
+evidence, pro and con.
+
+His lordship concluded by saying that the jury might now retire and
+deliberate upon their verdict, remembering that in all cases of
+uncertainty they should lean to the side of mercy.
+
+The jury arose from their seats, and, conducted by a bailiff, retired to
+the room provided for them.
+
+Many of the people now left the court-room to get refreshments.
+
+But as the judges remained upon the bench, the Duke of Hereward kept his
+seat. He felt sure that the jury would not long deliberate before
+bringing in their verdict.
+
+Meanwhile he turned to glance at the prisoner.
+
+John Potts looked like a man without a hope in the world. We have already
+seen that an awful change had come over him since the day of his arrest,
+three months before. Now, as he leaned forward where he sat, and rested
+his head upon his skeleton hands, that clasped the top of the railing of
+the dock, his face, or what could be seen of it, was ghastly pale with
+agony, while his emaciated frame trembled from head to foot. _He looked
+like a guilty man._ And his looks were now, as they had been from the
+moment in which the dead body of his master had been discovered, the
+strongest testimony against him.
+
+For all that, you know, they cannot hang a man merely because he looks as
+if he ought to be hung.
+
+After an absence of about fifteen minutes, the jury, led by a bailiff,
+returned to the court-room.
+
+The prisoner looked up, shivered, and dropped his head upon his clasped
+hands again.
+
+The dead silence of breathless expectation in the court-room was now
+broken by the solemn voice of the Clerk of Arraigns, inquiring, in
+measured tones:
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"
+
+"We have," answered the foreman, a jolly, red-headed, round bodied Banff
+baker.
+
+"Prisoner at the bar, stand up and look upon the jury," ordered the
+clerk.
+
+The poor, abject, and terrified wretch tottered to his feet and stood,
+pallid, shaking, and grasping the front rails of the dock for support.
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner. How say you, is the
+prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the felony herewith he stands
+charged?" demanded the clerk.
+
+"We find the charge against the prisoner to be--NOT PROVEN,"[A]
+answered the foreman, speaking for the whole in a strong, distinct voice,
+that was heard all over the court-room.
+
+[Footnote A: "Not Proven"--a Scotch verdict in uncertain cases.]
+
+On hearing the verdict which saved him from death, even if it did not
+vindicate him, John Potts let go the rails of the dock and fell back in
+his chair in a half-fainting condition.
+
+"The prisoner is discharged from custody. The Court is adjourned," said
+the presiding baron, rising and leaving his seat.
+
+While one of the bailiffs was kindly supporting the faltering steps of
+the released prisoner, in taking him from the dock, and while the crowd
+in the court-room were pouring out of the front doors, the presiding
+judge, Baron Stairs, came down to the place where the young Duke of
+Hereward still sat. He had known the duke's father, and had also known
+the duke himself from boyhood. He now held out his hand cordially,
+saying:
+
+"I am very glad to see your grace, though the occasion is a painful one.
+Let me congratulate you on your marriage, I wish you every good thing in
+life. You have already got the _best_ thing--a good wife. I knew
+Miss Levison. A finer young woman never lived. I congratulate you with
+all my heart, Duke!"
+
+"I thank you very much, Lord Stairs," said the bridegroom, warmly
+returning the greeting of the judge.
+
+"But I fear I must condole with you also. It was really too bad to have
+your honeymoon eclipsed at its rising, by a summons to attend as a
+witness on a criminal trial!--too bad! However, fortunately, the trial
+was a short one. And you are now at liberty to fly to your bride! I hope
+the duchess is well," added his lordship.
+
+"She has never been quite well, I grieve to say, since the catastrophe at
+Lone," answered the duke, evasively.
+
+"Ah, no! ah no! It cannot be expected that she should be so yet. It will
+take time! It will take time! By the way, where are you stopping, my dear
+Duke? I am at the 'Prince Consort!' Will you come home with me and dine?"
+heartily inquired the baron.
+
+"Many thanks, my lord. But I am not staying in town. I must hurry back to
+Lone this evening in order to secure the midnight express to London. The
+most important business demands my immediate presence there," gravely
+replied the young duke.
+
+"Ah, of course! of course! the bride! the duchess! Certainly, my dear
+duke. I will not press you further," said the baron, laughing cordially.
+
+Neither of the gentlemen made the slightest allusion to the testimony
+given by the crown's evidence which had cast so foul and false an
+aspersion on the character of the duke.
+
+By this time the court-room was nearly emptied.
+
+The duke and the baron walked out together.
+
+The crowd had dispersed from before the court-house.
+
+The duke and the baron shook hands and parted on the sidewalk.
+
+"Give my warm respects to the duchess. Tell her grace that I shall hope
+to meet her and present my congratulations in person, on her return from
+the Continent. That will be in time for the meeting of Parliament, I
+presume," said his lordship, as he was about to step into his carriage.
+
+"Thanks, my lord. Yes, I hope so," answered his grace, as he lifted his
+hat and turned away.
+
+The baron's carriage drove off to his hotel.
+
+The duke walked rapidly to the inn, where he had ordered his post-chaise
+to be put up.
+
+He partook of a light luncheon while his horses were being harnessed, and
+then entered the chaise, attended by his valet, and ordered the coachman
+to drive as fast as possible, without hurting the horses, to Lone.
+
+He was most anxious to reach the "Arondelle Arms," to see if any telegram
+from Detective Setter had reached the office for him.
+
+So long as the road ran through the Firwood, and was comparatively smooth
+and level, the coachman kept his horses at their best speed; but when it
+entered the mountain pass of the chain running around Loch Lone, he was
+compelled to drive slowly and carefully.
+
+The sun set before they emerged from the pass, and it was nearly dark
+when the chaise drew up before the Arondelle Arms.
+
+The duke got out of the chaise, and passed through the little assemblage
+of villagers who were standing there discussing the verdict of the jury.
+He hurried at once to the bar-room to inquire if any letter or telegram
+had come for him.
+
+"Na, naething o' the sort," replied the landlord, who, seeing the
+disappointment expressed upon the duke's face, added: "But, under favor,
+your grace, there's time eneuch yet. Your grace hae na been twenty-four
+hours awa' fra Lunnun."
+
+Without waiting to answer the host, the young duke hurried out, and
+walked rapidly off to the telegraph office, which was at the railway
+station.
+
+"Ye see yon lad?" said the landlord to his wife. "He hanna been a day fra
+his bride, and yet he expects to hae a letter or a message frae her every
+minute. Aweel we hae a' been fules in our time!"
+
+So saying the philosophical host of the Arondelle Arms gave his mind to
+the service of his numerous customers, who had come from the trial at
+Banff very hungry and thirsty, and now filled the bar-room with their
+persons, and all the air with their complaints.
+
+They were not at all satisfied with the verdict. They had had a murder,
+and they had a right to have a hanging. They had been defrauded of their
+prospect of this second entertainment, and they were not well pleased.
+
+Meanwhile, the duke hurried off to the telegraph office, to see if by any
+chance a telegram had been received there for him and detained.
+
+When he entered the little den, he found the operator at work. He
+forebore to interrupt the man until the clicking of the wires ceased.
+Then he asked:
+
+"Can you tell if there is any message here for me?--the Duke of
+Hereward," added his grace, seeing the puzzled look of the operator,
+who was a stranger in the country.
+
+"Yes, your grace. It has only just now come," respectfully answered the
+young man, as he drew out a long, narrow strip of thick, white paper,
+upon which the message had been stamped by the instrument, and proceeded
+to select an official envelope in which to inclose it.
+
+"Never mind that. Give it to me at once," said the duke, taking the strip
+from the hand of the operator and hastily perusing it.
+
+The message ran thus:
+
+"OLD CHURCH COURT, KENSINGTON, LONDON,
+
+"October 31st, 3 P.M.
+
+"To HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, Arondelle Arms, Lone, N.B.
+She is found. Pray come to London immediately. It is important.
+
+"J.A. SETTER."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+WHO WAS FOUND!
+
+
+"She is found."
+
+"Who is found? The lost bride, or that mysterious messenger who was with
+the fugitive an hour before her flight, who was suspected to have lured
+her away, and who might be able to give a clew to her whereabouts? Good
+Heaven! why could not the detective have sent a definite message?"
+thought the duke, as he studied the telegram.
+
+Suddenly his face lighted up as he said to himself. "It is Salome who is
+found! Of course it must be Salome, since no one else was really lost. It
+is Salome, and that is the very reason why Setter spoke so indefinitely;
+for I remember now that I instructed him to avoid using the name of the
+duchess in any telegram. Salome is found! Ah! I thank Heaven! She is
+found! But--" he reflected with a sudden re-action of feeling--"how,
+where, when, by whom, under what circumstances was my bride found? Is she
+well or ill? Can she give any satisfactory explanation of her absence?"
+were the next anxious, soul-racking questions that chased each other
+through his mind.
+
+"Oh, for the strong pinions of the eagle, that I might fly to her at once
+and satisfy all these anxious doubts," he breathed.
+
+It was now but six o'clock in the afternoon. The first train for London
+would not stop at Lone until midnight, and would not reach London until
+eight o'clock the next morning--fourteen hours of suspense!
+
+He could not bear that.
+
+The telegraph operator was about to close the office.
+
+The duke stopped him by saying:
+
+"I wish to send a telegram to London."
+
+"It is after hours, your grace," answered the operator, very
+deferentially.
+
+"I will pay you whatever you may demand for your extra services, over and
+above your usual fee," said the duke.
+
+The operator hesitated.
+
+"That is to say, if there is no rule in your office to forbid it," added
+the duke.
+
+"There is no rule to prevent it, your grace. My time is up, and I was
+about to go home to supper, that was all. I will send your grace's
+message, if you please," the operator explained, as he took his seat
+again.
+
+The duke hastily dashed off the following message:
+
+"LONE, N.B., October 31st, 6 P.M.
+
+"To J.A. SETTER, Police Station, Old Church Court, Kensington,
+London: Shall leave for London by this midnight express-train. Is she
+quite well? Answer immediately. HEREWARD."
+
+The operator took the message with a bow. The click of the instrument was
+soon heard, as the message, with the speed of light, flew on its errand.
+
+"Will you remain here until I can receive an answer?" inquired the duke,
+as soon as the sound ceased.
+
+"I should be happy to accommodate your grace; but if there should be no
+answer, say up to twelve o'clock?" suggested the young man.
+
+"In that case I should not ask you to remain; as you must know by my
+telegram that I am to take the train for London at that hour."
+
+"Certainly, your grace; but I thought it possible that you might wish the
+message taken to some other person in the event of your absence."
+
+"Not at all. I want it for myself alone. If it does not come before
+twelve I shall have no use for it."
+
+"Then I will remain here until midnight, if necessary; but it may not be
+necessary."
+
+"And you shall set your own price upon your time," said the duke.
+
+"Thanks, your grace; I am happy to be able to accommodate you; and would
+prefer to leave all other considerations to yourself," said the young
+man, very politely and--politicly.
+
+Even while they spoke, a warning vibration of the wires was perceived,
+followed by the _click, click, click_, of the instrument.
+
+"There is a message coming--most probably an answer to yours, though it
+is very soon to get one," said the operator, as he turned to give his
+whole attention to his work.
+
+The duke looked on with breathless eagerness.
+
+As soon as the sound ceased, the operator drew off the message and handed
+it to the duke, who seized it and hastily read;
+
+"LONDON, October, 31st, 7 P.M.
+
+"TO THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, LONE, N.B.: She is perfectly well.
+
+"J.A. SETTER."
+
+"Thank Heaven! I breathe freely now!" said the young duke to himself, as
+he arose from his seat.
+
+He liberally rewarded the telegraph operator, and then left the office
+and walked back to the inn.
+
+The Arondelle Arms was all alive with excitement. More travellers had
+come down from Banff, and the inn was crowded, principally by men of the
+Clan Scott. Every room was filled, every window lighted up. The bar
+and the tap room reeked.
+
+The duke was making his way through the crowd as best he might, when he
+was met by the landlord, who bowed, and apologized, and finally offered
+to conduct his grace by a private entrance to the parlor connected with
+the duke's own reserved suit of apartments.
+
+"An' noo, what will your grace hae to your supper?" hospitably inquired
+the host, as soon as his guest was comfortably seated in his arm-chair
+before the fire.
+
+"Anything at all, so that it is cleanly served, for which I can, of
+course, trust the Arondelle Arms," said the duke, smiling.
+
+The landlord bowed and went out.
+
+The duke leaned back in his chair, and stretched his feet to the genial
+warmth of the fire.
+
+He was feeling very happy. An immense load of anxiety was lifted from his
+heart. She was found! She was perfectly well! In twelve hours he would
+see her, and hear her own explanation of her very strange conduct. Her
+explanation would be perfectly satisfactory. So great was his confidence
+in her that he felt sure of this.
+
+She was found. She was perfectly well. There was nothing to prevent them
+from starting on their wedding tour as soon as they might wish to do so.
+They would, therefore, leave London by the tidal train for Dover on the
+next afternoon. The world would take it for granted that the wedding tour
+had been interrupted and delayed only by the trial. The world would never
+suspect Salome's strange escapade.
+
+While these thoughts were passing through the mind of the duke, the
+waiter came in and laid the cloth for supper.
+
+And soon the landlord himself entered, bearing a tray on which was
+arranged a choice bill of fare, the principal item of which was a roasted
+pheasant.
+
+The duke who had scarcely tasted food during the twenty-four hours of his
+terrible anxiety, now that his anxiety was relieved, felt his appetite
+return, demanding refreshment at the rate of compound interest.
+
+He sat down to the table. The landlord waited on him.
+
+The honest host of the Arondelle Arms was "dying," so to speak, for a
+confidential conversation with his noble guest. For some little time his
+respect for the Duke of Hereward held his curiosity in check; but at
+length curiosity conquered respect, and he burst forth with:
+
+"That wad be an unco impudent claim, the hizzie Rose Cameron tried to set
+up agin your grace, as I hear all the folk say out by--the jaud maunn be
+clear daft."
+
+"It would be charitable to suppose that she is 'daft,' as you call it,
+landlord. It would be well if a jury could be persuaded to think so, as,
+in that case, it would save her from the penalty of perjury. But we will
+speak no more of the poor girl. Take away the service, if you please,"
+said the duke, quietly.
+
+The landlord, balked of his desire to gossip, bowed, and cleared the
+table.
+
+It was not yet nine o'clock. There were more than three hours to be
+passed before the express-train for London would reach Lone.
+
+The duke, refreshed by his supper, felt no sense of weariness, no
+disposition to lie down and sleep away the three remaining hours of his
+stay. His mind was in too excited a condition to think of sleep. Neither
+could he read.
+
+So, soon after he was left alone by the landlord, he arose and sauntered
+out through the private entrance into the night air.
+
+The streets of the village were very quiet, for the reason that on this
+night the men were all collected at the Arondelle Arms, discussing the
+events of the day; and at this hour the women were all sure to be in
+their houses, putting their children to bed, setting bread to rise, or
+"garring th' auld claithes luke amaist as guid as the new."
+
+The hamlet was very still under the starlit sky.
+
+The Arondelle Arms, lighted up and musical, was the only noisy spot about
+it.
+
+The mountains stood, grand and silent, like gigantic sentinels around it.
+
+The lake, the island, and the castle of Lone lay beneath it.
+
+A sudden impulse seized the duke to cross the bridge, and re-visit once
+more the home of his youth, the scene of his family's disaster, the stage
+of that frightful tragedy which had shocked the civilized world.
+
+He went down to the beach, and stepped upon the bridge. Now, no floral
+wedding decorations wreathed the arches. All was bare and bleak beneath
+the last October sky.
+
+He crossed the bridge and entered on the grounds of the castle. All here
+was sear under the late autumnal frosts. He did not approach the castle
+walls. He would not disturb the servants at this hour. He walked about
+the grounds until he heard the clock in Malcolm's Old Tower strike ten.
+Then he turned his steps toward the hamlet.
+
+Just before he reached the bridge, he overtook the tall, dark figure of a
+man, clothed in a long, close overcoat, in shape not unlike a priest's
+walking habit. The man tottered and stumbled as he walked, so that the
+duke was soon abreast to him. And then he discovered the wanderer to be
+John Potts, valet to the late Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward shrunk from this man. He could not bring
+himself to speak with one whom he could not, in his own mind, clear from
+suspicion.
+
+He passed the valet, walking quickly, and gaining the bridge.
+
+Then he heard footsteps rapidly following him, and the voice of the
+ex-valet excitedly calling after him:
+
+"My Lord Arondelle! oh! I beg pardon! Your grace! Your grace! For the
+love of Heaven, let me speak to you!"
+
+Thus adjured, the Duke of Hereward paused, and permitted the ex-valet to
+come up beside him.
+
+The wretched man was out of breath, pale, panting, trembling, ready to
+faint. He tottered toward the bulwarks of the bridge, grasped them, and
+leaned on them for support.
+
+"What do you want of me, Potts?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Oh, your grace! only to speak to you!" gasped the man.
+
+"What can you have to say to me?" sternly demanded the duke.
+
+"_This_, your grace!" said the man, suddenly springing forward and
+falling on his knees at the feet of the duke. "_This_ I have to say,
+your grace! Although the Court has not cleared me, I am innocent of my
+master's blood! I am! I am! I am! as the Heaven above us hears and
+knows! Oh! say you believe me, my lord duke!" cried the poor wretch,
+wringing his hands.
+
+"Your words and manner are very impressive; nevertheless, I cannot place
+confidence in them," said the duke, coldly.
+
+"Oh, my lord! my lord! Oh, my lord! my lord!" groaned the valet, lifting
+both his hands to heaven, as if in appeal from a great injustice.
+
+The duke was moved.
+
+"If you _are_ guiltless, why should you care whether I, or any other
+fallible mortal, should consider you guilty?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh," cried the man, clasping his hands with the energy of
+despair--"because _every_ body thinks me guilty! _No_ one
+believes me innocent, though I am guiltless of my master's blood, so help
+me Heaven!"
+
+"The circumstances, though not enough to convict you in a court of law,
+where every doubt must go in favor of the accused, were still strong
+enough to lay you under suspicion, and open to a second arrest and trial
+for your life, should new evidence turn up," quietly replied the duke.
+
+"I know it! I know it, your grace. But no new evidence against me can
+turn up! Lord grant that evidence in my favor might do so! But that
+cannot happen either. The circumstances that accused, but could not
+convict, nor acquit me, leave me still under the ban! Yes! under the ban
+I must remain! But do not _you_, my lord duke, believe me guilty of
+my master's death! Guilty of much I am! Guilty of neglect of duty, but
+not of my master's death! The Heavens that hear me know it! Oh, pray,
+pray try to believe it, my lord duke!" pleaded the wretch, still
+kneeling, still lifting his clasped hands in an agony of appeal.
+
+"Get upon your feet, Potts. Never kneel to any man. To do so is to
+degrade yourself and the man to whom you kneel. Get up, before I speak
+another word to you," said the duke.
+
+The miserable creature struggled to his feet and stood leaning against
+the bulwarks of the bridge, for support.
+
+"Now, then, if you are not guilty, if your conscience acquits you in the
+sight of Heaven of all complicity in your late master's death, why should
+you feel and show such extreme distress--distress that has worn your
+frame to a skeleton, and stricken your life with old age?" gravely
+demanded the duke.
+
+"Why?--oh, your grace! I loved my master as a son his father! He was more
+like a father than a master to me. And he was cut off suddenly by a
+bloody death! In the midst of my grief for his loss I was arrested and
+accused of murdering him--my beloved master. I have seen the gallows
+looming before me for the last three months. I have been shut in prison,
+with no companions but my own awful thoughts. I have been put on trial
+for my life. And though the jury could not convict me, it would not
+acquit me! though I am set at large for the present, I am subject to
+re-arrest and trial for death, if new evidence, however false, should
+arise against me. Meanwhile, no one believes me innocent. All believe me
+guilty. No one will ever speak to me. They made the inn too hot to hold
+me. My life is ruined--my heart is broken! Is not all that enough, lord
+duke, to have worn my body to a skeleton and turned my hair gray, without
+remorse of conscience?" impetuously demanded the man.
+
+"No, Potts, it is not. Nothing but remorse, it seems to me, could so
+reduce a man," gravely replied the duke.
+
+"Oh, your grace! you still believe me guilty of my good master's murder!"
+passionately exclaimed the man. "Ah, Heaven! what will become of me? I
+shall die unless I can have the stay of _some_ one's faith in me!"
+
+"Potts," said the duke, in a softened tone, "I do not now think that you
+had any active or conscious share in the foul murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison. But not the less do I see that you are suffering from remorse.
+_You are still keeping something back from me!_" he added, very
+solemnly.
+
+The valet groaned, but made no answer.
+
+"That is the reason why I have no confidence in you," said his grace.
+
+The valet wrung his gaunt hands, but continued silent.
+
+"Now I do not ask you to confide in me; but I will give you this
+warning--so long as you hold in your bosom a secret which, if revealed,
+would bring the real criminal to justice, so long you will yourself
+remain the object of suspicion from others and the victim of remorse
+in yourself. Now, Potts, I must leave you; for I must get to Lone in time
+to catch the London express. Good-night," said the duke, as he moved
+away.
+
+"One moment more, oh, my lord duke! for the love of Heaven! One moment to
+do a piece of justice," pleaded the ex-valet, tottering after the young
+nobleman.
+
+"Well, well, what is it now?" inquired the latter, pausing and turning
+back.
+
+"That poor, misguided girl, Rose Cameron," said the valet.
+
+"Well, what of _her_, man?" impatiently demanded the young nobleman.
+
+"Listen, my lord duke! You saw her committed to prison on the charge of
+perjury."
+
+"A charge that she was self-convicted of."
+
+"My lord duke, she was not guilty of perjury!" sighed the valet.
+
+"What! What is that you say?" quickly demanded the duke.
+
+"I say, Rose Cameron, poor misguided girl that she was, did not, however,
+perjure herself--_intentionally_ I mean," repeated John Potts.
+
+"Is she _mad_, then? The victim of a monomania?" gravely inquired
+the duke, fixing his eyes upon the troubled face of the valet.
+
+"No, your grace, she was never more in her right senses."
+
+"What do you mean? Do you _dare_--"
+
+"My lord duke, I dare nothing. I never was a daring man; if I had been,
+the daring would have been taken out of me by the troubles of this last
+quarter of a year! But, my lord duke, I am right. Rose Cameron did not
+intentionally perjure herself, neither is she mad. Rose Cameron believes
+in her heart every word of the statement she made under oath in the open
+court this morning."
+
+While the man thus spoke, the duke looked fixedly at him in perfect
+silence, in the forlorn hope of hearing some solution to the enigma.
+
+"Rose Cameron was deceived, my lord duke--grossly, cruelly, basely
+deceived--not in one respect only, but in many. She was, first of all,
+deceived into the idea of being the wife of a gentleman of high rank,
+when, in fact she is nobody's wife at all. Next she was deceived into
+becoming an accomplice in a robbery and murder, of which she was as
+ignorant and as innocent as--as _myself_. She could not have been
+more so!"
+
+"Who was her deceiver?" sternly demanded the duke.
+
+"I beg pardon. I know no more than your grace! I only presumed to speak
+about it, so as to explain the strange conduct of that poor girl, and
+clear her of intentional penury in your sight," said the valet, meekly.
+
+"Potts, you know much more than you are willing to divulge. You have,
+however, unwittingly given me a clew that I shall take care to follow up.
+Once more let me warn you to get rid of sinful secrets, and amend your
+life, if you wish to be at peace. Good-night."
+
+So saying, the duke walked rapidly away to make up for the time lost in
+talking with the ex-valet.
+
+It was after eleven o'clock when he reached the Arondelle Arms, yet the
+little hostel gave no signs of closing. The windows were all still ablaze
+with light, and the bar and the tap-room were uproarious with fun.
+Evidently the Clan Scott had been drinking the health of the duke and
+duchess until they had become--
+
+        "Glorious!
+O'er all the ills of life victorious!"
+
+The duke slipped in at the private entrance and gained his own apartment,
+where he found his valet engaged in packing his valise.
+
+He sent the man out to pay the tavern bill.
+
+In a few minutes Kerr returned, accompanied by the landlord, who brought
+the receipt, and inquired if his grace would have a carriage.
+
+"No," the duke said; as the distance was short, he preferred to walk to
+the station.
+
+In a few moments he left the inn, followed by his valet carrying his
+valise.
+
+They caught the train in good time, having just secured their tickets
+when the warning shriek of the engine was heard, and it thundered up to
+the station and stopped.
+
+The duke, followed by his servant, entered the coupe he had secured for
+the journey.
+
+Three nights of sleeplessness, anxiety and fatigue had prostrated the
+vital forces of the young nobleman, and so, no sooner had the train
+started, than he sat himself comfortably back among his cushions, and,
+being now in a great measure relieved from suspense, he fell into a
+deep and dreamless sleep. This sleep continued almost unbroken through
+the night, and was only slightly disturbed by the bustle of arrival when
+the train reached a large city on its route. He awoke when it arrived at
+Peterborough; but fell asleep again, and slept through the long twilight
+of that first day of November.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+OFF THE TRACK.
+
+
+It was eight o'clock in the morning of a dark and cloudy day, when the
+duke was finally aroused by the noise and confusion attending the arrival
+of the Great Northern Express train at King's Cross Station, London.
+
+He shook himself wide awake, adjusted his wrap, and sprang out of his
+coupe, while yet his servant was but just bestirring himself.
+
+The first man he met in the station was Detective Setter.
+
+"_How_ is she?" eagerly inquired the traveller, hastening to meet
+the officer.
+
+"She is perfectly well, and expresses herself as not only willing, but
+anxious to see your grace," replied the detective.
+
+"_Not only willing!_ that is a strange phrase, too! But I presume I
+shall understand it all when I see her. _Where_ is she?" demanded
+the duke.
+
+"At the house on Westminster Road. The address _was_ Westminster,
+and not Blackfriars Road."
+
+"At the house on Westminster Road! Did you find her there?"
+
+"I did your grace."
+
+"But why, in the name of propriety, and good sense, does she not return
+home?"
+
+"Your grace, she is at home," said the perplexed detective.
+
+"Just now you told me that she was at the house on Westminster Road!"
+said the bewildered duke.
+
+"Beg pardon, your grace, but the house on Westminster Road _is_ her
+home. She has no other that I know of."
+
+The duke stared at the detective a moment, and then hastily demanded:
+
+"Who _are_ you talking of?"
+
+"Beg pardon again, your grace, but I am afraid there is some
+misunderstanding."
+
+"_Who_ are you talking about?"
+
+"I am talking of the woman who came to the duchess just before she
+disappeared," answered the detective.
+
+"Good Heaven!" exclaimed the duke, with such a look of deep
+disappointment that the detective hastened to deprecate his displeasure
+by saying:
+
+"I am very sorry, your grace, that there should have been any
+misapprehension."
+
+"You idiot!" were the words that arose spontaneously to the duke's lips;
+but they were not uttered. The "princely Hereward" habitually governed
+himself.
+
+"Why did you not tell me in your telegram _who_ was found?" he
+demanded.
+
+"I certainly thought that your grace would have understood. In the
+telegram dispatched at nine o'clock yesterday morning, I told your grace
+that I had a clew to the woman who had called at Elmthorpe House on
+Tuesday. In the telegram sent at three in the afternoon, I said--'She is
+found.' I certainly thought your grace would understand that the woman to
+whom I had gained the clew was found. I grieve to know how much mistaken
+I was," sighed Mr. Setter.
+
+"Ah! that accounts for everything. I never received that first telegram."
+
+"Your grace never received it?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Then my messenger was false to his trust. I was so indiscreet as to send
+it to the office by a ticket porter, believing the fellow would do his
+duty faithfully, after having been paid in advance. The more fool I. I am
+certainly old enough to have known better!" said the detective, with a
+mortified air.
+
+"Well Mr. Setter, it is useless to regret that mistake now. Be so good as
+to call a cab. We will go at once to Westminster Road and see this Mrs.
+Brown. What information has she given you?"
+
+"None whatever, except this, which we knew before--that she visited the
+bride on the afternoon of the wedding day. She declines to tell _me_
+the nature of her business with the duchess; but says that she will
+explain it to you; she further denies all knowledge of the present abode
+of the duchess."
+
+"Then we must lose no time in going to the woman," said the duke.
+
+As he spoke, the cab which had been signalled by the detective drove up,
+and the cabman jumped down and opened the door.
+
+The duke entered it and sat down on the back cushions.
+
+His grace's servant, Kerr, came up to the window for orders.
+
+"Take my luggage home to Elmthorpe House. Give my respects to Lady
+Belgrade, and say that I will join her ladyship this afternoon," said the
+duke.
+
+The servant touched his hat and withdrew.
+
+"To Number ----, Westminster Road," ordered Mr. Setter, as he mounted to
+the box-seat beside the cabman.
+
+The latter started his horses at a good rate of speed, so that a drive of
+about forty minutes brought them to their destination.
+
+The detective jumped down and opened the door, saying,
+
+"Excuse me, your grace; but, I think, perhaps I ought to go in first to
+ensure you an interview with the woman?"
+
+"By all means go in first, officer. I will remain here in the cab until
+you return to summon me," answered the duke.
+
+Detective Setter went up to the door and knocked, and then waited a few
+seconds until the door was opened, and he was admitted by an unseen hand.
+
+A few minutes elapsed, and then detective Setter reappeared, and came up
+to the cab and said:
+
+"She will see you at once, early as it is, your grace, I do not know what
+in the world possesses the old woman; but she is chuckling in the most
+insane manner in the anticipation of meeting you 'face to face,' as she
+calls it."
+
+"Well, we shall soon see," said the duke, as, with a resigned air, he
+followed Mr. Setter into the house.
+
+The detective led him up stairs to the gaudy parlor which had once been
+Rose Cameron's sitting-room.
+
+There was no one present; but the detective handed a chair to the duke,
+and begged him to sit down and wait for Mrs. Brown's appearance.
+
+The duke threw himself into the chair, and gazed around him upon the
+garish scene, until a chamber door opened, and Mrs. Brown, in her
+Sunday's best suit, sailed in. The duke arose.
+
+Mrs. Brown came on toward him, courtesying stiffly, and saying:
+
+"Good morning to you, Mr. Scott! It is a many months since I have had the
+pleasure of seeing you in this house."
+
+The duke was not so much amazed at this greeting as he might have been,
+had he not heard the astounding testimony of Rose Cameron. So he answered
+quietly:
+
+"I do not think, madam, that you ever 'had the pleasure' of seeing me 'in
+this house' or, in fact, anywhere else. I have never seen _you_ in
+my life before."
+
+"Oh! oh! oh! here to the man! He would brazen it out to my very face!"
+exclaimed Mrs. Brown.
+
+The duke started and flushed crimson as he stared at the woman.
+
+"Oh, I am not afeard of you! Deuce a bit am I afeard of you! You may
+glare till your eyes drop out, but you'll not scare me! And you may be
+the Markiss of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward, too, for aught
+I know, or care either! But you were just plain Mr. John Scott to me, and
+also to that poor, wronged lass whom you have betrayed into prison, if
+not unto death! And now, Mr. John Scott, as you wished to see me (and
+I can guess why you wished to see me,) and as I have no objection to see
+you, besides having something of importance to tell you, perhaps you will
+send that man off," said Mrs. Brown pointing to the detective.
+
+"No. I prefer that Mr. Setter should stay here, and be a witness to all
+that passes between us," answered the duke.
+
+"All right. It is no business of mine, and no _shame_ of mine. Only
+I thought as you mightn't like a stranger to hear all your secrets, and
+I wish to spare your feelings," said the woman.
+
+"I beg you will not consider my feelings in the least, madam," answered
+the duke, with a slight smile of amusement; "and I hope you will allow
+Mr. Setter to remain," he added.
+
+"Oh, in course! _I_ have no objection, if _you_ have none."
+
+"Pray go on and say what you have to say," urged the duke.
+
+"Then, first of all, I have to tell you that I know why you have come
+here. You have come to inquire about Miss Salome Levison, the great
+banker's heiress."
+
+"You are speaking of the Duchess of Hereward, madam," interrupted the
+duke, in a stern voice.
+
+"No, I'm not. I am speaking of Miss Salome Levison. She is not the
+Duchess of Hereward. I don't know but one Duchess of Hereward, and _her
+you are ashamed to own_," spitefully added Mrs. Brown.
+
+"You are a woman, aged and insane, and therefore entitled to our utmost
+indulgence," said the duke, putting the strongest control upon himself.
+"But tell me now, what was your business with the Lady of Lone, upon whom
+you called at Elmthorpe House on Tuesday afternoon?"
+
+"I went from your true wife, whom you had betrayed into prison, to your
+false wife, to let her know what you were, and to tell her that there was
+but one step between herself and ruin!"
+
+"Good Heaven! you did that!" exclaimed the duke, utterly thrown off his
+guard.
+
+"Yes, I did! And I showed the young lady your real wife's marriage lines,
+all regularly signed and witnessed by the rector of St. Margaret's and
+the sexton, and the pew-opener! I did! And there were letters in your own
+handwriting, and photographs, the very print of you, which I took along
+with the marriage lines, to prove my words when I told her that you had
+been married for over a year, and had lived in my house with your wife
+all that time!"
+
+"Heaven may forgive you for that great wrong, woman; but I never can!
+And--the lady believed you?"
+
+"Of course she did! How could she help it, when she saw all the proofs?
+It almost killed her. Indeed, and I think it _did_ quite craze her!
+But she saw her duty, and she had the courage to do it! She knew as she
+ought to leave you, before the false marriage could go any further. So
+she left you. I do really respect her for it!"
+
+"In the name of Heaven, _where_ did she go? Tell me that! Tell me
+where to find her, and I may be able to pardon the great wrong you have
+done us under some insane error," said the husband of the lost wife,
+striving to control his indignation.
+
+"Indeed, then," exclaimed Mrs. Brown, defiantly, "I am not asking any
+pardon at all from you, Mr. Scott. It ain't likely as I'll want pardon
+from Heaven for doing my duty, much less from _you_, Mr. John Scott.
+Oh, yes! I know you are called the Duke of Hereward; and no doubt you are
+the Duke of Hereward; but I knew you as Mr. John Scott, and nobody else;
+and I knew a deal too much of you as _him_. But as to wanting your
+pardon--that's a good one!"
+
+"Will you be good enough to tell me where my wife, the Duchess of
+Hereward, has gone?" demanded the duke, putting a strong curb upon his
+anger.
+
+"_You_ know where _she_ is well enough. _She_ is in the _trap_ you set
+for her!" spitefully answered the woman.
+
+In truth, the duke needed all his powers of self-control to enable him to
+reply calmly:
+
+"I ask you to tell me where is the Lady of Lone, to whom you went on
+Tuesday afternoon, with a story which has driven her from her home, and
+driven her, perhaps, to madness, or to death. I charge you to tell me,
+where is she?"
+
+"Ah! where is Miss Salome Levison, the heiress of Lone, you ask! Exactly!
+That is what you would give a great deal to know, wouldn't you! You want
+to follow and join her, and live with her abroad, because you have got a
+wife living in England. You're a noble duke, so you are! Well, if
+_this_ is what the nobility are a coming to, the sooner them
+Republicans have it all their own way the better, I say!" exclaimed Mrs.
+Brown, throwing herself back in her chair and folding her arms.
+
+Detective Setter here joined the Duke of Hereward, and deferentially drew
+him away to the other end of the room, and whispered:
+
+"I beg your grace not to remain here, subjected to the insolence of this
+mad woman, whose every second word is treason or blasphemy, or worse, if
+anything can be worse. Leave me to deal with her. A very little more, and
+I shall arrest her on the grave charge of conspiracy."
+
+"No, Setter, do nothing of the sort. Use no violence; utter no threats.
+_Now_, if ever--here, if anywhere--is a crisis, at which we must be
+not only 'wise as serpents, but _harmless_ as doves,' if we would
+gain any information from this woman," answered Salome's husband, as he
+walked back and rejoined Mrs. Brown.
+
+"Will you tell me, _on any terms_, where the Lady of Lone is to be
+found?" he inquired.
+
+"Humph! I like that! Aren't you a sharp? You _can't_ call her the
+duchess, and you _won't_ call her Miss Levison, so you call her the
+Lady of Lone, anyway!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, with a chuckling laugh.
+
+"But, will you, _for any price_, tell me where she has gone?"
+repeated the duke.
+
+"As to where Miss Salome Levison has gone, I would not tell you to save
+your life, even if I could. I could not tell you, even if I would. I left
+her sitting in her bed-chamber at Elmthorpe House, on that Tuesday
+afternoon after her false marriage. She was sitting clothed in her deep
+mourning travelling suit, as she had put on again for her father directly
+the wedding breakfast was over. She looked the very image of sorrow and
+despair. She did not tell me where she was going. I don't believe she
+even knew herself. There, that's all that I have got to tell you, even if
+you had the power to put me on the rack, as you used to have in the bad
+old times!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, once more folding her arms and settling
+herself in her chair.
+
+The Duke of Hereward walked toward the detective officer.
+
+"There is nothing more to be learned from the woman, at present, Setter.
+We have already gained much, however, in the knowledge of the base
+calumny that drove the duchess from her home. It is a relief to be
+assured that she has not fallen among London thieves. She has probably
+gone abroad. You must inquire, discreetly, at the London Bridge Railway
+Stations, for a young lady, in deep mourning, travelling alone, who
+bought a first-class ticket, on Tuesday evening. There, Setter! There
+is a mere outline of instructions. You will fill it up as your discretion
+and experience may suggest," concluded the duke, as he drew on his
+gloves.
+
+"I would suggest, your grace, that we go to St. Margaret's Old Church,
+where this strange marriage, in which they try to compromise you, is said
+to have taken place, and which is close by," said the detective.
+
+"By all means, let us go there and look at the register," assented the
+duke.
+
+They took leave of Mrs. Brown, and left the house.
+
+Five minutes drive took them to Old St. Margaret's.
+
+They were fortunate as to the time. The daily morning service was just
+over, and the curate who had officiated was still in the chancel.
+
+The Duke of Hereward went in, and requested the young clergyman to favor
+him with a sight of the parish register.
+
+The curate complied by inviting the two visitors to walk into the vestry.
+
+He then placed two chairs at the green table, requested them to be
+seated, and laid before them the brass-bound volume recording the births,
+marriages and deaths of this populous, old parish.
+
+The Duke of Hereward turned over the ponderous leaves until he came to
+the page he sought.
+
+And there he found, duly registered, signed and witnessed, the marriage,
+by special license, of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott and Rose Cameron,
+both of Lone, Scotland.
+
+"The mystery deepens," said the duke as he pointed to the register.
+
+"It is incomprehensible," answered the detective.
+
+"That is my name," added the duke.
+
+"Some imposter must have assumed it," suggested the officer.
+
+"Then the imposter, in taking my name, must have also taken my face and
+form, voice and manner, for though, upon my soul, I never married Rose
+Cameron, there are two honest women who are ready to swear that I did!"
+whispered the duke, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes; for there were
+moments when the absurdity of the situation overcame its gravity.
+
+The duke then thanked the curate for his courtesy and left the church,
+attended by the detective.
+
+"Where shall I tell the cabman to drive?" inquired Setter, as he held the
+door open after his employer had entered the cab.
+
+"To Elmthorpe House, Kensington. And then, get in here, with me, if you
+please, Mr. Setter. I have something to say to you," answered his grace.
+
+The detective gave the order and entered the cab.
+
+The duke then made many suggestions, drawn from his own intimate
+knowledge of the tastes and habits of the duchess, to assist the
+detective in his search.
+
+"You may safely leave the whole affair in my hands, sir. I will act with
+so much discretion that no one in London shall suspect that the Duchess
+of Hereward is missing. For the rest, I have no doubt that we shall soon
+find out the retreat of her grace. A young lady, dressed in elegant deep
+mourning, and travelling unattended, would be sure to have attracted
+attention and aroused curiosity, even in the confusion of a crowded
+railway station. We are safe to trace her, your grace," said Detective
+Setter, confidently.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+IN THE CONVENT.
+
+
+Salome was tenderly nursed by the nuns during the nine days in which her
+fever raged with unabated violence.
+
+At the end of that time, having spent all its force, the fever went off,
+leaving her weak as a child, in mind as well as in body.
+
+As soon as she was convalescent the abbess had her carefully removed from
+the infirmary in which she had lain ill, to a spacious chamber, with
+windows overlooking the convent garden--a gloomy outlook now, however,
+with its seared grass and withered foliage, shivering under the dreary
+November sky.
+
+The room was very clean and very scantily furnished; the walls were
+whitewashed and the floor was painted gray. The two windows were shaded
+with plain white linen; the cot bedstead, which stood against the wall
+opposite the windows, was covered with a coarse, white, dimity spread.
+
+Between the windows stood a small table, covered with a white cloth, and
+furnished with a white, earthen-ware basin and ewer. On each side of this
+table sat two wooden chairs, painted gray.
+
+In one corner of the room stood a little altar, draped with white linen,
+and adorned with a crucifix, surrounded with small pictures of saints and
+angels.
+
+In the opposite corner stood a small, porcelain stove, which barely
+served to temper the coldness of the air.
+
+There were few articles of comfort, and none of luxury, in the room--a
+strip of gray carpet, laid down beside the bed, an easy-chair with soft,
+padded back, arms, and seat, covered with white dimity, drawn up to
+the window nearest the stove, and a footstool of gray tapestry on the
+floor before it. These comforts were allowed to none but invalids.
+
+The abbess came in to see her every day.
+
+One morning Salome said to her visitor:
+
+"Mother, I have left this affair with the Duke of Hereward incomplete.
+I must complete it, that I may have peace."
+
+"I do not understand you, my child," said the abbess, in some uneasiness.
+
+"I have left him as in duty bound. I must write to him to let him know
+_why_ I left him; but I must not let him know the place of my
+retreat. I think I heard you say that our father-director was going to
+Rome this week?"
+
+"Yes, my child."
+
+"Then I will write to the Duke of Hereward for the last time, and bid him
+an eternal farewell. I will not date my letter from any place; but I will
+give it to the father-director that he may post it from Rome. You shall
+read my letter before I close it, dear mother. And now, on these terms,
+will you let me have writing materials?"
+
+"Certainly, my child. I will send them to you; or rather I will bring
+them," answered the meek lady-superior, as she arose and left the room.
+
+In a very few minutes she returned with the required articles.
+
+Salome wrote her letter, and then submitted it to the perusal of the
+abbess, who accorded it her full approval.
+
+"Now, dear mother, if the father-director will take that with him and
+post it from Rome, all will be over between the Duke of Hereward and
+myself! We shall be dead to each other," said Salome, as the abbess took
+the letter and left the room.
+
+Then the invalid sank back, exhausted, in her easy-chair.
+
+In this easy-chair by the window, with her feet upon the footstool,
+Salome sat day after day of her convalescence; sometimes for hours
+together, with her hands clasped upon her lap, and her eyes fixed upon
+the floor, in a sort of stupor; sometimes with her sad gaze turned upon
+the sear garden, as she murmured to herself:
+
+"Withered like my life!"
+
+Some one among the nuns was always with her; but she took no notice of
+her companion, seeming quite unconscious of the sister's presence.
+
+The abbess had taken care to have books of devotion laid upon her little
+table, but Salome never opened one of them.
+
+Apathy, lethargy, like a moral death, had fallen upon her.
+
+The story of her sorrows, known only to the abbess, to whom she had
+confided it on the eve of her illness, was never alluded to.
+
+Salome seemed to have buried it in silence. The abbess feared to raise it
+from the dead.
+
+Not one in the convent suspected the real circumstances of the case.
+
+All the sisterhood knew Miss Salome Levison, the young English heiress,
+who had been educated within their walls; all knew that in leaving the
+convent, three years before she had declared her intention to return at
+the end of three years and take the vail. She had returned, according to
+her word, and no one was surprised. Her sickness they considered purely
+accidental. They had no knowledge of her marriage. She was to them still
+Miss Salome Levison, who had once been their pupil, and was now soon to
+be their sister.
+
+No newspapers were taken in at the convent, or the nuns might have seen
+repeated notices of her approaching marriage before it took place, as
+well as a long account of the ceremony and the breakfast, after they had
+come off.
+
+The abbess tried many gentle expedients to arouse Salome from her moral
+torpor, but all her efforts were fruitless.
+
+Salome had once been an enthusiast in music, and a very accomplished
+performer on several instruments. Her favorite had always been the harp,
+and next to that the guitar.
+
+She was not yet strong enough to play on the former, but she might very
+well manage the latter.
+
+So the abbess caused a light and elegant little guitar to be placed in
+her room.
+
+Salome never even noticed it; but sat with her eyes fixed on her clasped
+hands that lay on her lap.
+
+So November and a good part of December passed, with very little change.
+
+The abbess, whose rule was absolute in her own house, had most solemnly
+warned the whole sisterhood that they were not to speak of "Miss
+Levison's" presence in the convent to any visitor, or pupil, or any other
+person whatever, or to write of it to any correspondent. The nuns had
+obeyed their abbess so well, that not a whisper of Salome's presence in
+the house had been heard outside its walls.
+
+At length Christmas drew near.
+
+The academy was closed for the season, and the pupils all went home to
+spend their holidays.
+
+After the departure of their young charges, the sisterhood were very busy
+in making preparations to celebrate the joyous anniversary of our Lord's
+birth.
+
+There were so many delightful little duties to be done; the chapel to be
+decorated with evergreens and exotics; the shrines of the saints to be
+decked; extra dainties to be made for the sick in the Infirmary; presents
+to be got up for the aged men and women of the "Home" attached to the
+convent; entertaining books to be selected and inscribed with the names
+of the boys and girls of their Orphan Asylum; doll-babies to be dressed
+and toys to be chosen for the infants of their Foundling; and, finally,
+a great Christmas-tree to be mounted and decorated for the delight of the
+whole community within their walls.
+
+The sisterhood took so much pleasure in all these preparations for
+Christmas, that it occurred to the abbess she might be able so far to
+interest her unhappy guest in the work as to arouse her from that fearful
+lethargy which seemed to be destroying both her mind and body.
+
+Salome Levison, while she had been a pupil in the convent, had never
+performed any services for the charities of the community except by
+giving liberally from her ample means.
+
+Gladly would she have ministered in person to the needs of old age,
+illness, or infancy; but for her to have done so would have been against
+the rules of the establishment. The pupils of the academy were not
+permitted to hold any intercourse whatever with the inmates of the
+charitable institutions of the convent. This was a concession to the
+prudence of parents, who feared all manner of contaminations from any
+communication between their children and such _miserables_.
+
+The convent was so planned as to effect a complete separation between the
+academy and the asylums.
+
+The buildings were erected around a hollow square. They measured a
+hundred feet on each side, and arose to a height of four stories.
+
+In the centre of the front, or northern, face, stood the chapel, a
+beautiful little Gothic temple, surmounted by a steeple and a gilded
+cross; on each hand, in a line with the chapel, stood the buildings
+containing the cloisters, dormitories, and refectories of the nuns and
+novices.
+
+On the east front stood the Foundling for abandoned infants; the Asylum
+for orphan boys and girls, and the Home for aged men and women.
+
+On the south end were the offices, kitchens, laundries, store-houses,
+gas-house, and so forth, for the whole establishment.
+
+Finally, on the west front, farthest removed from the asylums, were the
+academy buildings, containing school and class-rooms, dormitories and
+refectory for the accommodation of pupils.
+
+It was in these west buildings that Salome had lived and learned during
+the years she had spent at the Convent of St. Rosalie. She had never
+entered any other part of the establishment except the chapel, and on the
+north front, which was reached by a long passage running with an angle
+from the school-hall to the chapel aisle.
+
+The square courtyard within the enclosure of these buildings was paved
+with gray flag-stones, and adorned in the centre by a marble fountain.
+But no footstep ever crossed it except that of some lay sister
+occasionally sent from the cloisters to the office, on some household
+errand. So no opportunity was afforded of making the courtyard a place
+of meeting between the "young ladies" of the academy and the poor little
+children of the asylums.
+
+The academy opened from its front upon its own gardens, lawns,
+shrubberies, and other pleasure-grounds, the resort of its pupils during
+their hours of recreation.
+
+Thus Salome Levison, with all her school-mates, had been completely cut
+off from all intercourse with the objects of the convent's charity during
+the whole period of her residence at the academy, which, indeed, covered
+the greater portion of her young life.
+
+Now, however, since her return to the convent, she had been domiciliated
+in the nun's house on the right of the chapel, and possessed, if she
+pleased to exercise it, the freedom of the establishment.
+
+On the Saturday before Christmas (which would also come on Saturday that
+year) the abbess went into the room occupied by her invalid guest.
+
+Salome was seated in the white easy-chair beside the window, and near the
+porcelain stove. She was dressed in a deep mourning wrapper of black
+bombazine, and an inside handkerchief and undersleeves of white linen.
+Her pallid face and plain hair, and the severe, funereal black and white
+of her surroundings, made a very ghastly picture altogether.
+
+The Sister Francoise sat there in attendance on her.
+
+The mother-superior dismissed the nun, took her vacated seat, and looked
+in the face of her guest.
+
+Salome seemed utterly unconscious of the superior's presence. She sat
+with her hands clasped upon her lap and her eyes fixed upon the floor.
+
+"Salome, my daughter, how is it with you?" softly inquired the abbess,
+taking one of the limp, thin hands within her own, and tenderly pressing
+it.
+
+"I am the queen of sorrow, crowned and frozen on my desert throne,"
+murmured the girl, in a trance-like abstraction.
+
+"Salome, my child!" said the mother-superior, gazing anxiously into her
+stony face, whose eyes had never moved from their fixed stare; "Salome,
+my dear daughter, look at me."
+
+"'I am the star of sorrow, pale and lonely in the wintry sky.'"
+
+"My poor girl, what do you mean?"
+
+"I read that somewhere, long ago,--oh, so long ago, when I was a happy
+child, and yet I wept then for that solitary mourner as I am not able to
+weep now for myself, though it suits me just as much," murmured Salome,
+in the same trance-like manner, still staring on the floor, as she
+continued:
+
+"Yes, just as much, just as much, for--
+
+"Never was lament begun
+By any mourner under sun
+That e'en it ended fit but one!"
+
+"Salome, look at me, speak to me, my dear daughter," said the abbess,
+tenderly pressing her hand, and seeking to catch her fixed and staring
+eyes.
+
+Salome slowly raised those woeful eyes to the lady's face, and asked:
+
+"Mother, good mother, did you ever know any one in all your life so
+heavily stricken as I am?"
+
+The abbess put her arms around the young girl and drew her head down upon
+her own pitying bosom, as she replied:
+
+"Have I ever known one so heavily stricken as you? My child, I cannot
+tell. 'The heart knoweth its _own_ bitterness,' and one cannot weigh
+the grief of another. Salome, you have been heavily smitten; but so have
+many others. Daughter! I never do speak of my own sorrows. They are past,
+and 'they come not back again.' But I think it might do you good to hear
+of them now. Child! like _you_, I never knew a mother's love; but
+there were three beings in the world whom I loved, as _you_ love,
+with inordinate and idolatrous affection. They were my noble father, my
+only brother, and my affianced husband. Salome, in the Revolution of '48,
+my father was assassinated in the streets of Paris, as yours was in his
+chamber at Lone. My brother, true as steel to his sovereign, was
+guillotined as a traitor to the Republican party. Last, and hardest to
+bear, my affianced lover--he on whom my soul was stayed in all my
+troubles, as if any one weak mortal could be a lasting stay to another
+in her utmost need--my affianced lover, false to me as yours to you, was
+shot and killed in a duel by the lover, or husband, of a woman, for whom
+he had left his promised bride! Daughter, did I ever know any one who was
+so heavily stricken as yourself?" gravely inquired the abbess, laying her
+hand upon the bowed head of her guest.
+
+"Oh, yes, good mother, you have," murmured the weeping girl, in a voice
+full of tears. "Your fate has been very like my own--you, like me, were
+motherless from your infancy; you, like me, spent your childhood and
+youth in this very convent school. Your father, like mine, met his death
+at the hands of an assassin; your lover, false as mine, abandoned you for
+a guilty love. Ah! your sorrows have been very like mine, only much
+heavier and harder to bear." And Salome drew the caressing hands of the
+abbess to her lips and kissed them over and over again, as she repeated,
+"Oh, yes, good mother, much heavier and harder to bear than mine."
+
+"I do not know that, my daughter; but I do know, if I had set myself down
+a grieving egotist, to brood over my own individual troubles, in a world
+full of troubles, needing ministrations, I should have lost my reason, if
+not my soul."
+
+"But you came back to your convent, as I have come, for refuge," said
+Salome.
+
+"Yes, I came here to give my life to the Lord; not in idle, selfish
+prayers and meditations for my own soul's sake; no, but in an active,
+useful life of work. And I have found deep peace, deep joy. So will you,
+my beloved child, if you take the same way. But you must begin by
+shutting the doors of your soul against the thoughts of your sorrow, and
+especially by banishing the image of your false and guilty lover every
+time it presents itself to your mind."
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I loved him so! I loved him so!" cried Salome,
+bursting into a paroxysm of sobs and tears, the first tears she had been
+able to shed over her awful sorrows.
+
+The abbess was glad to see them; they broke up the fatal apathy as a
+storm disperses malaria. She gathered the weeping girl to her bosom, and
+let her sob and cry there to her heart's content.
+
+When the gust of grief had spent itself, Salome lifted her head and dried
+her eyes, murmuring:
+
+"Yes, I loved him! I loved him! but it is past! it is past! I must forget
+him, henceforth and forever!"
+
+"Yes, daughter, you must forget him, for to remember him would be a
+grievous sin. And you must forgive him, though he meditated against you
+the deepest wrong," said the abbess, solemnly.
+
+"I will try to forgive the wrong-doer and forget the wrong, but oh!
+mother, mother, it will be very hard to overlive it! Oh, I hope, I hope,
+if it be Heaven's will, that I shall not have to live very long," said
+Salome, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"That is the way I felt in the first bitterness of my sorrow: but the
+feeling passed away in duty-doing. And now, although I know that in the
+next life every need and aspiration of the soul will be fulfilled, yet I
+find such peace and joy here, that I am willing, yes and glad, to live in
+this world as long as my Lord has any work for me to do in his vineyard."
+
+"Tell me what I ought to do, and I will try to do it," said Salome, with
+another deep sigh; for her very breathing was sighing now.
+
+"You know that this is Saturday, the last Saturday before Christmas,"
+said the abbess.
+
+"Is it? I did not know, I have taken no note of time."
+
+"And to-morrow is Sunday, the last Sunday before Christmas."
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Daughter, you have not been to chapel once since your arrival among us."
+
+"Ah, no! I came from the infirmary here, and I have not left this room to
+go anywhere since!" sighed Salome.
+
+"That is not because you are not able to do so, but because you are not
+willing. You have allowed yourself to sink into a sinful and dangerous
+lethargy of mind and body in which you have brooded morbidly over your
+afflictions. You must do so no longer. You must rouse yourself from this
+moment. You must go with us to-night to vespers. To-morrow morning you
+will attend high mass. A fellow-countryman of yours, Father F----,
+an Oratorian priest from Norwood, England, will preach. He will do you
+good. Since the days of St. John, the beloved disciple, no wiser, more
+loving, or more eloquent soul ever spoke to sinners," said the abbess.
+
+"But--coming from England!--If he should recognize me!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Why, do you know him?"
+
+"Oh, no, not at all; but then there are sometimes people with whom we
+have no sort of acquaintance, who yet know us by sight from seeing us in
+public places, or meeting us on public occasions."
+
+"That is very true, my child; but you need have no fear of being
+recognized by the officiating priest to-morrow, whoever he may be, for
+you will sit with us behind the screen."
+
+"Thanks, dear mother; I will go with you this very evening."
+
+"You are a good and obedient child. Receive my benediction," said the
+mother-superior, rising.
+
+Salome bent her head, and the abbess solemnly blessed her, and then
+withdrew from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+THE SOUL'S STRUGGLE.
+
+
+That same evening, while the vesper bells were ringing, Salome dressed
+herself, and, leaning on the arm of the mother-superior headed the
+procession of the sisterhood as they marched to the chapel and took their
+seats in the recess behind the screen, which was so cunningly devised,
+that, while it afforded the nuns a full view of the altar, the priests,
+the interior of the pews and the whole congregation, it effectually
+concealed the forms and faces of the sisterhood seated within it.
+
+Father Francois, the confessor of the convent, officiated at the altar.
+
+A rustic congregation of the faithful filled the pews in the body of
+the church. They came from farm-houses and villages in the immediate
+neighborhood of the convent.
+
+The vesper hymn was raised by the nuns.
+
+Salome joined in singing it. She had a rich, sweet, clear soprano voice.
+
+Many were the heads in the rustic assemblage that turned to listen to the
+new singer in the nuns' choir.
+
+Salome saw them, and shrank back as if she herself could have been seen,
+though she was quite invisible to them, for the screen, which was
+transparent to her eyes, was impenetrable to theirs. She remembered this,
+at length, and recovered her composure.
+
+The sweet vesper service soothed her soul, and when it was over, and the
+benediction was given, the "peace that passeth all understanding"
+descended upon her troubled spirit.
+
+She left the chapel, leaning on the mother-superior's arm.
+
+When she reached her room door she kissed the lady's hand in bidding her
+good-night.
+
+"This has done you good, my daughter," said the abbess, gently.
+
+"It has done me good. Thanks for your wise counsel, holy mother. I will
+follow it still. I will go again tomorrow. Bless me, my mother," said
+Salome, bowing her head before the abbess, who blessed her again, and
+then softly withdrew.
+
+Salome entered her room and retired to rest, and slept more calmly than
+she had done for many days and nights.
+
+She arose on Sunday morning refreshed; but it seemed as if her stony
+apathy had passed off, only to leave her more keenly sensitive to her
+cause of grief; for as she dressed herself, a flood of tender memories
+overflowed her soul, and she threw herself, weeping freely, on her cot.
+
+In this condition she was found by the abbess, who was pleased to see her
+weep, knowing that the keenness of sorrow is much softened by tears.
+
+She sat down in silence by the cot, and waited until the paroxysm was
+past.
+
+"Good mother, I could not help it," said Salome, with a last convulsive
+sob, as she wiped her eyes, and arose.
+
+"Nor did I wish you to do so. Thank the Lord for the gift of tears. Have
+you had breakfast, my daughter?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother. Sister Francoise brought it to me before I was up.
+This is the last time I will allow myself such an indulgence. To-morrow
+morning, if you will permit me, I will join you in the refectory."
+
+"I am rejoiced to hear you say so my child. Your recovery depends much
+upon yourself. Every exertion that you make helps it forward. And now I
+came to tell you that in ten minutes we shall go on to the chapel. Will
+you be ready to accompany us?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother, I will come on and join you almost immediately," said
+Salome standing up and shaking down her black robe into shape.
+
+The abbess softly slipped out of the room and left the guest to complete
+her toilet.
+
+In a few minutes Salome passed out and joined the procession of nuns to
+the chapel.
+
+As soon as they were seated in the screened choir, Salome looked through
+the screen, to see if the English priest was at the altar. He was not
+there yet; but the body of the little chapel was filled with an expectant
+crowd of small country gentry, farmers and laborers with their families,
+all drawn together by the fame of the great Oratorian.
+
+Presently the procession entered--six boys, in white surplices, preceding
+a pale, thin, intellectual-looking young man in priestly robes.
+
+The priest took his place before the altar, the boys kneeling on his
+right and left, and the solemn celebration of the high mass was begun.
+
+The nuns sang well within their screened choir; but the new soprano voice
+that sang the solos, and rose elastic, sweet and clear, soaring to the
+heavens in the _Gloria in Excelsis_, seemed to carry all the
+worshipers with it.
+
+"Who is she?" inquired one of another, in hushed whispers, when the
+divine anthem had sunk into silence.
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+No one in the congregation could tell; but many surmised that she must be
+some young postulant of St. Rosalie, just beginning, or about to begin,
+her novitiate.
+
+At length the pale priest passed into the pulpit, and, amid a breathless
+silence of expectancy, gave out his text:
+
+"GOD IS LOVE."
+
+A truth revealed to us by the Divine Saviour, and confirmed to our hearts
+by the teachings of His Holy Spirit.
+
+The preacher spoke of the divine love, "never enough believed, or known,
+or asked," yet the source of all our life, light and joy; he spoke of
+human love, a derivative from the divine, in all its manifestations of
+family affection, social friendship, charity to the needy, forgiveness
+of enemies.
+
+And while he spoke of love, "the greatest good in the world," his tones
+were full, sweet, deep and tender, his pale face radiant, his manner
+affectionate, persuasive, winning.
+
+He was listened to with rapt attention, and even when he had brought his
+sermon to a close, and his eloquent voice had ceased, his hearers still,
+for a few moments, sat motionless under the spell he had wrought upon
+them.
+
+As soon as the benediction had been pronounced, the abbess arose from her
+seat in the choir, drew the arm of her still feeble guest within her own,
+and, followed by her nuns, walking slowly in pairs, left the choir.
+
+She took Salome to the door of her room in perfect silence, and would
+have left her there but that the girl stopped her by saying:
+
+"Holy mother, I wish to speak to you, if you can give me a few minutes,
+before we go to the refectory."
+
+"Surely, my daughter," answered the abbess, kindly, as she followed her
+guest into the chamber.
+
+"Sit down in the easy-chair, good mother," said Salome, drawing the soft,
+white-cushioned seat toward her.
+
+"No, sit you there, poor child," answered the abbess, taking her guest
+kindly and seating her in the easy-chair. "I shall be well enough here,"
+she added, as she sat down on one of the painted, wooden seats. "Now,
+tell me what you wish to say, daughter," she concluded.
+
+"Dear mother, I have been very deeply interested in Father F. this
+morning."
+
+"You should be interested in the message only, not in the messenger, my
+child," gravely replied the elder lady.
+
+"In the message alone I believe I was most concerned; but the message was
+most eloquently delivered by the messenger," said Salome, as her pale
+cheeks flushed.
+
+"Well, my daughter, go on in what you were about to say."
+
+"Holy mother, that message, so earnestly spoken, has moved me to greater
+diligence in what I have purposed to do. You know that I have intended to
+take the vail in this convent, and devote my life and my fortune to
+good works."
+
+"Yes, my child, I know that such has been your pious purpose. What then?"
+
+"I wish to use all diligence in carrying out that purpose. I wish to
+enter upon my novitiate immediately."
+
+"My good daughter, far be it from me to throw any stumbling-block in the
+way of such praise-worthy intentions; but the strict rules of our order
+require that a postulant should remain in the convent twelve calendar
+months, to test her vocation, before she is suffered to bind herself by
+any vows," said the abbess, very gravely.
+
+"As if _my_ vocation had not been sufficiently tested," sighed
+Salome.
+
+"It may have been so, my daughter. This probation may not be necessary in
+your case, yet we can make no exception to our rules even in your favor.
+You will, therefore, if you wish, remain with us for one year, unfettered
+by any vows. At the end of this year of probation, if you shall still
+desire to do so, you may be permitted to take the white vail and commence
+your novitiate. In the meantime you need not, and ought not, to be idle.
+You may be as zealous and diligent in good works while a postulant as you
+possibly could be as a white-vailed novice or a black-vailed nun."
+
+"Show me how I may be so, holy mother, and I will bless you," exclaimed
+Salome.
+
+"I will very gladly be your guide, my child. Listen, Salome. Hitherto,
+you have been very charitable in giving alms. You have given liberally of
+your means; but you have never yet given your personal services to the
+poor and needy. That was not our Lord's way, whose servants we are. He
+gave alms, indeed, and he performed miracles to supply them, as in the
+case of the loaves and fishes; but most of all, better than all, He gave
+His personal ministrations; He taught the ignorant; He anointed the eyes
+of the blind; _He laid His hands on the leper_; He shrank from no
+personal contact with disease, however loathsome; distress, however
+ignominious; nor must we, His children, do so. We must give our personal
+services to the poor."
+
+"Tell me what to do, and how to do it, good mother, and I will gladly
+obey your instructions. Tell me, for I am so very ignorant."
+
+"To-morrow, the Monday before Christmas, you may go with me the rounds
+of our asylums and schools, and see for yourself destitute old age,
+destitute childhood and abandoned infancy; and you may choose your work
+among these poor, needy, helpless ones," said the abbess, gravely.
+
+"And are laborers wanted in that vineyard, mother?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"Then here am I, for one, poor one. I am longing to go to work."
+
+"At first your work shall be a very bright and pleasant labor, dear
+child. This is the joyous week of preparation for the glad, Christmas
+festival. This week we are all, young and old, engaged in the delightful
+recreations of charity. Our Lord Himself, who, in His Divine benignity,
+blessed the marriage feast of Cana with a miracle, smiles on our
+recreations of charity, which with us just now consist in the preparation
+of Christmas gifts to gladden the hearts of our poor these Christmas
+times. To-morrow, if you please, I will take you to our work-rooms, where
+you may choose your own task."
+
+"Oh, how willingly I will do that!" said Salome, earnestly.
+
+A bell had been ringing for a few moments; and so the abbess arose and
+said:
+
+"That is the dinner-bell. You promised to join us in the refectory, and
+I think it is best you should do so, my daughter."
+
+"I will follow your counsels in everything, holy mother," answered
+Salome, sweetly, as she arose and put her hand on the offered arm of her
+friend.
+
+The abbess led her protegee down a long passage and deep flights of
+stairs to the refectory, where, at each side of a very long table,
+running down the length of the room, stood about fifty nuns waiting for
+their mother-superior.
+
+The abbess gave her guest a seat next to her own, then crossed herself
+and sat down.
+
+The nuns all made the sign of the cross upon their breasts, and seated
+themselves at the table.
+
+This was the first occasion upon which Salome sat down at the nuns'
+table; but it was not the last, for from this day she regularly appeared
+there, and, though she was given to frequent and violent fits of weeping,
+her health and spirits steadily improved under the regimen of the abbess.
+
+On Monday morning the lady-superior took Salome through all the asylums
+on the east side of the convent.
+
+They went first into the aged men's home, where, in a large, clean,
+well-warmed and well-lighted hall, furnished with arm-chairs, tables, and
+many plain and cheap conveniences, were gathered about thirty gray-haired
+or bald-headed patriarchs, whose ages ranged from seventy to a hundred
+years. Yet not one of them was idle. They were all engaged in plaiting
+chip-mats, baskets, hampers and other useful articles that could be made
+out of reeds or cane. The oldest man among them, a centenarian, was
+employed in plaiting straw for hats.
+
+"They look very happy and busy," said Salome, after she had responded to
+their respectful nods and smiles of welcome.
+
+"Yes, and they nearly half pay expenses by their handicrafts. Even they,
+aged and infirm as they are, can half support themselves if they have
+only shelter, protection and guidance."
+
+"And there seems to be no sick among them," said Salome.
+
+"Ah, yes," answered the abbess, gravely, "there are five in the infirmary
+connected with this home; but we will not go there now. Let us pass on to
+the aged women's home."
+
+They entered the next house, where, in a large, warm, light room, plainly
+furnished, about twenty old women, from sixty to ninety years of age,
+were collected. They were neatly dressed in gray stuff gowns, white
+aprons, white kerchiefs, and white Normandy caps. And all were busy--some
+knitting, some sewing, some tatting.
+
+They bowed and smiled a welcome to the visitor, who responded in the same
+manner.
+
+"These, also, half support themselves by their work," said the abbess;
+"but the proportion of sick among them is greater than among the men.
+There are ten in the infirmary."
+
+They went next to the orphan boys' asylum, where fifty male children of
+ages from three to twelve years were lodged, fed, clothed, and educated.
+
+"What becomes of these when they leave here?" inquired Salome.
+
+"We send them out as apprentices to learn trades; and we find homes for
+them," answered the abbess.
+
+"Can you always find good homes and masters for them?"
+
+"Yes, always. We do it through the secular clergy. Now let us go into the
+girls' asylum," said the abbess, leading the way to the next institution.
+
+The orphan girls' asylum was, in many respects, similar to the boys'
+home.
+
+"Do you wish to know what becomes of these, when they leave here?"
+inquired the abbess, anticipating the question of her companion. "I will
+tell you. The greater number of them are sent out to service as cooks,
+chambermaids, seamstresses, or nursery governesses. Some few, who show
+unusual intelligence, are educated for teachers. If any one among their
+number evinces talent for any particular art, she is trained in that art.
+My child, we have sent out more than one artist from our orphan girls'
+asylum," said the abbess.
+
+"How much good you do!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Let us go into the Foundling," said the mother-superior, leading the way
+to the last house of the eastern row of buildings.
+
+Ah! here was a sight sorrowful enough to make the "angels weep!"
+
+The abbess led her companion into a long room, clean, warm, light and
+airy, with about thirty narrow little cots, arranged in two rows against
+the walls, fifteen on each side, with a long passage between them.
+About half a dozen of these cots were empty. On the others lay about
+twenty-four of the most pitiable of all our Lord's poor--young infants
+abandoned by their unnatural parents. All these were under twelve months
+old, and were pale, thin, and famished-looking. Some were sleeping, and
+seemingly, ah! so aged and care-worn in their sleep; some were clasping
+nursery-bottles in their skeleton hands, and sucking away for dear life;
+one little miserable was wailing in restless pain, and sending its
+anguished eyes around in appealing looks for relief.
+
+Four women of the sisterhood were on duty here, and each one sat with a
+pining infant on her lap, while there was no one to attend to the wants
+of that wailing little sufferer on the bed.
+
+"Oh, merciful Father in Heaven! what a sight!" cried Salome, overcome
+with compassionate sorrow.
+
+"Yes, it is piteous! most piteous!" said the mother-superior, in a
+mournful tone. "We do the very best we can for these poor, deserted
+babes; but young infants, bereft of their mother's milk, which is their
+life, and of their mother's tender love and intuitive care, suffer more
+than any of us can estimate, and are almost sure to perish, out of
+_this_ life, at least. With all our care and pains, more than
+two-thirds of them die."
+
+"Is there no help for this?" sadly inquired the visitor.
+
+"No help within ourselves. But the peasant women in our neighborhood have
+Christian spirits and tender hearts. When any one among them loses her
+sucking child, she comes to us and asks for one of our motherless babes.
+We select the most needing of them and give it to her, and the nurse
+child has then a chance for its life; but even then, if it lives, it is
+because some other child has died and made room for it."
+
+"Oh, it is piteous! it is piteous, beyond all words to express! Destitute
+childhood, destitute old age, are both sorrowful enough, Heaven knows!
+But they have power to make their sufferings known, and to ask for help!
+_But destitute infancy!_ Oh! look here! look here! Can anything on
+earth be so pathetic as this?
+
+"They are so innocent; they have not brought their evils on themselves.
+They are so helpless! They have not even words to tell their pain, or ask
+for relief! Mother! You said that I might choose my work! I have chosen
+it. It is here. And I begin it from this moment," said Salome.
+
+And she threw off her hat and cloak, and drew her gloves and cast them
+all on a chair, and went and took up the wailing infant from the cot.
+
+The abbess sat down and watched her.
+
+She soothed the baby's plaints upon her bosom as she walked it, up and
+down the floor, singing a sweet, nursery song in a low and tender voice,
+until it fell asleep. Then she came and laid it sleeping on its cot.
+
+"My dear daughter," said the abbess, gravely, "before you select this
+field of duty, I must warn you that it is, and it _must needs_ be,
+of all charitable administrations, the most laborious and trying."
+
+"It may be so; but it is also the most divine," said Salome, with a
+grave, sweet smile. "Listen, dear mother. I know not how it is, but--with
+all its pathos--the sphere of this room is heavenly. And while I held
+that baby to my bosom and soothed it to sleep, its little, soft form
+seemed to draw all the fever and soreness from my own aching heart as
+well. Here is my earthly work, dear mother! Nay, rather, here is my
+heavenly mission and consolation. Leave me here."
+
+The mother-superior took the votaress at her word, and left her then and
+there.
+
+In the course of the same day a small closet, communicating with the
+infants' dormitory, was fitted up as a sleeping berth for Salome, and her
+few personal effects were conveyed from the convent and arranged within
+her new dwelling.
+
+Salome had not mistaken her vocation. To serve these forsaken and
+suffering children was to her a labor of love; to relieve them, a work
+of joy.
+
+She never left her charge, except to go to chapel, or to her meals, which
+she took at the nuns' table, in their refectory.
+
+On Christmas Eve, as she returned from dinner, Sister Francoise invited
+her to look into the work-room and see the Christmas presents in process
+of preparation.
+
+To please the kind sister, she followed her into a long hall, furnished
+with little tables, at each of which sat two or three of the nuns at
+work.
+
+As Salome, with her conductor, walked down the room, she saw that on one
+table was a pile of children's illustrated books of great variety to suit
+little ones, from three years old to thirteen. The two nuns seated at the
+table were busy writing in the books the names of those for whom they
+were intended.
+
+Another table was piled with woolen scarfs, socks, gloves, and night-caps
+for the aged men and women, which the two nuns seated there were employed
+in rolling up into separate little parcels, and labeling with the names
+of the intended recipients.
+
+Still another, and a longer table, was bright and gay with party-colored
+scraps of silk, satin, velvet, ribbon, muslin, lace and linen, with which
+half a dozen young nuns seated there were cheerfully engaged in making
+dresses for a basket full of dolls, for the Christmas gifts to the
+infants.
+
+The blooming young nun Felecitie presided at this table. Seeing Salome
+approach with Sister Francoise, she accosted her:
+
+"Our holy mother told us that you would come in and help us dress these
+dolls."
+
+"And so I would have done, only I found some living and suffering dolls
+to dress and feed," said Salome, smiling.
+
+"Yes, I know, the babies of the Foundling. Well, we are dressing these
+dolls for your babies," said the smiling sister.
+
+"But do you suppose my tiny little ones will care for dolls?" inquired
+Salome.
+
+"Be sure they will; from six months old, up, boys or girls, sick or well,
+babies will love dolls. I have seen a sick baby hug her doll, just as I
+have seen a sick mother clasp her child," answered the sister.
+
+"These are the recreations of charity the holy mother told me of," said
+Salome, as she passed out of the work-room and went back to her own
+sphere of duty.
+
+On Christmas morning after matins, the Christmas gifts were distributed
+in every one of the asylums, and every inmate was made happy by an
+appropriate present.
+
+At ten o'clock high mass was celebrated in the chapel of the convent, and
+all the sisterhood assembled in their screened choir.
+
+Three priests in their sacerdotal robes, and a dozen boys in white
+surplices, were expected to serve at the altar. The chapel was profusely
+decorated with holly, and the shrines were dressed with flowers. The pews
+were filled with a congregation of a rather better social position than
+usually assembled there in the convent chapel.
+
+The services had not yet commenced. Salome bent forward with all the
+interest and curiosity of a recluse, to look, for a moment, upon the
+strangers.
+
+She gave but one glance through the screen, and then suddenly, with a low
+cry, she sank back upon her seat.
+
+"What is the matter, my daughter? Are you ill?" inquired the
+mother-superior, in a whisper.
+
+Salome lifted up a face ashen pale with dismay, and gasped:
+
+"I have seen him! I have seen him! He is there--there in the congregation
+below!"
+
+"Who?" inquired the abbess, in vague alarm.
+
+"My husband?--yet, no; oh, Heaven! not my husband, but the Duke of
+Hereward!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+THE STRANGER IN THE CHAPEL.
+
+
+"The Duke of Hereward in the congregation?" echoed the abbess, with a
+troubled look.
+
+"Yes, there in the middle aisle, in the third pew from the altar,"
+replied Salome, in trembling tones.
+
+"No matter. _You_ have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be
+protected. _He_ has everything to fear; he is a felon before the
+law, and he may be prosecuted. Compose yourself, my child, and give your
+mind to heavenly subjects. See, the priest is coming in," murmured the
+abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in
+devotion.
+
+Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to
+falling, followed the mother-superior's example, and tried to concentrate
+her mind in worship.
+
+The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel--the priests
+in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes. The
+officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his assistants
+on each side. And the impressive celebration of the high mass commenced.
+
+But, ah! Salome could not confine her attention to the service! Her eyes,
+guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward
+the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew
+front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future,
+or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with
+that stranger.
+
+Father F----, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the
+text: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to
+men." He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by
+the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the
+cloistered nuns and all the common congregation--by all within the sound
+of his voice, perhaps, except one--the most sorrowful one on that glad
+day. Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.
+
+But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of
+relief she heaved when it was all over.
+
+As soon as the benediction was pronounced, the nuns arose to leave their
+screened choir, and the congregation got up to go out from the chapel.
+
+Salome lingered behind the sisterhood, and watched the handsome stranger
+in the third pew front--a stranger to every one present except herself.
+
+He also lingered behind all his companions, and turned and looked
+intently up into the screened choir.
+
+Salome saw his full face for the first time since his appearance
+there--and she saw that it was deadly, ghastly pale, with white lips and
+glassy eyes. He gazed into the screened choir as into vacancy.
+
+Salome knew that he could see nothing there, yet she shrank back and
+stood in the deepest shadow, until she saw him pick up his hat and glide
+from the chapel, the last man that went out.
+
+"Ah, what could have changed him so?" she thought--"love, fear,
+remorse--what?"
+
+He had nothing to fear from her. If no one should take vengeance on him
+until she should do so, then would he go unpunished to his grave, and his
+sin would never have found him out in this world. Nay, sooner than to
+have hurt him in life, liberty, honor, or estate, she, herself, would
+have borne the penalty of all his crimes. Yet of those crimes what an
+unspeakable horror she had, though for the criminal what an unutterable
+pity--what an undying love.
+
+While she stood there, gazing through the choir-screen upon the spot
+whence the stranger had disappeared, her bosom, torn by these conflicting
+passions of horror, pity, love, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder,
+and turning, saw the mother-superior at her side.
+
+"My daughter, why do you loiter here?" she tenderly inquired.
+
+Salome's pale face flushed, as she replied:
+
+"Oh, mother, I was watching him until he left the church."
+
+"My daughter, it was a deadly sin to do so!" gravely replied the abbess.
+
+"He could not see me, mother," sighed Salome, in a tremulous voice.
+
+"That was well. Come now to your own room, daughter, and do not tremble
+so. You have nothing to fear, except from your own weak and sinful
+nature," said the abbess, as she drew the girl's arm within her own
+and led her from the choir.
+
+"Am I so weak and sinful, mother?" inquired Salome, after a silence which
+had lasted until the two had reached the door of the Infants' Asylum,
+where Salome now lodged.
+
+"As every human being is! and especially as every woman is in all affairs
+of the heart," gravely returned the abbess.
+
+"Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? Will you come in and let me
+talk to you a little while? Have you time? I want to talk to you. Oh!
+I wish we had mother-confessors for women--for girls, I mean, instead of
+father-confessors. Can you come in and let me talk to you, mother, for
+a little while?"
+
+"Surely, daughter," said the abbess, gently as with her own hand she
+opened the door and led her votaress into the room.
+
+Salome offered the one chair to the lady-superior, and then took the
+foot-stool at her feet, and laid her head upon her knees.
+
+"Now speak to me freely, child. Tell me what you wish and how I can help
+you," said the abbess, kindly.
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I wish to be rid of the sin of loving him, for I
+love him still. In spite of all, I love him still!" exclaimed Salome,
+breaking down in a passion of tears and sobs.
+
+The abbess laid her hands upon the bowed young head, and kept them so in
+silence until the storm of grief had passed. Then she said:
+
+"Child you must fast and pray, and so combat the 'inordinate and sinful
+affections of the flesh.' Bethink you what you do in suffering them. You
+make an idol of that monster of iniquity who was an accomplice in the
+murder of your father--"
+
+Salome uttered a low cry, and hid her face in her hands. The abbess went
+on steadily, almost pitilessly:
+
+"A man who, having already a living wife, of whom he had grown tired and
+ashamed, married you, and so would have ruined you in soul and body."
+
+Salome groaned deeply, and then suddenly broke forth in passionate
+exclamations:
+
+"I know it! I know it? I know it from the evidence of my own senses, no
+less than from the testimony of others! I _know_ it, but I cannot _feel
+it_, mother! I cannot feel it? My _mind_ adjudges him _guilty_; my _mind
+condemns_ him upon unquestionable proof; but my _heart_ holds him
+_guiltless_; in the face of all the proofs, my _heart acquits_ him! I
+_know_ him to be a criminal; but I _feel_ him to be one of the greatest,
+best and noblest of mankind! In spite of all I have heard and seen with
+my own ears and eyes, corroborated by the testimony of others--in spite
+of everything past, I _feel_, I _feel_ that if he should now come and
+take my hand in his, and whisper to me, I should believe all that he
+might tell me, and go with him whithersoever he might choose to lead me!
+Mother, _save me from myself_!"
+
+The abbess laid her hands again upon the throbbing head that lay on her
+lap, as she answered, mournfully:
+
+"Said I not that you have nothing to fear except from your weak and
+sinful self. Child, you have nothing else on earth to dread. You are to
+be protected from yourself alone."
+
+"And from _him_! Oh, mother, keep the great temptation from me!"
+
+"He shall be kept from you, if, indeed, he should presume to seek you
+here," said the abbess.
+
+"He will seek me, mother! He came to seek me, and for nothing else. He
+has by some means found out my retreat, and he has come to seek me! Be
+sure that he will present himself here to-morrow, if not to-day."
+
+"In that case, we shall know how to deal with him, even though he is the
+Duke of Hereward; for he has, and can have, no lawful claim on you. So
+far from that, he is in deadly danger from you. He is liable to
+prosecution by you; for you are not his wife; you are only a lady whom he
+entrapped by a felonious marriage ceremony, and sought to ruin. It is
+amazing," added the abbess, reflectively, "that a nobleman of his exalted
+rank and illustrious fame should have stooped _so_ low as to stain
+his honor with so deep a crime, and to risk the infamy and destruction
+its discovery must have brought upon him."
+
+"It is amazing and incredible! That is why, in the face of the evidence
+of my own eyes and ears, the testimony of other eye and ear witnesses,
+and of my own certain knowledge, based upon proof as sure as ever formed
+the foundation of any knowledge, I still feel in my heart of heart that
+he is guiltless, stainless, noble, pure and true as the prince of
+noblemen should be," sighed Salome, adding word upon word of eulogy, as
+if she could not say enough.
+
+"In the face of all positive proof, and of the convictions of your
+judgment, your _heart_ tells you that this criminal is innocent,"
+said the abbess, incisively.
+
+"In the face of all, my heart assures me that he is pure, true, and
+noble!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Do you believe your heart?" gravely inquired the elder lady.
+
+"No; for is it not written: 'The heart is deceitful, and desperately
+wicked.' No, I do not believe my weak and sinful heart, which I know
+would betray me into the hands of my lover, if I should be so unfortunate
+as to meet him."
+
+"You shall not meet him; you shall be saved from him," answered the
+abbess.
+
+At that moment a bell was heard to ring throughout the building.
+
+"That calls us to the refectory--to our happy Christmas festival. Come,
+my daughter," said the lady, rising.
+
+"I cannot go! Oh, indeed I cannot go, mother. I am utterly unnerved by
+what has happened. I hope you will pardon and excuse me," pleaded Salome.
+
+"What! Will you not join us at our Christmas feast?" kindly persisted the
+abbess.
+
+"Indeed, it is impossible! I will rest on my cot for a few minutes, and
+then I will go and take my poor little Marie Perdue on my bosom and rock
+her to sleep. I hear her fretting now; and when I hush her cries, she
+also soothes my heartache."
+
+"I will send you something; and I will come to you, before vespers," said
+the abbess, kindly, as she glided away from the room.
+
+Salome lay alone on the cot, with closed eyes and folded hands, praying
+for light to see her duty and strength to do it.
+
+She expected, in answer to her earnest prayers, that scales should fall
+from her eyes, and impressions pass from her heart, and that she should
+see her love in monstrous shape and colors, and be able to thrust him
+from her heart. Instead of which, she saw him purer, truer, nobler, than
+ever before. With this perception came a sweet, strange peace and trust
+which she could not comprehend, and did not wish to cast off.
+
+She arose and went into the infants' dormitory, and took up the youngest
+and feeblest of the babes--the one which, on her very first visit, had so
+appealed to her sympathies, and which she had adopted as her own.
+
+This child, like many others in the asylum, had no known story.
+
+A few days before Christmas, late in the evening, a bell had been rung at
+the main door of the Infants' Asylum.
+
+The portress who answered it found there a basket containing an infant a
+few weeks old. It was cleanly dressed and warmly wrapped up in flannel;
+but it had no scrap of writing, no name, nor mark upon its clothing by
+which it might ever be identified.
+
+The portress took it into the dormitory, where it was tenderly received
+and cared for by the sisters on duty there.
+
+The case was too common a one to excite more than a passing interest.
+
+On the next day after the arrival of the infant, it happened that the
+mother-superior brought Salome there on her first visit, when the misery
+of the motherless and forsaken infant so moved the sympathies of the
+young lady that she immediately took it to her own bosom.
+
+Subsequently, since she had devoted herself to the care of these deserted
+babies, she took an especial interest in this youngest and most helpless
+of their number.
+
+She named it Marie Perdue, and stood godmother at its baptism.
+
+It lay in her arms often during the day, and slept at her bosom during
+the night. It had grown to know its nurse, and to recognize her presence
+and caresses by those soft, low sounds, half cooing and half complaining,
+with which very young babes first try to utter their emotions or their
+wants.
+
+Now, as she took little Marie Perdue from the cot, the child greeted her
+with sweet smiles and soft coos, and nestled lovingly to her bosom. And
+peace deepened in Salome's heart.
+
+She sat down in a low nursing-chair, fed the child with warm milk and
+water until it was satisfied, and then rocked it and sang to it in a low,
+melodious voice, until it fell asleep.
+
+She was still rocking and singing when the rosy-cheeked and cheery young
+Sister Felecitie came in.
+
+"Our holy mother was going to send your dinner in here, Miss Levison; but
+I think it must be so dismal to eat one's dinner alone on Christmas day,
+so I pleaded to be allowed to plead with _you_ that you will come
+and dine with us young sisters at the second table, which is just as
+good as the first, I assure you, only it is served an hour later. Will
+you come? Say yes!" urged the merry and kind-hearted girl.
+
+"I will come, thank you; though I did too moodily decline the invitation
+of the abbess," said Salome, rising and placing her sleeping charge upon
+its little cot.
+
+"Now! what did I tell you about the children and the dolls! Look there!"
+gleefully exclaimed Sister Felecitie, pointing to a row of cots where
+about a dozen infants lay asleep, clasping their dolls tightly.
+
+"Yes, the tiny mimic mothers really do love their doll babies," Salome
+confessed with a smile.
+
+As they went out of the dormitory they passed into the children's
+day-room, where about twenty infants, from one to two years old, were at
+play--some sitting on mats or creeping on all fours, because they could
+not yet stand; some walking around chairs and holding on to support
+themselves; and some running here and there, in full possession of the
+use of their limbs.
+
+All rejoiced in the possession of little dolls.
+
+"Look at them!" exclaimed Sister Felecitie, gleefully.
+
+"We tried the least little ones with other toys: but, bless you, nothing
+else pleases them so well as dolls. We once tried the little yearlings
+with rattles, which we thought, it being noisy nuisances, would please
+them better; but save us! If any one doubts the doctrine of original sin
+and total depravity, they should have seen the three year-old babies
+fling down their rattles in a passion and go for the other babies' dolls,
+to seize and take them by force and violence; and the corresponding rage
+and resistance of the latter."
+
+"All that was very natural," said Salome, with a smile.
+
+"Oh, yes, natural, and perhaps something else too, beginning with a 'd.'
+They call children 'little angels.' Yes. I know they are, when they are
+sound asleep," exclaimed the sister, laughing.
+
+"If they are not angels, they have angels with them. I feel they have,
+for when I am in their sphere, I possess my soul in peace."
+
+As the young lady said this, the children noticed her presence for the
+first time, and all who could walk ran to her, clustered around her and
+thrust their dolls upon her, for inspection and approval.
+
+All this Salome bestowed freely with many caresses and gentle, playful
+words.
+
+Then the children sitting on the mats reached out their dolls at
+arm's-length, and screamed to have them noticed.
+
+Salome made her way to these little sitters, while all the other
+children, clinging to her skirt, attended her, impeding her progress.
+
+It was a great confusion.
+
+The merry little sister laughed aloud.
+
+"Now!" she said, gayly. "You are in their sphere, do you possess your
+soul in peace?"
+
+"Something even better. My soul goes out to them, delighting in their
+innocent delight!" answered Salome.
+
+And after she had patted their heads and praised their dolls, and pleased
+them all with loving notice, she followed her conductress from the
+children's play-room through the long rectangular passage that led to the
+nun's refectory.
+
+The sisterhood, abstemious nearly all the days of the year, feasted on
+certain high holidays.
+
+The Christmas dinner, laid for the young nuns in the refectory, would
+have satisfied the most fastidious epicure. But I doubt if any epicure
+could have enjoyed it half as well as did these abstemious young women,
+whose appetites were only let loose on certain high days and holidays.
+
+Salome wondered at herself, who but two hours before had given way to a
+storm of passionate sobs and tears, yet now felt a strange peace of mind
+that enabled her to enter sincerely into the happiness of those around
+her.
+
+In the afternoon, the convent was visited by a large number of benevolent
+people in the neighborhood, who brought their Christmas offerings to the
+poor and needy of the house.
+
+These visitors were shown through all the various departments of charity,
+and left their offerings in each before they went away.
+
+"I do wish _one_ thing," said little Sister Felecitie, as she
+lingered near Salome, after the departure of the visitors.
+
+"What do you wish, dear?" inquired the latter.
+
+"Why, then, that the good people who give to our poor, whatever else they
+give, would _always_ give the children dolls and the old people tobacco.
+The children _never_ can have _too many_ dolls, nor the old people
+_enough_ tobacco."
+
+"But is not the use of tobacco a vicious habit?"
+
+"I _hope_ not. It makes the poor old souls so happy."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+THE HAUNTER.
+
+
+The vesper bell called them to the chapel, and the conversation ceased.
+
+Salome joined the procession and entered the choir.
+
+As soon as she had taken her seat she looked through the screen upon the
+congregation assembled in the public part of the church. A great dread
+seized her that she should see again the man whose presence had so
+disturbed her in the morning.
+
+Heaven! he was there!--not where he sat before, but in one of the end
+pews, facing the choir, so that she had a full view of his ghastly face
+and glassy eyes.
+
+A sudden superstitious fear fell upon her. She almost thought the figure
+was his ghost, or was some optical illusion conjured up by her own
+imagination.
+
+She wished to test its reality by the eyes of another. She wished to
+whisper to the abbess, and point him out, and ask her if she, too, saw
+him; but she dared not do this. The vesper hymn was pealing forth from
+the choir, and all the sisterhood, except herself, were singing.
+
+She was their soprano, and she had to join them. She began first in a
+tremulous voice, but soon the spell of the music took hold of her, and
+carried her away, far, far above all earthly thoughts and cares, and she
+sang, as her hearers afterward declared, "like a seraph."
+
+At the end of the service she whispered to the abbess, calling her
+attention to the pallid stranger in the end pew; but when both turned
+to look, the man had vanished!
+
+"Mother, I do not know whether that ghostly figure was a real man, after
+all!" whispered Salome, in an awe-stricken tone.
+
+"My good child, what do you mean?" inquired the abbess, uneasily.
+
+"Mother, I feel as if I were haunted!" said Salome, with a shudder.
+
+"Come! your nerves have been overtasked. You must have a composing
+draught, and go to bed," said the superior, decisively.
+
+"It may be that I am nervous and excitable, and that I have conjured up
+this image in my brain--such a ghastly, ghostly image, mother! It could
+not have been real, though I thought nothing else this morning than that
+it was real. But this evening--oh! madam, if you had seen it, with its
+blanched face and glazed eyes, like a sceptre risen from the grave!"
+
+"I have not seen the man yet, either this morning or this evening," said
+the elder lady, as she drew the younger's arm within her own.
+
+"No, you have never seen him. I have no one's eyes but my own to test the
+matter. You have never seen him, and that is another reason why I think
+of the man as ghostly or unreal," whispered Salome.
+
+They were now in the long passage leading from the chapel to the cells.
+
+"I will take you again to your own little room in the Infants' Asylum,"
+murmured the lady, as she turned with her protegee into the rectangular
+passage leading to the asylums.
+
+She took Salome to the door of the house, gave her a benediction, and
+left her.
+
+"Out there I have trouble, here I shall have peace," muttered the young
+woman, as she entered the children's dormitory, where every tiny cot was
+now occupied by a little, sleeping child.
+
+Salome prepared to retire, and in a few moments she also was at rest,
+with her little Marie Perdue in her arms.
+
+Christmas had come on Saturday that year. The next day being Sunday,
+there was another high mass to be celebrated in the chapel.
+
+Salome, as usual, joined the nuns' procession to the choir, where the
+sisterhood, as was their custom, took their seats some few minutes before
+the entrance of the priest and his attendants.
+
+With a heart almost pausing in its pulsations, Salome bent forward to
+peer through the screen upon the congregation, to see if by any chance
+the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) sat among them.
+
+With a half-suppressed cry, she recognized his form, seated in the
+opposite corner of the church, from the spot he had last occupied.
+
+"He shifts his place every time he appears," she said to herself.
+
+And now, being determined that other eyes should see him as well as her
+own, she touched the abbess' arm and whispered:
+
+"Pray look before the priest enters. There is the Duke of Hereward (or
+his ghost) sitting quite alone in the corner pew, on the left hand side
+of the altar. Do you see him now?"
+
+The abbess followed the direction with her eyes, and answered:
+
+"No, I do not see any one there."
+
+"Why, he is sitting alone in the left hand corner pew. Surely, you must
+see him now?" said Salome, bending forward to look again at the stranger.
+
+The next instant she sank back in her seat, nearly fainting.
+
+The pew was empty!
+
+"There is really no one there, my child. Your eyes have deceived you,"
+murmured the abbess, gently.
+
+"He was there a moment since, but he has vanished! Oh! mother, what is
+the meaning of this?" gasped the girl, turning pale as death.
+
+"The meaning is that your nervous system is shattered, and you are the
+victim of optical illusions. Or else--if there was a man really in that
+pew--he may have passed out through that little corner door leading
+to the vestry. But hush! here comes the priest," said the abbess, as the
+procession entered the chancel, preceded by the solemn notes of the
+organ.
+
+Since "Miss Levison" was obliged to keep her place in the choir, it was
+well that she was an enthusiast in music, and thus able to lose all sense
+of care and trouble in the exercise of her divine art.
+
+But for the music she would scarcely have got through the morning
+service.
+
+And very much relieved she felt when the benediction was at length
+pronounced, and she was at liberty to leave the chapel.
+
+"Oh, madam, this mystery is killing me! I have seen, or fancied I have
+seen, the Duke of Hereward in the church three times; yet no one else has
+been able to see him! If it was the duke, he has come here for some
+fixed purpose. He has, probably, by means of those expert London
+detectives, traced me out, and discovered my residence under this sacred
+roof. He has followed me here to give me trouble!" said Salome, as soon
+she found herself alone with the superior.
+
+"My child," said the lady, "I must reiterate that _you_ have
+nothing--_he_ has everything to fear! I do not know, of course, for
+even you are not sure that you have really seen him. If you have, he is
+in this immediate neighborhood. If he is, why, then, the fact must be
+known to nearly every one outside the convent walls. The Duke of Hereward
+is not a man whose presence could be ignored. To-morrow, therefore, I
+will cause inquiries to be made, and we shall be sure to find out whether
+he is really here or not."
+
+"Thanks, good mother, thanks. It will be a great relief to have this
+question decided in any way," said Salome, gratefully.
+
+The mother-superior smiled, gave the benediction, and retired.
+
+At vespers that evening, Salome looked all over the church in anxious
+fear of seeing the form that haunted her imagination; but her "ghost" did
+not appear, and, after all, she scarcely knew whether she was relieved or
+disturbed by his absence.
+
+The next day, Monday, the abbess set diligent inquiries on foot to
+discover whether the Duke of Hereward, or any other stranger of any name
+or title whatever, had been seen in the neighborhood of St. Rosalie's
+for many days. Winter was not the season for strangers there.
+
+After this, the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) was seen no more in the
+chapel.
+
+Every time Salome accompanied the sisterhood to the chapel, she peered
+through the choir-screen, in much anxiety as to whether she should see
+the duke, or his apparition, among the congregation below; but she
+never saw him there again, nor could she decide, in the conflict between
+her love and her sense of duty, whether she most desired or deplored his
+absence.
+
+So the days passed into weeks, and nothing more was heard or seen of the
+Duke of Hereward.
+
+The Christmas holidays came to an end after Twelth-Day; the pupils
+returned to the school, and the academy buildings grew gay with the
+exuberance of young life.
+
+Salome, who, during many years of her childhood and youth, had shared
+this bright and cheery school-life, now saw nothing of it.
+
+The academy buildings, as has been explained before this, were situated
+on the opposite side of the court-yard from the asylums and entirely cut
+off from communication with them.
+
+Salome, devoted to her duties in the Infants' Asylum, was more completely
+secluded from the world than even the cloistered nuns themselves; for the
+nuns were the teachers of the academy, and in daily communication with
+their pupils and frequent correspondence with their patrons, saw and
+heard much of the busy life without.
+
+So the weeks passed slowly into months, and the winter into spring, yet
+nothing more was seen or heard of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+Salome lost the habit of looking for him, and gradually recovered her
+tranquility. In the work to which she had consecrated herself--the care
+of helpless and destitute infancy--she grew almost happy.
+
+Already she seemed as dead to the world as though the "black vail" had
+fallen like a pall over her head. No newspapers ever drifted into the
+asylum, nor did any visitor come to bring intelligence of the good or
+evil of the life beyond the convent walls.
+
+Her year of probation was passing away. At its close she would take the
+white vail and enter upon the second stage of her chosen vocation--her
+year of novitiate--at the end of which she would assume the black vail
+of the cloistered nun, which would seal her fate.
+
+She knew that before taking that final step she must make some
+disposition of that vast inheritance which, in her flight from her home,
+she had left without one word of explanation or instruction. She was
+assured that her fortune was in the hands of honest men, and there she
+was content to leave it for the present. She had in her possession about
+a thousand pounds in money and several thousand pounds in diamonds--ample
+means for self-support and alms-giving.
+
+And so she was satisfied for the present to leave her financial affairs
+as they were, until the time should come when it would be absolutely
+necessary for her to give attention to them.
+
+Meanwhile, had she forgotten him who had once been the idol of her
+worship?
+
+Ah, no! however diligently her eyes, her hands, her feet were employed in
+the service of the little children she loved so tenderly, her thoughts
+were with him. She loved him still! It seemed to her at once the sin and
+the curse of her life that she loved him still. She prayed daily to be
+delivered from "inordinate and sinful affections," but in this case
+prayer seemed of little use; for the more she prayed the more she loved
+and trusted him. It was a mystery she could not make out.
+
+So the spring bloomed into summer, and the world outside became so
+disturbed and turbulent with "wars and rumors of wars," that its tumult
+was heard even within the peaceful convent sanctuary.
+
+The news of the abdication of Her Most Catholic Majesty, Isabella II of
+Spain, fell like a thunderbolt upon the little community of the faithful
+in the convent; and nowhere, in the political conclaves of Prussia or of
+France, was the Spanish succession discussed with more intensity of
+interest than among the simple sisterhood of St. Rosalie.
+
+Who would now fill the throne of the Western Caesars, left vacant by the
+abdication of their daughter, the Queen Isabella?
+
+These were the topics which filled the minds and employed the tongues of
+the quiet nuns, whenever and wherever their rules permitted them to
+indulge in conversation.
+
+No sound of this disturbance however penetrated the peaceful sphere of
+the Infants' Asylum, which, indeed, seemed to be the innermost retreat,
+or the holy of holies in the sanctuary.
+
+Salome lived within it, the chief ministering angel, dispensing blessings
+all around her, and growing daily into deeper peace, until one fatal
+morning, when a great shock fell upon her.
+
+It was a beautiful, bright morning near the end of June, and the day in
+regular rotation on which the mother-superior of the convent made her
+official rounds of inspection in the Infants' Asylum.
+
+She arrived early, and, accompanied by Salome, went over every department
+of the asylum, from attic to cellar, from dormitory to recreation
+grounds, and found all well, and approved and delighted in the
+well-being.
+
+After her long walk she sat down to rest in the children's play-room, and
+directed Salome to take a seat by her side.
+
+The room was full of little children. Not seated in orderly rows, as we
+have too often seen in Infant Asylums on exhibition days; but moving
+about everywhere as freely as their little limbs would carry them, and
+making quite as much noise as their health and well-being certainly
+required.
+
+Among them was little Marie Perdue, now a bright, fair, blue-eyed cherub
+of seven months old, seated on a mat, and tossing about with screams of
+delight a number of small, gay-hued India-rubber balls.
+
+The abbess was watching the children with pleased attention, when one of
+the lay sisters entered and put a card in her hands, saying that the
+gentleman and lady were waiting at the porter's wicket, and desired
+permission to see the interior of the Infant Asylum.
+
+"Certainly, they are welcome," said the abbess. "Go and tell Sister
+Francoise to be their guide."
+
+The lay sister left the room, and the abbess gave her attention again
+to the children, making occasional remarks on their health, beauty,
+playfulness, and so forth, which were all sympathetically responded to
+by Salome, until they heard the sounds of approaching voices and
+footsteps, and the visiting party, escorted by Sister Francoise.
+
+Then the abbess and her companion ceased speaking, and lowered their eyes
+to the floor until the strangers should pass them.
+
+But the strangers lingered on their way, noticing individual children for
+beauty, or brightness, or some other trait which seemed to attract.
+
+The gentleman, speaking French with an English accent, asked questions in
+too low a tone to reach the ears of the abbess and her companion; but the
+lady kept silence.
+
+At length, as the visitors drew nearer, they came upon little Marie
+Perdue, sitting on her mat, engaged in tossing about her gay-colored
+balls, and laughing with delight.
+
+"Whose child is that?" asked the gentleman, in a voice that thrilled to
+the heart of Salome.
+
+She forgot herself, and looked up quickly, but the form of Sister
+Francoise, standing, concealed the figure of the speaker, who seemed
+to be stooping over the child.
+
+"Ay! wha's bairn is it?" inquired another voice, that fell with ominous
+familiarity on her ear, as she turned her head a little and saw the
+female visitor, a tall, handsome blonde, with bold, blue eyes and a
+cataraet of golden hair falling on her shoulders.
+
+Sister Francoise did not understand the language of the woman, and turned
+with a helpless and appealing look to the gentleman, who still speaking
+French with the slightly defective English accent, replied:
+
+"Madame asks whose child is that?"
+
+"Oh, pardon! We do not know, Monsieur. It was left at our doors on the
+eighteenth of December last," replied Sister Francoise.
+
+"A very fine child! Its name?"
+
+"Marie Perdue."
+
+"'Marie Perdue?' What? 'Marie Perdue?' What's 'Perdue?'" querulously
+inquired the tall, blonde beauty.
+
+"'Thrown away,' 'lost,' 'abandoned,'" answered the gentleman, in a low
+voice.
+
+As he spoke he stood up and turned around.
+
+Salome uttered a low, half-suppressed cry, and covered her face with both
+hands.
+
+The abbess impulsively looked up to see what was the matter, and--echoed
+the cry!
+
+There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then Salome lifted
+up her head and cautiously looked around.
+
+The visitors had gone, and the children, who with child-like curiosity
+had suspended their play to gaze upon the strangers, were now
+re-commencing their noise with renewed vehemence.
+
+Salome still trembling in every limb, turned toward her companion.
+
+The abbess sat with clasped hands, lowered eyelids, and face as pale as
+death.
+
+Salome, too much absorbed in her own emotion to notice the strange
+condition of the abbess, touched her on the shoulder and eagerly
+whispered:
+
+"Mother, did you observe the visitors?"
+
+"Yes," breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her
+eyelids.
+
+"Did you notice--_the man_?" Salome continued.
+
+"I did," murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she
+devoutly made the sign of the cross.
+
+"Do you know who he was?"
+
+"_I do._"
+
+"He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of
+Hereward!"
+
+"Nay," said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. "He was not the Duke of
+Hereward. He was one whom I had reckoned as numbered with the dead full
+twenty years ago!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+THE ABBESS' STORY.
+
+
+"'Not the Duke of Hereward!'" echoed Salome, astonishment now overcoming
+every other emotion in her bosom.
+
+The abbess bowed her head in grave assent.
+
+"'One whom you thought numbered with the dead, full twenty years ago?'"
+continued Salome, quoting the lady's own words, and gazing on her face.
+
+"Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still," murmured the
+abbess.
+
+"This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood
+twenty-five years ago."
+
+"He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be;
+but he is not young."
+
+"And he is not the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward."
+
+"Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, _who_ is he?"
+demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement.
+
+"He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who
+forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman," gravely
+replied the abbess.
+
+"Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?"
+exclaimed Salome, in consternation.
+
+"Yes, sure of it," answered the abbess, slowly bending her head.
+
+"But--pardon me--I thought that _he_ had been killed in a duel by
+the lover of the woman whom he had won."
+
+"Even so thought I. The news of his falsehood and of his death at the
+hands of the wronged lover, came to me in my convent retreat at the same
+time, and I heard no more of him from that day to this, when I have again
+seen him in the flesh. The saints defend us!"
+
+"And you are absolutely certain that he was Count Waldemar?"
+
+"I am absolutely certain."
+
+"Mother Genevieve, did you know the woman who was with him?"
+
+"No, not at all. I never saw or heard of her before. She seems to belong
+to the _demi-monde_, for she dresses like a princess, and talks like
+a peasant. Let us not speak of her," said the lady, coldly.
+
+"We _must_ speak of her, for I think I know who she is."
+
+"You recognize her, then?"
+
+"I cannot say that I do; at least, not by her person. I never saw her
+face before; but I have heard her voice under circumstances that rendered
+it impossible for me ever to forget its tones; and from her voice I
+believe her to be Rose Cameron, a Highland peasant girl of Ben Lone."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed the mother-superior, suddenly raising her hand. "You do
+not mean to intimate that _she_ is the girl whom you overheard
+talking with the young Duke of Hereward at midnight, under your balcony,
+on the night before the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison?"
+
+"She is the very same woman, as he is the very same man, who _planned_,
+if they did not perpetrate the robbery--who _caused_, if they did not
+commit, the murder; and their names are John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and
+Rose Cameron."
+
+"My daughter, in regard to the girl you may be quite right; but in
+respect to the man you are utterly wrong."
+
+"Should I not know my own betrothed husband?" demanded Salome,
+impatiently.
+
+"Should _I_ not know _mine_?" inquired the abbess, very
+patiently.
+
+Salome made a gesture of desperate perplexity, and then there was a
+silent pause, during which the two women sat gazing in each other's faces
+in silent wonder.
+
+Suddenly Salome started up in wild excitement and began pacing the narrow
+cell with rapid steps, exclaiming:
+
+"There have been strange cases of counterparts in persons of this world
+so exact as to have deceived the eyes of their most intimate friends. If
+this should be a case in point! Great Heaven, if it should! If this
+Count Waldemar de Volaski should be such a perfect counterpart of the
+Duke of Hereward as to have deceived even my eyes and ears! Oh, what joy!
+Oh, what rapture! What ecstacy to find 'the princely Hereward' as
+stainless in honor as he is noble in name; and this most unprincipled
+Volaski the real guilty party! But--the marriage certificate in
+Hereward's own name! The letters to his so-called 'wife,' Rose Cameron,
+in Hereward's own handwriting! Ah, no! there is no hope! not the faintest
+beam of hope! And yet--"
+
+She suddenly paused in her wild walk, and looked toward the abbess.
+
+That lady was still sitting on the stool, at the foot of the cot, with
+her hands folded on her lap, and her eyes cast down upon them as in deep
+thought or prayer.
+
+Salome sat down beside her, and inquired in a low tone:
+
+"Mother Genevieve, was the Count Waldemar de Volaski ever in Scotland?
+Has he been there within the last twelve months?"
+
+The lady lifted her eyes to the face of the inquirer, and slowly replied:
+
+"My daughter, how should I know? Have I not said that, until this day,
+when I have seen him in the flesh standing in this room, I had believed
+him to have been in purgatory for twenty-five years or more?"
+
+"True! true!" sighed Salome.
+
+The abbess folded her hands, cast down her eyes, and resumed her
+meditations or prayers.
+
+"You heard that he was killed in a duel, you say?" persevered Salome.
+
+"Yes; the news of his treachery, and the news of his death at the hands
+of the Duke of Hereward reached me at the same moment in this convent,
+where I was then passing the first year of mourning for my parents. It
+was that news which decided me to take the vail and devote my life and
+fortune to the service of the Lord," said the lady, reverently bending
+her head.
+
+Salome sat staring stonily as one petrified. She was absolutely
+speechless and motionless from amazement for the space of a minute
+or more. Then suddenly recovering her powers, she exclaimed:
+
+"Mother! Mother Genevieve! For Heaven's sake! Did I understand you? From
+_whose_ hand did you hear Count Waldemar received his death in a
+duel?"
+
+"From the hand of the deeply injured husband, of course."
+
+"But--who was he? Who? You mentioned a name!" wildly exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Did I mention a name? Ah! what inadvertence! I never intended to let
+that name slip out. I am very sorry to have done so. _Mea Culpa! Mea
+Culpa! Mea maxima culpa!_" muttered the abbess, bending her head and
+smiting her bosom.
+
+"Mother Genevieve! Oh, do not trifle with me! _do_ not torture me!
+I heard a name! Did I hear aright? Oh, I hope I did not! What name did
+you murmur? Tell me! tell me! WHO met Count Waldemar in a
+duel?" demanded Salome.
+
+"I have no choice but to tell you now, though I would willingly have kept
+the fact from you. It _was_ the Duke of Hereward, the late duke of
+course, the deeply-wronged lover of that fair woman, who met, and, as I
+heard, killed Count Waldemar de Volaski. But there were wrongs on both
+sides, deep, deadly wrongs on every side!" moaned the lady, clasping her
+hands convulsively and lowering her eyes.
+
+"The Duke of Hereward! Heaven of heavens! the Duke of Hereward! Yes!
+I heard aright the first time; but I could not believe my own ears! The
+father of my betrothed!" murmured Salome, sinking back in her seat.
+
+The abbess gravely bent her head.
+
+"What of the frail woman? She was not--oh! no, she _could not_ have
+been the mother of the present duke?"
+
+"No," murmured the abbess, in a low voice.
+
+"Mother Genevieve!" exclaimed Salome, suddenly, "will you tell me all you
+know of this terrible story?"
+
+"My daughter, my past is dead and buried these many years; so I would
+leave it until the last great day of the Resurrection. Nevertheless, as
+the story of my life is interwoven with that of the princely line in whom
+you feel so deep an interest, I will relate it."
+
+"Thanks, good mother," said Salome, nestling to her side and preparing
+to listen.
+
+"Not here, and not now, my child, can I enter upon the long, sorrowful,
+shameful story--a story of pride, despotism and cruelty on one side; of
+passion, wilfulness and recklessness on the other; of selfishness, sin
+and ruin on all sides! Daughter, in almost every tale of sin and
+suffering you will find that there has always been sin on _one_ side
+and suffering on the _other_; but in this story _all_ sinned
+deeply, all suffered fearfully!"
+
+"Except yourself, sweet mother. You never sinned," said Salome, taking
+the thin, pale hand of the lady and pressing it to her lips.
+
+"_Mea culpa!_ I sin every hour of my life!" cried the abbess,
+crossing herself.
+
+"We all do; but you did not sin _there_," said the girl.
+
+"I had no part--no active part, I mean--in that tale of guilt and woe.
+I was a pupil here in this convent then, waiting to be brought out and
+married to my betrothed. No, I had no part in that tragedy."
+
+"Except the passive part of suffering."
+
+"Ay, except the passive part of suffering; but hark, my child! the vesper
+bell is ringing; it calls us to our evening worship: let us go to the
+choir, and there forget all our earthly cares and seek the peace of
+Heaven," said the pale lady, slowly rising from her seat.
+
+"When will you tell me the story, good mother?" pleaded Salome, in a low
+and deprecating tone.
+
+"The vesper bell is ringing. The rules of the house must not be disturbed
+by your individual necessities. After the evening service comes the
+evening meal. Then, for me, my hour of rest in my cell; and for you, the
+duty of seeing your infant charge put to bed. When all these matters have
+been properly attended to, come to me in my cell. You will find me there.
+We shall be uninterrupted until the midnight mass; and in the interim I
+will tell you the story of a life that 'was lost, but is found, was dead,
+but is alive'--_Benedicite_, my daughter!" said the abbess,
+spreading her hands upon the bowed head of the girl, and solemnly
+blessing her.
+
+Then she glided away.
+
+Salome soon followed her, and joined the procession of nuns to the
+chapel.
+
+As soon as she took her seat in the choir, she looked through the screen
+over the congregation below, to see if the strangers were in the chapel;
+but she saw them not.
+
+When the vesper service was over, she took her tea with the nuns in their
+refectory; and then returned to the play-room in the Infants' Asylum.
+
+The nurses were engaged in giving the little ones their supper, and
+putting them to bed.
+
+Salome took up her own little Marie Perdue, to undress her.
+
+As she divested the child of her little slip, something rolled out of its
+bosom and dropped upon the floor.
+
+One of the nurses picked it up and handed it to Salome.
+
+It was a small, hard substance, wrapped in tissue paper.
+
+Salome unrolled it and found a ring, set with a large solitaire diamond.
+With a cry of surprise and pain, she recognized the jewel. It was her
+late father's ring! While she gazed upon it in a trance of wonder, the
+paper in which it had been wrapped, caught by a breeze from the open
+window, fluttered under her eyes. She saw that there was writing on the
+paper, and she took it up and read it.
+
+"The ring must be sold for the benefit of the child and of the house that
+has protected her. She must be educated to become a nun."
+
+There was no signature to this paper.
+
+Salome rolled it around the ring again, and put it in her bosom, then she
+sent one of the nurses to call Sister Francoise.
+
+When the old nun came into her presence, she inquired:
+
+"Sister Francoise, you showed a lady and gentleman through the asylum,
+this afternoon; they came into this room; they stopped and noticed little
+Marie Perdue particularly. Did they ask any questions or make any remarks
+concerning her? I have an especial reason for asking."
+
+"Oh, yes, sister! they did ask many questions--when she came, how long
+she had been, who took care of her, what was her name, and many more; and
+as I answered them to the best of my knowledge, I could not help seeing
+that they knew more about the child than I did," answered the nun,
+nodding her head.
+
+"Did the gentleman or lady give anything to the child?"
+
+"Not that _I_ saw, which I thought unkind of them, considering all
+the interest they showed in _words_; for, as I say of all the fine
+ladies who come here and fondle the infants, what's the use of all the
+fondling if they never put a sou out, or a stitch in?"
+
+"That will do, sister; I only wanted to know," answered the young lady,
+as she determined to keep her own counsel, and confide the news of the
+surreptitiously offered ring to the abbess only.
+
+When she had rocked her child to sleep, laid it on its little cot, and
+placed two novices on duty to watch over the slumbers of the children,
+she left the dormitory by the rectangular passage that led to the nuns'
+house, and repaired at once to the cell occupied by the abbess.
+
+It was a plain little den, in no respect better than those tenanted by
+her humble nuns, twelve feet long, by nine broad, with bare walls, and
+bare floor, and a small grated window at the farther end, opposite the
+narrow, grated door by which the cell was entered. It was furnished
+poorly with a narrow cot bed, a wooden stool, and a small stand, upon
+which lay the office-book of the abbess, and above which hung the
+crucifix.
+
+As Salome entered the cell, the abbess arose from her knees and signed
+for her visitor to be seated.
+
+Salome sat down on the foot of the cot, and the abbess drew the stool and
+placed herself near.
+
+Then Salome saw the lady-superior was even paler and graver than usual;
+and anxious as the young lady felt to hear the abbess' story, she thought
+she would give her more time to recover, and even assist her in doing
+so, by diverting her thoughts to the new incident of the ring, which she
+produced and laid upon the mother's lap, saying:
+
+"That was found by me in the bosom of little Marie Perdue's dress. It was
+donated to the house, for the benefit of the child. Here is the scrap of
+writing in which it was rolled."
+
+The abbess silently took up the ring and the paper, and examined the
+first and read the last, saying:
+
+"Such mysterious donations to the children are not uncommon, and are
+generally supposed to be offered by the unknown parents. This, however,
+is by far the most valuable present that has ever been made by any one to
+the institution, and must be worth at least a thousand Napoleons. It was
+made by the visitors of this morning, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, madam, it was."
+
+"I see, I understand. Take charge of it, my daughter, until we can
+deliver it to the sister-treasurer," directed the lady-superior, as she
+replaced the ring in its wrapper and returned both to Salome.
+
+"But, mother, I wish myself to become the purchaser of this ring. I have
+a thousand pounds with me. I will give them for the ring."
+
+"My daughter!" exclaimed the abbess in surprise. "Why should you wish to
+possess this bauble? It can be of no use to you in the life you are about
+to enter, even if the rules of our order would permit you to retain it,
+which you know they would not."
+
+"Mother! it was my father's ring! It was a part of the property stolen
+from him on the night of his murder," solemnly answered Salome.
+
+"Holy saints! can that be true?" exclaimed the abbess.
+
+"As true as truth. I know the ring well. He always wore it on his finger.
+Inside the setting is his monogram, 'L.L.,' and his crest, a falcon,"
+answered Salome, once more unwrapping the ring and offering it to the
+inspection of the lady-superior.
+
+"I see! I see! It is so. Ah, Holy Virgin! that it should have been
+offered by Count Waldemar, or by him whom you overheard conspiring with
+his female companion under the windows on the night of your father's
+murder!" cried the abbess, covering her face with a fold of her black
+vail.
+
+"Count Waldemar, or the duke of Hereward, I know not which, I know not
+whom. Oh! mother, this mystery grows deeper, this confusion more
+confounded."
+
+"Take back your ring, my child, and keep it without price. It was your
+father's, and it is yours. We cannot receive stolen goods even as alms
+offered to our orphans," said the abbess, dropping her vail and returning
+the jewel.
+
+"I will take it and keep it because it was my dear father's; but I will
+give a full equivalent for its value. No one could object to that," said
+Salome, as she replaced the ring in her bosom. "And now, Mother
+Genevieve, will you tell me the promised story? It may possibly throw
+some light even upon this dark mystery."
+
+The pale abbess bowed assent, and immediately began the narrative, which,
+for the Sake of convenience, we prefer to render in our own words.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+THE DUKE'S DOUBLE.
+
+
+First it is necessary to revert to the history of the Scotts of Lone,
+Dukes of Hereward.
+
+He who married Salome Levison was the eighth of his princely line. Any
+one turning to Burke's Peerage of the preceding year, might have read
+this record of the late duke:
+
+"Hereward, Duke of, (Archibald-Alexander-John Scott) Marquis of Arondelle
+and Avondale in the Peerage of England, Earl of Lone and Baron Scott in
+the Peerage of Scotland; born, 1st of Jan., 1800; succeeded his father as
+seventh duke, 1st Feb., 1840; married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie,
+only daughter of Constantine, Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov, 1st,
+1844; married, secondly, July 15th, 1845, Lady Katherine-Augusta, eldest
+daughter of the Earl of Banff, and has a son--Archibald-Alexander-John,
+Marquis of Arondelle, born 1st of May, 1846."
+
+A whole domestic tragedy is comprised in one line of this record:
+
+"Married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie, only daughter of Constantine,
+Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov. 1st, 1844."
+
+Now as to this poor, unhappy first wife:
+
+Some few years before this first fatal marriage, the Baron de la Motte,
+one of the most illustrious French statesmen, was dispatched by his
+sovereign as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the
+Court of France to the Court of Russia.
+
+The baron, with his suite, proceeding to St. Petersburg, accompanied by
+the baroness, a handsome Italian woman, and by their only child, Valerie,
+a beautiful brunette of only seventeen summers.
+
+Valerie de la Motte was first introduced to the world of fashion at a
+great court ball, given by the Czar, in honor of the French Ambassador,
+in the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff.
+
+On this occasion the dark, brilliant beauty of Mademoiselle de la Motte,
+inherited from her Italian mother, was the more admired from its rarity
+and its perfect contrast to the radiant fairness of the Russian blondes.
+Here Valerie de la Motte met, for the first time, Waldemar de Volaski,
+the second son of the Polish Count de Volaski, and a captain of the Royal
+Guards, stationed at the palace. He was but twenty years of age, yet a
+model of fair, manly beauty. He was even then called "the handsomest man
+in all the Russias."
+
+There was a Romeo and Juliet case of love at first sight between the
+young Russian officer and the youthful French heiress.
+
+During the first season, the beauty's hand was sought by some among the
+most princely of the nobles that surrounded the throne of the Czar; but,
+to the disappointment of her ambitious parents, she refused them every
+one.
+
+Certainly the French father might have followed the custom of his class
+and country, and coerced his young daughter into the acceptance of any
+husband he might have chosen for her; but he did not feel disposed to
+use harsh measures with his only and idolized child; he rather preferred
+to exercise patience and forbearance toward her, until she should have
+outlived what he called her childish caprices.
+
+It was, however, no childish caprice that governed the conduct of Valerie
+de la Motte, but the unfortunate and fatal passion, inspired by the
+handsome young captain of the Royal Guards, whom she had waltzed with
+about a half a dozen times at the court balls.
+
+Waldemar de Volaski was indeed as beautiful as the youthful god, Apollo
+Belvidere, and in his radiant blonde complexion a perfect contrast to the
+dark, splendid style of the lovely brunette, Valerie de la Motte; but he
+was only a younger son, with no hope or prospect of succession to his
+father's title or estates.
+
+He did not dare openly to seek the hand of Mademoiselle de la Motte, for
+he knew that to do so would only be to have himself banished forever from
+her presence, by her ambitious father; but, loving her with all the
+passion of his heart, he sought secretly to win her love, and he
+succeeded.
+
+It would seem strange that the carefully shielded daughter of the French
+minister should have been exposed to courtship by the young captain of
+the Royal Guards; but love is fertile in devices, and full of expedients,
+and "laughs," not only "at locksmiths," but at all other obstacles to its
+success.
+
+The willful young pair loved each other ardently from the first evening
+of their meeting, and they could not endure to think of such a
+possibility as their separation. They found many opportunities, even in
+public, of carrying on their secret courtship. In the swimming turn of
+the waltz, hands clasped hands with more impassioned earnestness than the
+formula of the round dance required: in the casual meetings in the
+fashionable promenades of the beautiful summer gardens in Aptekarskoi
+Island--
+
+"Eyes looked love to eyes that spake again.
+And all went merry as a marriage bell,"
+
+so long as they could see each other every day.
+
+As the summer passed, the young captain, grown more confident, wrote
+ardent love letters to his lady, which were surreptitiously slipped into
+her hands at casual meetings, or conveyed to her by means of bribed
+domestics; and these the willful beauty answered in the same spirit,
+as opportunity was offered her by the same means. But--
+
+"A change came o'er the spirit of their dream."
+
+The French minister was recalled home by his sovereign, and only awaited
+the arrival of his successor to take an official leave of the Czar.
+
+About this time a letter from Volaski to Valerie was sent by the
+captain's faithful valet, and put in the hands of the lady's confidential
+maid, who secretly conveyed it to her mistress. This letter, which was
+fiery enough to have set any ordinary post-bag in a blaze, declared,
+among other matters, that the lady's answer would decide the writer's
+fate, for life or for death.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte sat down and wrote a reply which she sent by her
+confidential maid, who placed it in the hands of the captain's faithful
+valet, to be secretly carried to his master.
+
+Whether the answer decided the fate of the lover for life or for death,
+it certainly controlled his action in an important matter. Immediately on
+its receipt he hastened to the Hotel de l'Etat Major, the headquarters of
+the army department, and solicited a month's leave of absence to visit
+his father's family.
+
+As it was the very first occasion upon which the young officer had asked
+such a favor, it was promptly granted him.
+
+Of course no one suspected that the cause of the young captain's action
+had been the announcement that the French minister had been recalled by
+his government, and was about to return to Paris.
+
+The next day Waldemar de Volaski left St. Petersburg, ostensibly to visit
+his father's estates in Poland.
+
+And the next week the French minister, having presented his successor to
+the Czar, and received his own conge, left the court and the city, and
+set out for France.
+
+The ministerial party travelled by the new railway from St. Petersburg to
+Warsaw, a distance of nearly seven hundred miles.
+
+At the capital of Poland they designed to stop a few days to rest the
+baroness, whose health was suffering.
+
+One day while in that city the baroness, her daughter, and the lady's
+maid, went out together, shopping for curiosities in the Marieville
+Bazaar, a square in the midst of the city, surrounded by many gay
+arcades.
+
+The square was full of visitors, and every arcade was crowded with
+customers.
+
+The baroness became somewhat interested in her purchases, and from moment
+to moment turned to consult her daughter, who seemed ever ready so assist
+her choice.
+
+At length, however, in speaking to Mademoiselle de la Motte, her mother
+failed to receive an answer.
+
+Turning to rebuke the inattention of her daughter, the baroness
+discovered that Valerie was missing.
+
+Thinking only that she had got mixed up with the crowd, yet feeling very
+much annoyed thereat, Madam de la Motte called her maid and instituted a
+search, only to find, with dismay, that Mademoiselle was nowhere in the
+square.
+
+Believing then that the young girl must have taken the extraordinary
+and very reprehensible proceeding of returning to the hotel alone and
+resolving to give her daughter a severe reprimand for her imprudence,
+the baroness returned to their temporary home, only to learn that
+Mademoiselle de la Motte had not been seen there by any one since she
+had left the house in company with her mother, attended by her maid.
+
+Fearing then that her daughter, in rashly attempting to return home
+alone, had lost herself in the streets of Warsaw, the baroness sent
+messengers in every direction to seek for her and guide her back.
+
+Meanwhile the Baron de la Motte, who had been to inspect the fine gallery
+of paintings preserved in the old villa of Stanislaus Augustus, returned
+to his hotel, and was informed by the now half distracted baroness of the
+disappearance of their daughter.
+
+The Baron, struck with dismay, inquired into the circumstances of the
+case, and was told of the shopping expedition to the Marieville Bazaar,
+where Valerie was first missed.
+
+"It was at her own earnest solicitation that I took her there, to pick up
+some of the curiously carved jewelry and trinkets. First, she wished, in
+consideration of my health, to go there attended only by her maid; but I
+would not allow any such indiscretion. I took her there myself, and even
+while I was talking with her before one of the arcades, she vanished like
+a spirit! One moment she was there, the next moment she was gone! We
+looked for her immediately, but found no trace of her."
+
+The baron replied not one word to this explanation, but took his hat and
+walked out to join the search for the missing girl, while the baroness
+remained in her rooms, a prey to the most poignant anxiety.
+
+It was near midnight when the baron returned, looking full ten years
+older than he did when he went forth.
+
+No trace of the missing girl had been found, and whether her
+disappearance was a flight or an abduction no one could even conjecture.
+
+The condition of the agonized mother became critical; she could not be
+persuaded to lie down, or to cease from her restless walking to and fro
+in her chamber.
+
+At length, a physician was summoned, who administered a potent sedative,
+which conquered her nervous excitement, and laid her in a blessed sleep
+upon her bed.
+
+The next morning the search, which had not been quite abandoned even
+during the night, was renewed with great vigor, stimulated by the large
+rewards offered by the afflicted father for the recovery of his lost
+child; but still no trace of Valerie de la Motte could be found, no news
+of her be heard.
+
+And so, without any change a week passed away, and then, while the
+baroness lay in extreme nervous prostration, hovering between life and
+death, and the baron crept about her bed like a man bowed down by the
+infirmities of age, and all hope seemed gone, a letter arrived from
+Mademoiselle de la Motte to her parents.
+
+It was written from San Vito, a small mountain hamlet in the northern
+part of Italy. By this letter she informed them that she was safe and
+happy as the wife of Captain Waldemar de Volaski, who had long possessed
+her heart, and to whom she had just given her hand. She begged her
+father and mother to pardon her for having sought her happiness in her
+own way, and assured them, notwithstanding her seemingly unfilial
+conduct, she still cherished the strongest sentiments of love and honor
+toward them both, and ever remained their dutiful and affectionate
+daughter--VALERIE DE LA MOTTE DE VOLASKI.
+
+The mother, who under any other circumstances, would have been
+overwhelmed with mortification and sorrow at this _mesalliance_ of
+her daughter, was now so glad to know that Valerie was alive in health,
+even though as the bride of a poor young captain of the Guards, that she
+thanked Heaven earnestly, and rejoiced exceedingly.
+
+But the baron who would as willingly have never heard of his lost
+daughter, as that she had so degraded herself, left his wife's
+bed-chamber abruptly, and went off to his smoking-room, where he could
+vent his feelings by cursing and swearing to his heart's content.
+
+The next day the Baron de la Motte, breathing maledictions, set out for
+Italy, accompanied by the baroness, who had wonderfully rallied in health
+and strength since she had received news of her missing daughter.
+
+The proud baroness was, in one respect, like the poor Hebrew mother of
+the Bible story. She preferred to give up her child to another claimant
+rather than lose that beloved child by death.
+
+The baron's party traveled day and night, without pause or rest, until
+they crossed the northern frontier of Italy, and halted at the little
+hamlet of San Vito, at the foot of the Apennines.
+
+Here they found the fugitive pair living a sort of Arcadian life: and
+here they learned the facts which they had not hitherto even suspected.
+
+Captain Waldemar de Volaski and Mademoiselle Valerie de la Motte had
+loved each other from the first moment of their meeting at the ball given
+in honor of the French minister, at the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff,
+and had betrothed themselves to each other during the first month of
+their acquaintance. They had kept their betrothal a secret, only because
+they felt assured it would meet with the most violent opposition from the
+young lady's haughty parents; but they had carried on a constant
+epistolary correspondence through the instrumentality of the lover's
+valet and the lady's maid; but they had not intended to take any decisive
+step, until, at length, they were both startled by the recall home of
+the French minister.
+
+When the announcement of this event reached the ears of Waldemar de
+Volaski, he was filled with despair at the prospect of parting from his
+betrothed.
+
+He instantly dashed off a hasty letter to Valerie de la Motte, earnestly
+entreating her to save his life, and his reason, and secure their
+happiness, by consenting to an immediate marriage.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, closing her ears to the voice of conscience and
+discretion, and listening only to the pleadings of a reckless and fatal
+passion, wrote a favorable answer.
+
+They knew that their plan would be exceedingly difficult of execution;
+but this did not deter them.
+
+They made their arrangements with more tact than could have been expected
+of so youthful a pair of lovers.
+
+He obtained leave of absence and left St. Petersburg, as has been stated,
+upon the pretext of visiting his father's estate in Poland; but really
+with the intention of preceding the minister's party to Warsaw, where, he
+had learned, they would break their journey and remain for a few days to
+recruit the strength of the baroness.
+
+There, disguised as a peasant, and concealed in the suburban cottage
+of a faithful retainer of his family, Waldemar de Volaski waited for
+the arrival of the baron's party.
+
+Then, through the instrumentality of the lover's valet and the lady's
+maid, a meeting was arranged between the imprudent young pair, at the
+Marieville Bazaar.
+
+There Mademoiselle de la Motte found her lover watching for her.
+
+Taking advantage of a few minutes during which her mother was engaged in
+the examination of some curious malachite ornaments, Valerie de la Motte
+slipped into the thickest of the crowd, joined her lover, and escaped
+with him to the suburban hut of the old retainer, where she changed her
+clothes, and from whence, in the disguise of a page, and carrying her
+female apparel in a small valise, she finally fled with him to Italy.
+
+They stopped at the little mountain hamlet of San Vito, where she resumed
+her proper dress, and where, by a lavish expenditure of money, and a
+liberal disbursement of fair words, Waldemar de Volaski prevailed on
+a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between himself and Valerie de
+la Motte.
+
+When this was done, the reckless pair took lodgings at a vine-dresser's
+cottage in the neighborhood of the hamlet, to spend their honeymoon, and
+wait for "coming events."
+
+The coming events came. The parents arrived, and found the lovers living
+carelessly and happily in their Arcadian home. Here the outraged and
+infuriated father thundered into the ears of the newly-married pair
+the terrible truth that their marriage was no marriage at all without
+his consent, but was utterly null and void in the law.
+
+At this astounding revelation, Valerie, overwhelmed with humiliation,
+fainted and fell, and was tenderly cared for by her mother; but the
+gallant captain very coolly replied that he knew the fact perfectly well,
+and had always known it, although Mademoiselle de la Motte had not even
+suspected it; and he ventured to represent to the haughty baron, that
+their illegal marriage only required the sanction of his silent
+recognition to render it perfectly legal, and that for his daughter's
+own sake he was bound to give it such recognition.
+
+This aroused the baron to a perfect frenzy of rage. He charged Volaski
+with having traded in Mademoiselle de la Motte's affections and honor,
+from selfish and mercenary motives alone, and swore that such deep,
+calculating villainy should avail the villain nothing. He would not
+ratify his daughter's marriage with such a caitiff, but would use his
+parental power to tear her from her unlawful husband's arms, and immure
+her in the living tomb of an Italian convent.
+
+He finished by dashing his open hand with all his strength full into the
+mouth of the bridegroom, inflicting a severe blow, and covering the
+handsome face with blood.
+
+Valerie de la Motte, in a fainting condition, was placed in the cart
+of a vine-dresser, the only conveyance to be found, and carried to a
+neighboring nunnery, where she lay ill for several weeks, tenderly nursed
+by her sorrowful mother and by the compassionate nuns.
+
+The Baron de la Motte remained in the village, awaiting a challenge from
+Waldemar de Volaski; but when a week had passed away without such an
+event, the furious old Frenchman, bent upon his enemy's destruction,
+dispatched a defiance to Captain Volaski, couched in such insulting and
+exasperating language as compelled the young officer, much against his
+will, to accept it.
+
+They met to fight their duel in a secluded glade of the forest, lying
+between the hamlet and the foot of the mountains.
+
+At the first fire, Volaski, who was resolved not to wound the father of
+his beloved Valerie, discharged his pistol in the air, but instantly
+fell, shot through the lungs by the Baron de la Motte!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE.
+
+
+The Baron de la Motte, leaving Captain de Volaski stretched on the
+ground, to be cared for by the seconds and the surgeon in attendance,
+went back to the hotel and made preparations to leave San Vito.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, still very weak from recent illness, was placed
+in a carriage at the risk of her life, and compelled to commence the
+journey back to France.
+
+Madame de la Motte, grieved with the grief and anxious for the health of
+her daughter, dared not show the sufferer any pity or kindness.
+
+Monsieur de la Motte was no longer the tender and affectionate father he
+had hitherto shown himself: for, in his bitter mortification and fierce
+resentment, his love seemed turned to hatred, his sympathy to antipathy.
+
+The attenuated form, the pale face, and the sunken eyes of his once
+beautiful child, failed to move his compassion for her. He told her with
+brutal cruelty that he had slain her lover in the duel, and left him dead
+upon the ground; and that she must think no more of the villain who had
+dishonored her family.
+
+On arriving in Paris, the baron established his household in the
+magnificent Hotel de la Motte, in the most aristocratic quarter of the
+city; and here began for Valerie a life that was a very purgatory on
+earth.
+
+At home, if her purgatory could be called her home, she was studiously
+and habitually treated with scorn and contempt, as a creature unworthy to
+bear the family name, or share the family honors; until at length the
+child herself began to look upon her fault in the light her father wished
+her to see it, and with such exaggerating eyes, withal, that she came to
+think of herself as a dishonored criminal, unworthy even to live. Her
+grief sank to horror, and her depression to despair.
+
+She was treated as an outcast in all respects but one, and this exception
+was an additional cruelty; for she was introduced into the gay world of
+fashion, and compelled to mix in all its festivities, at the same time
+being sternly warned that if this same world should suspect her fault,
+she would not be received in any drawing-room in Paris.
+
+Valerie was too broken-spirited to answer by telling the truth, that the
+world and the world's favor had lost all attraction for her, who would
+willingly have retired from it forever.
+
+Valerie was presented to society as Mademoiselle de la Motte, and nothing
+was said of her stolen marriage with the young Russian officer.
+
+That season was perhaps the gayest Paris had ever known during the
+quiet reign of the citizen king and queen. Brilliant festivities in
+honor of the Spanish marriages were the order of the days and nights.
+Representatives from every court in Europe were present, as special
+messengers of congratulation--or expostulation; for it will be remembered
+the Spanish marriages were not universally popular with the sovereigns of
+Europe.
+
+Among the representatives of the English Court, present at the Tuileries,
+was the seventh Duke of Hereward, recently come into his titles and
+estates.
+
+It was at a ball at the Tuileries that Valerie de la Motte first met the
+Duke of Hereward, then a very handsome man of middle age, of accomplished
+mind and courtly address. The beautiful, pale, grave brunette at once
+interested the English duke more than all the blooming and vivacious
+beauties at the French capital could do. At every ball, dinner, concert,
+play, or other place of amusement where Mademoiselle de la Motte appeared
+with her parents, the Duke of Hereward sought her out; and the more he
+saw of her, the more interested he became in her; and it must be
+confessed that the conversation of this handsome and accomplished man of
+middle age pleased the grave, sedate girl more than that of younger and
+gayer men could have done.
+
+The duke, on his part, was not slow to perceive his advantage, and he
+would willingly have paid his addresses to Mademoiselle de la Motte in
+person, and won her heart and hand for himself, before speaking to her
+father on the subject; but as such a proceeding would not have been in
+accordance with the customs of the country, no opportunity was allowed
+him to do so; for whereas in England, or America, a suitor must win the
+favor of his lady before he asks that of her parents, in France the
+process is precisely the reverse of all this, and the lover must have the
+sanction of the father or mother, or both, before he may dare to woo the
+daughter; and this rule of etiquette holds good in all cases except in
+those of stolen marriages, which are illegal and disreputable.
+
+It was not long, therefore, before the Duke or Hereward called at the
+Hotel de la Motte, and requested a private interview with the baron,
+which was promptly and politely accorded.
+
+The duke then and there made known to the baron the state of his
+affections, and formally solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Valerie
+de la Motte in marriage.
+
+The "mad duke" was not then mad; he had not squandered his princely
+fortune; his dukedom was one of the wealthiest as well as one of the
+oldest in the United Kingdom; the marriage he offered the baron's
+daughter was one of the most brilliant (under royalty) in Europe.
+
+The baron did not hesitate a moment, but promptly accepted the proposals
+of the duke in behalf of his daughter.
+
+The Duke of Hereward hurried away, the happiest man in Europe.
+
+The Baron de la Motte went and informed his daughter that she must
+prepare to receive the middle-aged suitor as her future husband.
+
+Now, Valerie, in a languid way, liked the Duke of Hereward better than
+any one else in the whole world except her mother, but she did not like
+him in the character of a husband. The idea of marriage even with him was
+abhorrent to her. In her first surprise and dismay at the announcement of
+the duke's proposal for her hand, and her father's acceptance of that
+proposal, she betrayed all the unconquerable antipathy she felt to the
+contemplated marriage; but in vain she wept and pleaded to be left in
+peace; to be left to die; to be sent to a convent; to be disposed of in
+any way rather than in marriage!
+
+The baron was no longer a tender and compassionate father, but a ruthless
+and implacable tyrant.
+
+Valerie's life had been a purgatory before, it was a hell now. She was
+covered with reproach, contumely and threats by her father; she was
+lectured and mourned over by her mother; and when her mother at length
+took sides with her father, in urging her to this marriage, the very
+ground seemed to have slidden from beneath her feet; she had not a friend
+in the world to whom to turn in her distress.
+
+Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward was impatiently awaiting the promised
+summons to the Hotel de la Motte to meet Mademoiselle Valerie as his
+future wife.
+
+Valerie believed that her young lover-husband had been slain in the duel
+with her father; and that she was free to bestow her hand, if she could
+not give her broken heart; she was worn out with the ignominious
+reproaches heaped upon her by her father; by the tears and sighs lavished
+upon her by her mother; by all the humiliation and degradations of her
+daily life, and by the dreariness and desolation of her home. She longed
+for peace and rest; she would gladly have sought them in a convent had
+she been permitted to do so, or in the grave, had she dared.
+
+I repeat that she did not dislike the Duke of Hereward; but on the
+contrary, she liked him better than any one else in the world except her
+mother, and so it followed that at length she began to look upon a
+marriage with him as the only possible refuge from the horrors of her
+home.
+
+What wonder, then, that, goaded and taunted by her father, implored by
+her mother, solicited by the handsome duke, believing her young lover to
+be dead, slain by the hands of her father, longing to escape from the
+persecutions of her family, prostrated in body and mind, broken in heart
+and in spirit, Valerie at last succumbed to the pressure brought to bear
+upon her, and accepted the refuge of the Duke of Hereward's love,
+although the very next moment, in honor of herself and him, she
+would willingly have recalled her decision, if she could have done so.
+
+From the moment that her acceptance of the duke's proposal was announced
+to her parents, the domestic sky cleared; her ruthless tyrant became
+again her tender father; her weeping mother brightened into smiles;
+she herself was once more the petted daughter of the house, and her lover
+showed himself the proudest and happiest of men; and Valerie de la Motte
+would have been at peace but for her consciousness of the secret that
+they were all keeping from the duke.
+
+"Mamma, he ought to be told, he is so good, so noble, so confiding. I
+feel like a wretch in deceiving him; he ought to be told of my fault
+before he commits himself by marrying me," she pleaded with her mother.
+
+"Valerie, you frighten me half to death! Do not dream of such a folly as
+telling the duke anything about your mad imprudence in running away with
+the young Russian! It would make a great and terrible scandal! Your
+father would kill you, I do believe! Besides, for that fault, committed
+while you were in our keeping and under our authority, you are
+accountable only to me and to your father. Your betrothed husband has
+nothing to do with it. No good would come of your telling it; no harm can
+come of your keeping it. The wild partner of your imprudence is dead and
+buried, the saints be praised! and so he can never rise up to trouble
+your peace. While you are here with us, and under our authority, you must
+obey us, and hold your peace, and keep your secret," said the baroness.
+
+"Come weal, come woe, my honor requires that this secret should be told
+to the noble and confiding gentleman who is about to make me his wife,"
+murmured Valerie.
+
+"Your honor, Mademoiselle, is in the keeping of your father, until, by
+giving you in marriage, he passes it into the keeping of your husband.
+You are not to concern yourself about it. If your father should deem that
+your 'honor' demands your secret to be confided to your betrothed
+husband, he will divulge it to him: if he does not divulge it, then rest
+assured honor does not require him to do so. Now let us hear no more
+about it."
+
+Valerie sighed and yielded, but she was not satisfied.
+
+The betrothal was immediately announced to the world, and the marriage,
+which soon followed, was celebrated in the church of Notre Dame with the
+greatest _eclat_.
+
+Directly after the wedding the duke took his bride on a long tour,
+extending over Europe and into Asia; and after an absence of several
+months, carried her to England, and settled down for the autumn on his
+English patrimonial estate, Hereward Hold, (for Castle Lone was then a
+ruin and Inch Lone a wilderness, which no one had yet dreamed of
+rebuilding and restoring.)
+
+The youthful duchess, in her quiet English home, was like Louise la
+Valliere in the Convent of St. Cyr, "not joyous, but content."
+
+She tried to make her noble husband happy, by fulfilling all the duties
+of a wife--_except one_. She knew a wife should have no secrets from
+her husband, yet, in her fear of disturbing the sweet domestic peace, in
+which her wearied spirit rested, she kept from him the secret of her
+first wild marriage.
+
+At the meeting of Parliament in February, the Duke of Hereward took his
+beautiful young wife to London, and established her in their magnificent
+town-house--Hereward House, Kensington.
+
+At the first Royal drawing-room at Buckingham Palace, the young duchess
+was presented to the queen, and soon after she commenced her career as a
+woman of fashion by giving a grand ball at Hereward House.
+
+The Duke of Hereward was very fond and very proud of his lovely young
+bride, whose beauty soon became the theme of London clubs--though
+invidious critics insisted that she was much too pale and grave ever to
+become a reigning belle.
+
+Yes, she was very pale and grave; peaceful, not happy.
+
+Scarcely twelve months had passed since she had been cruelly torn from
+the idolized young husband of her youth and thrown into a convent, where
+the only news that she heard of him was, that he had been killed in a
+duel with her ruthless father. She had mourned for him in secret, without
+hope and without sympathy, and before the first year of her widowhood had
+passed--a widowhood she had been sternly forbidden by her father either
+to bewail or even to acknowledge--she had been driven by a series of
+unprecedented persecutions to give her hand where she could not give her
+broken heart, and to go to the altar with a deadly secret on her
+conscience, if not with a lie on her lips!
+
+Now her persecutions had ceased, indeed; but not her sorrows. Her home
+was quiet and honored, her middle-aged husband was kind and considerate,
+and she loved him with filial affection and reverence; but she could not
+forget the husband of her youth, slain by her father; his memory was a
+tender sorrow cherished in the depths of her heart, the only living
+sentiment there, for it seemed dead to all else.
+
+"If he were a living lover," she whispered to herself, "I should be bound
+by every consideration of honor and duty to cast him out of my heart--if
+I could! But for my dead boy, my husband, slain in the flower of his
+youth for my sake, I may cherish remembrance and sorrow."
+
+Thus, it is no wonder that she moved through the splendor of her first
+London season, a beautiful, pale, grave Melpomene.
+
+But the splendor of that season was soon to be dimmed.
+
+News came by telegraph to the Duke of Hereward, announcing the sudden
+death of the Baron de la Motte, of apoplexy, in Paris.
+
+Now much has been said and written about the ingratitude of children; but
+quite as much might be said of their indestructible affection. The Baron
+de la Motte had shown himself a very cruel father to his only child; he
+had shot down her young husband in a duel; yet, notwithstanding all that,
+Valerie was wild with grief at the news of his sudden death. She
+wondered, poor child, if she herself had not had some hand in bringing
+it on by all the trouble she had given him, although that trouble had
+passed away now more than twelve months since; and the late baron was
+known to have been a man of full habit and excitable temperament, and,
+withal, a heavy feeder and hard drinker--a very fit subject for apoplexy
+to strike down at any moment.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward hastened to Paris, where they found the
+remains of the baron laid in state in the great saloon of the Hotel de la
+Motte, and the widowed baroness prostrated by grief, and confined to her
+bed.
+
+The duke and duchess remained until after the funeral, when the will of
+the late baron was read. It was then discovered for the first time that
+his daughter, Valerie, was not nearly the wealthy heiress she was
+supposed to be.
+
+All the late baron's landed estates went to the male heir-at-law, a young
+officer in the Chasseurs d' Afrique, then in Algiers. All his personal
+property, consisting of bank and railroad stocks, after a deduction as a
+provision for his widow, was bequeathed to his only daughter Valerie,
+Duchess of Hereward. But this property was so inconsiderable, that,
+without other means, it would scarcely have sufficed for the respectable
+support of the mother and daughter.
+
+After the settlement of the late baron's affairs, the duke and duchess
+would have returned immediately to London but for the condition of the
+widowed baroness' health.
+
+Madame de la Motte had for years been a delicate invalid, and she had
+experienced, in the sudden death of her husband, a severe shock, from
+which she could not rally; so that, within a few weeks after the baron's
+remains had been laid in the family vault, she passed away, and hers were
+laid by his side.
+
+Valerie was even more prostrated with sorrow by the loss of her mother
+than she had been by that of her father.
+
+The duke, to distract her grief, telegraphed to New Haven, where his
+yacht, the _Sea-Bird_, was lying to have her brought over to meet
+him at Dieppe, took his duchess down to that little seaport and embarked
+with her for a voyage to Norway.
+
+The season was most favorable for such a northerly voyage. They sailed on
+the first of July, and spent three months cruising about the coasts of
+Norway, Iceland, and down to the Western Isles. They returned about the
+first of October.
+
+The duke left his yacht at Dieppe, and, accompanied by the duchess, went
+up to Paris, to attend to some business connected with the estate of the
+late baron.
+
+As but a third of a year had passed since the death of her parents, and
+the duchess had scarcely passed out of her first deep crape mourning, she
+went very little into society. Nevertheless, she was constrained, at the
+duke's request, to accept one invitation.
+
+There was to be a diplomatic dinner given at the British Legation, at
+which the Prussian, Austrian and Russian ministers, with the higher
+officers of their suites, were to be present.
+
+Valerie, living her recluse life in the city, did not know the names of
+one of these ministers, nor, in the apathy of her grief, did she care to
+inquire.
+
+On the evening appointed for the entertainment, she went to the hotel of
+the British Legation, escorted by her husband.
+
+Dressed in her rich and elegant mourning of jet on crape, glimmering
+light on blackest darkness, and looking herself paler and fairer by its
+contrast, she entered the grand drawing-room, leaning on the arm of her
+husband. She heard their names announced:
+
+"The Duke and Duchess of Hereward."
+
+Then she found herself in a room sparsely occupied by a very brilliant
+company, and stood--not, as she had expected to stand, among
+strangers--but in the midst of her own familiar friends, whom she had
+known in her girlhood at the court of St. Petersburg, or met, in her
+womanhood, in the drawing-rooms of London.
+
+It was while she was still leaning on her husband's arm and receiving the
+courteous salutations of her old friends, that their host, Lord C--n,
+approached with a gentleman.
+
+Valerie looked up and saw standing before her the young husband of her
+girlish love!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+RISEN FROM THE GRAVE.
+
+
+Waldemar de Volaski, left as dead upon the duelling ground by his
+antagonist, the Baron de la Motte, was tenderly lifted by his second and
+the surgeon in attendance, laid upon a stretcher, and conveyed to the
+infirmary of a neighboring monastery, where he was charitably received by
+the brethren.
+
+When he was laid upon a bed, undressed, and examined, it was discovered
+that he was not dead, but only swooning from the loss of blood.
+
+When his wound was probed, it was found that the bullet had passed the
+right lobe of the lungs, and lodged in the flesh below the right shoulder
+blade. To extract it, under the circumstances, or to leave it there,
+seemed equally dangerous, threatening, on the one hand, inflammation
+and mortification, and, on the other, fatal hemorrhage. Therefore, the
+surgeon in charge of the case sent off to the nearest town to summon
+other medical aid, and meanwhile kept up the strength of the patient
+by stimulants. In the consultation that ensued on the arrival of the
+other surgeons, it was decided that the extraction of the bullet would be
+difficult and dangerous; but that in it lay the only chance of the
+patient's life.
+
+On the next morning, therefore, Waldemar de Volaski was put under the
+influence of chloroform, and the operation was performed. His youth and
+vigorous constitution bore him safely through the trying ordeal, but
+could not save him from the terrible irritative fever that set in and
+held him in its fiery grasp for many days there after.
+
+He was well tended by the holy brotherhood, who sent to the
+vine-dresser's cottage for information concerning him, that they might
+find out who and where were his friends, and write and apprise them of
+his condition.
+
+But the vine-dresser could tell the monks no more than this--that the
+young man and young woman had come as strangers to the village, were
+married by the good Father Pietro in the church of San Vito, and had
+come to lodge in his cottage. The young pair had lived as merrily as two
+birds in a bush until the sudden arrival of an illustrious and furious
+signore, who tore the bride from the arms of her husband, and carried her
+off to the convent of Santa Madelena. That was all the vine-dresser knew.
+
+The surgeon supplemented the vine-dresser's story with an account of the
+duel between the enraged baron and the young captain.
+
+The good Father Pietro was next interviewed, and gave the names of the
+imprudent young pair whom he had tied together, as Waldemar Peter de
+Volaski and Valerie Aimee de la Motte; but besides this, who they
+were, or whence they came, he could not tell.
+
+Inquiries were made in the village of San Vito, which only resulted in
+the information that the "illustrious" strangers had departed with their
+daughter no one knew whither.
+
+Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of the duel tossed and tumbled, fumed
+and raved in fever and delirium, that raged like fire for nine days, and
+then left him utterly prostrated in mind and body. Many more days passed
+before he was able to answer questions, and weeks crept by before he
+could give any coherent account of himself.
+
+His first sensible inquiry related to his bride.
+
+"Where is she? What have they done with her?" he demanded to know.
+
+"The illustrious signore has taken the signorita away with him, no one
+knows whither," answered the monk who was minding him.
+
+"I know--so he has taken her away?--I know where he has taken her,--to
+Paris," faltered the victim, and immediately fainted dead away, exhausted
+by the effort of speaking these words.
+
+His next question, asked after the interval of a week, related to the
+length of time he had been ill.
+
+"How long have I lain stretched upon this bed?" he asked.
+
+"The Signore Captain has been here four weeks," answered his nurse.
+
+"Great Heaven! then I have exceeded my month's leave by two weeks! I
+shall be court-martialed and degraded!" cried the patient, starting up
+in great excitement, and instantly swooning away from the reaction.
+
+In this manner the recovery of the wounded man became a matter of
+difficulty and delay; for as often as he rallied sufficiently to look
+into his affairs, their threatening aspect threw him back prostrated.
+
+He recovered, however, by slow degrees.
+
+As soon as he was able to sustain the continued exertion of talking, he
+requested one of the brothers on duty in the infirmary to write two
+letters at his dictation. The first was addressed to the colonel of his
+regiment, informing that officer of the long and severe illness of
+Captain de Volaski, and petitioning for the invalid an extended leave of
+absence. The other was to the Count de Volaski, apprising that nobleman
+of the condition of his son, and imploring him to hasten at once to the
+bedside of the patient.
+
+The next morning Waldemar de Volaski sat up in bed and asked for
+stationery, and wrote with his own weak and trembling hand a short letter
+to his youthful bride--telling her that he had been very ill, but was now
+convalescent, and that as soon as he should be able to travel he would
+hasten to Paris and claim his wife in the face of all the fathers,
+priests and judges in Paris, or in the world. He addressed her as his
+well beloved wife, signed himself her ever-devoted husband, and had the
+temerity to direct his letter to Madame Waldemar de Volaski, Hotel de la
+Motte, Rue Faubourg St. Honore, Paris.
+
+The mail left St. Vito only twice a week, so that the three letters left
+the post office on the same day to their respective destinations; one
+went to St. Petersburg, to the Colonel of the Royal Guards; one to
+Warsaw, to the Count de Volaski; and one to Paris, to Madame de Volaski.
+
+In the course of the next week the writer received answers from all three
+letters. The first came from the colonel of his regiment, enclosing an
+extension of his leave of absence to three months; the second was
+answered in person by the Count de Volaski; the third was only an
+envelope, enclosing his letter to Valerie, crossed with this line:
+
+_"No such person to be found."_
+
+The meeting between the Count de Volaski and his reckless son was not in
+all respects a pleasant one. There was an explanation to be demanded by
+the father a confession to be made by the son. The count was divided
+between his anxiety for his son and indignation at that son's conduct.
+
+"You exposed more than your own life by the escapade, sir!" said the
+elder Volaski, "You abducted a minor, sir; for doing which you might have
+been prosecuted for felony, and sent to the gaol!--a fate so much worse
+than your death in the duel would have been for the honor of your family,
+that, had you been consigned to it, I should have cursed the hour you
+were born and blown my own brains out, in expiation of my share in your
+existence!"
+
+The yet nervous invalid shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+"But even that was not the greatest calamity your rashness provoked! You
+presumed to carry off the French minister's daughter while they were yet
+in the dominions of the Czar! by doing which you might have caused a war
+between two great nations, and the sacrifice of a million of lives!"
+
+"Sir, forbear! I have not yet recovered from the severe illness
+consequent upon my wound. Surely, I have suffered enough at the hands
+of the ruthless Baron de la Motte!" said Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+"The Baron de la Motte, being your enemy, is mine also; yet I cannot but
+admit that he has dealt very leniently with the abductor of his daughter
+by merely shooting him through the lungs, and laying him on a bed of
+repentance, when he might have prosecuted him as a felon, and sent him to
+penal servitude!" said the count, severely. "But there," he exclaimed, "I
+will say no more on that subject. As you say, you have suffered enough
+already to expiate your fault. You have nearly lost your life, and you
+have quite lost your love; for, of course, you know that your fooling
+marriage with a minor was no marriage at all, unless her father had
+chosen to make it so by his recognition. And if you ever had a chance of
+winning the girl, you have lost it by your imprudence. You must try to
+get up your strength now, so as to go with me back to Warsaw."
+
+So saying, the count left the bedside of his son, and went into the
+refectory of the monastery, where a substantial repast had been prepared
+to regale the traveler.
+
+The young man wrote yet another letter to his love, enclosing it on this
+occasion in an envelope directed to the lady's maid, who had once
+assisted the lovers in carrying on their correspondence; but as the maid
+had been long discharged from the service of her mistress, it was
+impossible that the letter should have reached her. The lover wrote again
+and again without receiving an answer to letters which it is certain his
+lost bride never received.
+
+Captain de Volaski's three months' extended leave of absence had nearly
+expired before he was in a condition to travel; and even then he had to
+go by slow stages, riding only during the day and resting at night, until
+they reached Warsaw.
+
+He spent a week at his father's castle, watched and wept over by his
+mother, who had not a reproach for her son, nor anything to offer him but
+her sympathy and her services. Six months had now passed away since his
+parting with his stolen bride; and it was the day before his expected
+return to his regiment that a packet of newspapers arrived for him,
+forwarded from St. Petersburg.
+
+He tore the envelopes off them. They were English, French and German
+papers. He threw all away except the French papers. He eagerly examined
+them, in the hope of seeing the name of the Baron de la Motte, and
+forming thereby some idea of the movements of the family, and the
+whereabouts of Valerie.
+
+The first paper he took up was _Le Courier de Paris_, and the first
+item that caught his eye was this--
+
+"MARRIED.--At the Church of Notre Dame, on Tuesday, March 1st, by the
+Most Venerable, the Archbishop of Paris, the Duke of Hereward, to
+Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la Motte."
+
+With the cry and spring of a panther robbed of its young, Volaski bounded
+to his feet. His rage and anguish were equal, and beyond all power of
+articulate or rational utterance. He strode up and down the floor like
+a maniac; he raved; he beat his breast, and tore his hair and beard; and
+finally, he rushed into the parlor where his father and mother were
+seated together over a quiet game of chess, and he dashed the paper down
+on the table before them, smote his hand upon the fatal marriage notice,
+and exclaimed in a voice of indescribable anguish:
+
+"See! see! see! see!"
+
+"It is just as I thought it would be," said the count, as he calmly
+read over the item, and passed it to his amazed wife. "The baron has
+wisely taken the first opportunity of marrying off his wilful girl--the
+best thing he could have done for her. I am sure I am glad she is no
+daughter-in-law of mine! She who could so lightly elope from her father
+might as lightly elope from her husband also."
+
+Waldemar made no reply, but stood looking the image of desolation, until
+his mother having read through the notice, and grasped the situation,
+arose and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming in a burst of
+sympathy:
+
+"Oh, my son! my son! my son! my son! forget her! forget the heartless
+jilt! she was unworthy of you!"
+
+A burst of wild and bitter laughter answered this appeal and frightened
+the good lady half out of her wits.
+
+"Let him go back to his regiment and be a man among men, and not lose his
+time whimpering after a silly girl, who has not sense enough even to take
+care of herself. The man to be most pitied is that husband of hers! Upon
+my word and honor, I am sorry for that English duke! Yes, _that_ I
+am!" said the count, heartily.
+
+The next day Waldemar de Volaski returned to his regiment at St.
+Petersburg.
+
+As his brother officers happily knew nothing of his elopement with the
+minister's daughter, and the duel that followed it; but supposed that his
+long absence had been occasioned by a long illness, he escaped all that
+exasperating chaff that might, under the circumstances, have half
+maddened him.
+
+He threw himself, for distraction, into all the wildest gayeties of the
+Russian capital, and led the life of a reckless young sinner, until he
+was suddenly brought to his senses by a domestic calamity. He received a
+telegram announcing the sudden death of his father and his elder brother,
+both of whom were instantly killed by an accident on the St. Petersburg
+and Warsaw Railroad, while on their way to the Russian capital.
+
+Stricken with grief, and with the remorse which grief is sure to awaken
+in the heart of a wrong-doer not altogether hardened, Waldemar de Volaski
+hastened down to Warsaw to support his almost inconsolable mother through
+the horrors of that sudden bereavement and that double funeral.
+
+By the death of his father and elder brother, he became the Count
+Volaski, and the heir of all the family estates; and there were left
+dependent on him his widowed mother and several younger brothers and
+sisters.
+
+At the earnest request of his mother he resigned his commission in the
+Royal Guards, and went down to reside with the family on the estate,
+during their retirement for the year of mourning.
+
+Before that year was half over, however, the young Count de Volaski
+received a summons to the court of his sovereign.
+
+He obeyed it immediately by hurrying up to St. Petersburg.
+
+On his arrival, he presented himself at the Annitchkoff Palace to receive
+the commands of the Czar, and he was appointed Secretary of Legation to
+the new Russian Embassy about to proceed to Paris.
+
+To Paris! to the home of Valerie de la Motte! The order agitated him to
+the profoundest depths of his being. He would have declined the honor
+about to be thrust upon him, could he have done so with propriety; but he
+could not, so there was no alternative but to kiss his sovereign's hand,
+express his sense of gratitude, and obey.
+
+The embassy left St. Petersburg for the French capital almost
+immediately.
+
+On the arrival at Paris they were established in the splendid Maison
+Francoise in the Champs Elysees.
+
+As soon as he was at leisure, the Count de Volaski drove to the Rue
+Faubourg St. Honore, and to the Hotel de la Motte. He found the house
+shut up, and upon inquiry of a gend'arme, learned, with more surprise
+than regret, that the Baron and Baroness de la Motte had both been dead
+for some months; the baron, who was a free liver, had been suddenly
+stricken down by apoplexy, and the baroness, whose health had long been
+feeble, could not rally from the shock, but soon followed her husband.
+
+"And,--where is their daughter, Madame la Duchesse d'Hereward?"
+hesitatingly inquired the Count de Volaski.
+
+The gend'arme could not tell; he did not know; but supposed that she was
+living with her husband, Monsieur le Duc, on his estates in England.
+
+No, clearly the gend'arme did not know; for, in fact, the Duke and
+the Duchess of Hereward were at that time living very quietly in the
+closed-up house at which the count and the gend'arme stood gazing while
+they talked.
+
+Count de Volaski re-entered his carriage and returned to the Maison
+Francoise in time to attend the official reception of the embassy by the
+citizen-king at the Tuileries.
+
+After the act of national and official etiquette, the embassy were free
+to enter into the social festivities of the gayest capital in the world.
+
+Among other entertainments, a great diplomatic dinner was given at the
+English Legation, then the magnificent Hotel Borghese, once the residence
+of the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, but now the seat of the
+British Embassy. Among the invited guests were the Russian minister and
+his Secretary of Legation, Count de Volaski.
+
+The count came late and found the splendid drawing-room honored with a
+small, but brilliant, company of ladies and gentlemen, the former among
+the most celebrated beauties, the latter the most distinguished statesmen
+of Europe.
+
+Nearly every one in the room were strangers to the Russian count; but his
+English host, with sincere kindness and courtesy, took care to present
+him to all the most agreeable persons present.
+
+"And now," whispered Lord C--n, in conclusion, "I have reserved the best
+for the last. Come and let me introduce you to the most interesting woman
+in Paris."
+
+Count de Volaski suffered himself to be conducted to the upper end of the
+room, where a tall and elegant-looking woman, dressed in rich mourning,
+stood, leaning on the arm of a stately, middle-aged man.
+
+Her face was averted as they approached; but she turned her head and he
+recognized the beautiful, pale face and lovely dark eyes of his lost
+bride.
+
+And while the floor of the drawing-room seemed rocking with him, like the
+deck of a tempest-tossed ship, he heard the words of his host whirling
+through his brain:
+
+"Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski of St. Petersburg;
+Count, the Duchess of Hereward."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+FACE TO FACE.
+
+
+"Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski, of St.
+Petersburg--Count, the Duchess of Hereward," said Lord C., with old-time
+courtesy and formality.
+
+The gentleman bowed low; the lady courtesied; nothing but the close
+compression of his lips beneath the golden mustache, and the paler shade
+on her pale cheeks, betrayed the "whirlwind of emotion" which swept
+through both their hearts; and these indications of disturbance were too
+slight to attract any attention.
+
+Neither spoke, neither dared to speak. It was as much as each could do to
+maintain a conventional calmness through the terrible ordeal of such an
+introduction.
+
+Lord C., happily unconscious of anything wrong, did the very best thing
+he could have done under the circumstances. Scarcely allowing the count
+and the duchess time to exchange their bow and courtesy, he turned to her
+companion and said:
+
+"Duke, the Count de Volaski. Count, the Duke of Hereward."
+
+Both gentlemen bowed; but _one_, the count, quivered from head to
+foot in the presence of his unconscious but successful rival.
+
+"By the way, Count," said the duke, pleasantly, "the duchess, when
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, passed a year at the court of St. Petersburg
+with her parents. It is a wonder that you have not met before. Although,
+indeed, you may have done so," he added, as with an after-thought.
+
+"We have met before," replied the Count de Volaski, in a low and measured
+tone.
+
+"Of course! Of course! You are quite old friends," said the duke, gayly.
+
+Fortunately, then a diversion was made. The heavy, purple satin curtains
+vailing the arch between the drawing-rooms and dining saloon were drawn
+aside by invisible hands, and a very dignified and officer-looking
+personage, in a powdered wig, clerical black suit, and gold chain,
+appeared, and with a low bow and with low tones, said:
+
+"My lord and lady are served."
+
+"Count, will you take the duchess in to dinner?--Duke, Lady C. will thank
+you for your arm," said the host, as, with a nod and a smile, he moved
+off in search of that particular ambassadress whom custom, or etiquette,
+or policy, required him to escort to the dining-room.
+
+The Duke of Hereward with a polite wave of the hand, left his duchess in
+the charge of her appointed attendant, and went to meet Lady C., who was
+advancing toward him.
+
+Count Volaski bowed, and silently offered his arm to the young duchess.
+
+She did not take it; she could not; she stood as one paralyzed.
+
+He was stronger, firmer, calmer; perhaps because he really felt less than
+she did. He took her hand and drew it within his own, and led her to her
+place in the little procession that was going to the dining-room.
+
+He placed her in her chair at the table, and took his seat at her side.
+
+Then the self-control of their order, the self-control instilled as a
+virtue by their education, and standing now in the place of all virtues,
+enabled them to maintain a superficial calmness that conducted them
+safely through the trying ordeal of this dinner-table.
+
+Count de Volaski entered freely into the conversation of the guests. The
+Duchess of Hereward spoke but little; hers was a passive self-control,
+not an active one; she could force herself to be, or seem, composed;
+she could not force herself to talk; but her deep mourning dress was a
+good excuse for her extreme quietness, which was naturally ascribed to
+her recent and double bereavement.
+
+The dinner was a long, long agony to her; the courses seemed almost
+endless in duration and numberless in succession; but at length the
+hostess arose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire and leave
+the gentlemen to their wine and politics.
+
+The gentlemen all stood up while the ladies passed out to the
+drawing-room.
+
+Valerie would willingly have gone off to hide herself in some bay-window
+or other nook or corner of the vast drawing-room, and taken up a book or
+a piece of music as an excuse for her reserve; but as they passed through
+the curtained archway leading from the dining-saloon to the drawing-room,
+Lady C., with the kindest intentions toward the supposed mourner, and
+with the motherly grace for which her ladyship was noted, drew Valerie's
+arm within her own and began a conversation, to draw her mind from the
+contemplation of her bereavements.
+
+"What do you think of the young Russian count who brought you in to
+dinner, my dear?" inquired Lady C.
+
+"I--he is a Pole," answered Valerie, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, I am aware that he is a Pole by birth; but he is a thorough Russian
+in politics and principles; has been in the service of the Czar since the
+age of fifteen.--Here, my love, sit beside me," added her ladyship, as
+she sank gracefully down upon a sofa and drew her young guest to her
+side.
+
+Valerie submitted in silence.
+
+"Oh, by the way, however, I think I heard some one say that you had met
+the count at the court of St. Petersburg?" pursued Lady C.
+
+"I--have met him," answered Valerie, in the same level tone.
+
+"I am boring you, I fear, with this young Russian, my dear, but--"
+
+"Oh no," softly interrupted Valerie.
+
+"I was about to explain that I feel some interest in him from the fact
+that he is betrothed to my niece--"
+
+"Betrothed! Your niece!" exclaimed Valerie, surprised out of the apathy
+of her despair.
+
+"Yes, my love. Is there anything wonderful in that? It is a way these
+continental people have of doing things, you see. The Count Waldemar and
+my niece were betrothed to each other in their childhood. There is a very
+great attachment between them--at least on her part. The child seems to
+think that there is but one man in the world and his name is Waldemar de
+Volaski."
+
+"But--I did not know--I thought--I did not think--the count had ever been
+in England," incoherently murmured Valerie.
+
+"Nor has he; but what has that to do with it?" smiled her ladyship.
+
+"Your niece--"
+
+"Oh, I see! Because I am an Englishwoman my niece must be one, you
+think. You are mistaken, dear; she is French. My sister Anne married
+a Frenchman, the Marquis de St. Cyr. They had two children--Alphouse,
+a colonel in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, now in Algiers; and Aimee, now in
+the Convent of St. Rosalie. It was when the late Count de Volaski was
+here as the minister from Russia, that the acquaintance between the two
+families commenced and ripened into intimacy and the intimacy into
+friendship. Then Waldemar and Aimee were betrothed."
+
+"How many years ago was that?" faintly inquired Valerie.
+
+"Oh, about six--the young man was then about fifteen; the girl not more
+than twelve."
+
+"They could not have known their own minds at that age," murmured
+Valerie.
+
+"Oh, that was not at all necessary in a French betrothal," laughed the
+lady; "but, however, Aimee, child as she was, certainly knew her mind.
+The love of her betrothed husband was, and is, the religion of her life.
+I presume that Count Waldemar is equally constant; and that he will now
+press for a speedy marriage. My brother-in-law is down on his estates in
+Provence, just now; but I shall write and ask his permission to withdraw
+Aimee from her convent, in anticipation of her marriage, for of course
+she will be married from this house."
+
+"But--her mother?"
+
+"Oh! I should have told you; her mother, my dear sister Anne, passed
+away about a year after the betrothal of her daughter. The marquis took
+her loss very much to heart, and has never married again. The motherless
+girl has passed her life in a convent; but I hope to have her out soon.
+Here, my love, is an album containing portraits of my sister and
+brother-in-law and their children, taken at various times. You cannot
+mistake them, and they may interest you," said Lady C., taking a
+photographic volume from a gilded stand near, and laying it upon her
+guest's lap.
+
+Valerie received it with a nod of thanks, and the lady glided away to
+give some of her attention to her other guests.
+
+"The young English duchess is lovely, but too sad," said an embassadress,
+as the hostess joined her.
+
+"Ah! yes, poor child! lost her father and mother within a few weeks of
+each other," answered Lady C.
+
+"But that was six months ago; she ought to have recovered some
+cheerfulness by this time," remarked old Madame Bamboullet, who was a
+walking register of all the births, deaths and marriages of high life
+in Paris for the last half century.
+
+"Well, you see she has not done so; but here come the gentlemen,"
+observed Lady C., as a rather straggling procession from the dining-room
+entered.
+
+The host, Lord C., went up to the embassadress to whom it was his cue to
+be most attentive.
+
+The Duke of Hereward sought out his hostess, and entered into a bantering
+conversation with her.
+
+Count Waldemar de Volaski came directly up to Valerie where she sat alone
+on the sofa in a distant corner of the room. The little gilded stand
+stood before her, and the photographic album lay open upon it. Her eyes
+were fixed upon the album, and were not raised to see the new-comer; but
+the sudden accession of pallor on her pale face betrayed her recognition
+of him.
+
+He drew a chair so close to her sofa that only the little gilded stand
+stood between them. His back was toward the company; his face toward her;
+his elbows, with unpardonable rudeness, were placed upon the stand, and
+his hands supported his chin, as he stared into her pale face with its
+downcast eyes.
+
+"Valerie," he said.
+
+She did not look up.
+
+"Valerie de Volaski!" he muttered.
+
+_"My wife!"_
+
+She shuddered, but did not lift her eyes.
+
+She shrank into herself, as it were, and her eyes fell lower than before.
+
+"Is it thus we two meet at last?" he demanded, in low, stern, measured
+tones, pitched to meet her ear alone. "Is it thus I find you, after all
+that has passed between us, bearing the name and title of another man
+who calls himself your husband, oh! shame of womanhood!"
+
+"They told me our marriage was not legal, was not binding!" she panted
+under her breath.
+
+"It should have been religiously, sacredly binding up on you as it was
+upon me, until we could have made it legal. It is amazing that you could
+have dreamed of marriage with another man!" muttered Volaski.
+
+"But they told me you were dead. They told me you were dead!" she gasped,
+as if she were in her own death throes.
+
+"Even if they had told you truly--even if I had been dead--dead by the
+hand of your father--could that circumstance have excused you for rushing
+with such indecent haste to the altar with another man? It was but a poor
+tribute to the memory of the husband of your choice (if he had been dead)
+to marry again within six months."
+
+"Oh, mercy! Oh, my heart! my heart! They forced me into that marriage,
+Waldemar! They forced me into that marriage! I was as helpless as an
+infant in the hands of my father and my mother!" she panted, in a voice
+that was the more heart-rending from half suppression.
+
+"Valerie! love! wife!" murmured Volaski, in low and tender tones, as he
+essayed to take her hand.
+
+But she snatched it from him hastily, gasping:
+
+"Do not speak to me in that way! Do not call me love or wife!"
+
+"No man on earth has a better right to speak to you in this way than I
+have. No _other_ man in the world has the right to call you love or
+wife but me! You _are_ my wife!" grimly answered the young count.
+
+"I am the wife of the Duke of Hereward. Oh, Heaven, that I were a corpse
+instead!" gasped Valerie.
+
+"'The wife of the Duke of Hereward!' Have you then forgotten our
+betrothal at St. Petersburg? Our flight from Warsaw to St. Vito? Our
+marriage at the little chapel of Santa Maria? Our short, blissful
+honeymoon in the vine-dresser's cottage under the Apennines?" he
+inquired, bitterly.
+
+"I have forgotten nothing! Oh, Heaven! Oh, earth! Oh, Waldemar! that
+I could die! that I could die!" she wailed in low, heartbroken tones.
+
+It was well for her that the corner sofa stood in the shade, far removed
+from the seats of the other guests in that long drawing-room.
+
+"Valerie! love! wife!" he murmured again.
+
+"Oh, Waldemar, if I were your wife, as I truly believed myself then to
+have been, oh, why did you not defend and protect me from all the world,
+even from my father--even from myself? Oh, why did you suffer me to be
+torn from your protection, to be deceived with a false story of your
+death, and forced into this marriage? Oh, Waldemar! if I were indeed and
+in truth your lawful wife, as I believed myself to be, why, oh why did
+you permit all these evils to happen to me? Ah, what a position is mine!
+What a position! I cannot bear it! I will not bear it! I will not live!
+I will kill myself! I _ought_ to kill myself! It is the only way out
+of this!" she wailed, wringing her hands.
+
+"I will kill that Duke of Hereward!" hissed Volaski, through his clenched
+teeth.
+
+"Hush! For mercy's sake, hush! Put away such thoughts from your heart!
+I, the only wrong-doer, should be the only victim! Whatever wrong has
+been done, the Duke of Hereward has been blameless. He knew nothing of
+my former marriage; if he had, I do not believe he would have married me,
+even if I had been a princess."
+
+"He was deceived, then?" coldly inquired the count.
+
+"He was; but not willingly by me. I was forced to be silent about my
+marriage."
+
+"You were 'forced' from my protection! 'forced' to conceal the fact of
+your marriage with me! and 'forced' to marry the Duke of Hereward under
+false colors. Could force on one side, and feebleness on the other, be
+carried any further than this?" muttered Volaski, between his teeth.
+
+"I knew how helpless, in the hands of my parents, I was," wailed Valerie.
+
+"Well, you are a duchess! Do you love the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Oh, mercy! what shall I say? He deserves all my love, honor, and duty!"
+
+"Does he _get_ his deserts?" mockingly inquired Volaski.
+
+"Ah! wretch that I am, why do I live?--I give him honor and duty; but
+love! _love is not mine to give!_" she murmured, in almost inaudible
+tones.
+
+Their conversation--if an interview so emotional, so full of "starts and
+flaws" could be called so--had been carried on in a very low tone, while
+the count turned over the leaves of the photographic album, as if
+examining the portraits, but really without seeing one.
+
+They were, however, so absorbed that neither perceived the approach of a
+footman until the man actually set down a small golden tray with two
+little porcelain cups of tea on the stand between them, and retired.
+
+Valerie looked up with a sudden shudder of terror. Had the company, or
+any one of their number, overheard any part of the fatal interview? No,
+the company were drinking tea, at the other end of the room.
+
+And now the Duke of Hereward, with a tea-cup in his hand, sauntered
+toward them, saying, as he reached the stand:
+
+"Lady C. has just been telling me that you are showing the duchess some
+interesting family pictures there--among the rest, those of your _belle
+fiancee_. When shall I congratulate you, Count?"
+
+"Not yet; I will advise your grace of my marriage," answered the count,
+gravely.
+
+"Something gone wrong in that direction," thought the duke, but his good
+humor was invincible.
+
+"If you have no engagement for to-morrow evening, I hope you will come
+and dine with us _en famille_, for we do not see much company, the
+duchess and myself."
+
+Valerie cast an imploring look on the count, silently praying him to
+decline the invitation; but Volaski did not understand the meaning of
+the look, or did not care to do so, for he immediately accepted the
+invitation in the following unequivocal terms:
+
+"I have no engagement for to-morrow; and I shall be very happy to come
+and dine with you."
+
+"So be it then," said the duke, frankly. "Now, Valerie, my love, bid the
+count good-evening. It is time to go."
+
+The young duchess arose wearily from the sofa, and slightly courtesied
+her adieux.
+
+The count stood up and bowed with a profound reverence that seemed
+ironical to her sensitive mind.
+
+The guests were now all taking leave of their host and hostess.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were among the last to go.
+
+"I am very sorry that I brought you out this evening, love. I
+saw--indeed, every one saw, and could not help seeing--that this
+dinner-party has been a great trial to you. It will not bear an encore.
+You must have time to recover your cheerfulness, dearest, before you are
+again brought into a large company," said the duke, kindly, as soon as
+they were seated together in their carriage.
+
+"Did people attribute my dullness to--to--to--," began Valerie, by way of
+saying something, but her voice faltered and broke down.
+
+"To your recent double bereavement?--certainly they did, my love. They
+knew
+
+        'No crowds
+Make up for parents in their shrouds,'
+
+and were not cruel enough to criticise your filial grief, my Valerie."
+
+"I am glad of that; but I am very sorry you have invited the Count de
+Volaski to dinner to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, why?"
+
+"Because I do not like company."
+
+"He is only one guest and will dine with us quietly. He will amuse you."
+
+"No, he will not; he will bore me. I wish you would write and put him
+off."
+
+"Impossible, my dear Valerie! What earthly excuse could I make for such
+an unpardonable piece of rudeness?"
+
+"Tell him that I am ill, out of spirits, anything you like so that you
+tell him not to come."
+
+"My dearest one, you certainly are ill and out of spirits, and very
+morbid besides. So much the more reason why you should be gently aroused
+and amused. Dinner parties weary and distress you; but the count's visit
+will relieve and amuse you."
+
+"Oh! I _do_ think I _ought_ to know what is good for me and
+what I want better than any one else," exclaimed Valerie, speaking
+impatiently to the duke for the first time during their married life.
+
+"But you don't, love; that is all. The count is coming to dine with us
+to-morrow. That is settled. Now, here we are at home," said the duke,
+as the carriage rolled through the massive archway and entered the
+court-yard of the magnificent Hotel de la Motte.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+A GATHERING STORM.
+
+
+After a night of sleeplessness and anguish, Valerie arose to a day of
+duplicity and terror.
+
+The anticipation of the evening was intolerable to her; the prospect of
+sitting down at her own table between the Duke of Hereward and the Count
+de Volaski overwhelmed her with a sense of horror and loathing.
+
+Faint, pale, and trembling, she descended to the breakfast-room, where
+she found the duke already awaiting her.
+
+Shocked at her aspect, he hastened to meet her and lead her to an
+easy-chair on the right of the breakfast-table.
+
+"You are not able to be out of your bed, Valerie. You should not have
+attempted to rise," he said, as he carefully seated her.
+
+"I told you last night that I was very ill," she answered coldly, as she
+sank wearily back on the cushion.
+
+"That infernal dinner party! It has prostrated you quite. I am so
+grieved; I will not suffer you to be so severely tried again!" said the
+duke, vehemently.
+
+"And you will write this morning and put off the count's visit," pleaded
+Valerie.
+
+"No, my dear, I cannot," answered the duke, regretfully.
+
+"Then I cannot come down to dinner. That is all," she said, sullenly
+closing her eyes.
+
+"I shall be sorry for that; but we must do the best we can without you
+for the count, having been invited, must be permitted to come."
+
+She languidly drew up to the table, and touched the bell that summoned
+the footman with the breakfast-tray.
+
+When it was placed upon the table, she poured out two cups of coffee,
+handed one to the duke, and took the other herself.
+
+When she had drained it, she arose, excused herself, and went back to her
+own room.
+
+She closed and locked the door, and threw herself upon the bed, groaning:
+
+"Oh! how could Waldemar accept that invitation? How can he bear to sit
+down with me at the Duke of Hereward's table? Has he no delicacy? No
+pity? Ah, mercy, what a state is mine! And yet I was not to blame for
+_this_! I have not deserved it! I have not deserved it! One of us
+three must die; I, or Waldemar, or the Duke of Hereward; and I am the
+one; for, _I hate myself_ for the position I am in! I _hate,_
+LOATHE and utterly ABHOR myself! I do. I do. I wish the
+lightning would strike me dead! dead, before I have to meet one of them
+again!" she moaned, rolling and grovelling on the bed.
+
+There came a soft rap at the door, followed by the kind voice of the
+duke, saying:
+
+"Valerie, Valerie, my love! How are you? Do you want anything? May I come
+in?"
+
+"No! I want rest! I do not want you!" she answered, so sharply as to
+astonish the duke, who spoke again however, deprecatingly and soothingly.
+
+"Is there anything that I can do for you outside, then, my dear?"
+
+"You can go away and let me alone, or you can stand there chattering
+until you drive me crazy!" she answered, ungratefully.
+
+"Good morning, my love; I will not trouble you again soon," muttered the
+duke, as he walked away from the duchess' door.
+
+"I never knew such a change as this that has come over her. She is as
+cross as a catamount! There may be a cause for it. There may--I will send
+for a physician," he added, as he went down stairs.
+
+Valerie kept her room all day.
+
+Count de Volaski came to dinner at eight o'clock and was received by the
+duke alone.
+
+He smiled grimly when his host apologized for the absence of the duchess,
+by explaining the delicate condition of her health since the death of her
+parents, and the injury she had received from the fatigue and excitement
+of the dinner-party on the preceding evening.
+
+The duke and the count dined _tete-a-tete_, and sat long over their
+wine, although they drank but little. After dinner they played chess
+together all the evening, and then parted, apparently the best of friends
+on both sides, really good friends on the duke's.
+
+The next morning a letter was handed Valerie, while she sat at breakfast
+with the duke.
+
+She recognized the handwriting of Count de Volaski, and put it in her
+pocket to read when she was alone.
+
+The duke was not suspicious or inquisitive. He asked no questions.
+
+As soon as the duchess found herself alone in her chamber, she locked the
+door to keep out intruders, and sat down and opened the letter.
+
+Its contents were sufficiently startling. They were as follows:
+
+"RUSSIAN LEGATION, RUE ST. HONORE.
+
+"VALERIE: You avoid me in vain! You cannot shake me off. I
+accepted the duke's invitation to dinner last evening for the sake of
+seeing you again, and for the chance of having a final explanation with
+you; but you kept away from the dinner. Such expedients will not avail
+you.
+
+"I write now to assure you that I must and will see you, to make an
+arrangement with you. I write openly, at the risk of having this letter
+fall into the hands of the duke; for I do not care if it does so fall.
+I would just as willingly say to him what I now say to you. I am quite
+willing to provoke a crisis. The present state of things maddens me. I
+wonder it does not _kill_ you! When you married the Duke of Hereward
+within six months after my supposed death by the hands of your father,
+you acted cruelly, but not criminally; now that you know I am living, you
+must also know that every hour you continue to live under the roof of the
+Duke of Hereward you are a criminal. I do not require you to come to
+_me_. I do not wish to live with you again, although I love you;
+but I _do_ require you to leave the Duke of Hereward and go away by
+yourself. I know you now, Valerie. You are as weak as water. You cannot
+go to the noble gentleman who has been so deeply deceived by you and your
+parents and tell him the secret that you have kept from him so long. You
+have not the moral courage to do so. But you can leave him. It is to
+arrange for your flight and for your future safety that I now demand and
+_insist_ upon a private interview with you.
+
+"Write to me at the _poste-restante_, and tell me when and where I
+can see you alone. Should you refuse to grant me this interview, I will
+myself go to the Duke of Hereward and tell him the whole story. He may
+not resent your former marriage; but he will never forgive you, living,
+or your parents in their graves, for the deception that has been
+practiced upon him. I will wait twenty-four hours for your answer, and
+then if I fail to receive it, or fail to get a favorable one, I shall
+come immediately to the Hotel de la Motte and seek an explanation with
+the duke. I shall direct this letter by the name and title you now bear,
+so as to prevent mistakes; but it is the last time I shall so address
+you. And I sign myself, for all eternity,
+
+"Your true husband, WALDEMAR DE VOLASKI."
+
+Valerie read the cruel letter to its close, then dropped it on her lap,
+and sank back in her chair, helpless, breathless, almost lifeless.
+Minutes crept into hours, and still she sat there in the same position,
+without motion, thought, or feeling--stricken, spell-bound, entranced.
+
+She was aroused at length by a rap at her chamber-door.
+
+She started, shuddering, to her feet, and spasm after spasm shook her
+galvanized frame, as she picked up her letter, found a match, drew it,
+set fire to the paper, threw it, blazing, down upon the marble hearth,
+and watched it until it was consumed to a little heap of light ashes.
+
+"There! That can never fall into the Duke of Hereward's hands
+_now_!" she said with a bitter laugh.
+
+Meanwhile the rapping continued.
+
+"Well! well! well! well! Can't you be patient!" she exclaimed, very
+_im_patiently, as she tottered tremblingly across the room and
+opened the door.
+
+Her dressing-maid, Mademoiselle Desiree, was there.
+
+"_Pardonnez moi, madame_; but you ordered me to come to dress you
+for a drive at twelve. The clock has just struck, madame," said the girl
+deprecatingly.
+
+Valerie put her hand to her head in a bewildered way, and stared at the
+speaker a full minute before she could recollect herself sufficiently to
+reply.
+
+"Yes--yes--yes--yes--I believe so. You can come in."
+
+The girl entered and stood waiting for orders. Receiving none, she
+ventured to inquire:
+
+"What dress shall madame wear?"
+
+"My--my writing desk! Bring it here to me," answered the lady, as she
+sank into a chair, and drew a little ivory stand before her.
+
+"I wonder if madame indulges in absinthe in the morning?" was the secret
+thought of the discreet Mademoiselle Desiree, as she brought the elegant
+little malachite writing-desk, and placed it before her mistress.
+
+Valerie opened it, took out a piece of note-paper and wrote:
+
+"I cannot write much. I am stricken. I am dying. I hope you are right
+in what you say. Come here tomorrow at twelve, noon. I will give you the
+interview you seek."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This note was without date, address or signature, or any word to guide a
+strange reader to its true meaning. She put it into a sealed envelope,
+and directed it to _Count de Volaski, Poste Restante_.
+
+Then she sat back in her chair, exhausted from the slight exertion.
+
+The maid watched her mistress for a little while, and then said:
+
+"Pardon, madame; but it is half-past twelve."
+
+"Yes! I must dress," said Valerie rising.
+
+"What costume will madame wear?"
+
+"Any. It does not signify."
+
+The maid indulged in an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, and laid
+out an elegant black rep silk, heavily trimmed with black crape and jet,
+with mantle, bonnet and vail to match.
+
+"White or black gloves, madame?"
+
+"Black, of course. It is not a wedding reception."
+
+"Pardon, madame," said the girl; and she added the black gloves to the
+costume.
+
+Valerie was soon dressed, and then the maid said:
+
+"The carriage waits, madame."
+
+Valerie took the note she had prepared and went down stairs, entered her
+barouche, and ordered the coachman to drive to the British Legation,
+Hotel Borghese, Rue Faubourg St. Honore.
+
+When the carriage rolled through the archway into the courtyard, and drew
+up before the magnificent palace, interesting from having been built for
+and occupied by the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, Valerie
+alighted and handed her letter to the footman, with directions to go
+and post it while she was making her call.
+
+The man knocked at the door for his mistress, and then hurried away to do
+her errand.
+
+It was the conventional "dinner call" that brought Valerie to the Hotel
+Borghese.
+
+An English footman admitted the visitor, conducted her to the private
+drawing-room of Lady C., and announced her.
+
+Several other ladies, whom Valerie had met at the dinner party, were
+there on the same duty as herself.
+
+Lady C. advanced from among them to receive the new comer, kissed her on
+both cheeks, inquired affectionately after her health and then made her
+sit down in the most comfortable of the easy-chairs at hand.
+
+After courteously saluting the ladies present, Valerie subsided into a
+dull silence, from which she could not arouse herself; but her voice was
+not missed, since every visitor seemed anxious to talk rather than
+listen, and therefore kept up a chattering that would have carried off
+the palm in a contest with a village sewing-circle or aviary full of
+excited magpies.
+
+Valerie, the last to enter, was also the first to rise, but Lady C.
+detained her by a slight signal, and she sat down again, and relapsed
+into dullness and silence.
+
+One by one the visitors arose and took leave, chattering to the very
+last.
+
+As soon as the two ladies were left alone together, Lady C. took
+Valerie's hand, and gazing earnestly in her face, said:
+
+"What is the matter with you, my child? You look pale and ill. Although
+I am so glad to see you, under any circumstances, I am half inclined to
+scold you for coming out at all."
+
+For a moment Valerie felt inclined to open her oppressed and suffering
+heart to this sweet, matronly friend, and tell her the whole, bitter
+truth, and seek her wise counsel; but again the want of moral courage,
+which had always been so fatal to her welfare, sealed her lips.
+
+"Well," said Lady C., after a short pause for that answer that never
+came, "I will not press the question. 'The heart knoweth its own
+bitterness.'"
+
+"Yes," murmured Valerie, in a very low voice. Then, not to seem
+indifferent or unsocial, and also, if the truth must be told of her,
+to gratify a gnawing curiosity, she inquired:
+
+"How goes the expected marriage of your niece, madame?"
+
+"I cannot tell you dear. I have been daily expecting some communication
+on the subject from de Volaski: but as yet he has made none. After coming
+to Paris for the purpose, (for of course his office in the embassy is a
+mere sinecure and a plausible excuse,) he betrays the bashfulness of a
+girl in pressing his suit; but some men, some of the best and purest of
+men, are just that way--in love affairs as shy women," said her ladyship.
+
+Valerie smiled bitterly. She thought she understood the reason why the
+Count de Volaski was in no hurry to press the suit for marriage with a
+dreaming girl, to whom he had been arbitrarily contracted when he was a
+boy of fifteen, and she a child of twelve.
+
+"I shall, however, write again to her father. I will not have my sister's
+daughter wasting her youth in a convent, while waiting for a tardy
+suitor."
+
+Valerie smiled again, and then arose to take her leave.
+
+Lady C. kissed her affectionately, and promised soon to visit her at the
+Hotel de la Motte.
+
+"But--how long will you remain there?" inquired her ladyship.
+
+"I do not know. Until some business connected with my father's will shall
+be arranged, I think. We are there on sufferance only. My cousin, Louis,
+the present baron, wrote from Algiers, very kindly asking us to occupy
+the Hotel de la Motte at any time when business or pleasure should call
+us to Paris. The house was the home of my childhood, and I prefer to live
+in it as long as I may. The duke, though he would rather live at the
+'_Trois Freres_,' yields to my whim, and so we occupy the Hotel de
+la Motte, but I do not know for how long a time."
+
+"Until you leave Paris, I presume?"
+
+"Yes, probably," answered Valerie, as with another kiss, she took leave
+of her kind friend.
+
+"Shall I ever see her sweet face, hear her sweet voice again?" murmured
+the young duchess, as she passed out to her carriage.
+
+"You posted my letter?" she inquired of the footman who opened the
+carriage-door.
+
+"Yes, your grace."
+
+"That will do. Home."
+
+The footman repeated the order to the coachman, who drove back to the
+Hotel de la Motte.
+
+As Valerie entered her morning-room after laying off her bonnet and
+wrappings, she found the Duke of Hereward there, reading the papers.
+
+He arose and placed a chair for her, saying kindly:
+
+"I hope your drive has done you good, dear; if it has not been so long as
+to fatigue you."
+
+"I have only been to the Hotel Borghese to call on Lady C.," replied
+Valerie, sinking into the chair and leaning back.
+
+"Now that I look well at you, I see that you are tired. A very little
+exertion seems to fatigue you now, Valerie. I do not understand your
+condition. It makes me anxious. I have asked Velpeau to call and see you.
+He will look in this afternoon."
+
+"Thanks, you are very kind--too kind to me, as fretful and miserable as
+I am," replied Valerie, with a momentary compunction--only a momentary
+one, for the deep fear, horror and despair which had seized her soul
+left her little sensibility to comparative trifles.
+
+"My poor child," said the duke, looking compassionately on her pale, worn
+face, "do you not know that I can make all allowance for you? You are
+suffering very much. I hope Velpeau will be able to do something for you.
+You know he stands at the head of the medical profession in Paris, which
+is as much as to say, in the world."
+
+"Yes, I know," said Valerie, indifferently. Then, with sudden
+earnestness, she exclaimed: "I wish _you_ would do something for
+me."
+
+"Why, my poor girl, I would do anything in the world for you. Tell me
+what you want me to do."
+
+"I know you cannot leave Paris now, and so you cannot, yourself, take
+me to England; but I wish to go there; I wish you to send me there to
+Hereward Hold, where we passed so many peaceful months."
+
+"To send you there _alone_, Valerie?" inquired the duke, in surprise.
+
+"No, but with my personal attendants, and with any discreet old lady you
+may choose to appoint as my companion, if, like an old Spanish husband,
+you think your young wife may require watching when she is out of your
+sight," she added, with a relapse into her irritable mood.
+
+"Valerie! you wrong me and yourself by such a thought," said the duke,
+gravely.
+
+"I know I do, and I know I am a wretch! but I want to go to England.
+I want to get away from everybody, and be by myself. You promised to do
+what I wanted done. That is what I want done."
+
+"Do you wish 'to get away' from _me_, Valerie?"
+
+"Yes, from you and from _everybody_, except from my servants, who
+are not my companions, and therefore don't bore me."
+
+"It must be as I thought," said the duke to himself; "all this
+eccentricity, this nervous irritability has a natural cause, and not
+an alarming one, and it must be humored."
+
+"Will you keep your promise?" she testily inquired.
+
+"Certainly, my dear child. Anything to please you. You will see Velpeau
+this afternoon. If after consulting him you still think it necessary to
+leave Paris for Hereward Hold, I will send you there under proper
+protection. By the by, you succeed very well in getting away from your
+friends I think. The Count de Volaski called here while you were away
+this forenoon. He seemed disappointed in not seeing you. He looks ill.
+I never saw a man change so within the last few days. I should not wonder
+if he were on the very verge of a bad fever. I wish you had seen him. He
+was quite a friend of yours in St. Petersburg, I believe."
+
+"I used to see him every day in the public assemblies to which we were
+always going. I wish you wouldn't talk about him," gasped Valerie, with
+a nervous shudder, as she arose and left the room.
+
+"What a little misanthrope she has grown to be; but it is only a
+temporary affliction. She will get over it in a few weeks," said the
+duke to himself, as he resumed the reading of his newspaper.
+
+The next day Valerie arose at her usual hour, and breakfasted
+_tete-a-tete_ with the duke. She knew that this day must decide her
+fate, and she tried to nerve herself to bear all that it might bring her,
+even as the frailest women sometimes brace themselves to bear torture and
+death.
+
+At eleven in the forenoon, the duke left the house to go to the Hotel de
+Ville to keep an appointment that would detain him until three in the
+afternoon.
+
+Valerie knew all about this appointment, and had therefore fixed the hour
+of noon as the safest time for her interview with the count.
+
+Twelve o'clock, therefore, found her dressed in her deepest mourning, and
+seated in her private drawing-room, awaiting the advent of her most
+dreaded visitor, Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+A SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.
+
+
+Valerie, in an agony of terror, waited for her expected visitor.
+
+Did she love him, then?
+
+Ah, no! Horror at the position in which she found herself so filled her
+soul as to leave no room for any softer emotion. She loved no one in the
+world, not even herself; she wished for nothing on earth but death, and
+only her religious faith, or her superstitious fears, restrained her from
+laying sacrilegious hands upon her own life.
+
+While watching for her dreaded guest she bitterly communed with herself.
+
+"No one ever really loved me," she moaned. "Every one connected with me
+loved only himself, or herself, and sacrificed me. My father and my
+mother cared only for themselves and their own ambitions, and so they
+immolated me, their only child, to their gratification; my suitors loved
+only themselves and their passions, and immolated me! And I--I love no
+one and hate myself! hate the creature they have all combined to make me!
+If it were not for that which comes after death I would not exist an hour
+longer--I would die!"
+
+As she muttered this the little ormolu clock on the mantlepiece struck
+twelve.
+
+"The hour has come. He will be here in another moment! Oh, why could
+he not leave me in peace? Oh, what shall I do?" she exclaimed, in her
+excitement rising from her seat and beginning to pace up and down the
+room with wild, disordered steps.
+
+Sometimes she stopped to listen, but without hearing any sound that might
+herald the approach of a visitor; then resumed her wild and purposeless
+walk, until the clock struck the quarter, when she suddenly threw herself
+down in the chair, muttering:
+
+"Fifteen minutes late! I do not want to see him! But since he is to come,
+I wish he had come, and this was all over."
+
+Another quarter of an hour passed, and her visitor had not arrived.
+
+Again in her anxiety she arose and began to walk the floor and to look
+out occasionally at a window which commanded the approach to the house.
+
+No one, however, was in sight.
+
+She sat down again, muttering:
+
+"This seems an intentional affront, an insult. He treats me with no
+consideration. Well, perhaps I deserve none. Oh! I wish I knew to whom my
+duty is due! I wish I had some one of whom I dared to ask counsel! I
+certainly did wed Waldemar. I certainly did believe him to be my lawful
+husband, and _then_ my duty was clearly due to him. But my parents
+came and tore me away from him, and told me that my marriage was not
+lawful, and that Waldemar de Volaski was not my husband. Then they took
+me to Paris, and told me that I must forget the very existence of my
+lover. Still, I should never have dreamed of another marriage while
+I thought Waldemar lived; for I loved him with all my heart, and only
+wished to live until I should be of an age to contract a legal marriage
+with him, with whom I had already made a sacramental one. But they told
+me that Waldemar was _dead_, slain by the hand of my father! and
+they bade me keep the secret of my first marriage, and to contract a
+second one with the Duke of Hereward! Oh, if I had but known that
+Waldemar still lived, the tortures of the Inquisition should not have
+forced me into this second marriage! But believing Waldemar to be dead,
+I suffered myself to be persecuted, worried and _weakened_ into this
+marriage! Oh! that I had been strong enough to bear the miseries of my
+home; to resist the forces brought to bear against me! Oh, that I had
+been brave enough to tell the whole truth of my marriage with Waldemar de
+Volaski to the Duke of Hereward before he had committed his honor to my
+keeping by making me his wife! That course would have saved me then with
+less of suffering than I have to bear now. But I weakly permitted myself
+to be forced, with this secret on my conscience, into a marriage with
+the Duke of Hereward. And now I dare not tell him the truth! And now my
+first husband has come back and hates me for my inconstancy, and my
+second husband knows nothing about it! Now to whom do I rightly belong!
+To whom do I owe duty? To Waldemar? To the duke? Who knows? Not I! One
+thing only is clear to me, that I must not live with either of them as
+a wife, henceforth! Heaven forgive those who forced me into this
+position, for I fear that I never can do so!"
+
+While these wild and bitter thoughts were passing through her tortured
+mind the clock struck one and startled her from her reverie.
+
+"Ah! something has prevented his coming," she said to herself, as she
+once more looked out of the window. Then she relapsed into her sad
+reverie.
+
+"I can never, never be happy in this world again--never! But if I only
+knew my duty I would do it. I don't know it. I only know that I must go
+clear away from both these--" She shuddered and left the sentence
+incomplete even in her thoughts.
+
+Just then a footman entered with a note upon a little silver tray.
+
+She took it languidly, but all her languor vanished as she recognized the
+handwriting of Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+"Who brought this?" she inquired of the servant.
+
+"Un garcon from the Hotel de Russe, madame."
+
+"Is he waiting for an answer?"
+
+"Oui, madame."
+
+She had asked these questions partly to procrastinate the opening of the
+note she dreaded to read. Now slowly and sadly she drew it from its
+envelope, unfolded and read:
+
+"HOTEL DE RUSSE, Tuesday Morning.
+
+"UNFAITHFUL WIFE--An engagement at the Tuileries, for the very
+hour you named, prevents me from meeting you at your appointed time.
+Write by the messenger who brings this, and tell me when you can see me.
+
+"Your wronged husband, VOLASKI."
+
+While reading this, she shivered as with an ague. When she had finished
+she crushed it up in her hand and put it in her pocket with the intention
+of destroying it on the first opportunity.
+
+Then she went to a little ornamental writing-desk that stood in the
+corner of the room, and took a pencil and a sheet of note paper and wrote
+these words, without date or signature:
+
+"I was ready to see you this noon. I cannot at this instant tell at what
+hour I can be certain to be alone; but will find out and let you know in
+the course of this day."
+
+She placed this note in an envelope, sealed it with a plain seal, and
+sent it down by the footman to Count Waldemar's messenger.
+
+Then she hurried up to her own bedchamber, rang for her maid, changed her
+dress for a white wrapper, and threw herself down, exhausted, upon a
+lounge.
+
+She was almost fainting.
+
+"This must be something like death! Oh, if it were only death!" she
+sighed, as she closed her eyes.
+
+An hour later she was found here by the Duke of Hereward, who showed no
+surprise at finding her reclining there, but only said that Doctor
+Velpeau was below stairs and would like to see her.
+
+"Let him come up, then," coldly answered Valerie.
+
+And the duke himself went to conduct the physician to his patient.
+
+He left them together for an hour, at the end of which Doctor Velpeau
+came down and reported to the anxious husband that his wife was not
+seriously out of health that her malady was more of the mind than the
+body, and that amusement and society would be her best medicines.
+
+"Just what I cannot prevail on her to take," said the duke, with an
+impatient shrug. "She will go nowhere, will see nobody; but shuts herself
+up and mopes. Now, to-day, I have received intelligence concerning the
+rather intricately embarrassed affairs of the late Baron de la Motte,
+which will oblige me to start for Algiers, for a personal interview with
+his heir-at-law, an officer in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, who cannot get
+leave of absence to come to me. Now the question is, Doctor, shall I take
+the duchess with me, or leave her here? Is she well enough to be left, or
+strong enough to travel?"
+
+"Both! She is both. I assure you she is not at all ill in body. Put the
+question to herself. If she should be willing to go, take her. The trip
+will do her good. If she prefers to stay, leave her. She is in no danger
+of illness or death."
+
+"But I should be gone, probably, a fortnight. Could I, with safety to
+herself, take her so far away, for so long a time, from the best medical
+advice? or could I, on the other hand, leave her here for so distant a
+bourne and so long an absence?"
+
+"With perfect safety; barring, of course, the human possibilities to
+which even the most fortunate, the most healthful and the best-guarded
+among us are more or less subject. But again I counsel you to leave it to
+the duchess, whether she shall remain here or accompany you to Algiers.
+She is equally fit for either plan," said the great physician, as he drew
+on his gloves.
+
+"I will take the duchess with me, if she will go. If not, I will leave
+here under your charge, Doctor," said the duke.
+
+"Much honored, I am sure, in attending her grace," replied the French
+physician, with the extravagant politeness of his countrymen.
+
+As soon as Doctor Velpeau had gone, the Duke of Hereward went up stairs
+to see his wife, and, sitting by the lounge on which she still reclined,
+he told her of the urgent business that required his immediate departure
+for Algiers.
+
+"Algiers! Why, that is in Africa! another quarter of the globe! a long,
+long way off!" she exclaimed, starting up with an eagerness that the duke
+mistook for alarm and distress.
+
+"Oh, no, dear, it is not. It only _sounds_ so. It is about eight
+hundred miles nearly due south of Paris. We go by train to Marseilles in
+a few hours, and by steamer to Algiers in a couple of days. You will go
+with me, dear. The change will do you good," said the duke, gayly.
+
+"I! Oh, no, I could not think of such a thing! Pray, pray, do not ask me
+to do so!" exclaimed Valerie, in a tone of such genuine terror that the
+duke hastened to say:
+
+"Certainly not, if you do not wish it, my love. I should be happier to
+have you with me, and I think the trip would benefit your health, but--"
+
+"Did that horrid doctor advise you to take me to Algiers?" testily
+interrupted the young duchess.
+
+"He said the change would do you good if you should like to go; but not
+otherwise. He said that you should be left to decide for yourself."
+
+"Then he has quite as much judgment as the world gives him credit for,
+and that is not the case with every one."
+
+"Now you are left to your own choice, to go or not to go."
+
+"Then I choose not to go, most decidedly."
+
+"Very well," said the duke, with a disappointed air; "then there is no
+need that I should delay my departure for another day. I shall leave for
+Marseilles by the night's express, Valerie."
+
+"As you please," she wearily replied.
+
+"I may be gone a fortnight, Valerie, and I may not be gone more than ten
+days; the length of my absence will depend upon contingencies; but I
+shall hurry back with all possible dispatch."
+
+"Yes, I am sure you will," she answered, because she did not know what
+else to say.
+
+"And I will write to you every day."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Will you write to me every day?"
+
+"Certainly, if you wish me to do so."
+
+"Of course I wish you to do so, my love," said the duke, as he stooped
+and pressed his lips on the pale cheek of his "wayward child," as he
+sometimes called her.
+
+He then left the room to give orders to his valet and groom to pack up
+and be ready to attend him on his journey.
+
+As soon as she found herself alone, Valerie arose, slipped on a
+dressing-gown, sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote the following
+note, as usual, without name, date, or signature:
+
+"Come to me at noon to-morrow; or, if you cannot do so, write and
+fix your own hour, any time will suit me equally well, or rather,
+_ill_."
+
+She put this note in an envelope, sealed it, and directed it to Monsieur
+Le Count de Volaski, Russian Embassy.
+
+Then she rang for her maid, and sent her out to post the letter.
+
+Valerie made an effort to dress for dinner that evening, and dined with
+the duke for the last time--yes, for the very last time in this world.
+
+After the Duke had risen from the table and pressed a parting kiss upon
+her lips before leaving her to enter the carriage that was to take him to
+the railway station, she never saw his face again--nay more--though she
+honored and revered him, she never even wished or intended to see him
+again.
+
+She witnessed his departure with tearful eyes, yet with a sense of
+infinite relief. _One of them was gone!_ Oh, how she wished that
+the other would go also!
+
+She loved neither of them. She had lost the power of loving. Her love, by
+her awful position, was frightened into its death-throes. All she desired
+to do, was to get away from them both, and like a haunted hare, or
+wounded bird, creep into some safe hiding-place to die in peace.
+
+She retired early that evening, and, for the first time for several days,
+slept in peace.
+
+The next day she arose, and, contrary to her custom in the morning,
+dressed herself to receive company.
+
+She waited all the forenoon in expectation of receiving a note from the
+Count de Volaski, either accepting her appointment or arranging another
+one; but when the clock struck the hour of noon without her having heard
+from him, she naturally concluded that he meant to answer her note in
+person, by coming at the hour named. So she went down into the small
+drawing-room to be ready to receive him.
+
+She was right in her conclusions; for she had scarcely been seated five
+minutes when a footman entered and presented the count's card.
+
+"Show the gentleman up," she said in a voice that she vainly tried to
+render steady.
+
+A few minutes passed, the door opened, and Count de Volaski entered the
+room.
+
+She arose to receive him, but did not advance a single step to meet him.
+
+He came on, and bowed low--much lower than any ceremony required.
+
+She bent her head, and silently pointed to a chair at a short distance.
+
+He sat down.
+
+Up to this time not a word had passed between them.
+
+A monk and a nun, who keep their vows, could not have met more coldly
+than this pair who had once plighted their hands and hearts in marriage
+before the altar of the Church of St. Marie.
+
+Valerie was the first to speak.
+
+"Well, you insisted upon this interview. Now you have it. What do you
+want of me?"
+
+"I want you to leave the Duke of Hereward," he answered, sternly.
+
+"You are right, so far. But the Duke of Hereward has saved me the trouble
+of taking the initiative step. He has left me. I shall never see him,
+more."
+
+"How! What!" exclaimed de Volaski, starting up.
+
+"The Duke of Hereward left for Algiers last night. I shall not remain
+here to receive him when he returns."
+
+"You told him, then, and he has left you? Good!"
+
+"No, I have not told him; he knows nothing--not even that he has left me
+forever. Business of a financial nature connected with his duties as
+executor of my father's estates, takes him to Algiers for a few weeks.
+During his absence I shall make arrangements for leaving this house
+forever."
+
+"Valerie, where will you go?" he inquired, in a more softened tone.
+
+"I do not know--_not with you that is certain_. You were quite right
+when you said that I could not live with either--that a single life was
+the only possible one for me. I feel that it is so, and I hope that it
+will be a short one."
+
+"Valerie, do not say so. You are very young yet. The duke is an elderly
+man; he will die and leave you free."
+
+"I shall not be free _while_ EITHER of _you live_! nor
+can I build any hope in life _on death_! Oh! I have been cruelly
+wronged, and I am very miserable, but I am not selfish or wicked,
+Waldemar."
+
+"How soon do you propose to leave this house?"
+
+"I do not know. I only know that I must go before the duke's return."
+
+"What should hinder your going at once?"
+
+"I must make some provision for the miserable remnant of life left me.
+I must collect and sell my jewels and my shawls and laces, and invest the
+money in some safe place, where it will bring me interest enough to live
+cheaply in some remote country neighborhood. Wretched as I am, soon as I
+hope to die, I do not wish to be dependant on _you_, Waldemar."
+
+"No, nor do I wish anything but independence and honor for _you_,
+Valerie. But you must let me assist you in realizing capital from your
+personal property, and in making other necessary arrangements for your
+removal. You cannot do this for yourself. You are more ignorant of the
+world than a child. So you must let me see you safely through this trial.
+You have no alternative, Valerie. You have no one else to consult with
+but me, and you may confide in me, for I will endeavor to forget that I
+ever called you wife, and will treat you with the reverential tenderness
+due to a dear sister. When I once have seen you safely lodged in a secure
+retreat, I will leave you there, never to intrude upon you again."
+
+"Thanks! thanks! that is the kindest course you could pursue toward me."
+
+"You accept all my service then?"
+
+"Yes, on the condition that I shall seem to you only as a sister. But,
+oh! Waldemar! you, who are so kind and considerate _now_, how could
+you have _ever_ written to me so cruelly--calling me an unfaithful
+wife--calling yourself a wronged husband? I never was consciously
+unfaithful to any one in my life. I never voluntarily wronged any
+creature since I was born. How could you have written so cruelly,
+Waldemar?"
+
+"Forgive me, Valerie! I was crazed with the contemplation of
+you,--_you_ whom I considered as my own wife, living here as
+the Duchess of Hereward. Only since I have learned that the duke is
+gone--and gone forever from you, have I come to my senses. Do you
+understand me, and do you forgive me?"
+
+"Yes, both; but now, do not think me rude or unkind; but you must go. It
+is not well that you should stay too long."
+
+"Good-morning, Valerie," he said immediately preparing to obey her.
+
+She held out her hand. He took it, pressed it lightly, dropped it, turned
+and left the room.
+
+After this day the Count de Volaski came daily to the Hotel de la Motte
+on some errand connected with the duchess' financial business. These
+interviews were as coldly formal as the most severe etiquette would have
+required.
+
+Valerie received frequent letters from the Duke of Hereward, in which
+he spoke of the protracted business that still kept him an unwilling
+absentee from her side; promised as speedy a return as possible;
+expressed great anxiety concerning her health, and besought her to
+write often.
+
+She complied with his request: she wrote daily as she had promised to do,
+but she could not write deceitfully; she told him of her health, which
+she described as no better and no worse than it had been when he left
+Paris; she told him any little political news or rumor that happened
+to be stirring, and any social gossip that she thought might interest
+or amuse him; but she deluded him by no expressions of affection or
+devotion.
+
+The duke's absence, that was expected to last but two weeks, was
+prolonged to six.
+
+Still Valerie delayed leaving the Hotel de la Motte. She shrank from
+taking the final step, until it should seem absolutely necessary.
+
+At length, after an absence of nearly seven weeks, the Duke of Hereward
+wrote to his young wife that he was about to return home, and would
+follow his letter in twenty-four hours.
+
+This letter threw her into a state of excessive nervous excitement, and
+when her daily visitor entered her room a few hours after its reception,
+he found her in this condition.
+
+"Why, what is the matter, Valerie? What on earth has happened?" he
+inquired, in much anxiety.
+
+"The hour has come! I must go!" she answered, trembling.
+
+"Well, so much the better. You are ready to go. You have been ready for
+weeks past! Do not falter now that the time is at hand."
+
+"I do not falter in resolution, only in strength."
+
+"The sooner it is over the better. I will take you away this afternoon,
+if you wish."
+
+"Yes, yes, take me away as soon as possible!"
+
+"Have you thought of where you would like to go first?"
+
+"Yes! I have thought and decided! I want you to take me to Italy--to St.
+Vito, where we were married, and to the vine-dresser's cottage, in the
+Apennines, where we passed the first days of our marriage, and the
+happiest days of our lives."
+
+"It will be very sad for you there," said Waldemar, compassionately.
+
+"Yes! I know it will be so without you! for of course I must live without
+you! and though I do not love you as I used to do, because love has
+perished out of my soul, still, I know, there in that place where we
+were so happy in our honeymoon, I shall be always comparing the happy
+days that _were_ with the sorrowful days that _are_!"
+
+"But still, if that is so, why do you go there?"
+
+"Oh, Waldemar, it is the only place for me! I cannot go among entire
+strangers. I am such a coward. I am afraid in my loneliness: I should be
+driven to despair or to insanity, or worse than all, to the unpardonable
+sin of suicide! I dare not go among strangers, nor dare I go among people
+who know me as the Duchess of Hereward, or knew me as Valerie de la
+Motte, for they would scorn and abhor me, and their company would be far
+worse than the very worst solitude. No! I must go to the vine-dresser's
+cottage in the Apennines. Good Beppo and Lena knew me only as your wife
+and loved me dearly, and wept bitter tears when my father tore me away
+from you. They will be glad to see poor Valerie again! And the good
+Father Antonio, who married us! He loved us both! He will comfort and
+counsel me. Yes, Waldemar! St. Vito is my City of Refuge, and the
+vinedresser's cottage my only possible home. Take me there and leave
+me in peace."
+
+"I believe you are right, Valerie. By what train would you like to leave
+Paris? There is an express that starts at seven. Could you be ready for
+that?"
+
+"Yes! yes! thanks! I can be ready for that!"
+
+"Shall you take your maid with you?"
+
+"No. I shall pay her and discharge her with a present."
+
+"Then I shall have to secure only two seats. I will get a coupe, if it be
+possible."
+
+"Anything you like! Go now, Waldemar!"
+
+Count de Volaski pressed her hand and withdrew; but before leaving the
+room he turned back and inquired:
+
+"Shall I come here for you, or shall I meet you at the station?"
+
+"Meet me at the station, of course! Spare my poor name as long as it can
+be spared! In twenty-four hours it will be in everybody's mouth, and the
+worst that can be said of it will seem too good! And yet they will all
+be wrong, and I shall not deserve their condemnation."
+
+Count de Volaski waved his hand, and hurried from the room and the house,
+for he had many hasty preparations to make for the sudden journey.
+
+As soon as he had gone Valerie set about making her final arrangements.
+She paid off her maid and discharged her with a handsome present, but
+without a word of explanation. She sent off her luggage to the
+railway-station, and ordered the carriage to take her to the same point.
+She took in her hand a small bag containing her money, jewels, and other
+small valuables, when she seated herself in her carriage and gave the
+order to her coachman. And so she left her own magnificent home forever.
+
+The wondering servants, who had been too well trained even to look any
+comment in their mistress' hearing, let loose their tongues as they
+watched the carriage roll away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+THE STORM BURSTS.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward arrived at home the next morning. When the
+fiacre that brought him from the railway station rolled through the
+porte-cochere into the court yard and drew up before the main entrance
+of the Hotel de la Motte, he sprang out with almost boyish eagerness, and
+ran up the stairs, and rang and knocked with vehemence and impatience.
+
+The gray-haired porter opened the door.
+
+"How is the duchess, Leblanc? Has she risen? Send some one to let her
+know that I have arrived," he exclaimed, hurriedly.
+
+_"Helas!_ Monseigneur!" answered the venerable old servant, in
+a distressed tone.
+
+"What do you mean? Is the duchess ill? I got a letter from her yesterday,
+in which she said she was quite well. It met me at Marseilles. She
+continues well. I hope? Why don't you speak?" impatiently demanded
+the duke.
+
+"_Mille pardons_. Monseigneur; but madame has gone," sadly replied
+Leblanc.
+
+"What do you say?" exclaimed the duke, discrediting the evidence of his
+own ears.
+
+"_Mille pardons_, Monsieur le Duc, Madame la Duchesse has gone."
+
+"Gone! the duchess gone!" exclaimed the duke, in amazement, not unmixed
+with incredulity.
+
+"Oui; Monseigneur."
+
+"Gone! the duchess gone! Where?"
+
+"_Miserable_ that I am, Monseigneur, I do not know. I cannot tell.
+Will Monsieur le Duc deign to consult the coachman who drove Madame la
+Duchesse in the carriage when she left the house last night, not to
+return. He can probably give Monseigneur some information," respectfully
+suggested the old porter.
+
+"Send Dubourg to me in the library, then," said the duke, as he strode
+down the hall, full of vague alarm, but far from suspecting the fatal
+truth.
+
+Soon the coachman came to him in the library, and in answer to his
+questions told how he had driven the duchess alone to the railway station
+to catch the night express for Marseilles.
+
+"The night express for Marseilles! Then the foolish child was going to
+meet me, and must have passed me on the road!" said the duke to himself,
+with a strange blending of flattered affection and anxious fears.
+
+"That will do, Dubourg. The duchess went down to the seaport to meet me
+on the steamer, and we have missed each other on the road. It is a pity,
+but it cannot be helped!" said the duke dismissing his coachman by a wave
+of his hand.
+
+The man bowed and retired.
+
+"Silly child, to go and do such an absurd and indiscreet thing as that!
+I would go down after her by the next train only I should be sure to pass
+her on the road again; for she will hasten immediately back when she
+finds that I have arrived at Marseilles and left for Paris," said the
+duke to himself, as he rang for his valet and retired to his own room to
+dress for breakfast.
+
+But there, on the bureau, he found a letter addressed to him in the
+handwriting of Valerie.
+
+At the moment he picked it up his valet entered the room in answer to his
+ring.
+
+Some intuition warned the duke to send the man away while he should read
+his letter.
+
+"Have a warm bath ready for me at nine o'clock, Dubois, and order
+breakfast at half-past," he said.
+
+The man bowed and left the room.
+
+The duke dropped into a chair, and with a strange, vague foreboding of
+evil, opened the letter.
+
+Well might he shrink from the dread perusal of the story--the story of
+her cowardice and folly, and of his own humiliation and despair.
+
+It was Valerie's full confession, the revelation of her woeful history as
+it is known to the reader, with one single reservation--the name of her
+lover.
+
+The Duke of Hereward had wonderful powers of self-control. He read the
+fatal letter through to the bitter end. Then he folded it up carefully,
+and locked it up in a cabinet for safe-keeping.
+
+And when, fifteen minutes later, his valet came to tell him that it was
+nine o'clock, and his bath was ready, no one could have guessed from his
+looks that a storm had passed through his soul.
+
+He was rather pale, certainly; but that might well be explained by the
+fatigue of a long night's journey, and his gray mustache and beard
+concealed the close compression of his lips. He went through his morning
+toilet and his breakfast with apparently his usual composure.
+
+After breakfast, however, he instituted a cautious but close
+investigation of the circumstances attending the flight of the duchess.
+
+The servants, having nothing to gain from concealment and nothing to fear
+from communication, spoke freely of the daily visits of the Count de
+Volaski, continued through the seven weeks of the duke's absence.
+
+Then the dreadful light of conviction burst full upon his startled
+intelligence. Count Waldemar de Volaski had been her acquaintance at the
+Court of St. Petersburg! He it was, then, who had been the hero of her
+foolish love story and mad marriage, before the duke had ever seen her.
+He it was who had been her constant visitor during the duke's absence.
+He it was who was the companion of her flight!
+
+The duke did not believe Valerie's solemn declaration, that she left
+Paris only to isolate herself from every one and live a single, lonely
+life. Valerie had deceived him once, by keeping a fatal secret from him,
+and he would not trust her now. He believed that she had gone away with
+the Russian count to remain with him. The duke's rage and jealousy were
+roused and burning against them both.
+
+He was determined to find out the place of their retreat, and to take
+immediate and signal vengeance.
+
+He put the case in the hands of the most expert detectives, with
+instructions to use the utmost caution and secrecy in their
+investigations.
+
+He permitted his first theory of the duchess' absence, made in good faith
+at the time it was first stated--that she had gone down to Marseilles to
+meet him, and had missed him on the way--to prevail in the household,
+and penetrate through that medium to the world of Paris.
+
+He left the Hotel de la Motte, which he had only occupied in right of his
+wife's family, and saying that he should not return until the arrival of
+the duchess, he took up his residence at "_Meurice's_."
+
+He shut himself up in his apartments, and never left them. He refused to
+see all visitors except the detectives in his employment. Thus he escaped
+the annoyance of having to answer questions and to make explanations.
+
+He had remained at "_Meurice's_" about five days, when Villeponte,
+the chief detective, came to him and told him that they had succeeded in
+making out the facts connected with the flight of the duchess.
+
+The duke, controlling all manifestations of excitement, directed the
+officer to proceed with the story at once.
+
+Villeponte then related that on the Wednesday of the preceding week,
+madame, the Duchess of Hereward, had left Paris in company with Monsieur
+the Count de Volaski; that they took a coupe on the evening express for
+Marseilles, traveling alone together without servants or attendants; that
+they were now domiciliated at a vine-dresser's cottage in the little
+village of San Vito, at the foot of the Appenines.
+
+Having concluded his information, Monsieur Villeponte asked for further
+instructions.
+
+The duke told the detective that he had no further orders to give; but
+thanked him for his zeal, congratulated him on his success, paid him
+liberally, and bowed him out.
+
+That evening the Duke of Hereward, unattended by groom or valet, took a
+coupe on the night express train for the south of France, and started for
+Marseilles, en route for Italy.
+
+On the evening of the third day after leaving Paris he reached his
+destination--the little hamlet of San Vito at the foot of the Appenines.
+
+He stopped at the small hotel.
+
+Coming alone and unattended, carrying a small valise in his hand, and
+looking weary, dusty, and travel-stained, the Duke of Hereward was not
+intuitively recognized as a person of distinction, and therefore escaped
+the overwhelming amount of attention usually lavished upon English
+tourists of rank and wealth by continental hosts.
+
+He was shown to a little room blinded by clustering vines, and there left
+to his own devices.
+
+He ordered a bottle of the native wine, and sent for the landlord.
+
+The latter came promptly--a thin, little, old man, with a skin like
+parchment, hair and beard like a black horse's mane, and eyes like
+glowworms.
+
+He saluted the shabby stranger with courtesy, but without obsequiousness;
+for how should he know that the traveler was a duke?
+
+"Pray sit down. I wish to ask you some questions," said the Duke of
+Hereward, with a natural, courteous dignity that immediately modified the
+landlord's estimate of his value.
+
+"Non, signor; but I will answer questions," he declared, as he bowed
+deferentially, and remained standing.
+
+"Did a gentleman and lady arrive here about ten days ago!"
+
+"Si, signor--a grand milord, and a beautiful miladi. But they have been
+here before, signor, about two years ago."
+
+"Ah! Where are they now?"
+
+"At their old lodgings, signor--at the cottage of Beppo, the
+vine-dresser. The signor is a good friend of the young milord and
+miladi?" questioned the landlord, deferentially, but very anxiously; for
+just then it flashed upon his memory that two years previous another
+grand "signor," of reverend age like this one, had come inquiring about
+the young pair, and had ended in breaking up their union for the time.
+
+"I have known the lady for about a year, or a little longer; the
+gentleman only a few months; but I can scarcely lay claim to so an
+intimate a relation to them as 'friendship' would imply," answered the
+duke, evasively, and putting a severe constraint upon himself.
+
+The landlord was completely deceived and thrown off his guard.
+
+"How far from the village does this vine-dresser live?" inquired the
+duke.
+
+"Just on the outside, signor--just at the foot of the mountain--about
+three miles from this house."
+
+"Can I have a carriage to take me there this evening."
+
+"Si, signor, assuredly; but will not the signor refresh himself before he
+leaves?" inquired the host.
+
+"No; I will refresh myself after I come back. Let me have the carriage as
+soon as possible."
+
+"Si, signor," said the landlord, bowing himself out.
+
+The duke, unable to rest, even after a long and fatiguing journey, walked
+up and down the floor of his little room, until the landlord re-appeared
+and announced the carriage.
+
+The duke caught up his rough traveling-cap, clapped it on his head,
+hurried out and entered the rustic vehicle, dignified with the name
+of a carriage.
+
+And in another moment he was rolling off in the direction of the
+Vine-dresser's cottage at the foot of the mountain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+THE RIVALS.
+
+
+The sun was setting behind the western ridge, and throwing a deep shadow
+over the valley, as the rustic vehicle conveying the Duke of Hereward
+drew up before the vinedresser's cottage, nestled almost out of sight
+amid thick foliage and deep shade.
+
+It was the hour of rest, and Beppo, the vine-dresser, sat at the gate,
+strumming an old, dilapidated lute; his red jacket and white shirt making
+the only bits of bright color in the sombre picture.
+
+As the rude carriage stopped before the gate, Beppo arose and put aside
+his lute, and stood with a look of expectancy on his dark face.
+
+The duke did not alight, but put his head out of the carriage window and
+beckoned the man to approach him.
+
+Beppo came up, curiosity expressing itself in every feature of his
+speaking countenance.
+
+"You have a young gentleman and lady--a young married couple--staying
+with you?" said the duke, but speaking in the Italian language.
+
+"No, Excellenzo. The signora is here. The signor went away on the same
+day on which he brought the signora," deferentially answered the peasant,
+with a profound bow.
+
+"The man has gone!" exclaimed the duke, losing his caution and his
+politeness in the phrenzy of baffled vengeance.
+
+"Si, signer, the man has gone!" with another deep bow.
+
+"Where, then, has he gone?"
+
+"To Paris, signor; but the signora is still here. Will the signor deign
+to come into my poor house and see the signora, then?"
+
+"See _her_! No!" vehemently exclaimed the duke. Then recollecting
+himself, he inquired:
+
+"Are you sure the man has gone to Paris?"
+
+"Si, signor; I drove him myself, in my little cart, to San Stephano,
+where he took the train."
+
+"You say that he left on the same day in which he brought the lady here?"
+inquired the duke, with more interest.
+
+"Si, signor. They arrived in the afternoon, and he went away again in the
+evening."
+
+"Hum. Why did he go so soon?"
+
+"Affairs, signor. It is not to be thought he would have left the signora
+so sick if it had not been for affairs."
+
+"The lady is sick, then?"
+
+"Very sick, signor."
+
+"What is the matter with her?"
+
+"We do not know, signor. She will not have a doctor, but sits and pines."
+
+"Ah! no doubt," said the duke to himself.
+
+"Will the signor condescend to honor our poor shed by coming under its
+roof, where he may for himself see the signora?" said the vine-dresser,
+with much courtesy.
+
+"Thanks, no. Back to the hotel!" he added, to the driver, who immediately
+turned his horse's head to the village.
+
+With a parting nod to the courteous vine-dresser, the duke sank back on
+his seat, closed his eyes, and gave his mind up to thought.
+
+Volaski had gone back to Paris. Why had he left Valerie and gone there?
+To resign his position in the embassy? To settle up business previous to
+taking up his permanent abode in Italy? Or had he returned so quickly to
+Paris only to conceal his crime and deceive the world into the opinion
+that he had not been out of Paris.
+
+The duke did not know what his motive for so sudden a return could be;
+but judged the last-mentioned theory of causes to be the most probable.
+
+"I do not know what _else_ the caitiff has gone back for; but I know
+one thing--he has gone there to give me satisfaction," said the duke,
+grimly, to himself.
+
+The horse, with the prospect of stall and fodder before him, made much
+better time in going home than in coming away, and so, in less than half
+an hour, the rumbling vehicle drew up before the little hotel.
+
+The landlord himself came out to meet the returning traveler.
+
+"I hope the illustrious signor found the excellent signor and the
+beautiful signora in good health," said the polite host, as he opened
+the carriage-door for his guest.
+
+"The beautiful signora is sick and the excellent signor is gone," said
+the duke, grimly, as he got out.
+
+"_Misericordia!_" cried the host, with a look of unutterable
+woe.
+
+"That will do. Now let me have some supper as soon as you can get it, and
+when it is ready to be served, come yourself and tell me why I was not
+informed of the young man's departure before taking that useless drive
+to the vine-dresser's," said the duke, gravely.
+
+"Pardon, illustrissimo, if I tell you now. We did not know the young
+signor had gone. He did not come this way. He must have taken another
+route and got his train at San Stephano," humbly replied the host.
+
+"Ah! yes! the vine-dresser did tell me he had driven the man over to San
+Stephano. Well, then, hurry up my supper," said the duke, passing on to
+his room.
+
+The landlord looked after him, muttering to himself:
+
+"Ah! so not finding the excellent young signor, he has turned his back on
+the beautiful young signora. I know it! The _other_ ancient and
+illustrious signor, who raised the devil in Beppo's cottage last year,
+and carried off the bride, was her father; but this illustrissimo is
+_his_ father, wherefore he cares not to bring away the lovely
+signora."
+
+The host then gave the necessary orders for the duke's supper to be
+prepared, and when it was ready he took it up to his guest.
+
+The duke had no more questions to ask, and only two orders to
+give--breakfast at seven o'clock on the next morning, and a conveyance
+to take him to the railway station at half-past seven.
+
+The next day the duke set out on his return to Paris, and on the fourth
+evening thereafter found himself re-established at his comfortable
+quarters at Meurice's.
+
+He changed his dress, dined, and ordered the files of English and French
+newspapers for the past week to be brought to him.
+
+He was interested only in political affairs when asking for the papers,
+and so he was quite as much astonished as grieved when his eyes fell upon
+this paragraph in the _Times_:
+
+"A painful rumor reaches us from Paris. It is to the effect that a
+certain young and lovely duchess, who made her _debut_ in English
+society as a bride only twelve months since, has left her home under the
+protection of a certain Polish count, attached to the Russian Embassy."
+
+Stricken to the soul with shame, the unhappy duke sank back in his chair
+and remained as one paralyzed for several minutes; then slowly recovering
+himself he took up other papers, one by one, to see if they too recorded
+his dishonor.
+
+Yes! each paper had its paragraph devoted to the one grand sensation of
+the day--the flight of the beautiful Duchess of Hereward with the young
+Russian count; and very few dealt with the deplorable case as delicately
+as the _Times_ had done.
+
+"So my dishonor is the talk of all Paris and London!" groaned the duke,
+dropping his head upon his chest. "If all the civilization of the
+nineteenth century had power to stay my arm in its vengeance, it has lost
+it now! And nothing is left for me to do but to kill the man and divorce
+the woman."
+
+There was a certain Colonel Morris, of the Tenth Hussars, staying at
+Paris on leave.
+
+The duke sat down at his writing-table and dashed off a hasty note to
+this compatriot, asking him to come to him immediately.
+
+Then he rang the bell and gave the note to his own groom, saying:
+
+"Take this to Colonel Morris, at the _Trois Freres_, and wait an
+answer."
+
+The man took the message, bowed and hurried away.
+
+The duke sank back in his chair with a deep sigh, and covered his face
+with his hands, and so awaited the return of his messenger.
+
+Half an hour crept slowly by, and then the groom came back, opened the
+door, and announced:
+
+"Colonel Morris."
+
+The gallant colonel entered the room, looking as little like the dead
+shot and notorious duellist he was reported to be, as any fine gentleman
+could.
+
+He was a tall, slight, fair and refined looking young man, exquisite in
+dress, soft in speech, and suave in manners.
+
+"You have guessed the reason why I have sent for you, Morris?" said the
+duke, advancing to meet him, and plunging into the middle of his subject.
+
+"Yes," murmured the colonel, sinking into the seat his host silently
+offered him.
+
+"You can go, Tompkins. I will ring when I want you," said the duke,
+throwing himself into his own chair.
+
+When the man had bowed himself out, and the duke and his visitor were
+left alone, the former said:
+
+"You know why I have sent for you here. Now what do you advise?"
+
+"You must blow out the man's brains and break the woman's heart," softly
+and sweetly replied the dandy duellist.
+
+"The question arises whether the man has any brains to blow out, or the
+woman any heart to break," grimly commented the duke. "However," he
+added, "you are right, Morris, I must kill the man--divorce the woman.
+You are with me?"
+
+"To the death," answered the _elegant_, in the same easy tone in
+which he ever uttered even the most ferocious words.
+
+"You will take my challenge?"
+
+"With much pleasure."
+
+"I wonder where the fellow is to be found. At the Russian Embassy,
+I suppose," observed the duke, as he turned to his writing-table.
+
+"No, not there. The Count de Volaski has withdrawn or been dismissed from
+the Embassy. It is not certainly known which. He is, meanwhile, at the
+Trois Freres. He has the honor of being my fellow-lodger," suavely
+observed the colonel.
+
+"There," said the duke, as he folded and directed his note, "no time
+should be lost in an affair of this sort. It is not yet ten o'clock. You
+may even deliver this challenge to-night, if you will be so kind."
+
+"Certainly," murmured the graceful colonel rising.
+
+"I leave everything absolutely in your hands. Make every arrangement you
+may think proper; I will agree to it all; and many thanks," said the
+duke, striving to maintain a calm exterior, while his spirit was troubled
+within him.
+
+"Expect me back to-night. I may be late, but I shall certainly report
+myself here," were the parting words of Colonel Morris as he left the
+room.
+
+The duke walked slowly up and down the floor for nearly half an hour, and
+then he sat down to his desk and employed some hours in writing letters
+to his family, friends and men of business in England.
+
+When he had completed his task he sealed and directed all these letters
+and locked them in his desk.
+
+At a quarter past twelve the colonel returned to the hotel, and
+immediately presented himself at the duke's apartments.
+
+He entered with a soft smile, and gently sank into a seat.
+
+"Well?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Well," cheerfully responded the second; "everything is pleasantly
+arranged. I had the good fortune of finding the count 'with himself,'
+as they say here. I explained my errand and delivered your missive. He
+read it and expressed his gratification at its reception, declaring that
+you had anticipated him by but a few hours, as he should certainly have
+called you out immediately upon hearing of your arrival in Paris."
+
+"The diabolical villain!" hotly exclaimed the duke.
+
+"He claimed the first right to the lady in question, and affirmed that it
+was your grace who had appropriated his wife--"
+
+"_O-h-h-h!_ when shall I have the opportunity of shooting him!"
+cried the duke.
+
+"By and by," soothingly responded the colonel. "He referred me to his
+friend, Baron Blowmonozoff, then staying at the same house."
+
+"Blowmonozoff! Yes, I know him. A very good fellow."
+
+"A gentleman, I think. Of course I went directly from the presence of the
+count to that of the baron, who received me with much politeness, and was
+so kind as to express the pleasure he should feel in negotiating with me
+the terms of so interesting a meeting."
+
+"And the terms, Colonel! What are they?"
+
+"I am coming to them. The meeting is to take place at sunrise in the wood
+of Vincennes. We are to leave here an hour before dawn, in order to be on
+the spot in time. The weapons are to be pistols; the distance ten paces.
+Other minor details will be arranged on the spot. We shall each take a
+surgeon. I have engaged Doctor Legare. We will call and pick him up on
+our way to the ground. And now all we have got to do is to ring for the
+English waiter here, and get him to send us some coffee before we go out.
+I will see to that also, as I have taken a room in the house, and intend
+to stay here to-night, so as to be up in time in the morning."
+
+"Thanks very much. You are really very good to take so much trouble,"
+said the duke, with some emotion.
+
+"No trouble, I assure you, duke; quite a pleasure," serenely answered the
+colonel.
+
+"My friend, I have left half a dozen letters locked up in my
+writing-desk. I shall hand the key of that desk to you as we go out.
+If I should fall, I hope you will take charge of the desk and see to
+the delivery of the letters at their proper addresses," said the duke,
+more gravely than he had spoken before.
+
+"Certainly, with much pleasure. Have you also made your will?" cheerfully
+inquired the colonel.
+
+"No," shortly replied the duke.
+
+"Then permit me to say that I think you should do so, by all means."
+
+"There is no need. My estates are all entailed. My personal property is
+not worth winning. The--duchess is provided by her own dower, which came
+out of her own property, I am thankful to say. No, there is no need of a
+will."
+
+"Then allow me to suggest that we ought to go to bed. It is now two
+o'clock. We must be up at five. We have just three hours to sleep,
+and--if you have no other commissions for me--I will retire," said the
+colonel, smoothly.
+
+"Many thanks. I believe there is nothing more to be said or done
+to-night," responded the duke, in a desponding tone--for it _cannot_
+be an exhilarating anticipation to have to get up in the morning and
+stand up to murder, or be murdered, even where the duellist is the
+bravest of men, backed by the serenest of seconds.
+
+"Then, since there is no further use for me this evening, I will say
+good-night and pleasant dreams," said the colonel, suavely, as he slid
+from the room.
+
+Good-night and pleasant dreams to a duellist on the eve of a duel!
+Was it a sarcasm on the colonel's part? By no means; it was only the
+manifestation of his habitual smooth politeness.
+
+The duke, left to himself, walked up and down the floor for a few
+minutes, and then rang for his valet to attend him, and retired to bed,
+leaving orders to be called at five o'clock in the morning.
+
+Though left in quietness, he could not compose himself to sleep, but
+tossed and tumbled from side to side, spending the most wakeful and the
+most miserable night he had ever known in the whole course of his life.
+The time seemed stretched out upon a rack of torture, until the four
+hours extended to forty; for from the moment he had lain down he had not
+slept an instant, until he was startled by a rap at his bedroom door, and
+the voice of his valet calling:
+
+"If you please, your grace, the clock has struck five; the coffee is
+ready, and the cab is at the door."
+
+"Then come in and dress me quickly," answered the duke, rising, as the
+prompt servant entered and handed a dressing-gown.
+
+The toilet of the duke was quickly made.
+
+When he passed into the next room, he found the breakfast table laid and
+the colonel waiting for him.
+
+"Good-morning, Duke. I hope you slept well. The day promises to be
+delightful. We have no time to lose, however, if we are to be on the
+ground at sunrise. Shall we have our coffee?" serenely inquired the
+second.
+
+"Certainly--Tompkins, touch the bell," replied the duke.
+
+The obedient valet rang, and a waiter entered with the breakfast-tray,
+which he set upon the table and proceeded to arrange.
+
+"Take this case of pistols down very carefully, and place it in the cab,
+and put in a railway rug also," quietly directed the colonel, after the
+waiter had completed the arrangement of the breakfast table.
+
+"What possible use can we make of a railway rug on such a mild morning as
+this?" gloomily inquired the duke.
+
+The colonel looked calmly at the questioner, and quietly replied:
+
+"To cover the body of the fallen man, whoever he may happen to be. I am
+so used to these affairs that I know what will be wanted beforehand.
+Shall we sit down to breakfast?"
+
+Now the duke was a courageous man, but he shuddered at the coolness of
+his second, as he assented.
+
+They sat down to the table and drank their coffee in silence.
+
+Then with the assistance of the obsequious Mr. Tompkins, they drew on
+light overcoats suitable to the autumnal morning, and went down stairs,
+caps and gloves in hand, and entered the carriage that was to take them
+to the appointed place.
+
+On their way they stopped at the Rue du Bains and took the surgeon who
+had been engaged to attend them.
+
+Dr. Legare was a young graduate who had just commenced practice, and was
+eager for the fray.
+
+He came into the carriage, bringing a rather ostentatious looking case of
+instruments and roll of bandages.
+
+On being introduced by the second, he bowed to the duke and took his
+seat.
+
+The carriage started again.
+
+It was yet dark.
+
+After an hour's ride they reached a quiet, solitary glade in the wood of
+Vincennes.
+
+The carriage drove up under some trees on one side.
+
+It was yet earliest morning, and the glade lay in the darksome, dewy
+freshness of the dawn. There was no living creature to be seen.
+
+"We are the first on the ground, as I always like to be," remarked
+Colonel Morris, as he alighted from the carriage, bearing the pistol-case
+in his hands.
+
+He was followed by the duke, who slowly came out, stood by his side and
+looked around.
+
+The young surgeon remained in the carriage in charge of his very
+suggestive and alarming instruments and appliances.
+
+"The sun is just rising," said the duke, as the first rays sparkled up
+above the rosy line of the eastern horizon.
+
+"And look, with dramatic precision, there are our men," cheerfully
+remarked the colonel, as a second carriage rolled into the glade and
+drew up under the trees at a short distance from the first.
+
+The carriage door was thrown open and the Russian Baron Blomonozoff came
+out--a thin, ferocious-looking little man, with a red face, encircled by
+a red beard and red hair, of all of which it would be difficult to say
+which was reddest.
+
+He was followed by the beautiful Adonis, the Count de Volaski, looking
+very fair and dainty, very languid and melancholy.
+
+The four gentlemen simultaneously raised their hats in courteous
+greeting; but no words passed between them then.
+
+The seconds advanced toward each other, and went apart to settle the
+final details of the meeting. They divided their duties equally.
+
+The colonel gave the pistol-case to the baron, who opened it and examined
+the weapons. The colonel stepped off the ten paces of ground, and the
+baron marked the positions to be taken by the antagonists.
+
+Then each went after his man and placed him in position. Then the Colonel
+took the case of pistols and placed it in the hands of the baron, who
+carried it to his principal, that the latter might take his choice of the
+pair of revolvers, in accordance with the terms of the meeting.
+
+The count took the first that came to hand. The baron carried back the
+case to the colonel, who placed the remaining weapon in the hands of the
+duke.
+
+The antagonists stood opposite each other in a line of ten paces running
+north and south, so that the sun was equally divided between them. The
+seconds stood opposite each other, in a line of six paces running east
+and west, across the line of their principals; so that the positions of
+the four men, as they stood, formed the four points of a diamond.
+
+They stood prepared for the mortal issue.
+
+A fatal catastrophe is always sudden and soon over.
+
+The final question was asked by the duke's second:
+
+"Gentlemen, are you ready?"
+
+"We are," responded both principals.
+
+"One--two--three--FIRE!" intoned the Russian baron.
+
+Two flashes, a simultaneous report, and the Count de Volaski leaped into
+the air and fell down, with a heavy thud, upon his face!
+
+The seconds hastened to raise the fallen man. The duke stood
+panic-stricken for an instant, and then followed them.
+
+The unfortunate count lay in a tumbled, huddled, shapeless heap, with his
+head bent under him. Not a drop of blood was to be seen on his person or
+clothing. The Russian baron raised him up. There was a gasp, a momentary
+flutter of the lips and eyelids, and all was still.
+
+The colonel hurried off to the carriage to call the surgeon.
+
+The duke stood gazing on his murdered foe, aghast at his own deed and
+feeling the brand of Cain upon his brow, notwithstanding that he had
+acted in accordance with the "code of honor."
+
+The surgeon came in haste with his box of instruments in his hands, and
+the roll of linen under his arm.
+
+He put these articles on the ground, and knelt down to examine his
+subject; for the body of the count was only a subject now, and not a
+patient.
+
+After a careful investigation, the surgeon arose and pronounced his
+verdict.
+
+"Shot through the heart: quite dead."
+
+The Duke of Hereward groaned aloud. None of his wrongs could have been
+such a calamity as this! None of his sufferings could have equalled in
+intensity of agony this appalling sense of blood-guiltiness!
+
+"Can _nothing_ be done?" he inquired, not with the slightest hope
+that anything could, but rather in the idiocy of utter despair.
+
+"Nothing. No medical skill can raise the dead," solemnly answered the
+surgeon.
+
+"One of you fellows can bring the railway rug out of our carriage. I knew
+it would be needed," said the serenely practical colonel.
+
+The count's servant started to obey.
+
+The duke groaned and turned away from the body of his fallen foe, upon
+which he could not endure longer to gaze.
+
+The Russian baron came up to him, and with the knightly courtesy of his
+caste and country, said:
+
+"Monseigneur may rest tranquil. Everything has been conducted in
+accordance with the most rigid rules of honor. The result has been
+unfortunate for my distinguished principal, but Monseigneur has nothing
+with which to reproach himself."
+
+"Thanks, Baron. You are kind to say so. Yet I would that I had never
+lived to see this day; or the worthless woman who has caused this
+catastrophe!" exclaimed the duke, as he walked hurriedly away and
+hid himself and his remorse in the inclosure of his own carriage.
+
+There he was soon joined by his serene second, who entered the carriage
+and gave the order to the coachman;
+
+"Drive to the Depot St. Lazare."
+
+"Why to the depot?" gloomily inquired the duke, as the coachman closed
+the door and remounted to his box.
+
+"Because we must get out of Paris--yes, and out of France also," calmly
+replied the colonel, sinking back in his seat as the cab drove off.
+
+"Who is looking after--after--"
+
+"The body? I left Legare to help Blomonozoff and his servant to remove
+it. We must get away. An arrest would not be pleasant."
+
+"No, no, certainly not; yet not on that account, but for the peace of my
+own spirit, I would to Heaven this had not happened!" exclaimed the duke.
+
+"Why? Everything went off most agreeably. Indeed, this was one of the
+most satisfactory meetings at which I ever assisted," said the colonel,
+comfortably.
+
+"I wish to Heaven it had never taken place! I would give my right hand to
+undo its own deed to-day--if that were possible!" groaned the homicide.
+
+"Why should you disturb yourself?--but perhaps this is your first affair
+of the kind?" calmly inquired the colonel.
+
+"My first and last! I do not know how any one can engage in a second one
+after feeling what it is to kill a man."
+
+"You feel so because it _is_ your first affair. You would not mind
+your second, and you would rather enjoy your third," suavely observed the
+colonel, who then drew a railway card from his pocket, examined it,
+looked at his watch, and said:
+
+"We shall be in time to catch the morning's express to Calais, and we may
+actually eat our dinners in London. When we arrive you can get some of
+your people to send a telegram to Tompkins, to order him to pay your
+hotel bill and bring your effects to London, or wherever else you may
+think of stopping."
+
+"Thanks for your counsel. I leave myself entirely in your hands," said
+the duke, with a half-suppressed sigh.
+
+They caught the express to Calais, connected with the Dover boat, and
+crossed the channel the same day. They ran up to London by the afternoon
+train, and arrived in good time for a dinner at "Morley's."
+
+Two telegrams were dispatched to Paris--one to the respectable Mr.
+Tompkins, with orders to pay bills and return with his master's effects;
+the other to the estimable Mr. Joyce, the groom of the colonel, with
+orders to perform the same services in behalf of his own employer.
+
+Then the principal and his second separated--the duke to go to his
+town-house in Piccadilly and the colonel to join his regiment, then
+stationed at Brighton.
+
+And as the extradition treaty had not at that day been thought of, both
+were perfectly safe.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+AFTER THE STORM.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward only remained in town until the arrival of his
+servants with his effects from Paris.
+
+He avoided looking at the newspapers, which, he knew, must contain
+exaggerated statements of the duel and its causes, if, indeed, any
+statement of such horrors could be exaggerated.
+
+On the third day after his arrival in London, he went down to Greencombe,
+a small family estate in a secluded part of Sussex, near the sea.
+
+Here he hid himself and his humiliations from the world.
+
+The primitive population around Greencombe had never seen the duke,
+or any of his family, who preferred to reside at Hereward Hold, in
+Devonshire, or their town-house in Piccadilly, leaving their small
+Sussex place in charge of a land-steward and a few old servants.
+
+They had never even heard of the marriage of the duke in Paris, much less
+the flight of the duchess, or the duel with Volaski.
+
+This neglect of his poor people at Greencombe had hitherto been a matter
+of compunction to the conscientious soul of the duke, but he now was
+satisfied with the course of conduct which had left them in total
+ignorance of himself and his unhappy domestic history.
+
+The duke and his fine servants were received with mingled deference,
+gladness and embarrassment by the aged and rustic couple who acted as
+land-steward and housekeeper at Greencombe, and who now bestirred
+themselves to make their unexpected master and his attendants
+comfortable.
+
+The duke gave orders that he should be denied to all visitors, though
+there was little likelihood of any calling upon him, except perhaps the
+vicar of Greencombe church.
+
+Here the duke vegetated until the meeting of Parliament, when he went up
+to London to institute proceedings for a divorce.
+
+At that time there was no divorce court, and little necessity for one.
+Divorces were to be obtained by act of Parliament only.
+
+The duke commenced proceedings immediately on his arrival in London. His
+case was a clear and simple one; there was no opposition; consequently he
+was soon, matrimonially considered a free man.
+
+The Duke of Hereward was now nearly fifty years of age. Life was
+uncertain, and the laws of succession very certain.
+
+If the present bearer of the coronet of Hereward should die childless,
+the title would not descend to the son of his only and beloved sister,
+but would go to a distant relative whom the duke hated.
+
+A speedy marriage seemed necessary.
+
+The duke looked around the upper circle of London society, and fixed upon
+the Lady Augusta Victoria McDugald, the eldest daughter of the Earl of
+Banff, and a woman as little like his unhappy first wife as it was
+Possible for her to be.
+
+"The daughter of an hundred earls" was tall and stately, cold and proud,
+embodying the child's or the peasant's very ideal of "a duchess."
+
+"Dukes," like monarchs, "seldom woo in vain."
+
+After a short courtship the duke proposed for the lady, and after a
+shorter engagement, married her.
+
+The newly-wedded pair went on a very unusually extended tour over Europe,
+into Asia and Africa, and then across the ocean and over North and South
+America.
+
+After twelve months spent in travel, they returned to England only that
+the anticipated heir of the dukedom might be born on the patrimonial
+estate of Hereward Hold.
+
+There was the utmost fulfillment of hope. The expected child proved to be
+a fine boy, who was christened for his father, Archibald-Alexander-John,
+by courtesy styled Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+Had the duke's mind been as free from remorse for his homicide as
+his heart was free from regret for his first love, he would have
+been as happy a man as he was a proud father; but ah! the sense of
+blood-guiltiness, although incurred in the duel, under the so-called
+"code of honor," weighed heavily upon his conscience, and over-shadowed
+all his joys.
+
+His duchess was a prolific mother, and brought him other sons and
+daughters as the years went by; but, as if some spell of fatality hung
+over the family, these children all passed away in childhood, leaving
+only the young Marquis of Arondelle as the sole hope of the great ducal
+house of Hereward.
+
+So the time passed in varied joys and sorrows, without bringing any
+tidings, good or bad, of the poor, lost girl who had once shared the
+duke's title and possessed his heart.
+
+He believed her to be as dead to the world as she was to him. And so he
+gradually forgot even that she had ever lived! She had long been "out of
+mind" as "out of sight."
+
+Fifteen years of married life had passed over the heads of the Duke and
+Duchess of Hereward.
+
+The duchess at thirty-five was still a very beautiful woman, a reigning
+belle, a leader of fashion, a queen of society.
+
+The duke at sixty-five was still a very handsome, stately and commanding
+old gentleman, with hair and beard as white as snow. He was a great
+political power in the House of Lords. Their son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle, was a fine boy of fourteen.
+
+It was very early summer in London. Parliament was in session, and the
+season was at its height.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were established in their magnificent
+town-house in Piccadilly.
+
+The Marquis of Arondelle was pursuing his studies at Eton.
+
+A memorable day was at hand for the duke.
+
+It was the morning of the first of June--a rarely brilliant and beautiful
+day for London.
+
+The duchess had gone down to a garden party at Buckingham Palace.
+
+The duke sat alone in his sumptuous library, whose windows overlooked the
+luxuriant garden, then in its fullest bloom and fragrance.
+
+The windows were open, admitting the fine, fresh air of summer, perfumed
+with the aroma of numberless flowers, and musical with the songs of many
+birds.
+
+The duke sat in a comfortable reading-chair, with an open book on its
+rotary ledge. He was not reading. The charm of external nature, appealing
+equally to sense and sentiment, won him from his mental task, and
+soothed him into a delicious reverie, during which he sat simply resting,
+breathing, gazing, luxuriating in the lovely life around him.
+
+In the midst of this clear sky a thunderbolt fell.
+
+A discreet footman rapped softly, and being told to enter, glided into
+the room, bearing a card upon a tiny silver tray, which he brought to his
+master.
+
+The duke took it, languidly glanced at it, knit his brows, and took up
+his reading-glass and examined it closely. No! his eyes had not deceived
+him. The card bore the name: ARCHBALD A. J. SCOTT.
+
+"Who brought this?" inquired the duke.
+
+"A young gentleman, sir," respectfully answered the footman.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"I showed him into the blue reception room, your grace."
+
+The duke paused a moment, gazing at the card, and then abruptly demanded:
+
+"What is the young man like?"
+
+"Most genteel, your grace; most like our young lord, and about his age,
+and dressed in the deepest mourning, your grace; and most particular
+anxious to see your grace."
+
+"I do not know the boy at all; do not know where he came from, nor what
+he wants; but he bears the family name, and looks like Arondelle," mused
+the duke, gazing at the card and knitting his brow.
+
+"I will see the young man. Show him up here," at length he said,
+abruptly.
+
+The footman bowed and withdrew.
+
+A few moments passed and the footman re-entered and announced:
+
+"Mr. Scott," and withdrew.
+
+The duke wheeled his chair around and looked at the visitor, who stood
+just within the door, bowing profoundly.
+
+The newcomer was a youth of about fifteen years of age, tall, slight and
+elegant in form; fair, blue-eyed and light-haired in complexion; refined,
+graceful and self possessed in manner; and faultlessly dressed in deep
+mourning; but! how amazingly like the duke's own son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle.
+
+The duke's short survey of his visitor seemed so satisfactory that he
+arose and advanced to meet him, saying kindly:
+
+"You wished particularly to see me, I understand, young gentleman. In
+what manner can I serve you?"
+
+The youth bowed again with the deepest deference, and said:
+
+"Thanks, your grace. I bring you a letter of introduction."
+
+"Sit down, young sir, sit down, and give me your letter," said the duke,
+pointing to a chair, and resuming his own seat. "Good Heaven, how like
+this boy's voice was to the voice of the young Marquis of Arondelle! Who
+could he be?" mused the duke, as he sat and waited the issue.
+
+The youth seated himself as directed, and seemed to hesitate, as if
+respectfully referring to his host's convenience.
+
+"Your letter of introduction, now, if you please, young sir," said the
+duke, at length.
+
+"Thanks; your grace. It's from my mother. She--" Here the boy's voice
+faltered and broke down; but he soon, recovered it and resumed: "She
+wrote it on her death-bed--on the very day she died. Here it is, your
+grace."
+
+The duke took the letter and held it gravely in his fingers while he
+gazed upon the orphaned boy with sympathy and compassion in every
+lineament of his fine face, saying, slowly and seriously:
+
+"Ah! that is very, very sad. You have lost your mother, my boy; and if I
+judge correctly from the circumstance of your coming to me, you have lost
+your father also. I hope, however, I am wrong."
+
+"Your grace is right. I have lost my father also. I lost him first, so
+long ago that I have no memory of him. I have no relatives at all. That
+is the reason why my dear mother, on her death-bed, gave me that letter
+of introduction to your grace, who used to know her, so that I might not
+be without friends as well as without relatives," modestly replied the
+youth.
+
+"Ah! I see! I see! And she wrote this letter on her death-bed, which
+gives it a grave importance. I must therefore pay the more respect to it.
+The wishes of the dying should be considered sacred," said the duke, as
+he adjusted his glass and looked at the letter, wondering who the writer
+could be and what claims she could possibly have on him; but feeling too
+kindly toward the orphan-boy to let such thought betray itself.
+
+He scrutinized the handwriting of the letter. He could not recognize the
+faint, scratchy, uncertain characters as anything he had ever seen
+before. After all, the whole thing might be an imposture, and he himself
+an exceedingly great dupe, to suffer his feelings to be enlisted by a
+perfect stranger, merely because that stranger happened to be a
+counterpart of his own idolized boy Arondelle.
+
+Still dallying with the note, he looked again at the youth, and as he
+looked, his confidence in him revived. No boy of such a noble countenance
+could possibly be an impostor. He might have satisfied himself at once,
+by opening the note and reading the signature; but from some occult
+reason that even he could not have given, he held it in his hands for
+a few moments longer, as if it contained some oracle he dreaded to
+discover. At length he broke the seal and looked at the signature.
+It was a faint maze of scratches, so difficult to decipher that he gave
+it up in despair, and turning to the boy, said:
+
+"Your name is Scott, young sir?"
+
+"Yes, your grace--a very common name," modestly replied the youth.
+
+"It is ours also" added the duke with a smile.
+
+"I beg your grace's pardon," said the boy, with some embarrassment.
+
+"No offence, young sir. Your mother's name was also Scott, I presume?"
+
+"Yes, your grace; my mother never re-married."
+
+"Ah," said the duke, and he turned the letter for the first page, and
+commenced its perusal.
+
+And then--
+
+Reader! If the Duke of Hereward's hair had not already been white with
+age, it must have turned as white as snow with amazement and horror as he
+read the astounding disclosures of that dying woman's letter!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+FATHER AND SON.
+
+
+The first part of the letter was written in a much clearer chirography
+than the latter, where it grew fainter and more irregular as it
+proceeded, until at last, in the signature, it was so nearly illegible
+as to baffle the ingenuity of the reader to decipher it; as if, in the
+course of her task, the strength of the dying writer had grown weaker and
+weaker, until at the end the pen must have fallen from her failing hand.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, who could not make out the name at the bottom of
+the letter, at once recognized the handwriting at the top, and knew that
+his correspondent from the dead was his lost wife, Valerie de la Motte.
+
+He grew cold with the chill of an anticipated horror; but with that
+supreme power of self-control which was as much a matter of constitution
+as of education with him, he suppressed all signs of emotion, and
+courteously apologized to his visitor, saying:
+
+"Excuse me, young sir; my eyes are not so good as they were some twenty
+years ago, and I must turn to the light," and he deliberately wheeled his
+chair around so as to bring his face entirely out of range of his
+visitor's sharp vision, while he should read the fatal letter, which
+was as follows:
+
+"SAN VITO, ITALY, MARCH 1st, 18--
+
+"DUKE OF HEREWARD: This paper will be handed you by
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, my son and yours.
+
+"This news will startle you, if you have not already been sufficiently
+startled by the living likeness of the boy to yourself, and by the
+electric chain of memory which will bring before you the weeks
+immediately preceding our separation, when you yourself had suspicions
+of my condition, and hopes of becoming a father. Those fond hopes were
+destined to be fulfilled by me, but doomed to be ruined by you.
+
+"Yes, Duke of Hereward, your son stands before you, strong, healthy,
+beautiful, perfect as ever wife bore to her husband; yet denied,
+delegalized, and defrauded by you, his father!
+
+"If you are inclined still to deny him, turn and look upon him, as he
+stands, and you can no longer do so. If you want further proof, find it
+in these circumstances: That this letter is written, and these statements
+are made by a dying woman, with the immediate prospect of eternity and
+its retribution before her.
+
+"But on one point be at ease before you read farther; the boy does not
+know who his father is, and therefore does not know how grievously, how
+irretrievably you wronged him by divorcing his mother and delegalizing
+him before his birth. I would not put enmity between father and son by
+telling him anything about it. _He_ thinks that his father is dead,
+and I have never undeceived him. He has heard of you only as one who was
+a friend of his mother, and who, for her sake, may become the friend of
+her son. It must be for you to decide whether to leave him in this
+ignorance or to tell him the truth.
+
+"Perhaps you will ask why I have concealed your son's existence from you
+up to this time. I will tell you; but in order to do so clearly, I must
+refer to those last few weeks spent with you in Paris before our
+separation.
+
+"Remember the ball at the British Embassy, to which you persuaded me to
+go, and where I met, unexpectedly the Count de Volaski, my secretly
+married husband, supposed to be dead; remember my illness that followed!
+and how earnestly I tried to avoid him, an effort that was totally
+useless, because he, considering that he possessed the only rightful
+claim to my society, constantly sought me, and you, ignorant of all his
+antecedents, constantly helped him to see me.
+
+"My position was degrading, agonizing, intolerable. I found myself,
+though guiltless of any intentional wrong-doing, in the horrible dilemma
+of a wife with two living husbands.
+
+"Yes, by the laws of love and nature, justice and the church, I was the
+wife of Waldemar de Volaski; by the laws of France and England, I was the
+wife of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"The discovery shocked, confused, and, perhaps, unsettled my reason. At
+first I knew not what to do. I prayed for death. I contemplated suicide.
+At length, I thought I saw a way out of my dreadful dilemma. It was to
+escape and to live apart from both forever.
+
+"So also thought the Count de Volaski. I consulted with him. I dared not
+confess to you the secret that my parents had compelled me to conceal so
+long. Volaski would have told you, but I would not consent that he should
+do so, until I should be safe out of the house; for I could not have
+borne, after such confession, to have met you again; and again, under any
+circumstances, I preferred that I myself should be your informant. I
+determined to leave yon, and to live apart from both, as the only life of
+peace and honor possible for me, and to write you a letter confessing the
+whole truth, as an explanation of my course of conduct. I thought that
+you would understand and pity me, and leave me to my fate.
+
+"I did _not_ think that you would disbelieve my statement, publish my
+flight, and blast my reputation by a divorce.
+
+"I was never false to you in thought, word or deed.
+
+"Volaski was not my lover; he was my sternest mentor. He came to the
+house during your absence; not for the pleasure of seeing me, for he took
+no pleasure in my society; he came to arrange with me the programme of my
+departure; an angel of purity or a demon of malice might have been
+present at our interviews, and seen nothing to grieve the first or please
+the last.
+
+"I was ill and nervous and fearful; I could not travel alone, and
+therefore Volaski went with me, and took care of me; but it was the
+care a pitiless gend'arme would have taken of a convicted criminal. It
+was a care that only hurried me to my destination, my chosen place of
+exile--San Vito--and which left me on the day of my arrival there. I have
+never seen him since. And now let me say and swear on the Christian faith
+and hope of a dying woman--that--from the moment I met Count Waldemar de
+Volaski at the British embassy, to the moment I parted with him at San
+Vito, he never once came so near me as even to kiss my hand--a courtesy
+that any gentleman might have shown without blame. You may not believe me
+now; that you did not believe me before was your great misfortune, and
+mine, and our son's.
+
+"A week after Volaski had left me you followed us and traced us to San
+Vito. I heard of your visit and trembled; for, though really guiltless,
+I felt that to meet your eye would seem worse than death. Fortunately
+for us both, perhaps, you declined to see me and went away.
+
+"The next news that I heard was of the duel in which you had killed
+Volaski. I should scarcely have believed in his death this time, had not
+a packet been forwarded to me, through his second. This packet contained
+a letter that he had written to me on the eve of the duel, and with a
+presentiment of death overshadowing him. In this letter he said that in
+death he claimed me again as his wife, and bequeathed to me, as to his
+widow, all that he had the power to leave, his personal property, and he
+took a last solemn farewell of me.
+
+"In the packet, besides, was his will and other documents necessary to
+put me in possession of his bequest, and also a great number of valuable
+jewels.
+
+"These, together with my own small dower, have made me independent for
+life.
+
+"It will show how perfectly palsied was my heart when I tell you that
+I could not feel either horror of crime, grief for Volaski's death, or
+gratitude for his bequest.
+
+"I could feel nothing.
+
+"Days and weeks passed in this apathy of despair, from which I was at
+length painfully aroused by a most shocking discovery.
+
+"Madelena, my hostess, who tenderly watched over my health had her
+suspicions aroused, and put some motherly questions to me, and when I had
+answered them she startled me with the announcement that in a very few
+months I should become a mother.
+
+"This news, so joyful to most good women, only filled my soul with
+sorrow and dismay. It seemed to complicate my difficulties beyond all
+possibility of extrication.
+
+"Lena, poor woman, who had never heard of my marriage with the Duke of
+Hereward, but had known me as the wife of the Count de Volaski, believed
+that all my distress was caused by the prospect of becoming the mother of
+a fatherless child, and bent all her energies to try to comfort me with
+the assurance that this motherhood would be the greatest blessing of my
+lonely life.
+
+"Ah! how willing would I have confided the whole truth to this good woman
+if I had dared to do so! It will show how timid I had grown when I assure
+you that I, a faithful daughter of the church, had not even ventured to
+go to confession once since my arrival in Italy.
+
+"Now, Duke of Hereward, attend to my words! Had you been less bitterly
+incredulous of my statements, less cruel in your judgment of me, less
+murderous in your vengeance upon one much more sinned against than
+sinning, I should have ventured to write to you of my condition and my
+prospect of giving you an heir to your dukedom, in time to prevent your
+rash and fatal act by which you unconsciously delegalized your own
+lawful son!
+
+"But your murderous cruelty had left me in a state of stupor from which
+I could not rally.
+
+"Night after night I resolved to write to you. Day after day I tried to
+carry my resolution into effect. Time after time I failed through fear
+of you!
+
+"At length I persuaded myself that there was no immediate necessity for
+action on my part. I might defer writing to you until the arrival of my
+child. That child might prove to be a girl, who could not be your heir,
+and, therefore, could not be an object of momentous importance to you; or
+it might die. Either of which circumstance would relieve me from the
+painful duty of opening a correspondence with you; or I myself might
+perish in the coming trial, when the duty of communicating the facts to
+you would devolve upon some one whom I would appoint with my dying
+breath.
+
+"These were the causes of my fatal delay in writing to you.
+
+"At length the time arrived. On the fifth of April, just five months
+after our separation. I became the mother of a fine, healthy, beautiful
+boy. He brought with him the mother-love that is Heaven's first gift to
+the child. I loved my son as I never loved a human being before. I _had_
+prayed for death; but as I clasped my first-born to my bosom, I asked
+pardon for that sinful prayer, thanked the Lord that I had lived through
+my trial, and besought him still to spare my life for my boy's sake. From
+that day forth I was able to pray and to give thanks. I resolved that my
+first act of recovery should be to go to the church and make my
+confession to the good father there, gain my absolution, and then write
+and inform you of the birth of your heir, the infant Earl of Arondelle,
+for such I knew was even then the baby boy's title! With these fond hopes
+I rapidly recovered. "Perfect love casteth out fear." Mother-love had
+cast out from my soul all fear of you. I thought that you would feel so
+rejoiced at the news of the birth of your son, your heir, and so fine a
+boy, that even for his sake you would forgive his mother, supposing that
+you should still think you had anything to forgive.
+
+"In the midst of my vain dreaming a thunderbolt fell upon me!
+
+"My boy was six weeks old. I had not yet left the house to carry out any
+of my happy resolutions, when my good Madelena entered my room and
+brought two large parcels of English papers, such as were sent me monthly
+by my London correspondent. She told me that the first parcel had arrived
+during my confinement to my bed, and that she had laid it away and
+forgotten all about it until this day, when the arrival of the second
+parcel had reminded her of it, and now she had brought them both, and
+hoped I would excuse her negligence in not having remembered to bring the
+first parcel sooner. I readily and even hastily excused her, for I was
+anxious to get rid of my good hostess and read my files of papers.
+
+"As any one else would have done under the like circumstances, I opened
+the last parcel first, and selected the latest paper to begin with. It
+was the London _Times_ of April 7th. As I opened it, a short, marked
+paragraph caught my eyes.
+
+"Judge of my consternation when I read the notice of your marriage with
+the Lady Augusta McDugald!
+
+"The letters ran together on my vision, the room whirled around with me,
+all grew dark, and I lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses I
+found myself in bed, with Madelena and several of her kind neighbors in
+attendance upon me. Many days passed before I was able to look again at
+the file of English newspapers.
+
+"You had married again! you had married just one week before the birth of
+my son! But under what circumstances had you married? Did you suppose me
+to be dead, and that my death had set you free? Or--oh, horror! had you
+dragged my name before a public tribunal, and by lying _facts_--for
+facts do often lie--had you branded me with infidelity, and repudiated me
+by divorce?
+
+"Such were the questions that tormented me, until I was able to examine
+the file of English newspapers, and find out from them; for, as before,
+I would not have taken any one into my confidence by getting another to
+read the papers for me, even if I could have found any one in that rural
+Italian neighborhood capable of reading English.
+
+"At length, one morning, I sent for the papers, and began to look them
+over, and I found--merciful Heaven! what I feared to find--the full
+report of our divorce trial! found myself held up to public scorn and
+execration, the reproach of my own sex--the contempt of yours! Found
+myself, in short, convicted and divorced from you, upon the foulest
+charge that can be brought upon a woman! Guiltless as I was! wronged as
+I had been! wishing only to live a pure and blameless life, as I did!
+
+"Oh! the intolerable anguish of the days that followed! But for my baby
+boy, I think I should have died, or maddened!
+
+"In my worst paroxysms, good Madelena would come and take up my baby and
+lay him on my bosom, and whisper, that no doubt, though his handsome
+young father had gone to Heaven, it was all for the best; and we too,
+if we were good, would one day meet him there, or words to that effect.
+
+"Surely angels are with children, and their presence makes itself felt
+in the comfort children bring to wounded hearts.
+
+"One day, in a state bordering on idiocy, I think, I examined and
+compared dates, in the sickening hope that my darling boy might have been
+born before the decree of divorce had been pronounced, and thus be the
+heir of his father's dukedom, notwithstanding all that followed.
+
+"But, ah! that faint hope also was destined to die! The dates, compared,
+stood thus:
+
+"The decree of divorce was pronounced February 13th, 18--.
+
+"The marriage between yourself and Lady Augusta McDugald was solemnized
+April 1st, 18--.
+
+"My boy was born April 15th, 18--.
+
+"Yes, you divorced the guiltless mother two months, and married another
+woman two weeks, before the birth of your innocent boy.
+
+"You cruelly and unjustly disowned, disinherited, and even delegalized,
+and degraded your son before he was born! So that your son was not born
+in wedlock, could not bear your name, or inherit your title! And this
+misfortune came upon him by no fault of his, or of his most unhappy
+mother's but by the jealousy, vengeance, and fatal rashness of his
+father! And now there was no help, either in law or equity, for the
+dishonored boy.
+
+"This, Duke of Hereward, is the ruin you have wrought in his life, in
+mine, and in yours.
+
+"Do you wonder that when I realized it all I fell into a state of despair
+deeper than any I had ever yet known?--a despair that was characterized
+by all who saw it as melancholy madness.
+
+"My dear boy, who was at first such a comfort to me, was now only a
+beloved sorrow! When I held him to my bosom, I thought of nothing but
+his bitter, irreparable wrongs.
+
+"I do not know how long I had continued to live in this despairing and
+heathenish condition, when one day, in harvest time, Madelena brought
+good Father Antonio to see me. This Father Antonio was the priest of the
+chapel of Santa Maria, who had performed the marriage ceremony between
+Waldemar de Volaski and myself.
+
+"The father also naturally supposed that all my grief was for the death
+of my child's father. He began in a gentle, admonitory way to rebuke me
+for inordinate affection and sinful repining, and to remind me of the
+comfort and strength to be found in the spirit of religion and the
+ordinances of the Church.
+
+"My heart opened to the good old priest as it had never opened to a
+living man or even woman before.
+
+"Then and there I told him the whole secret history of my life, including
+every detail of my two unhappy marriages, and the fatal divorce preceding
+the birth of my son. I concealed nothing from him. I told him all, and
+felt infinitely relieved when I had done so.
+
+"The gentle old man dropped tears of pity over me, and sat in silent
+sympathy some time before he ventured to give me any words.
+
+"At length he arose and said:
+
+"'Child, I must go home and pray for wisdom before I can venture to
+counsel you.'
+
+"'Bless me, then, holy father.'
+
+"He laid his venerable hands upon my bowed head, raised his eyes to
+Heaven, and invoked upon me the divine benediction, of which I stood so
+much in need.
+
+"Then he silently passed from the room.
+
+"That night I slept in peace.
+
+"The next day the good old man came to me again.
+
+"He told me that my first marriage with Waldemar de Volaski was my only
+true marriage, indissoluble by anything but death, however invalid in law
+it might be pronounced by those who were interested in breaking it.
+
+"That my second marriage contracted with the Duke of Hereward during the
+life of my first husband, was sacrilegious in the eyes of religion and
+the church, however legal it might be considered by the laws of England
+or of France, and pardonable in me only on account of my ignorance at the
+time of the continued existence of my first husband.
+
+"That the desperate step I had taken of leaving the Duke of Hereward,
+upon the discovery of the existence of Waldemar de Volaski, was the right
+and proper course for me to pursue; but that he regretted I had not
+possessed the moral courage to tell the duke the whole story, for he had
+that much right to my confidence.
+
+"As for the divorce I so much lamented, it was to be regretted only for
+the sake of the son whom it had outlawed, for he was the son of a lawful
+marriage in the eyes of the world, if not a sacred one in the eyes of the
+church.
+
+"For the boy thus cruelly wronged there seemed no opening on earth. He
+was disowned, disinherited, delegalized, deprived even of a name in this
+world. All earth was closed against him.
+
+"But all Heaven was open to him. The church, Heaven's servant, would open
+her arms to receive the child the world had cast out. The church in
+baptism would give him a name and a surname; would give him an education
+and a mission. I must, like Hannah of old, devote my son, even from his
+childhood up, to the service of the altar, and the church would do the
+rest.
+
+"How comforted I was! I had something still to live for! My outcast son
+would be saved. He could not inherit his father's titles and estates; he
+could not be a duke, but he would be a holy minister of the Lord; he
+might live to be a prince of the church, an archbishop or a cardinal.
+
+"Foolish ambition of a still worldly mother you may think. Yes! but he
+was her only son, and she was worse than widowed.
+
+"I agreed to all the good priest said. I promised to dedicate my son to
+the service of the altar.
+
+"The next Sunday I went to the chapel of Santa Maria and had my child
+christened. I gave him in baptism the full name of his father. Beppo and
+Madelena stood as his sponsors. They told me St. John would be his patron
+saint.
+
+"I rallied from my torpor. I built a roomy cottage in a mountain dell
+near the chapel of Santa Maria, furnished it comfortably, and moved into
+it, and engaged an Italian nurse and housekeeper, for I had resolved to
+pass my life among the simple, kindly people who were the only friends
+misfortune had left me.
+
+"Another trial awaited me--a light one, however, in comparison to those
+I had suffered and outlived.
+
+"This trial came when my son was but little over a year old, and I had
+been about six months in the "Hermitage," as I called my new home.
+
+"One morning I received a file of English papers for the month of May
+just preceding. In the papers of the first week in May I saw announced
+the birth of your son, called the infant Marquis of Arondelle, and the
+heir. I read of the great rejoicings in all your various seats throughout
+the United Kingdom, and the congratulations of royalty itself, upon this
+auspicious event. I clasped my disinherited son to my bosom and wept the
+very bitterest tears I had ever shed in my life.
+
+"Later on I read in the papers for the last of May a graphic account of
+the grand pageantry of the christening, which took place at St. Peter's,
+Euston Square, where an archbishop performed the sacred rites and a royal
+duke stood sponsor, and of the great feastings and rejoicings in hall and
+hut on every estate of yours throughout the kingdom. I thought of my
+disowned boy's humble baptism in the village church by the country
+priest, where two kind-hearted peasants stood sponsors for him, and I
+wept myself nearly blind that night.
+
+"The next day I went to the little church and told the good father there
+all about it. He understood and sympathized with me, counselled and
+comforted me as usual.
+
+"He admonished me that to escape from the wounds of the world, I must not
+only forsake the world, as I had done, but forget the world as I had not
+done; to forget the world I must cease to search and inquire into its
+sayings and doings; and he advised me to write and stop all my
+newspapers, which only brought me news to disturb my peace of mind.
+
+"I followed the direction of my wise guide. I wrote immediately and
+stopped all my newspapers.
+
+"After that I devoted myself to the nurture of my child, to the care
+of my little household, to the relief of my poorer neighbors, and to the
+performance of my religious duties; and time brought me resignation and
+cheerfullness.
+
+"From that day to this, Duke of Hereward, I have never once seen your
+name printed or written, and never once heard it breathed. You may have
+passed away from earth, for aught I know to the contrary; though I hope
+and believe that you have not.
+
+"My boy throve finely. The good priest of Santa Maria took charge of his
+education for the first twelve years of the pupil's life, made of him,
+even at that early age, a good Latin and Greek scholar, and a fair
+mathematician; and would have prepared him to enter one of the German
+Universities, had not the summons come that cut short the good father's
+work on earth, and carried him to his eternal home.
+
+"It was soon after the loss of this kind friend, who had been the strong
+prop of my weakness, the wise counsellor of my ignorance, that my own
+health began to fail. The seeds of pulmonary consumption, inherited from
+my mother, began to develop, and nothing could arrest their progress. For
+the last three years I have been an invalid, growing worse and worse
+every year. Perhaps in no other climate, under no other treatment, could
+I have lived so long as I have been permitted to live here by the help of
+the pure air and the grape cure.
+
+"My boy, now fifteen years of age, is everything that I could wish him to
+be, except in one respect. He will not consent to enter the church. He
+wants to be a soldier, poor lad! Well, we cannot coerce him into a life
+of sanctity and self-denial. Such a life must always be a voluntary
+sacrifice. Neither do I wish to cross him, now that I am on my death-bed
+and doomed so soon to leave him.
+
+"In these last days on earth, lying on my dying bed, travailing for his
+good, it has come to me like an inspiration that I must send him to his
+father. I must not leave him friendless in the world. And now that the
+priest Antonio has long passed away, and I am so soon to follow, he will
+have no friends except these poor, helpless Italian peasants among whom
+he has been reared. Therefore I must send him, in the hope that you will
+recognize him by his exact likeness to yourself, and prove his identity
+as your son, by all the testimony you can be sure to gather in Paris and
+at San Vito. I have written this long letter, in the intervals between
+pain and fever, during the last few weeks.
+
+"Yesterday, my faithful physician warned me that my days on earth had
+dwindled down to hours; that I might pass away at any moment now, and
+had therefore best attend to any necessary business that I might wish
+to settle.
+
+"This warning admonishes me to finish and close my letter. I end as I
+began, by swearing to you, by all the hopes of salvation in a dying
+woman, that Archibald Scott is your own son. You can prove this to your
+own satisfaction by coming to San Vito and examining the church register
+as to the dates of his birth, baptism, and so forth; by which you will
+find that he was born just five months after I left your roof, and just
+six months after our return from our long yachting cruise, and the
+renewal of my acquaintance with Count de Volaski, at the British
+minister's dinner. You see, by these circumstances, there cannot be
+even the shadow of a doubt as to his true parentage.
+
+"I repeat, that I have not told the boy the secret of his birth; to have
+done so might have been to have embittered his mind against you, and I
+would not on my death-bed do anything to sow enmity between father and
+son.
+
+"I leave to yourself to tell him, if you should ever think proper to do
+so, and with what explanations you may please to add.
+
+"I have constituted you his sole guardian, and trustee of the moderate
+property I bequeath him. He wishes to enter the army, and he will have
+money sufficient to purchase a commission and support himself respectably
+in some good regiment. I hope that when the proper time comes you will
+forward his ambition in this direction.
+
+"And so I leave him in your hands, for my feeble strength fails, and I
+can only add my name.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+HER SON.
+
+
+The last lines of this sad letter were almost illegible in their
+faintness and irregularity; and the tangled skein of light scratches that
+stood proxy for a signature could never have been deciphered by the skill
+of man.
+
+The Duke of Hereward had grown ten years older in the half hour he
+had spent in the perusal of this fatal letter. He was no longer only
+sixty-five years of age, and a "fine old English gentleman;" he seemed
+fully seventy-five years old, and a broken, decrepit, ruined man. In
+fact, the first blow had fallen upon that fine intellect whose subsequent
+eccentricities gained for him the sobriquet of the mad duke.
+
+The hand that held the fatal letter fell heavily by his side; his head
+drooped upon his chest; he did not move or speak for many minutes.
+
+His young visitor watched him with curiosity and interest that gradually
+grew into anxiety. At length he made a motion to attract the duke's
+attention--dropped a book upon the floor, picked it up, and arose to
+apologize.
+
+The duke started as from a profound reverie, sighed heavily, passed his
+handkerchief across his brow, and finally wheeled his chair around, and
+looked at his visitor.
+
+No! there could be no question about it; the boy was the living image of
+what he himself had been at that age, as all his portraits could prove!
+and his eldest son, his rightful heir, stood before him, but forever and
+irrecoverably disinherited and delegalized by his own rash and cruel act.
+
+The young man stood up as if naturally waiting to hear what the duke
+might have to say about his mother's letter.
+
+But the duke did not immediately allude to the letter.
+
+"Where are you stopping, my young friend?" he asked, in as calm a voice
+as he could command.
+
+"At 'Langhams,' your grace," respectfully answered the youth.
+
+"Very well. I will call and see you at your rooms to-morrow at eleven,
+and we will talk over your mother's plans and see what can be done for
+you," said the duke, as he touched the bell, and sank back heavily in his
+chair.
+
+The young man understood that the interview was closed, and he was about
+to take his leave, when the door opened and a footman appeared.
+
+"Truman, attend this young gentleman to the breakfast-room, and place
+refreshments before him. I hope that you will take something before you
+go, sir," said the duke, kindly.
+
+"Thanks. I trust your grace will permit me to decline. It is scarce two
+hours since I breakfasted," said the boy, with a bow.
+
+"As you please, young sir," answered the duke.
+
+The youth then bowed and withdrew, attended by the footman.
+
+The duke watched them through the door, listened to their retreating
+steps down the hall, and then threw his clasped hands to his head,
+groaning:
+
+"Great Heaven! What have I done? What foul injustice to her, what cruel
+wrong to him. I thank her that she has never told him! I can never do so!
+Nay, Heaven forbid that he should ever even suspect the truth! Nor must I
+ever permit him to come here again; or to any house of mine, where the
+duchess, where _his brother_, where every servant even must see the
+likeness he bears to the family, and--discover, or, at least, suspect
+the secret!"
+
+Meanwhile the youth, respectfully attended by the footman, left the
+house.
+
+As he entered his cab that was waiting at the door, a bitter, bitter
+change passed over his fine face; the fair brow darkened, the blue eyes
+contracted and glittered, the lips were firmly compressed for an instant,
+and then he murmured to himself:
+
+"That they should think a secret like this could be buried, concealed
+from me, the most interested of all to find it out! Was ever son so
+accursed as I am? Other sons have been disinherited, outlawed--but I!
+I have been delegalized and degraded from my birth!"
+
+The fine mouth closed with a spasmodic jerk, the brow grew darker, the
+eyes glittered with intenser fire. He resumed:
+
+"It will be difficult, if not impossible, but I will be restored to my
+rights, or I will ruin and exterminate the ducal house of Hereward! I am
+the eldest son of my father; the only son of his first marriage. I am the
+heir not only of my father, but of the seven dukes and twenty barons that
+preceded him, to whom their patent of nobility was granted, to them and
+_their heirs forever_! 'Their heirs forever!' It was granted,
+therefore, to _me_ and to all of _my_ direct line! Each baron
+and duke had but his life-interest in his barony or dukedom, and could
+not alienate it from his heirs by will. It was an infamous, a fraudulent
+subterfuge to divorce my poor mother, and so delegalize me a few months
+before my birth. But--I will bide my time! This false heir may die. Such
+things do happen. And then, as there is no other heir to his title and
+estates, _my father_ may acknowledge his eldest son, and try to undo
+the evil he has done. But if this should not happen, or if my father, who
+is old, should die, and this false heir inherit, _then_ I will spend
+every shilling I have inherited from my mother to gain my own. I will
+have my rights, though I convict my father of a fraudulent conspiracy,
+and it requires an act of Parliament to effect my restoration! And if,
+after all, this wrong cannot be righted--although it can be abundantly
+proved that I am the only son of my father's first marriage, and the
+rightful heir of his dukedom, if, after all, I cannot be restored to my
+position, I will prove the mortal enemy of the race of Scott, and the
+destruction of the ducal house of Hereward. Meanwhile I must watch and
+wait; use this old man as my friend, who will not acknowledge himself as
+my father!"
+
+These bitter musings lasted until the cab drew up before Langham's Hotel,
+and the youth got out and went into the house.
+
+The boy, wrong in many instances, was right in this, that the secret of
+his birth could not be concealed from him.
+
+His poor mother had never divulged it to him, never meant him to know
+that, the knowledge of which, she thought, would only make him unhappy;
+but she had told no falsehoods, put forth no false showing to hide it
+irrecoverably from him.
+
+She was known among her poor Italian neighbors as Signora Valeria, and
+supposed by them to be the widow of that handsome young Pole to whom they
+had seen her married, and from whom they had seen her torn by her father,
+some years before. Of the Duke of Hereward, her second husband, and of
+her divorce from him, they knew nothing. But she was known to her
+father-confessor, to her news-agent, and later to her son, as Valerie de
+la Motte Scott, for though no longer entitled to bear the latter name,
+she had tacitly allowed it to cling to her.
+
+Now as to how the boy discovered the secret that was designed to be
+concealed from him.
+
+When with childish curiosity he had inquired, his mother had told him
+that he had lost his father in infancy; and the boy understood that the
+loss was by death: but as time passed, and the lad questioned more
+particularly concerning his parentage, his mother, in repeating that he
+had lost his father in infancy, added that the loss had been attended
+with distressing circumstances, and begged him to desist in his
+inquiries. This only stimulated the interest and curiosity of the
+youth, and kept him on the _qui vive_ for any word, or look, or
+circumstance that might give him a clew to the mystery. And thus it
+followed that with a mother so simple and unguarded as Valerie, and a
+son so cunning and watchful as Archibald, the secret she wished to keep
+be soon discovered. But he kept his own counsel for the sake of gaining
+still more information. And, at length, the full revelation and
+confirmation of all that he had suspected came to him in a manner and
+by means his mother had never foreseen or provided against.
+
+Valerie had made a will leaving all her property to her son, and
+appointing the Duke of Hereward as his guardian. After her death, all her
+papers and other effects had to be overhauled and examined and her son
+took care to read every paper that he was free to handle. Among these was
+a copy of the will of the late Waldemar de Volaski, by which he
+bequeathed to Valerie de la Motte Scott, Duchess of Hereward, all his
+personal property.
+
+Here was both a revelation and a mystery! Valerie de la Motte Scott, his
+most unhappy mother, Duchess of Hereward! and his guardian, appointed by
+her--the Duke of Hereward!
+
+Who was the Duke of Hereward? That he was a great English nobleman was
+evident! But aside from that, who and what was he?
+
+The boy was in a fever of excitement. It was of no use to ask any of his
+poor Italian neighbors, for they knew less than he did. He had heard of a
+mammoth London annual, called _Burke's Peerage_, which would tell
+all about the living and dead nobility; but there was no copy of it
+anywhere in reach.
+
+However, his mother's dying directions had been that he should proceed at
+once to England, and report himself to his guardian, that very Duke of
+Hereward so mysteriously connected with his destiny.
+
+Intense curiosity stimulating him, he hurried his departure, and after
+traveling day and night arrived in London on the evening of the last day
+of May.
+
+He waited only to engage a room at Langham's and change his dress, and
+partake of a slight luncheon, before he ordered a cab, drove to the
+nearest bookstore, and purchased a copy of _Burke's Peerage_ for
+that current year.
+
+As soon as he found himself alone in his cab again, he tore the paper off
+the book and eagerly turned to the article Hereward, and read:
+
+"Hereward, Duke of--Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis and Earl of
+Arondelle in the peerage of England, Viscount Lone and Baron Scott in the
+peerage of Scotland, and a baronet; born Jan. 1st, 1795; succeeded his
+father as seventh duke, Feb. 1st, 1840; married, March 15th 1845,
+Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la Motte; divorced from her grace
+Feb. 13, 1846; married secondly, April 1st, 1846, Lady Augusta-Victoria,
+eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff, by whom he has:
+
+"Archibald-Alexander-John, Marquis of Arondelle."
+
+Then followed a long list of other children, girls and boys, of whom the
+only record was birth and death. Not one of them, except the young
+Marquis of Arondelle, had lived to be seven years old.
+
+Then followed the long lineage of the family, going over a glorious
+history of eight centuries.
+
+The youth glanced over the lineage, but soon recurred to the opening
+paragraphs.
+
+"'Married, March 15th, 1845, Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la
+Motte.' That was my poor, dear mother!
+
+"'Divorced from her grace, Feb, 13th, 1846,' He divorced her, and what
+for! She was a saint on earth, I know! Perhaps it was for being
+_that_ she was divorced! Let us see. 'Married secondly, April 1st,
+1846, Lady Augusta Victoria, eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff.'
+Ah, ha! that was it! He divorced my beloved mother for the same season
+that the tryant Henry VIII. divorced Queen Catherine, because he was in
+love with another woman whom he wished to marry!"
+
+(The study of history teaches as much knowledge of the world as does
+personal experience.)
+
+"But here again," continued the youth. "He divorced my dear mother
+on the 13th of February, married his Anne Boylen on the 1st of
+April--appropriate day--and I was born on the 15th of the same month!
+Yes! my angel mother and my infant self branded with infamy two months
+before my birth, and by the very man whom nature and law should have
+constrained to be our protector! Will I ever forgive it? No! When I do,
+may Heaven never forgive me!"
+
+As the boy made this vow he laid down the "Royal and Noble Stud-Book,"
+and took up the bulky letter that his mother had entrusted to him to be
+delivered to the Duke of Hereward. He studied it a moment, then had a
+little struggle with his sense of right, and finally murmuring:
+
+"Forgive me, gentle mother; but having discovered so much of your secret,
+I must know it all, even for _your_ sake, and for the love and
+respect I bear you."
+
+He broke the seal and read the whole of the historical letter from
+beginning to end.
+
+Then he carefully re-folded and re-sealed the letter, so as to leave no
+trace of the violence that has been done in opening it.
+
+Then he sat for a long time with his elbows on the table before him, and
+his head bowed upon his hands while tear after tear rolled slowly down
+his cheeks for the sad fate of that young, broken hearted mother who had
+perished in her early prime.
+
+The next day, as we have seen, he went to Hereward House and presented
+his mother's letter to the duke. He had watched his grace while the
+latter was reading the letter. He had foolishly expected to see some
+sign of remorse, some demonstration of affection. But he had been
+disappointed. He had been received only as the son of some humble
+deceased friend, consigned to the great duke's care. His tender mood
+had changed to a vindictive one, and he had sworn to be restored to his
+rights, or to devote his life to effect the ruin and extermination of the
+house of Hereward.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+THE DUKE'S WARD.
+
+
+The next morning, at the appointed hour, the Duke of Hereward drove to
+Langham's, and sent up his card to Mr. John Scott.
+
+The youth himself, to show the greater respect, came down to the public
+parlor where the duke waited, and after most deferentially welcoming his
+visitor, conducted him to his own private apartment.
+
+"I see by your mother's letter, as well as by her will, that she has done
+me the honor to appoint me your guardian," said the elder man, as soon as
+they were seated alone together, and cautiously eyeing the younger, so as
+to detect, if possible, how much or how little he knew or suspected of
+the true relationship between them.
+
+"My mother did _me_ the honor to consign me to your grace's
+guardianship, if you will be so condescending as to accept the charge,"
+replied the youth, with grave courtesy and in his turn eyeing the duke
+to see, if possible, what might be his feelings and intentions toward
+himself.
+
+The duke bowed and then said:
+
+"I would like to carry out your mother's views and your own wishes, if
+possible. She mentioned in her letter the army as a career for you. Do
+you wish some years hence to take a commission in the army?"
+
+"I _did_, your grace: but now I prefer to leave myself entirely in
+your grace's hands," cautiously replied the youth.
+
+"But in the matter of choosing a profession you must be left free. No one
+but yourself can decide upon your own calling with any hope of ultimate
+success. Much mischief is done by the officiousness of parents and
+guardians in directing their sons or wards into professions or callings
+for which they have neither taste nor talent," said the duke.
+
+The youth smiled slightly; he could but see that the duke was utterly
+perplexed as to his own course of conduct, and to cover his confusion he
+was only talking for talk's sake.
+
+"You will let me know your own wishes on this subject, I hope, young
+sir," continued the elder.
+
+"My only wish on the subject is to leave myself in your grace's hands.
+I feel confident that whatever your grace may think right to do with me,
+will be the best possible thing for me," replied the boy, with more
+meaning in his manner, as well as in his words, than he had intended
+to betray.
+
+The duke looked keenly at him; but his fair impassive face was
+unreadable.
+
+"Well, at all events, it is, perhaps, time enough for two or three years
+to come to talk of a profession for you. Would you like to enter one of
+the universities? Are you prepared to do so?" suddenly inquired the
+guardian.
+
+"I _would_ like to go to Oxford. But whether I am prepared to do so,
+I do not know. I do not know what is required. I have a fair knowledge of
+Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and of the higher mathematics. I was in course
+of preparation to enter one of the German universities, when my good
+tutor, Father Antonio, died," replied the youth.
+
+The duke dropped his gray head upon his chest and mused awhile, and then
+said:
+
+"I think that you had better read with a private tutor for a while; you
+will then soon recover what you may have lost since the death of your
+good teacher, and make such further progress as may fit you to go to
+Oxford at the next term. What do you think? Let me know your views, young
+sir."
+
+"Thanks, your grace; I will read with any tutor you may be pleased to
+recommend," respectfully answered the youth.
+
+"You are certainly a most manageable ward," said the guardian, dryly, and
+with, perhaps, a shade of distrust in his manner.
+
+The boy bowed.
+
+"Well, since you place yourself so implicitly in my hands, I must justify
+your faith as well as your mother's by doing the very best I can for you.
+There is a very worthy man, the Vicar of Greencombe, on one of my
+estates, down in Sussex, near the sea. He is a ripe scholar, a graduate
+of Trinity College, Oxford, and occasionally augments his moderate salary
+by preparing youth for college. I will direct my secretary to write to
+him this morning to know if he can receive you, and I will let you know
+the result in a day or two."
+
+"Thanks, your grace."
+
+"And now how are you going to employ your time while waiting here?"
+
+"By taking a good guide-book, your grace, and going through London. Your
+grace will remember that I am a perfect stranger here, and even one of
+your great historical monuments, such as Westminster Abbey or the Tower,
+has interest enough in it to occupy a student for a week."
+
+"I commend your taste in the occupation you have sketched out for your
+time. I must request you, however, to take great care of yourself, and to
+be _here_ every day at this hour, as I shall make it a point to look
+in upon you."
+
+"Thanks, your grace."
+
+"And now good-day," said the visitor, offering his hand, and then
+abruptly leaving the room.
+
+The youth, however, with the most deferential manner, attended him down
+stairs and to his carriage, and only took his leave, with a bow, when the
+footman closed the door.
+
+Again as soon as his back was turned upon his father, the youth's face
+changed and darkened, and--
+
+"I bide my time--I bide my time," he muttered to himself as he
+re-ascended the stairs.
+
+He had not deceived his guardian, however, as to the manner in which he
+meant to spend his time while in London. At this time of his unfortunate
+position he had not yet contracted any evil habits, and he had a genuine
+liking for interesting antiquities. So, after partaking of a light
+luncheon, he went out, guide-book in hand and spent the whole day in
+studying the architectural glories and the antique monuments in
+Westminster Abbey.
+
+The second day he passed among the gloomy dungeons and bloody records of
+the Tower of London.
+
+On the third day he received another visit from the Duke of Hereward, who
+came to tell him the Reverend Mr. Simpson, the Vicar of Greencombe, had
+returned a favorable answer to his letter, and would be happy to receive
+Mr. Scott in his family.
+
+"Now I do not wish to hurry you my dear boy; but I think the sooner you
+resume your long-neglected studies, the better it will be for you," said
+the duke, speaking kindly, but watching cautiously, as was his constant
+habit when conversing with this unacknowledged son.
+
+"I am ready to go the moment your grace commands," answered the young
+man.
+
+"I issue no commands to you, my boy. I will give you a letter of
+introduction to Dr. Simpson, which you may go down and deliver at your
+own leisure. If you choose to spend a week longer in London to see what
+is to be seen, why do so, of course. If not, you can run down to
+Greencombe to-day or to-morrow. It is about two hours' journey by
+the London and South Coast Railroad from the London Bridge Station."
+
+"I will go down this afternoon."
+
+"That is prompt. That is right. All you do my boy, all I see of you,
+commends you more and more to my approval and esteem. Go this afternoon,
+by all means. I will myself meet you at the station, to see you off and
+leave with you my letter of introduction. Stay; by what train shall you
+go? Ah! you do not know anything about the trains. Ring the bell."
+
+The youth complied.
+
+A waiter appeared, a Bradshaw was ordered and consulted, and the five
+P. M. express fixed upon as the train by which the youth should
+leave London.
+
+The duke then took leave of the boy, with an admonition of punctuality.
+
+"Well," said John Scott to himself, as soon as he was left alone, "if my
+father gives me nothing else, he is certainly disposed to give me my own
+way. Perhaps in time he may give me all my rights. If so, well. If not--I
+_bide my time_," he repeated.
+
+At the appointed hour the guardian and ward met at the depot.
+
+The duke placed the promised letter in the youth's hand, saw him into
+a first-class carriage, and there bade him good-by.
+
+John Scott sped down into Sussex as fast as the express train could carry
+him, and the Duke of Hereward went back to Hereward House, much relieved
+by the departure of the youth, whose presence in London had seemed like
+an incubus upon him.
+
+The deeply injured boy had departed; but--so also had the father's peace
+of mind, forever! Certainly he was now relieved of all fear of an
+unpleasant ecclaircissement; but he was not freed from remorse for the
+past, or from dread for the future.
+
+He told the duchess that day at dinner that a ward had been left to his
+guardianship, that this ward was, in fact, the son of a near relation,
+and bore the family name, which made it the more incumbent upon him to
+accept the charge; and, finally, that he had sent the boy down to Dr.
+Simpson, at the Greencombe Vicarage, to read for the university.
+
+The duchess was not in the least degree interested in the duke's ward,
+and rather wondered that he should have taken the trouble to tell her
+anything about him; but the duke did so to provide for the future
+contingency of an accidental meeting between the duchess and the boy, so
+that she might suppose him to be a blood relation, and thus understand
+the family likeness without the danger of suspecting a truth that could
+not be explained to her.
+
+But the duke could not silence the voice of conscience and affection. The
+deeply-wronged boy whom he had sent away was his own first-born son--the
+son of his first marriage and of his only love; and he had wronged him
+beyond the power of man to help! He was the rightful heir of his title
+and estates, yet he could never inherit them; he had been delegalized by
+his father's own hasty, reckless and cruel act; and for no fault of the
+boy's own--before he was capable of committing any fault--before his
+birth--he was disinherited.
+
+All this so worked upon the duke's conscience that he could not give his
+mind to his ordinary vocations.
+
+But about this time, the duchess, through the death of a near relative,
+inherited a very large fortune, principally in money.
+
+With this she wished to purchase an estate in Scotland. And so, when
+Parliament rose, the duke and duchess went to Scotland, personally to
+inspect certain estates that were for sale there; for the duchess said
+that, in the matter of choosing a home to live in, she would trust no
+eyes but her own.
+
+It seemed, however, that neither of the seats in the market pleased the
+lady, and she had given up her quest in despair, when the duke suggested
+that, before leaving Scotland, they should make a visit to the famous
+historical ruins of Lone Castle, in Lone, on Lone Lake, which had been in
+the Scott-Hereward family for eight centuries.
+
+It was while they were tarrying at the little hotel of the "Hereward
+Arms," and making daily excursions in a boat across the lake to the isle
+and to the ruins, that the stupendous idea of restoring the castle
+occurred to the duke's mind--and not only restoring it as it had stood
+centuries before, a great, impregnable Highland fortress, but by bringing
+all the architectural and engineering art and skill of the nineteenth
+century to bear upon the subject, transforming the ruined castle and
+rocky isle and mountain-bound lake into the earthly paradise and
+century's wonder it afterwards became.
+
+What vast means were used, what fortunes were sacrificed, what treasures
+were drawn into the maelstrom of this mad enterprise, has already been
+shown.
+
+It is probable, however, that the duke would not have thrown himself so
+insanely into this work had it not seemed a means of escaping the torture
+of his own thoughts.
+
+He could restore the old Highland stronghold, and transform the barren,
+water-girt rock into a garden of Eden; but he could not restore the
+rights of his own disinherited son.
+
+He had consulted some among the most eminent lawyers in England, putting
+the case suppositiously, or as the case of another father and son, and
+the unanimous opinion given was that there could be no help for such a
+case as theirs; and even though the father had had no other heir, he
+could not reclaim this disinherited one.
+
+It was not with unmingled regret that the duke heard this opinion given.
+It certainly relieved him from the fearful duty of having to oppose the
+duchess and all her family, as he would have been obliged to do, had it
+been possible to restore his eldest son to his rights; for the duchess
+would not have stood by quietly and seen her son set aside in favor of
+the elder brother.
+
+The duke spoke of his ward from time to time, so that in case the duchess
+should ever meet him, or hear of him from others, she could not regard
+him as a mystery that had been concealed from her, or look upon his
+likeness to the family with suspicion.
+
+But the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent to the duke's ward, or if
+she did interest herself, it was only slightly or good-naturedly, as when
+she answered the duke's remarks, one day, by saying:
+
+"If the dear boy is a relative of the family, however distant, and your
+ward besides, why don't you have him home for the holidays?"
+
+"Oh, schoolboys at home for the holidays are always a nuisance. He will
+go to Wales with Simpson and his lads, when they go for their short
+vacation," answered the duke, not unpleased that his wife took kindly
+to the notion of his ward.
+
+In due time the youth entered Oxford. The duke spoke of the fact to the
+duchess. Then she answered not so good-humoredly as before; indeed, there
+was a shade of annoyance and anxiety in her tones, as she said:
+
+"Oxford is very expensive, and a young man may make it quite ruinous.
+I hope the youth's friends have left him means enough of his own. I
+would not speak of such a matter," she added apologetically, "only the
+restoration of Lone seems so to swallow up all our resources as to leave
+us nothing for charitable objects."
+
+"The youth has ample means for educational purposes, and to establish him
+in some profession. Of course, he cannot indulge in any of those
+university extravagances and dissipations that are the destruction of
+so many fine young men; but, then, he is not that kind of lad; a steady,
+studious boy, brought up by--a widowed mother and a priest," answered the
+duke, with just a slight faltering in his voice, in the latter clause of
+his speech.
+
+"Such boys are more apt than others to develop into the wildest young
+men," replied the lady; and circumstances proved that she was right.
+
+John Scott, at Trinity College, Oxford, passed as the grand-nephew of the
+Duke of Hereward, and the next in succession, after the young Earl of
+Arondelle to the dukedom.
+
+The young Earl of Arondelle was still at Eton. And the duke determined to
+send him from Eton to Cambridge, instead of Oxford, where John Scott was
+at college; for the father of these two boys wished them never to meet!
+
+At Oxford, John Scott, as the grand-nephew of the Duke of Hereward,
+bearing an unmistakable likeness to the family, and being, besides, a
+young man of pleasing address, soon won his way among the most exclusive
+of the aristocrats there; and pride and vanity tempted him to vie with
+them in extravagant and riotous living!
+
+His income _only_ was limited, his credit was _un_limited.
+When his money fell short, he ran into debt; and at the end of the first
+term his liabilities were alarming, or would have been so to a more
+sensitive mind.
+
+It is true, the amount was much greater than his inexperience had led him
+to expect; but he only smiled grimly when he had all his bills before
+him, and had estimated the sum total, and he said to himself:
+
+"If my allowance will not support me here like a gentleman, my father
+must make up the deficiency, that is all!"
+
+The Duke of Hereward was indeed confounded when his ward wrote to him and
+told him boldly that he wanted fifteen hundred pounds for immediate
+necessities--namely, twelve hundred for the liquidation of debts, and
+three hundred for traveling expenses.
+
+But could he scold the poor, disinherited boy, who, kept to himself at
+Oxford, had doubtless fallen among thieves and been mercilessly fleeced.
+
+No; he would pay these debts out of his own pocket, and write the young
+man a kind letter of warning against the university sharks.
+
+The duke carried out this resolution, and John Scott, freed from debt,
+and with three hundred pounds in his possession, went on a holiday tour
+through the country.
+
+He had heard at Oxford of the rising glories of Lone, and determined to
+take his holiday in that neighborhood.
+
+It happened that the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, with the Marquis of
+Arondelle, and their attendants, went that summer to Baden-Baden; so when
+the Oxonion arrived at the "Hereward Arms," in the hamlet of Lone, and,
+from his age and his exact likeness to the family, was mistaken for the
+heir, there was no one to set the people right on the subject.
+
+The obsequious host of the Hereward Arms called him "my lord," and
+inquired after his gracious parents, the duke and the duchess.
+
+John Scott did not actually deceive the people as to his identity, but he
+tacitly allowed them to deceive themselves. He did not tell them that he
+was the Marquis of Arondelle; neither did he contradict them when they
+called him so. Nor did his conscience reproach him for his silent
+duplicity. He said to himself:
+
+"I _am_ the rightful Marquis of Arondelle. They do but give me my
+own just title! If this comes to the ears of the duke and brings on a
+crisis, I will tell him so!"
+
+While he was in the neighborhood, he went up to Ben Lone on a fishing
+excursion, and there, as elsewhere, on the Scottish estate, he was
+everywhere received as the Marquis of Arondelle. There John Scott first
+met by accident the handsome shepherdess, Rose Cameron, and fell in love
+for the first time in his young life.
+
+We have already seen how the Highland maiden, flattered by the notice
+of the supposed young nobleman, encouraged those attentions without
+returning that love.
+
+After this, John Scott spent all his holidays at Lone, and much of them
+in the society of the handsome shepherdess. His attentions in that
+direction were regarded with strong disapproval by his father's tenantry,
+but it was not their place to censure their supposed "young lord," and so
+they only expressed their sentiments with grave shaking of their heads.
+
+During the progress of the work, the ducal family never came to Lone, so
+that the tenantry there were never set right as to the identity of John
+Scott.
+
+Only once the duke made a visit, to inspect the progress of the workmen.
+He stopped at the Hereward Arms, and there heard nothing of the pranks of
+John Scott, although, upon one occasion, he came very near doing so.
+
+The landlord respectfully inquired if they should have the young marquis
+up there as usual.
+
+The duke stared for a moment, and then answered:
+
+"You are mistaken. Arondelle does not come up here. Whatever are you
+thinking of, my man?"
+
+The host said he was mistaken, that was all, and so got himself out of
+his dilemma the best way he could, and took the first opportunity to warn
+all his dependents and followers that they were not to "blow" on the
+young marquis.
+
+"He was an unco wild lad, nae doobt, but his feyther kenned naething
+about his pranks, and sae the least said, sunest mended," said the
+landlord.
+
+And thus, by the pranks of his "double," the reputation of the excellent
+young Marquis of Arondelle suffered among his own people.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+RETRIBUTION.
+
+
+But a crisis was at hand.
+
+The debts of John Scott increased every year, while the ready means of
+the Duke of Hereward diminished--everything being engulfed by the Lone
+restoration maelstrom.
+
+The guardian determined to expostulate with his ward.
+
+He went down to Oxford just before the close of the term. He found his
+ward established in elegant and luxurious apartments, quite fit for a
+royal prince, and very much more ostentatious than the unpretending
+chambers occupied by the young Marquis of Arondelle at Cambridge, and
+ridiculously extravagant for a young man of limited income and no
+expectations like John Scott.
+
+The duke was excessively provoked; the forbearance of years gave way; the
+bottled-up indignation burst forth, and the guardian gave his ward what
+in boyish parlance is called, "an awful rowing."
+
+"You live, sir, at twenty times the rate, your debts are twenty times as
+large, you cost me twenty times as much as does Lord Arondelle, my own
+son and heir!" concluded the duke, in a final burst of anger.
+
+John Scott had listened grimly enough to the opening exordium, but when
+the last sentence broke from the duke's lips, the young man grew pale as
+death, while his compressed lips, contracted brow, and gleaming blue eyes
+alone expressed the fury that raged in his bosom.
+
+He answered very quietly:
+
+"Your grace means that I cost you twenty times as much as does your
+younger son, Lord Archibald Scott, as it is natural that I should being
+the elder son and the heir of the dukedom."
+
+To portray the duke's thoughts, feelings or looks during his deliberate
+speech would be simply impossible. He sat staring at the speaker, with
+gradually paling cheeks and widening eyes, until the quiet voice ceased,
+when he faltered forth:
+
+"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"
+
+"I should think your grace should know right well what I have known for
+years, and can never for a moment forget, though your grace may effect to
+do so--that I am your eldest son, the son of your first marriage, with
+the daughter of the Baron de la Motte, and therefore that I, and not my
+younger half brother, by your second marriage, am the right Marquis of
+Arondelle, and the heir of the Dukedom of Hereward," calmly replied the
+young man, with all the confidence an assured conviction gave.
+
+The duke sank back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
+However John Scott had made the discovery, it was absolutely certain that
+he knew the whole secret of his parentage.
+
+"What authority have you for making so strange an assertion?" at length
+inquired the duke.
+
+"The authority of recorded truth," replied the young man, emphatically.
+"But does your grace really suppose that such a secret could be kept
+from me? My dear, lost mother never revealed it to me by her words, but
+she unconsciously revealed enough to me by her actions to excite my
+suspicions, and set me on the right track. The records did the rest,
+and put me in possession of the whole truth."
+
+"What records have you examined?" inquired the duke, in a low voice.
+
+"First and last, in Italy and France, I have examined the registers of
+your marriage with my mother, and of my own birth and baptism; and in
+England, Burke's Peerage. All these as well as other well-known facts,
+As easily proved as if they were recorded, establish my rights as your
+son--your eldest son and _heir_."
+
+"As my son, but not as my heir, for your most unhappy mother--"
+
+"STOP!!" suddenly exclaimed the young man, while his blue eyes
+blazed with a dangerous fire. "I warn you, Duke of Hereward, that you
+must not breathe one word reflecting in the least degree on my dear,
+injured mother's name. You have wronged her enough, Heaven knows! and I,
+her son, tell you so. Yes! from the beginning to end, you have wronged
+her grievously, unpardonably. First of all, in marrying her at all, when
+you must have seen--you could not have failed to see--that she, gentle
+and helpless creature that she was, was _forced_ by her parents to
+give you her hand, when her broken heart was not hers to give! And,
+secondly, when she discovered that the lover (to whom she had been
+sacredly married by the church, though it seems not lawfully married
+by the state,) and whom she had supposed to be dead, was really living;
+and when she took the only course a pure and sensitive woman could take,
+and withdrew herself from you both, _writing to you her reasons for
+doing so_, and expressing her wish to live apart a quiet, single,
+blameless life, you did not wait, you did not investigate, but, with
+indecent haste, you so hurried through with your divorce, and hurried
+into your second marriage, as to brand my mother with undeserved infamy,
+and delegalized her son and yours before his birth."
+
+"Heaven help me," moaned the Duke of Hereward, covering his face with his
+hands.
+
+"You have done us both this infinite wrong, and you cannot undo it now.
+I know that you cannot, for I have taken the pains to seek legal advice,
+and I have been assured that you cannot rectify this wrong. But--use my
+injured mother's sacred name with reverence, Duke of Hereward, I warn
+you!--"
+
+"Heaven knows I would use it in no other way! I loved your mother. She
+and you were not the only sufferers in my domestic tragedy. Her loss
+nearly killed me with grief even when I thought her unworthy. The
+discovery of the great wrong I did her has nearly crazed me with
+remorse since that."
+
+"Then do not grudge her son the small share you allow him of that vast
+inheritance which should have been his, had you not unjustly deprived him
+of it."
+
+"I will not. Your debts shall be paid."
+
+"And do not upbraid me by drawing any more invidious comparisons between
+me and one who holds my rightful place."
+
+"I will not--I will not. John we understand each other now. Your manner
+has not been the most filial toward me, but I will not reproach you for
+that. You say that I have wronged you; and you know that wrong can never
+be righted in this world. 'If I were to give my body to be burned,' it
+could not benefit you in the least toward recovering your position; but
+I will do all I can. I will sell Greencombe, which is my own entailed
+property, and I will place the money with my banker, Levison, to your
+account. I have a pleasant little shooting-box at the foot of Ben Lone.
+We never go to it. You must have the run of it during the vacations. When
+you are ready for your commission I will find you one in a good regiment.
+In return I have one request to make you. For Heaven's sake avoid meeting
+the duchess or her family. Do this for the sake of peace. I hope now that
+we _do_ understand each other?" said the duke with emotion.
+
+"We do," said the young man, his better spirit getting the ascendency for
+a few moments. "We do; and I beg your pardon, my father, for the hasty,
+unfilial words I have spoken."
+
+"I can make every allowance, for you, John. I can comprehend how you must
+often feel that you are only your mother's son," answered the duke,
+grasping the hand that his son had offered.
+
+So the interview that had threatened to end in a rupture between guardian
+and ward terminated amicably.
+
+John Scott's debts were once more paid, his pockets were once more
+filled, and he left for Scotland to spend his vacation at the hunting-box
+under Ben Lone, in the neighborhood made attractive to him, not by black
+cock or red deer, but by the presence of his handsome shepherdess.
+
+The duke sold Greencombe, and placed the purchase-money in the hands of
+Sir Lemuel Levison and Co., Bankers, Lombard Street, London, to be
+invested for the benefit of his ward, John Scott.
+
+The unhappy duke did this at the very time when he was so pressed for
+money to carry on the great work at Lone, as to be compelled to borrow
+from the Jews at an enormous interest, mortgaging his estate, Hereward
+Hold, in security.
+
+And John Scott, with an ample income, and without any restraint, took
+leave of his good angel and started on the road to ruin.
+
+Meanwhile, the great works at Lone were completed and the ducal family
+took possession, and commenced their short and glorious reign there by
+a series of splendid entertainments given in honor of the coming of age
+of the heir.
+
+John Scott was not an invited guest, either to the castle or the grounds;
+but he presented himself there, nevertheless, and caused some confusion
+by his close resemblance to his brother, and much scandal by his improper
+conduct among the village girls. And many an honest peasant went home
+from the feast lamenting the behavior of the young heir, and trying to
+excuse or palliate his viciousness by the vulgar proverb:
+
+"Boys will be boys."
+
+And so the reputation of the young Marquis of Arondelle suffered and
+continued to suffer from the evil doings of his double.
+
+John Scott kept one part of his compact with the duke; he avoided the
+family; even when he could not keep away from Lone, he contrived to keep
+out of sight of the duke, the duchess, and the marquis.
+
+The young Marquis of Arondelle, indeed, was very little seen at Lone. He
+was at Cambridge, or on his grand tour, nearly all the time of the
+family's residence in the Highlands.
+
+John Scott left the university without honors. This was a disappointment
+to the duke, who did not, however, reproach his wayward son, but only
+wrote and asked him if he would now take a commission in the army. But
+the young man, who had lost all his youthful military ardor, and
+contracted a roving habit that made him averse to all fixed rules and
+all restraints, replied by saying that his income was sufficient for
+his wants, and that he preferred the free life of a scholar.
+
+The duke wrote again, and implored him to choose one of the learned
+professions, saying that it was not yet too late for him to enter upon
+the study of one.
+
+The hopeful son replied that he was not good enough for divinity, bad
+enough for law, or wise enough for medicine; that, therefore, he was
+unsuited to honor either of the learned professions; and begged his
+guardian to disturb himself no longer on the subject of his ward's
+future.
+
+Then the duke let him alone, having, in fact, troubles enough of his own
+to occupy him--a life of superficial splendor, backed by a condition of
+hopeless indebtedness.
+
+We have already, in the earlier portions of this story, described the
+short, glorious, delusive reign of the Herewards at Lone, and the
+culminating glory and ruin of the royal visit, so immediately to be
+followed by the great crash, when the magnificent estate, with all its
+splendid appointments, was sold under the hammer, and purchased by the
+wealthy banker and city knight, Sir Lemuel Levison. We have told how
+the noble son--the young Marquis of Arondelle--sacrificed all his
+life-interest in the entailed estate, to save his father, and how
+vain that sacrifice proved. We have told how the duchess died of
+humiliation and grief, and how the duke and his son went into social
+exile, until recalled by the romantic love of Salome Levison, who wished
+to bestow her hand and her magnificent inheritance upon the disinherited
+heir of Lone.
+
+We have now brought the story of John Scott up to the night of the
+banker's murder, and his own unintentional share in the tragedy.
+
+At the time of the projected marriage between the Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone, John Scott was deeply sunk in debt, and badly in
+want of money.
+
+The capital given him by his father had been so tied up by the donor that
+nothing but the interest could be touched by the improvident recipient.
+It had, in fact, been given to Sir Lemuel Levison in trust for John
+Scott, with directions to invest it to the best advantage for his
+benefit.
+
+This duty the banker had most conscientiously performed by investing the
+money in a mining enterprise, supposed to be perfectly secure and to pay
+a high interest. This investment continued good for years, affording
+John Scott a very liberal income; but as John Scott would probably have
+exceeded any income, however large, that he might have possessed, so of
+course he exceeded this one and got into debt, which accumulated year
+after year, until at length he felt himself forced to ask his trustee to
+sell out a part of his stock in the mining company to liquidate his
+liabilities.
+
+This the banker politely but firmly refused to do, representing to the
+young spendthrift that his duties as a trustee forbade him to squander
+the capital of his client, and that he had been made trustee for the very
+purpose of preserving it.
+
+The obstinacy of the banker enraged the young man, who protested that
+it was unbearable to a man of twenty-five years of age to be in
+leading-strings to a trustee, as if he were an infant of five years old.
+
+The time came, however, when the trustee was compelled by circumstances
+to sell out.
+
+The rare foresight which had made him the millionaire that he was, warned
+Sir Lemuel Levison that the mining company in which he had invested his
+ward's fortune was on the eve of an explosion. As no one else perceived
+the impending catastrophe, Sir Lemuel Levison was enabled to sell out his
+ward's stock at a good premium some days before the crash came--not an
+honest measure by any means, _we_ think, but--a perfectly
+business-like one.
+
+He informed John Scott of the transaction, telling him at the same time
+that he had the capital of thirty thousand pounds in his possession,
+ready to be re-invested, and the premium of three hundred pounds, which
+last was at the orders of Mr. Scott.
+
+Mr. Scott was not contented with the three hundred pounds premium. He
+wanted a few thousands out of the capital, and he wrote and told his
+trustee as much.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was firm in refusing to diminish the capital that had
+been placed in his hands for the benefit of the spendthrift.
+
+Then John Scott in a rage, went up to London and called at the banking
+house of Levison Brothers.
+
+Being admitted to the private office of Sir Lemuel Levison, the young man
+used some very intemperate language, accusing the great banker of
+appropriating his own contemptible little fortune for private and
+unhallowed purposes.
+
+"You are the most unmitigated scamp alive, and I wish I had never had
+anything to do with you; however, I will convince you that you have
+wronged me, and then I will wash my hands of you!" exclaimed the banker.
+
+And so saying, he unlocked a great patent safe that stood in his private
+office, took from it a small iron box, and set it on his desk before him,
+in full sight of his visitor.
+
+"See here," he continued; "here is this box, read the inscription on it."
+
+The visitor stooped over and read--in brass letters--the following
+sentence: "John Scott--£30,000."
+
+"Now, sir," continued the banker, opening the box and displaying the
+treasure, all in crisp, new, Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds
+each--"here is your money. I cannot betray my trust by giving it into
+your hands. But I intend, nevertheless, to resign my trust into the hands
+that gave it me. I am going down to Lone to celebrate the marriage of my
+daughter with the Marquis of Arondelle, and I shall take this box and its
+contents down with me. I shall, of course, meet the Duke of Hereward
+there. As soon as the marriage is over, and the pair gone on their tour,
+I shall deliver this box with its contents over to the duke, who can then
+hand over any part or the whole of this money to you, if he pleases
+to do so."
+
+If any circumstance could have increased the uneasiness of the
+spendthrift, it would have been this resolution of the banker and
+trustee.
+
+John Scott begged Sir Lemuel Levison to reconsider his resolution, and
+not return his capital to the donor, who, in his impoverished condition,
+might, for all he knew, choose to resume his gift entirely, and
+appropriate it to his own uses.
+
+But the banker was inflexible, and the next day set out for Lone,
+carrying John Scott's fortune locked up in the iron box, besides other
+treasures in money and jewels, secured in other receptacles.
+
+John Scott was in despair.
+
+At length, a daring plan occurred to his mind. His evil life had brought
+him into communication with some outlaws of society of both sexes, with
+whom, however, he would not willingly have been seen in daylight, or in
+public. One of these--a brutal ruffian and thief, with whose haunts and
+habits he was well acquainted--he sought out. He gave him an outline of
+his scheme, telling him of the great treasures in jewels and other bridal
+presents that would be laid out in the drawing-room at Lone on the night
+of the sixth of June, in readiness for the wedding display on the morning
+of the seventh.
+
+The man Murdockson listened with greedy ears.
+
+The tempter then told him of the iron box, inscribed with his own name,
+and containing _important papers_ which it was necessary he should
+recover, and proposed that if Murdockson would promise to purloin the
+iron box from the chamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, and bring it safely
+to him, John Scott, _he_ would engage to leave the secret passage
+to the castle open for the free entrance of the adventurers.
+
+Murdockson hesitated a long time before consenting to engage in an
+enterprise which, if it promised great profit, also threatened great
+dangers.
+
+At length, however, fired by the prospect of the fabulous wealth said to
+lie exposed in the form of bridal presents displayed in Castle Lone, Mr.
+Murdockson promised to form a party and go down to Lone to reconnoitre,
+and if he should see his way clear, to undertake the job.
+
+The plan was carried out to its full and fatal completion.
+
+Disguised as Highland peasants, Murdockson and two of his pals went down
+to Lone to inspect the lay.
+
+They mingled with the great crowd of peasantry and tenantry that had
+collected from far and near to view the grand pageantry prepared for the
+celebration of the wedding, and their presence in so large an assemblage
+was scarcely noticed.
+
+They met their principal in the course of the day, and with him arranged
+the details of the robbery.
+
+One thing John Scott insisted upon--that there was to be no violence,
+no bloodshed; that if the robbery could not be effected quietly and
+peaceably, without bodily harm to any inmate, it was not to be done at
+all, it was to be given up at once.
+
+The men promised all that their principal asked, on condition that he
+would act his part, and let them into the castle.
+
+That night John Scott did his work, and attained the climax of his evil
+life.
+
+He tampered with the valet, treated him with drugged whiskey, and while
+the wretched man was in a stupid sleep, stole from him the pass-key to
+Sir Lemuel Levison's private apartment.
+
+We know how that terrible night ended. John Scott could not control the
+devils he had raised.
+
+Only robbery had been intended; but murder was perpetrated.
+
+John Scott, with the curse of Cain upon his soul, and without the spoil
+for which he had incurred it, fled to London and afterwards to the
+Continent, where he became a homeless wanderer for years, and where he
+was subsequently joined by his female companion, Rose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+AFTER THE REVELATION.
+
+
+During the latter portion of the mother-superior's story--the portion
+that related to the delegalized elder son of the Duke of Hereward--a
+light had dawned upon the mind of Salome, but so slowly that no sudden
+shock of joy had been felt, no wild exclamation of astonishment uttered:
+yet that light had revealed to the amazed and overjoyed young wife,
+beyond all possibility of further doubt, the blessed truth of the perfect
+freedom of her worshiped husband from all participation in the awful
+crimes of which over-whelming circumstantial evidence had convicted him
+in her own mind, but of which it was now certain that his miserable
+brother, his "double" in appearance, was alone guilty.
+
+The dark story had been told in the darkness of the abbess' den, so that
+not even the varying color that must otherwise have betrayed the deep
+emotion of the hearer, could be seen by the speaker.
+
+At the conclusion of the story, one irrepressible reproach escaped the
+lips of the young wife.
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! If you knew all this, why did you not tell me
+before? For you must also have known, what is now so clear to me, that
+not the Duke of Hereward, who, after all, is my husband, I thank
+Heaven--not the noble Duke of Hereward, but his most ignoble brother,
+his counterpart in person and in name, has married that terrible Scotch
+woman, and mixed himself up in murder and robbery. Oh, mother! you should
+have told me before!"
+
+"My daughter be patient! Only this week have I been able to fit in all
+the links in the chain of evidence to make the story complete. Your
+mention of the Duke of Hereward as your false husband, my memory of the
+Duke of Hereward as the wronged husband who had slain my betrothed in a
+duel, all set me to thinking deeply, very deeply thinking. I did not
+express my thoughts unnecessarily. Silence is, with our order, a
+duty--the handmaid of devotion; but I set secret inquiries on foot,
+through agencies that our orders possess for finding out facts, and means
+that we can use, superior to those of the most accomplished detectives
+living. Through such agencies, and by such means, I learned not only
+external facts--which are often lies, paradoxical as that may seem--but I
+learned, also, the internal truths without which no history can be really
+known, no subject really understood."
+
+"But oh! you should not have kept silence. You should not have left me to
+misjudge my noble husband a day longer than necessary!" burst forth
+Salome.
+
+"Calm yourself, daughter, and listen to me. I have kept nothing from you
+a day longer than necessary. The facts that exonerate the Duke of
+Hereward came to me last of all. Hear me. From Father Garbennetti, the
+new cure of San Vito, I learned the truth of that miscalled elopement of
+the late Duchess of Hereward. I learned that--in the words of your own
+charming poet--
+
+      'My rival fair
+A saint in heaven should be.'
+
+For a most innocent and most deeply wronged and long-suffering martyr on
+earth she had been. From him I also learned the existence of her boy, and
+the adoption of the boy, after the mother's death, by the Duke of
+Hereward. That was all I could learn from the Italian priest, who had
+lost sight of the lad after the mother's death. Next I pushed inquiries
+through our agents in England, and through the investigations of Father
+Fairfield, the eloquent English oratorian, I learned the truth of John
+Scott's life in England and Scotland, as I have given it to you. I
+received Father Fairfield's letter only this day; only this day I have
+learned, Salome, that you are really the Duchess of Hereward; that the
+Duke of Hereward was, and is, really your husband, and was never the
+husband of any other woman."
+
+"Oh, how bitterly! how bitterly! how unpardonably I have wronged him! He
+will pardon me! Yes, he will! for he is all magnanimity, and he loves me!
+But I can never, never pardon myself!" exclaimed the young wife, her
+first joy at discovering the absolute integrity of her husband now giving
+place to the severest self-condemnation.
+
+"You need not reproach yourself so cruelly, so sternly, under
+circumstances in which you would not reproach another at all. Remember
+what you told me, you had the evidence of your own eyes and ears, and the
+testimony of documents, and of individuals against him!" said the abbess,
+soothingly.
+
+"Yes! the evidence of my own eyes and ears, which mistook the counterfeit
+for the real! the testimony of documents that were forgeries, and of
+individuals that were false! And upon these I believed my noble husband
+guilty of a felony, and without even giving him an opportunity to
+explain the circumstances, or to defend himself, I left him even on our
+wedding-day! and have concealed myself from him for many months! exposing
+him to misconstruction, to dishonor and reproach. Oh, no! I can never,
+never pardon myself! Nor do I even know how _he_ can ever pardon me.
+But he will! I am sure he will! Even as the Lord pardons all repented
+sin, however grievous, so will my peerless husband pardon me!" fervently
+exclaimed Salome.
+
+The abbess reverted to her own troubles.
+
+"I cannot understand," she said, "the mystery of that man's appearance
+here this morning."
+
+"What man?" inquired Salome, who was so absorbed in thinking of her
+husband that she had nearly forgotten the existence of other men.
+
+"'What man?' Why, daughter, the Count Waldemar de Volaski--the man who
+came here with the woman this morning--the man whom you mistook for your
+own husband, the Duke of Hereward, but whom I knew to be Waldemar de
+Volaski, once my betrothed, who was said to have been killed in a duel,
+shot through the heart, a quarter of a century ago!" answered the lady,
+emphatically.
+
+Salome stared at the abbess for a few moments in amazed silence, and then
+exclaimed:
+
+"Dear madam, good mother, are you still under that deep delusion?"
+
+"Delusion!" echoed the lady.
+
+"Yes, the deepest delusion. Dear lady, do you not know, can you not
+comprehend _now_ that the man who visited us this morning was no
+other than John Scott, the counterpart whom even I really did mistake for
+the Duke of Hereward, as you say; and that the bold, bad beauty who
+accompanied him was his wife, Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Nay, daughter, he was Count Waldemar de Volaski!" persisted the abbess.
+
+"What an hallucination! Dear lady, do you not see--But what is the use of
+talking? I cannot convince you of your mistake: but circumstances may;
+for, of course, sooner or later the unhappy man will be arrested and
+brought to trial for his share in the robbery and murder at Castle Lone."
+
+"No, you cannot convince me of mistake, because I have not made any; but
+_I_ will convince _you_ of _yours_," said the lady, rising
+and striking a match and lighting a lamp; for they had hitherto sat in
+darkness.
+
+Salome smiled incredulously.
+
+The abbess went to a little drawer of the stand upon which her crucifix
+and missal stood, and drew from it a small box, which she opened and
+exhibited to Salome, saying:
+
+"This, daughter, is the only memento of the world and the world's people
+that I have retained. I should not have kept even this, but that it is
+the likeness of my once betrothed, bestowed on me on the occasion of our
+betrothal, cherished once in loyal love, cherished now in prayerful
+memory of one whom I supposed had expiated his sins by death, long, long
+ago. I have kept it, but I have not looked at it for twenty years or
+more."
+
+Salome took the miniature, and examined it carefully with interest and
+curiosity.
+
+It was very well painted in water-colors on ivory. It represented a young
+man of from twenty to twenty-five years of age, with a Roman profile,
+fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde hair and mustache; and so far as
+these features and this complexion went, the miniature certainly did bear
+an external and superficial resemblance to John Scott and to the young
+Duke of Hereward; but in character and expression the faces were so
+totally different that Salome could never have mistaken the miniature
+to be a likeness of the duke or his brother, or either of these men to be
+the original of the picture.
+
+After gazing intently at the miniature for a few minutes, she turned to
+the abbess and said:
+
+"You tell me that you have not looked at this for twenty years?"
+
+"I have not," said the lady.
+
+"And you tell me that the man who visited the asylum this morning is the
+original of this picture?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Then, dear mother, your memory is at fault and your imagination deceives
+and misleads you. Both the supposed original and the miniature are
+thin-faced, with Roman features, fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde
+hair--points of resemblance which are common to many men who are not at
+all alike in any other respect. Now look at this miniature again, and you
+will see that, except in the points I have named, it is in no way like
+the man you mistook for its original."
+
+"I would rather not look at it. I have not seen it since--Volaski's
+supposed death," said the abbess, shrinking.
+
+"Oh, but do, for the satisfaction of your own mind. You see so few men,
+that you may easily mistake one blonde for another after twenty years of
+absence from them," persisted Salome, pressing the open miniature upon
+the lady.
+
+So urged, the abbess took it, gazed wistfully at the pictured face, and
+murmured:
+
+"It is possible. I may be mistaken."
+
+"You are," muttered Salome.
+
+The abbess continued to gaze on the portrait, and whispered:
+
+"I think I am mistaken."
+
+"I am _sure_ that you are, good mother," said Salome.
+
+The lady's eyes were still fixed upon the relic, until at length she
+closed the locket with a click and laid it away in the little drawer,
+saying, clearly and firmly:
+
+"Yes, I see that I _was_ mistaken."
+
+"I am very glad you know it," remarked Salome.
+
+"So am I. It is a relief. And now, dear daughter, I will dismiss you to
+your rest. To-morrow we will consult concerning your affairs, and see
+what is best for you to do," said the abbess.
+
+"I know what is best for me to do--_my duty_. And my very first duty
+is to hasten immediately to England, seek out my dear husband, confess
+all my cruel misapprehension of his conduct, and implore his pardon. I
+am sure of his pardon, and of his love! As sure as I am of my Heavenly
+Lord's pardon and love when I kneel to Him and confess and deplore my
+sins!" fervently exclaimed the young wife.
+
+"Yes, I suppose you must return to England now. I do suppose that, after
+what we have discovered, you cannot remain here and become a nun," sighed
+the abbess, unwilling to resign her favorite.
+
+"No, indeed, I cannot remain here. But I will richly endow the Infants'
+Asylum, dear mother. And I will visit, it every year of my life. I am
+going to retire now, good mother. Bless me," murmured Salome, bending
+her head.
+
+"_Benedicite_, fair daughter," said the abbess, spreading her open
+palms over the beautiful, bowed head as she invoked the blessing.
+
+Then Salome arose, left the cell, and hurried back through the two long
+passages at right angles that conducted her from the nursery to the
+Infants' Asylum.
+
+She passed silently as a spirit through every dormitory where her infant
+charges lay sleeping, assured herself that they were all safe and well,
+and then she entered her own little sleeping-closet adjoining the
+dormitory of the youngest infants, then disrobed and went to bed.
+
+She was much too happy to sleep. She lay counting the hours to calculate
+in how short a time she could be with her beloved husband!
+
+She had no dread of meeting him, not the least.
+
+"Perfect love casteth out fear."
+
+She arose early the next morning, and, after going through all her duties
+in the Infants' Asylum, she went to the lady-superior's sitting-room to
+consult her about making arrangements for an immediate departure for
+England.
+
+"But shall you not write first to announce your arrival?" inquired the
+abbess.
+
+"No; because I can go to England just as quickly as a letter can, and I
+would rather go. There is a train from L'Ange at five P. M. I
+can go by that and reach Calais in time for the morning boat, and be in
+London by noon to-morrow--as soon as a letter could go. And I could see
+my husband, actually see him, before I could possibly get a letter from
+him," said Salome, brightening.
+
+"If his grace should be in London," put in the abbess.
+
+"I think he will be in London. If he is not there, I can find out where
+he is, and follow him. Dear madam, _do_ not hinder me. I _must_
+start by the first available train," said Salome, earnestly.
+
+"I do not desire to hinder you," answered the lady-superior.
+
+Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Sister Francoise,
+who pale and agitated, sank upon the nearest seat, and sat trembling and
+speechless, until the abbess exclaimed:
+
+"For the love of Heaven, Sister Francoise, tell us what has happened. Who
+is ill? Who is dead?"
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother!" gasped the nun, losing her breath again
+immediately.
+
+Salome drew a small phial of sal volatile from her pocket and uncorked
+and applied it to the nose of the fainting nun, saying soothingly:
+
+"Now tell us what has overcome you, good sister."
+
+"Ah, my child! It is dreadful! It is terrible! It is horrible! It is
+awful! But they are bringing him in!" gasped Sister Francoise, snuffing
+vigorously at the sal volatile, and still beside herself with excitement.
+
+"What! What! Who are they bringing in?" demanded the abbess, in alarm.
+
+"I'm going to tell you! Oh, give me time! It is stupefying! It is
+annihilating! The poor gentleman who has just shot himself through the
+body!" gasped Sister Francoise, losing her breath again after this
+effort.
+
+"A gentleman shot himself!" echoed Salome, in consternation.
+
+The abbess, pale as death, said not a word, but left the unnerved sister
+to the care of Salome, and went out to see what had really happened.
+
+She met the little Sister Felecitie in the passage.
+
+"What is all this, my daughter?" she inquired, in a very low voice.
+
+"They have taken him into the refectory, madam. That was the nearest to
+the gate, where it happened. It happened just outside the south gate,
+madam. They took off a leaf of the gate, and laid him on it and brought
+him in," answered the trembling little novice, rather incoherently.
+
+"Daughter, I have often admonished you that you must not address me as
+'madam,' but as 'mother.'"
+
+"I beg your pardon, holy mother; but I was so frightened, I forgot."
+
+"Now tell me quickly, and clearly, what happened near the south gate?"
+
+"Oh, madam!--holy mother, I mean!--the suicide! the suicide!"
+
+"The suicide! It was not an accident, then, but a suicide?" exclaimed the
+abbess, aghast, and pausing in her hurried walk toward the refectory.
+
+"Oh, madam--holy mother!--yes, so they say! It is enough to kill one to
+see it all!"
+
+"Go into my room, child, and stay there with Sister Francoise until I
+return. Such sights are too trying for such as you," said the abbess, as
+she parted from the young novice, and hurried on toward the refectory.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+RETRIBUTION.
+
+
+She entered the long dining-hall, where a terrible sight met her eyes.
+
+Stretched upon the table lay a man in the midst of a pool of his own
+blood!
+
+In the room were gathered a crowd, consisting of three Englishmen, three
+gend'armes, several countrymen, several out-door servants of the convent,
+and half a hundred nuns and novices.
+
+The crowd had parted a little on the side nearest the door by which the
+abbess entered, so as to permit the approach of an old man who seemed to
+be a physician, and who proceeded to unbutton the wounded man's coat and
+vest, and to examine his wound.
+
+"How horrible! Is he quite dead?" inquired the abbess, making her way to
+the side of the village surgeon, for such the old man was.
+
+"No, madam; he has fainted from loss of blood. The wound has stopped
+bleeding now, however, and I hope by the use of proper stimulants to
+recover him sufficiently to permit me to examine and dress his wounds,"
+replied the surgeon, who now drew from his pocket a bottle of spirits of
+hartshorn, poured some out in his hands, and began to bathe the forehead,
+mouth and nostrils of the unconscious man.
+
+The abbess drew nearer, stooped over the body, and gazed attentively into
+the pallid and ghastly face, and then started with a half-suppressed cry
+as she recognized the features of the man who had visited the Infants'
+Asylum on the day previous, and whom the abbess now believed to be John
+Scott, the half brother and the "double" of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"Will you kindly order some brandy, madam?" courteously requested the
+surgeon.
+
+"Certainly, monsieur," replied the lady superior, who immediately
+dispatched a nun to fetch the required restorative.
+
+As soon as it was brought, a few drops were forced down the throat of the
+fainting man, who soon began to show signs of recovery.
+
+"I should like to put my patient to bed, madam; but the nearest
+farm-house is still too far off for him to be conveyed thither in safety.
+The motion would start his wound to bleeding again, and the hemorrhage
+might prove fatal," said the surgeon suggestively.
+
+The abbess took the hint.
+
+"Of course," she said, "the poor wounded man must remain here. I will
+have a room prepared for him in our Old Men's Home. It will not take ten
+minutes to get the room ready, and carry him to it. Can you wait so long,
+good Doctor?"
+
+"Assuredly, madam," answered the surgeon.
+
+The abbess gave the necessary orders to a couple of young nuns, who
+hurried off to obey them.
+
+In less time than the abbess required, they came back and reported that
+the room was ready for the patient.
+
+"Now, then, Monsieur le Docteur, you may remove your patient," said the
+abbess, courteously.
+
+The surgeon, assisted by two of the countrymen, tenderly lifted the
+wounded man, and laid him on the leaf of the gate, and, preceded by an
+aged nun to show the way, bore him off toward the Old Men's Home.
+
+One of the Englishmen and one of the gend'armes followed him.
+
+The remaining two Englishmen and two gend'armes showed no disposition to
+depart.
+
+The abbess was not two well pleased at this masculine invasion of her
+sanctuary, and so after waiting for some explanation of their presence
+from these strange men, she went up to them and inquired, with suggestive
+politeness:
+
+"May we know, messieurs, how we can further serve you?"
+
+"Your pardon, holy madam, but we are not willing intruders. I am
+Inspector Setter, of Scotland Yard, London, at your service. The wounded
+man is one John Scott, charged with complicity in the murder and robbery
+of the late Sir Lemuel Levison of Lone Castle. I bear a warrant for his
+arrest, countersigned by your chief of police. But for the prisoner's
+dying condition, we should convey him back to England immediately. As it
+is, we must hold him in custody here until the end," said the elder and
+more respectable-looking of the two Englishmen.
+
+"I am very sorry to hear what you have to tell me; but since it seems
+your duty to remain here on guard for the security of your prisoner, I
+think it would be better that you should be nearer to him. The Old Men's
+Home will afford the most proper lodging for you as well as for him. One
+of my nuns will show you the way there, when a room near that of your
+wounded prisoner shall be assigned you," said the abbess, with grave
+courtesy, as she beckoned a withered old nun to her presence, and
+silently directed her to lead the way for the strangers to the lodging
+provided for them.
+
+"John Scott, the half brother of the Duke of Hereward, charged with
+complicity in the murder and robbery at Castle Lone! Well, I am more
+grieved than surprised," murmured the abbess to herself.
+
+Then she sent the younger nuns and novices about their several duties,
+and directed one of the elders to see that the refectory was restored to
+order.
+
+The abbess was about to return to her own room when she was stayed by
+the re-entrance of Inspector Setter, the three gend'armes, and the
+countrymen.
+
+The abbess looked up in a grave inquiry at this second intrusion.
+
+"I beg your pardon, reverend madam; I have come to report to you the
+condition of your wounded guest, and to relieve you of the presence of
+these trespassers," said Inspector Setter, indicating his companions.
+
+"Well, monsieur, what of the wounded man?" inquired the lady.
+
+"The surgeon has dressed his wound, but pronounces it mortal. The man, he
+says, cannot live over a few days, perhaps not over a few hours. The
+surgeon will not leave him to-day."
+
+"I am very sorry to hear that. Will you be so good as to tell me,
+monsieur, how the unfortunate man received his fatal injury? I heard--I
+heard--but I hope it is not true," said the abbess, shrinking from
+repeating the awful rumor that had reached her ears.
+
+"You heard, holy madam, that he had committed suicide?" suggested the
+harder-nerved inspector.
+
+The abbess bowed gravely.
+
+"It is unfortunately quite true," said Inspector Setter. "You see,
+reverend madam, we traced him and his young--woman--I beg your reverend
+ladyship's pardon, holy madam--to Paris. Afterwards, we tracked them to
+L'Ange. We reached L'Ange this morning, and learned that our man had
+walked out toward the convent here. We followed, and came upon him near
+the south gate. I accosted him, and arrested him. He was as cool as a
+cucumber, and quick as lightning! Before we could suspect or prevent the
+action, he whipped a pistol out of his breast-pocket, and presented it at
+his own head. I seized his arm while his finger was on the trigger; but
+was too late to save him. He fired! I only changed the direction of the
+ball, which, instead of blowing off his head, buried itself somewhere in
+his body. He fell, a crowd gathered, we picked him up, took a leaf of the
+gate off its hinges, laid him on it, and brought him in here. That is
+all, your reverend ladyship. The doctor says the wound is mortal; I must
+remain in charge until all is over; but I don't want a body-guard, and if
+your ladyship's politeness will permit me. I will dismiss all these men
+and see them out."
+
+"Do so, if you please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Oh, this is too horrible!"
+said the abbess.
+
+While she was yet speaking, the surgeon also re-entered the refectory.
+
+"How goes it with your patient, Monsieur le Docteur?" inquired the lady.
+
+"He will die, good madam. Velpeau himself could not save him; he knows
+that he will die as well as we do, for he has recovered consciousness,
+and desired that a telegram be sent off immediately to summon the Duke
+of Hereward, whom he seems extremely anxious to see. I have written the
+message; here it is. I cannot leave my patient, or I would take it
+myself; but Monsieur l'Inspecteur, perhaps you can provide me with a
+messenger to carry this to L'Ange," said the surgeon.
+
+"Certainly," agreed Mr. Setter, taking the written message and reading
+it. "But you have directed this to Hereward House, Piccadilly, London?"
+
+"I wrote it at the dictation of my patient."
+
+"He is mistaken. The Duke of Hereward is living in Paris, at Meurice's.
+I will make the correction," said Mr. Setter, drawing from his pocket a
+lead pencil and a blank-book, upon a leaf of which he re-wrote the
+message. He tore out the leaf, and read what he had written:
+
+"To HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, MEURICE'S, PARIS: I am dying. Come
+immediately.
+
+"JOHN SCOTT, Convent of St. Rosalie, L'Ange."
+
+"That will do," said Mr. Setter, inspecting his work. "Now, Smith," he
+added, handing the paper to one of his officers, "hurry with this message
+to the telegraph office at the railway station at L'Ange. See that it is
+sent off promptly, for it is a matter of life and death, as you know.
+Wait for an answer, and when you get it hasten back with it."
+
+"All right, sir," answered the man, taking the paper, and hurrying away.
+
+The other men, whose services were no longer required, followed him out
+to go about their business.
+
+The inspector and the surgeon, seeing the lady abbess about to address
+them, lingered.
+
+"I hope, messieurs, that you will freely call upon us for anything that
+may be needed for the relief of your patient, or for the convenience of
+yourselves," she said, with grave courtesy.
+
+"Thanks, madame, we will do so," replied the surgeon, with a deep bow.
+
+"And, above all, the interests of his immortal soul should be taken care
+of. If he should need spiritual comfort, here is Father Garbennetti, who
+will wait on him," added the abbess, solemnly.
+
+"Your ladyship's holiness is very good. I happen to know the man is a
+Romanist, and if he should ask for a priest, I will let your reverend
+ladyship know," said Mr. Setter.
+
+"Do so. Monsieur l'Inspecteur. And tell him the name of the priest I
+proposed for him--Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy; for I have
+reason to believe that this holy father once knew your patient very
+intimately," added the abbess.
+
+"Stay, now--what was the priest's name again? I never can get the name of
+these foreigners," muttered Mr. Setter, with a puzzled air.
+
+"Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy. But I will write it for you.
+Lend me your pencil and tablets, monsieur, if you please."
+
+Mr. Setter placed his pocket writing material in the hands of the lady,
+with his best bow.
+
+She carefully wrote the name of the Italian priest on a blank leaf and
+returned the pencil and the book to the inspector, who received them with
+another bow.
+
+Doctor Dubourg and Inspector Setter then "bowed" themselves out of the
+lady's presence and returned to the bedside of the wounded man.
+
+The abbess gave a few more directions to the lay sisters who were engaged
+in restoring the room to order, and then she withdrew from the refectory
+and returned to her own apartment, where she had left Salome and the
+little Sister Felecitie.
+
+She found them still waiting there; and both engaged in the little bit of
+knitting or embroidery that they always carried in their pockets to take
+up at odd moments that would otherwise be wasted in idleness, which was
+held to be a grave fault, if not a deadly sin, by the sisterhood, and,
+besides, from the sale of this work they realized a very considerable
+income.
+
+"I waited here, good mother, to learn more of the poor wounded man.
+Sister Felecitie tells me that he is a suicide. I hope that is a
+mistake," said Salome.
+
+"It is too true, _helas_! But, my daughter," said the abbess,
+turning to the young nun, "leave us alone for a few minutes."
+
+The little sister retired obediently, but very unwillingly, for she was
+tormented with unsatisfied curiosity concerning the unfortunate stranger,
+who had committed suicide at their convent gate.
+
+"Salome! do you know, can you conjecture, who the unhappy man is?"
+solemnly inquired the abbess, as soon as she was left alone with her
+young friend.
+
+"I do not know. I--_fear to conjecture_," whispered the young wife;
+growing pale.
+
+"Yet your very fear proves that you _have_ conjectured, and
+conjectured correctly. Yes! the wretched suicide is no other than John
+Scott, the 'double' of the Duke of Hereward."
+
+"Heaven of heavens! What drove him to the fatal deed? But why should
+I ask? Of course, it was remorse! remorse that was slowly killing him!
+too slowly for his suffering and his impatience!" exclaimed the young
+lady, with a shudder.
+
+"Yes, it was remorse, and--_desperation_."
+
+"Desperation!"
+
+"Yes! The English detectives had traced him down to this neighborhood;
+they followed him down here with a warrant for his arrest, countersigned
+by our chief of police. They surprised him near the south gate of the
+convent; but he was too quick for them; and before they could prevent
+him, driven to desperation, he caught a pistol from his pocket and shot
+himself through the body, inflicting a mortal wound. They brought him
+into the convent. I have had him placed in a comfortable room in the Old
+Men's Home, where he is attended by Doctor Dubourg, of L'Ange, who
+Providentially happened to be passing the convent at the time of the
+occurrence."
+
+Salome covered her face with her hands, and sank back in her chair, with
+a groan.
+
+A few moments elapsed, and then Salome, still vailing her face, murmured
+a question:
+
+"How long may the dying man last? Surely--surely--" Her voice faltered,
+and broke down with a sob.
+
+"He _can_ not last more than a very few days. He _may_ not last
+more than a few hours," said the abbess, in a low tone.
+
+"Surely--surely, then," resumed Salome, in a broken voice, "he will make
+a confession before he dies. He will vindicate his brother, and so save
+his own soul."
+
+"I think that he will do so, Sister Salome. Calm yourself. He has caused
+a telegram to be sent to the Duke of Hereward, calling him here."
+
+Salome started and trembled violently. She could scarcely gasp forth the
+words of her broken exclamation:
+
+"The Duke of Hereward! Called! Here!"
+
+"Yes, my daughter. So you perceive that your proposed journey to England
+is forestalled."
+
+"My husband coming here! Oh! how soon will he come? He cannot be here in
+less than twenty-four hours, can he?" eagerly demanded Salome.
+
+"He may be here in less than six hours. The Duke of Hereward does not
+have to come from London; he is not there, but in Paris; so you perceive,
+also, that if you had gone to England, as you proposed to do, you would
+have missed seeing him there," added the lady, smiling.
+
+"My husband in Paris--so near. My husband to be here this evening--so
+soon. Oh, this is too much, too much happiness!" exclaimed the young
+wife, bursting into tears of joy.
+
+"Then you have no dread of meeting him?" suggested the elder lady.
+
+"'Dread of meeting him?' Dread of meeting my own dear husband? Ah, no,
+no, no! No dread, but an infinite longing to meet him. Oh! I know and
+feel how I have wronged him. How deeply and bitterly I have wronged him.
+But I know, also, how utterly he will pardon me. Yes, I know that, as
+surely as I know that my Heavenly Lord pardons us all of our repented
+sins!" fervently exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Heaven grant that you may be happy, my child'" said the lady, earnestly.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and an aged nun, one of the attendants in
+the Old Men's Home, entered the room.
+
+"Well, Mere Pauline, what is it?" calmly inquired the abbess.
+
+"Holy mother, I have come from Monsieur le Docteur to say that the
+messenger has come back from L'Ange, and brought an answer to the
+telegram. Monsieur le Duc d' Hereward will be here by the midday
+express from Paris, which reaches L'Ange at five o'clock this afternoon,"
+answered Mere Pauline.
+
+"Thanks for your news. Sit down and breathe after climbing all these
+stairs. And now tell me, how is the wounded man?" inquired the abbess,
+as the old nun sank wearily into the nearest chair.
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother, he is sinking fast. The doctor thinks he will
+not outlive the night; and meanwhile he is anxious, so anxious, for the
+arrival of Monsieur le Duc! He asks from time to time if the duke has
+come, or is coming; if we have heard from him, and so on," sighed the old
+nun.
+
+"But have you not soothed him by communicating the message received from
+the duke, that his grace will be here at five o'clock?"
+
+"No, holy mother! for he was sleeping under the influence of opium, which
+the good surgeon had felt obliged to administer in order to quiet him
+just before the message came. If he wakes and inquires about the duke
+again, we will give him the message."
+
+"Quite right. Has the wretched man seen a priest, or asked to see one?"
+
+"No, mother! but I was not unmindful of his immortal weal. I asked him if
+he would see Pere Garbennetti. He brightened up at the name, and inquired
+if le pere was here. I told him yes, and at his service, waiting to
+attend him, indeed. But then he gloomed again, and said no; he would see
+no one until he had seen the Duke of Hereward. He would rest and save his
+strength for his interview with the Duke of Hereward. I will return to my
+charge now, if my good mother will permit me," said the old nun, rising
+from her chair.
+
+"Go, then, Mere Pauline, if you are sufficiently rested. Keep me advised
+of the state of your patient, but do not tax your aged limbs to climb
+these stairs again. Send one of the younger nuns, and give yourself some
+rest," said the abbess, kindly.
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother, I shall have time enough to rest in the
+grave, whither I am fast tending," sighed the old nun, as she withdrew
+from the room.
+
+"Oh, mother!" joyfully exclaimed Salome, as soon as they were left alone,
+"he comes by the midday express! It is midday now! The train has already
+left Paris! He is speeding toward us, even now, as fast as steam can
+bring him. I can almost see and hear and _feel_ him coming!"
+
+"Calm your transports, dear daughter; think of the dying sinner so near
+us, even now," gravely replied the elder lady.
+
+"I can think of nothing but my living husband," exclaimed the young wife.
+
+"Oh, these young hearts! these young hearts! 'From all inordinate and
+sinful affections, good Lord, deliver us!'" prayed the abbess.
+
+She had scarcely spoken, when the door opened and Sister Francoise
+entered the room.
+
+"I came with a message from the portress, good mother. She says that a
+young woman has come from L'Ange, who claims to be the wife of the
+wounded man, and insists upon being admitted to see him. The portress
+does not know what to do, and has sent me to you for instructions," said
+Sister Francoise.
+
+"The wounded man is sleeping and must not be awakened. Tell the portress
+to keep the young woman in the parlor until she can be permitted to see
+the patient, then do you go to the Old Men's Home, inquire for Monsieur
+le Doctor Dubourg, and announce to him the arrival of this woman, and let
+him use his medical discretion about admitting her. Go."
+
+"Yes, holy mother," said Sister Francoise, retreating.
+
+"You have not had a moment's peace since this unhappy man has been in the
+house," said Salome, compassionately.
+
+"No," smiled the lady. "Of course not, but it cannot be helped. We must
+bear one another's burdens."
+
+The loud ringing of the dinner-bell arrested the conversation.
+
+"Come, we will go down," said the abbess, rising.
+
+They descended to the refectory.
+
+The long hall, that had been the scene of so much horror and confusion in
+the morning, was now restored to its normal condition.
+
+The plain, frugal, midday meal of the abbess and the elder nuns was
+arranged with pure cleanliness upon the table, where, but a few hours
+before, the body of the wounded man had lain. But the awful event of the
+morning had taken a deep effect upon the quiet and sensitive sisterhood.
+They sat down at the table, but scarcely touched the food.
+
+When the form of dining--for it was little more than a form that day--was
+over, the abbess and her nuns arose, and separated about their several
+vocations.
+
+Later on, the abbess sent a message to the Old Men's Home, inquiring
+after the wounded man.
+
+She received an answer to the effect that the patient had waked up, and
+had been told of the telegram from the Duke of Hereward, and the expected
+arrival of his grace at five o'clock.
+
+The news had satisfied the suffering man, who had been calmer ever since
+its reception. He had also been told of the arrival of his wife, but he
+had declined to see her, or _any_ one, until he should have seen the
+Duke of Hereward. He was saving up all his little strength for his
+interview with the duke.
+
+As the hours of the afternoon crept slowly away, the impatience of the
+young wife, Salome, arose to fever heat. She could not rest in any one
+room, but roamed about the convent, and through all its departments and
+offices, until, at length, she was met in the main corridor by the
+abbess, who gravely took her hand, drew it within her arm, and led her
+along, saying:
+
+"Come into my parlor, child. The Duke of Hereward has arrived."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+THE END OF A LOST LIFE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward knew nothing of his wife's presence in the Convent
+of St. Rosalie.
+
+On his arrival, soon after five o'clock, he was met by the portress, who
+ushered him into the receiving parlor and sent to warn the abbess of his
+presence.
+
+The abbess dispatched a message to the surgeon in attendance upon John
+Scott, and then sought out the young duchess to inform her of her
+husband's arrival.
+
+Meantime Dr. Dubourg hurried down to the receiving-parlor to see the
+Duke of Hereward. They were strangers to each other, so the portress
+introduced them.
+
+"I hope your patient is better, Monsieur le Docteur," said the duke, when
+the first salutations were over.
+
+"No, I regret to say. There is, indeed, no hope. The poor man has been
+sinking since morning. He is most anxious to see your grace, before he
+dies, and that very anxiety, I think, has kept him up," gravely replied
+the physician.
+
+"I am sorry to hear that. Is he in condition to see me now? Will not the
+interview tend to excite him and shorten his life?" anxiously inquired
+the duke.
+
+"It may do so; but, on the other hand, his failure to see you might prove
+fatal to him sooner than his wound would. The fact is, sir, the man is
+doomed; his hours are numbered, and he knows it. He is eager to see you;
+he seems to have something weighing upon his mind, which he wishes to
+confide to you. He has been saving his little strength for an interview
+with you. He has refused to speak to any one, lest he should waste his
+forces and be too weak to talk to you."
+
+"I will go to him, then, at once," said the duke.
+
+"Do so, your grace, and I will attend you," said the doctor with a bow.
+
+The duke arose and followed the doctor through the long corridors and
+narrow passages leading from the Nunnery to the Old Men's Home.
+
+On their way thither, the duke inquired how the patient had received that
+fatal wound, of which his grace had only heard a vague report from scraps
+of conversation among the officials at the L'Ange Railway Depot.
+
+The doctor gave him a brief account of the arrest and the suicide.
+
+The duke made no comment, but fell into deep, sorrowful thought, until
+they reached the door of the room in which John Scott lay mortally
+wounded.
+
+The doctor opened the door and passed in with the duke.
+
+It was a good-sized, square room, in which had once been placed four cots
+to accommodate four old men. Now, however, all the cots had been removed
+except the one on which the wounded man lay, and that had been drawn into
+the middle of the chamber, so as to give the patient a free circulation
+of fresh air, and to allow the approach of surgeon and attendants on
+every side. The walls were white-washed, the floor sanded, the windows
+shaded with blue paper hangings, and the cot-bed covered with a clean,
+blue-checked spread. Four cane chairs and a small deal table completed
+the furniture.
+
+Everything was plain, clean and comfortable.
+
+The doctor, with a deprecating gesture, signed to the duke to wait a
+moment, and went up to the side of the bed, and finding his patient
+awake, whispered:
+
+"Monsieur, the friend you expected has arrived."
+
+"You mean--the Duke of Hereward?" faintly inquired Scott.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Give me then--some cordial--to keep up my strength--for fifteen minutes
+longer," sighed the dying man at intervals.
+
+The doctor signed to Sister Francoise, who sat by the bedside, to go and
+bring what was required.
+
+The old nun went to the deal table and brought a small bottle of cognac
+brandy and a slender wine glass.
+
+The doctor filled the glass, lifted the head of the patient, and placed
+the stimulant to his lips.
+
+Scott swallowed the brandy, drew a deep breath as he sank back upon the
+pillow and said:
+
+"Now, bring the duke to my bed side, and let everyone go and leave us
+together."
+
+The doctor signed for the duke to approach, and silently presented him to
+the patient.
+
+Then he beckoned Sister Francoise to follow him, and they left the room,
+closing the door behind them.
+
+"I am sorry to see you suffering, my brother," said the duke, kindly, as
+he bent over the dying man.
+
+"Ah! you call me your brother! You acknowledge me then?" said Scott, half
+in earnest, half in mockery.
+
+"Most certainly I do acknowledge you, and most sincerely do I deplore
+your misfortunes," answered the duke.
+
+"Yet I have been a great sinner. I feel that now, as I lie upon my
+death-bed," muttered Scott, in a low tone.
+
+"I look upon you as one 'more sinned against than sinning,'" said the
+duke seriously.
+
+"Yes, that is true also," murmured the dying man.
+
+"But let us not dwell upon that. The past is dead. Let it be buried."
+
+"Aye, with all my heart."
+
+"You wished to see me."
+
+"Yes, I did."
+
+"To make some communication to me. Is it a very important one?"
+
+"It is so important that I have risked my soul to make it to you."
+
+"But how can that be?"
+
+"Why, in this way. I have but little strength, I might have used that
+strength in making my confession to Father Garbennetti, and received
+absolution at his hands; but I was afraid of exhausting myself so that
+I should not be able to tell you what I have to communicate."
+
+"I trust and believe that you have more strength than you suppose. Your
+eyes look bright and strong."
+
+"That is the effect of the brandy. I never tasted better. Ah! they know
+what good liquor is--these holy sisters--no offence to them, bless them;
+their care has helped me; but I am going fast, for all that."
+
+"You are at ease--you feel no pain?"
+
+"No; but that is because mortification has set in. I feel no pain: I am
+at ease, only sinking, sinking, sinking fast. Will you pour out a little
+glass of brandy and give it to me? You will find the bottle and the
+wine-glass on the table," said the patient, who was visibly growing
+feebler.
+
+The duke went and brought the stimulant, and administered it to the dying
+man.
+
+"Ah! that revives me! How long have you known that I was your brother?"
+Scott inquired, as soon as the duke had replaced the glass and returned
+to the bedside.
+
+"Only since our honored father's death. I should at once have claimed you
+and carried out certain instructions he had left me for your benefit, in
+the letter in which he revealed our relationship--if--if--if--"
+
+The duke, with more delicacy than moral courage, hesitated, and finally
+left his sentence incomplete.
+
+"If I had not dishonored my family by committing a crime, and flying the
+country!" said John Scott, finishing the sentence for the first speaker.
+
+"I did not say so," exclaimed the duke, flushing.
+
+"But it was the truth nevertheless. And now before I begin my confession,
+will you please to tell me the nature of the revelation and of the
+instructions that my father left to you concerning me?"
+
+"Certainly. He told me the story of his first fatal marriage; of the
+divorce sought and granted under lying circumstantial evidence; of your
+birth some few months later--out of wedlock--although you were the son of
+his lawful marriage. He told me how impossible it was ever to restore you
+to your lawful rights, and he charged me to regard you as a dear brother,
+and share with you all the benefits of the estate, the whole of which
+would eventually have been yours had not your father's own rash act
+deprived you of the succession, and forever put it out of our power to
+restore you to it. I accepted the trust, and should have discharged it
+had you not left the country."
+
+"Well, I suppose the old man did as well as he could under the
+circumstances. He too was to be pitied. But now tell me, did _you_
+help to hark the bloodhounds of the law on my track?"
+
+"No. From the time I received a hint from that wretched man, Potts, the
+valet, implicating yourself, I refrained from all action in your
+pursuit."
+
+"I thought so--I thought so. You wouldn't like to help hang your own
+brother, even if he had deserved it; but he did not quite deserve it; and
+it was to explain that, as well as some other things, that I brought you
+here. You know so much already, however, so much more than I suspected
+you knew, that I shall not have a great deal to tell you; but--my
+strength is going fast again. I shall have to be quick. Give me another
+glass of brandy."
+
+The duke complied with the man's request, and then replaced the glass
+again and returned to the bedside.
+
+"I suppose I should not require that stimulant so often to keep up my
+dying frame, if I had not been so hard a drinker in late years. However,
+it is absolutely necessary to me now, if I am to go on. Come close; I
+cannot raise my voice any longer," whispered the fast-failing man.
+
+The duke drew his chair as closely as possible to the side of the cot,
+took the wasted hand of his poor brother, and bowed his head to hear the
+sorrowful story.
+
+In a weak, low voice, with many pauses, John Scott told the story of
+his life, from his own point of view, dwelling much on his mother's
+undeserved sorrows and early death.
+
+He told of his own secluded life and education, and of his ignorance of
+his father's name until after his mother's decease.
+
+He confessed the rage and hatred that filled his bosom on first learning
+that poor mother's wrongs, greater even than his own.
+
+He spoke of the natural mistake made by the country people at Lone, who
+misled by his perfect likeness to his brother, had received him and
+honored him as Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+He admitted that their error flattered his self-love, and believing
+that he had the best right to the title, he allowed them to deceive
+themselves, and to address him and speak of him as Lord Arondelle, the
+heir.
+
+He related the incident of his first accidental meeting with Rose
+Cameron, who, like all the other tenantry, mistook him for the young
+marquis, and so had her head turned by his attentions, and followed him
+to London, where he secretly married her.
+
+This brought him to the time when the extravagance of his companion,
+added to his own expensive vices, brought him deeply into debt. He knew
+that his father had placed a large amount of money in the hands of Sir
+Lemuel Levison to be invested for his (John Scott's) benefit. He applied
+for a part of this money to pay his debts, but was refused by the
+trustee. Whereupon a quarrel ensued, which resulted in Sir Lemuel
+Levison's resolution to take the money down to Lone Castle and restore
+it to the original donor, that the latter might dispose of it at his own
+discretion.
+
+This move maddened the penniless spendthrift. It drove him to
+desperation. He resolved to get possession of his money by foul means
+since he could not do so by fair ones; by violence, if not by peace.
+Circumstances had brought him to acquaintance with a pair of desperate
+thieves and burglars.
+
+He sought them out, tempted them by the prospect of great booty for
+themselves, and arranged with them the whole plan of the robbery of Lone,
+stipulating that there should be no bloodshed at all; but that if the
+burglars were discovered before completing the robbery, they should seek
+rather to make their escape than to secure their booty.
+
+But who can unchain a devil and say to him, "Thus far, no farther shalt
+thou go?" The instigator of the crime had no power over his instruments;
+on the contrary, they had power over him from the moment he called in
+their aid and became their confederate.
+
+John Scott continued his confession by relating that he took the men down
+to Lone, disguised as countrymen, and led them to the castle grounds,
+where, lost in the great crowd that came to see the preparations for the
+wedding festivities, their presence as strangers was unnoticed; that at
+night he drugged the drink of the valet, stole the pass-key from his
+pocket, and through the secret passage under Malcolm's Tower he admitted
+the thieves into the castle, and by means of the valet's key passed them
+into Sir Lemuel Levison's bedroom.
+
+He shuddered, failed, and seemed about to faint, as he recalled the
+horrible tragedy enacted in the room that night.
+
+The duke gave him another small glass of brandy before he could revive
+and continue.
+
+"Heaven knows, though under strong temptation, not to say under
+imperative necessity, I employed thieves and burglars, I was neither
+a robber nor a murderer in intention. I wanted to get my own money,
+withheld from me against my expressed desire--that was all. I do not say
+this to extenuate my crime, but to let you know the exact truth. I cannot
+dwell upon this part of the dreadful tale. You know already that the
+thieves murdered Sir Lemuel Levison in his chamber. It seems that he
+had not gone to bed, but had fallen asleep in his chair. He woke and
+discovered them. He was instantly about to give the alarm, when he was
+knocked senseless by Smith and killed by Murdockson. From the moment that
+I heard the old man was dead, although I had not intended the awful
+crime, I knew that I had actually occasioned it, and that the curse of
+Cain was upon my head! I have not had a happy moment since. I fled the
+country, and stayed abroad until I heard that my wretched companion,
+Rose, was in trouble. Then I returned in disguise to see what was to
+become of her, resolved to give myself up to justice, if it should be
+necessary to vindicate her. But I found, by cautious inquiry, that she
+had been admitted as crown's evidence on the trial of the valet Potts,
+who was discharged from custody, on a verdict of 'Not Proven,' but that
+she was in prison again, on the charge of perjury, for having sworn--what
+she truly believed, by the way, poor wench--that the confederate of the
+thieves who murdered Sir Lemuel Levison was no other than the young
+Marquis of Arondelle. You were there, sir, and immediately proved an
+alibi?"
+
+"Yes," said the duke.
+
+"Rose was thereupon committed for perjury. I found her in prison on that
+charge when I returned to Scotland. I did not see her then. I was afraid
+to show myself, especially as I knew the girl felt very bitterly toward
+me, believing that I had willfully betrayed her into danger, when in
+point of fact it was her own dishonesty that led to her arrest. Her
+vanity tempted her to purloin and secrete a portion of the most valuable
+jewels from the booty that had accidentally in the confusion of the
+thieves' flight fallen into my hands along with the money that was my
+own. I had intended, secretly to return the jewels upon the first
+opportunity, but the unfortunate woman secreted them, and denied all
+knowledge of them. After my flight she was so mad as to wear the watch in
+public, and to take it to a West End jeweller for repairs. Of course that
+jeweller, like others, had a full description of the watch, recognized
+the stolen property, and caused the arrest of the holder."
+
+"We heard all that on the trial. Do not exhaust yourself by repeating
+anything that has already come to our knowledge," said the duke.
+
+"I refer to this only to explain the bitterness of the girl's feelings
+toward me as the reason why I was obliged to keep concealed."
+
+"But if the girl had been favorable toward you, would not it have been
+equally dangerous for you to have shown yourself?"
+
+"Oh! no; my disguise was too complete. Besides, if I had not been
+disguised--you see in that neighborhood I had never been known as myself,
+but had always been mistaken for you--and the people were not undeceived
+up to that time. Give me a little more brandy. Ah! this spurring up a
+jaded horse! You see it does not get into my head. It only keeps up my
+sinking strength," added the man, after the duke had complied with his
+request.
+
+"I remained in the neighborhood to see the result of Rose Cameron's trial
+for perjury. It was near the end of the term when she was arraigned at
+Banff. She would certainly have been convicted, for it was in evidence
+that she had sworn that the Marquis of Arondelle had been the confederate
+of the thieves and murderers, and had himself received and delivered to
+her the stolen booty; and her testimony was rebutted on the spot, not
+only by the high character and standing of the marquis, but by witnesses
+who proved an alibi for him. She would certainly have been convicted, I
+say, had not an unexpected witness appeared in her behalf. John Potts,
+the valet, who had been discharged from custody, came upon the stand,
+took the oath, and testified to the existence of a perfect counterpart of
+the Marquis of Arondelle, in the person of one John Scott, the companion
+of the accused woman, who had always foolishly believed him to be the
+young marquis himself. This testimony not only vindicated the accused
+woman from the charge of perjury, but opened her eyes to the facts of the
+case--namely, that I had never abandoned her to suffer in my stead while
+I went off to marry another woman, as she had supposed--that my only sin
+against her was in having allowed her to deceive herself in believing me
+to be Lord Arondelle."
+
+The man gasped as he concluded the last sentence, and the duke said:
+
+"You had better rest now. A little rest will do more good than any
+stimulant."
+
+"You think so? Nay, rest would be death for me now. I must go on while my
+nerves are strung up; once they relax, I die."
+
+"Very well; I am listening attentively."
+
+"As soon as Rose was discharged from custody I sought her out, and there
+was a mutual explanation and reconciliation. But the testimony of John
+Potts, given on the trial of Rose Cameron, had placed my life in great
+jeopardy: so we secretly left the country. We went away separately for
+our greater security. I went first. Rose came on a week later. We met by
+appointment at L'Ange. In the obscurity of that village we hoped for
+safety; but I was tormented by remorse; for the murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison lay heavily on my soul. There, my wife, Rose, gave birth to a
+little girl, whom we secretly placed in the rotary basket at the door of
+the Infants' Asylum attached to this convent. The good nuns received it,
+and cared for it. They called it _Marie Perdue_, 'Lost Mary.' After
+Rose's recovery, we went away, because it was not safe for us to remain
+so near home with such sharpers as English detectives and French police
+on our track. We took refuge in Italy, in the Sanctuary of the Holy See.
+We stayed there several months, when, thinking that all pursuit had been
+abandoned, and longing to see our child, we came on a flying visit to
+L'Ange. But the police were on the watch for us. I was arrested, as you
+have heard, on the day after my arrival. Quick work; but you see the
+chief of police here telegraphed the police in London, and brought the
+detectives hither within twenty-four hours. You know the rest. I am dying
+here by my own hand. It was a mad, rash, impulsive act, for which I
+am deeply sorry; but--I am dying in expiation of _my_ share in the
+tragedy at Lone Castle."
+
+The young duke took the emaciated hand of the failing man and pressed it
+in silence; he was too deeply moved to trust himself to speak.
+
+"I have but this to say now. I leave a wife and helpless child. They are
+penniless and friendless. You will not let them starve," murmured the
+man.
+
+"Oh, no, no, I will care for them, believe me, as long as we all shall
+live," said the duke, earnestly.
+
+"That is all. Bid me good-by now. And when you go out ask good Sister
+Francoise to send the priest," said John Scott, holding out his white,
+cold hand.
+
+"I will. Good-bye. May our merciful Father in heaven bless and save you,
+my poor brother," murmured the duke, pressing that pale hand, laying it
+tenderly on the coverlet, and gliding from the room of death.
+
+Ten minutes later, the good Father Garbennetti was closeted with his
+penitent, administering religious consolation.
+
+When the last sacred offices were all performed, the priest retired, and
+the wife and child of the dying man were admitted to his presence, with
+permission to remain with him to the end.
+
+In the meantime, the Duke of Hereward, conducted by Doctor Dubourg,
+traversed the long passages leading from the Old Men's Home to the
+convent.
+
+As they went on, the duke gave the doctor instructions to supply the
+patient with everything that he should require during the last few hours
+of his life; and after death to take direction of the funeral, and charge
+all expenses to himself (the duke), adding:
+
+"I shall, of course, remain at L'Ange until all is over."
+
+"It will not be long, monseigneur. The poor man has been kept up by
+mental excitement and by strong stimulants all day long; there comes a
+fatal reaction soon, from which nothing can raise him. He will not
+outlive the day."
+
+"I am very sorry for him," murmured the duke.
+
+"He was, perhaps, a distant relative of your grace. There is a slight
+family likeness," suggested the doctor.
+
+"There is a very remarkable family likeness, and he is a very near
+relative," answered the duke, adding; "I hope you will kindly follow the
+instructions I have given you in regard to him."
+
+"I will faithfully follow them out, monseigneur," said the doctor, with
+a bow.
+
+At the entrance to the convent proper they were met by an elderly nun,
+who brought the lady superior's compliments and begged leave to announce
+that refreshments were laid in the receiving-parlor, if the Duke of
+Hereward and Doctor Dubourg would do the house the honor to partake of
+them.
+
+The young duke was tired and hungry from his long journey and longer
+fast, and gratefully accepted the sister's courteous invitation in his
+own and the doctor's name.
+
+The nun led the way to the parlor, where a table was set out, not merely
+with slight refreshments, but with the first course of a dainty dinner,
+which the forethought of the abbess had caused to be prepared for her
+noble guest.
+
+The duke and the doctor sat down to the table, and were attentively
+waited on by two of the elder sisterhood.
+
+Notwithstanding the good appetite of the guests and the delicacy of the
+viands set before them, the meal passed in gravity and in almost total
+silence, for the thoughts of the two companions were with the dying
+man whom they had left in the Old Men's Home.
+
+When they had finished dining, and had arisen from the table, a message
+was delivered by one of the old nuns who had waited upon them, to the
+effect that the lady superior desired to see the duke in the portress'
+room for a few minutes, before his departure.
+
+The duke immediately signified his readiness to wait on the lady,
+and followed his conductress to the little room behind the wicket
+appropriated to the portress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+HUSBAND AND WIFE.
+
+
+Two hours before this, the lady superior had conducted the young duchess
+to the private apartment of the abbess, to await the issue of events.
+
+Salome, pale, and trembling with excitement, sank into the nearest chair.
+
+"You do not fear to meet the duke, my child?" inquired the abbess,
+uneasily, as she also dropped into her seat.
+
+"Fear to meet my own magnanimous husband? Oh, no, no! I do not fear to
+meet him; but I long to meet him with an infinite longing!" fervently
+exclaimed Salome.
+
+"I am very glad to hear you say so. And you are sure of his prompt and
+full forgiveness?" said the abbess, softly.
+
+"'Sure of his forgiveness!'" echoed Salome, with a holy and happy smile.
+"Yes, as sure of his forgiveness as I am of the Lord's pardon!"
+
+"And yet when he hears the truth and understands all, he will know that
+he has nothing to forgive. And he should know and understand everything
+before he sees you. For this reason, as well as for several others, I
+have brought you here, and I advise you to seclude yourself yet for a few
+hours. I do not wish you to see the duke, or even to advise him of your
+presence in the house, until he has seen the dying man and heard the
+confession of the truth from his lips. That confession will prepare
+your husband to receive and understand you, better than any explanation
+you could possibly make would do. It will also save you from the distress
+of having to make a long explanation. Do you understand me, my child?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother, I understand, and thank you for your wise counsels."
+
+"I have also given directions to Sister Dominica that after he shall have
+concluded his interview with Mr. Scott, and partaken of dinner, which
+will be prepared for him in the receiving parlor, he shall be requested
+to meet me in the portress' room, where I propose to break to him the
+intelligence of your presence in the house."
+
+"Thanks, dear mother! infinite, eternal thanks for all your great
+goodness to me," fervently exclaimed Salome.
+
+"You are much too extravagant in your expressions of gratitude, my
+daughter! You exaggerate like a school-girl!" smiled the abbess.
+
+"Oh! I will prove by my acts that I do not exaggerate my feelings at
+least!" persisted Salome.
+
+And then, with girlish enthusiasm, she began to tell the lady-superior
+all she intended to do for the benefit of the convent charities, and
+especially for the "Infants' Asylum."
+
+The vesper-bell summoned them to chapel, where the evening service
+occupied them for an hour.
+
+They then went to the refectory, and joined the sisterhood at tea.
+
+In coming from the refectory, they were met in the corridor by old Sister
+Dominica, who stopped the abbess, respectfully, and said:
+
+"I come, holy mother, to report to you that I have followed all your
+instructions. Monseigneur le Duc and Monsieur le Docteur have well dined.
+Monsieur le Docteur has returned to his patient, Monseigneur le Duc has
+gone to the wicket-room to await madame, our holy mother."
+
+"_Bien!_" said the abbess. "I will attend his grace. Go, dear
+daughter, and await my return in my parlor. Sister Dominica, lead the
+way and announce me."
+
+Salome, in obedience to the abbess' orders, went back to the
+lady-superior's private parlor to await, with palpitating heart the
+issue of the lady's interview with the duke.
+
+Sister Dominica deferentially led the lady abbess to the wicket room,
+opened the door, and said:
+
+"The lady-superior of the convent to see Monseigneur, the Duke," then
+closed the door after the abbess, and retired.
+
+As Mother Genevieve entered the room, she saw standing there a tall,
+thin, distinguished-looking young man, with a pale complexion, blonde
+hair and beard, and blue eyes. His face bore traces of deep suffering
+bravely endured. The gentle abbess sympathized with him from the depths
+of her kind heart, and for the first time felt glad that he would regain
+his wife, although by his doing so the convent would lose her fortune.
+
+"Monseigneur, the Duke, of Hereward?" she said graciously, advancing into
+the room.
+
+"Yes, madam. I have the honor of saluting the Lady Abbess of St.
+Rosalie?" returned the duke, with a bow.
+
+"A poor nun, monseigneur; who, as the unworthy head of the house, begs
+leave to welcome you here," humbly returned the lady, bending her head.
+
+"Thanks, madam."
+
+"It is a sad event which has brought you under our roof, monseigneur."
+
+"A very sad one, madam."
+
+"And yet, for your sake, a very fortunate one."
+
+"May I be permitted to ask you, madam, in what way this misfortune can be
+fortunate?"
+
+"I had supposed that you already knew that, monseigneur."
+
+"Perhaps I do. I am not sure. I do not clearly comprehend, madam. Will
+madam deign to make her meaning plainer?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur, and you will pardon me if I enter too abruptly upon
+a subject at once painful and delicate."
+
+The abbess paused, and the duke inclined his head in the attitude of an
+attentive listener.
+
+"The young Duchess of Hereward, monseigneur?" said the abbess, in a low
+voice.
+
+The duke started very slightly, but his pale face flushed crimson.
+
+"Pardon, monseigneur. I am the more deeply interested in the young lady,
+for that she passed her infancy, childhood and youth--being nearly the
+whole of her short life, indeed, under this roof--where I stood in the
+position of a mother to her orphanage."
+
+"I knew, madam, that the motherless heiress was educated here," replied
+the duke, by way of saying something.
+
+"You will, therefore, understand the interest I take in Madame la
+Duchesse, and forgive my question when I ask: Have you heard from her
+grace since she left her home?"
+
+"You knew that she had left her home, then?" exclaimed the duke, in
+painful astonishment.
+
+The abbess bowed assent.
+
+"I hoped and believed that no one knew of her flight except the members
+of our own household, and the single confidential agent I employed to
+find her, and on whose discretion I could implicitly rely," said the
+duke, in a tone of extreme mortification and sorrow.
+
+"Be tranquil, monseigneur, no one does know of it out of the circle of
+her own devoted friends, who can never misinterpret it."
+
+"You know something of the duchess' movements, then? You know, perhaps,
+the cause of her flight--the place of her residence? You know--ah, madam,
+tell me _what_ you know, I beseech you!" implored the duke.
+
+"I know the cause of her flight, and justify her action even though she
+acted under a false impression. I know the place of her residence, and
+will tell it to you after you shall have answered one or two questions
+that I shall put to you. First then, monseigneur, when did you last hear
+of the duchess?"
+
+"Some few weeks after her flight, I received the first and last news
+I have ever had of my lost bride. It came in a short and cautiously
+written note from herself. This note was without date or address. It was
+apparently written in kind consideration for me, but it contained no word
+of affection. It was signed by her maiden name and post-marked Rome."
+
+The abbess smiled as she remembered that letter which had been written by
+Salome to put her husband out of suspense, and which had been sent by the
+mother superior, through a confidential agent who happened to be going
+there, to be mailed from Rome, to put the Duke of Hereward entirely off
+the track of his lost wife.
+
+"I have the note in my pocketbook. You may read it, madam, if you
+please," continued the duke, as he opened his portmonnaie and handed her
+a tiny, folded paper.
+
+The abbess took it and read as follows:
+
+"DUKE OF HEREWARD: I have just arisen from a bed of illness which
+has lasted ever since my flight, and prevented me from writing to you up
+to this time.
+
+"I write now only to relieve any anxiety that you may feel on account of
+one in whom you took too much interest; for I would not have you suffer
+needless pain.
+
+"You know the reason of my flight; or if you do not, my maiden name, at
+the foot of this note, will tell you how surely I had learned that it was
+my bounden duty to leave you instantly.
+
+"I left you without malice, trying to put the best construction on your
+motives and actions, if any such were possible; I left you with sorrow,
+praying the Lord to forgive and save you.
+
+"I dare not write to you as I feel toward you, for that would be a sin.
+
+"I have entered a religious house, where, by prayer and labor, I may live
+down all "inordinate and sinful affections," and where I shall henceforth
+be dead to the world and to you.
+
+"This, then, is the very last you will hear of her who was once known as
+SALOME LEVISON."
+
+"She says you knew the cause of her flight. _Did_ you know it,
+monseigneur?" inquired the abbess, when she had finished reading the
+note, and had returned it to the owner.
+
+"I did not even suspect it, at first, madam. At the trial of John Scott,
+on the charge of murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, to which I was summoned as
+a witness for the crown, some facts were developed that first awoke my
+suspicions as to the cause of my wife's flight. These suspicions were
+further strengthened by the tone of her letter, received three weeks
+afterwards, and they were absolutely confirmed by a revelation I have
+received this day."
+
+"From John Scott?"
+
+"Yes, madam."
+
+"You know the cause of your bride's flight, monseigneur. Do you blame her
+for it?"
+
+"Under such circumstances, I honor her for it. She nearly broke her own
+heart and mine; but, as a pure woman, believing as she was forced to
+believe, she could do no less. Now, madam, I have answered all your
+questions. Now relieve my anxiety--tell me where she is."
+
+"First tell me where you have been seeking her?" inquired the abbess,
+with a singular smile.
+
+"In Italy, of course! Her letter was post-marked Rome, though without any
+other address," said the duke, lightly lifting his eyebrows.
+
+"That letter was written in this house, and sent to Rome to be mailed
+thence, in order to put you off the true track of the duchess,
+monseigneur," said the abbess, with a smile.
+
+"What do you tell me, madam!" exclaimed the duke, in surprise.
+
+"Madame la Duchesse is under this roof, to which she fled for refuge
+direct from London!"
+
+"Can this be possible, madam?"
+
+"It is true! To whom, indeed, could the child come, in her extremity, but
+to me, the mother of her motherless youth?"
+
+"Oh, madam, you fill my heart with joy and gratitude! My wife under this
+roof?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur."
+
+"And safe and well?"
+
+"Safe and well."
+
+"Thank Heaven! Can I see her at once? Does she know I am here? Does she
+know--"
+
+"She knows everything, monseigneur, that you would have her know,
+although she has not heard the confession of John Scott, which has just
+been made to you. She knows everything by means of the agencies I set to
+work to investigate the truth. And she knows that you will forgive her,
+through the intuitions of her own spirit."
+
+"When can I see her, madam? Oh, when?" exclaimed the young duke, rising
+impatiently.
+
+"This moment, if you please. She is expecting you. Follow me,
+monseigneur," said the abbess, rising and leading the way through the
+broad hall that stretched between the wicket room and the lady-superior's
+parlor.
+
+When they reached the place, the abbess said:
+
+"Enter, monseigneur. You will find the duchess alone, within."
+
+And she opened the door and admitted him, then closed it behind him, and
+paced slowly away from the spot.
+
+As the duke advanced into the room, so silently that his footsteps were
+unheard, he saw his wife sitting within the recess of the solitary
+window. She wore a simple dress of black serge, with a white collar and
+white cuffs, such as she had worn ever since her entrance into the
+convent. Her head was turned toward the window and bowed upon her hand in
+an attitude of meditation. She neither saw nor heard the soft approach of
+the duke. He stood gazing on her with infinite pity, for a moment, and
+then laying his hand gently on her shoulder, whispered:
+
+"Salome!"
+
+She started up with a wild cry of joy! She would have sank down at his
+feet, but he caught her to his bosom, held her there, stroking her hair,
+kissing her face, murmuring in her ear:
+
+"Salome, Salome, my sweet wife, Salome! Oh, how thankful! Oh, how glad
+I am to meet you!"
+
+She could not answer him. She could not speak. She was overwhelmed by his
+goodness. She could only burst into tears and weep like a storm upon his
+bosom.
+
+He sat down on the sofa, and drew her to his side, keeping his arm around
+her and resting her head upon his bosom, while still he smoothed her hair
+with his hands, and kissed her from time to time, until she ceased to
+weep.
+
+"I can never forgive myself," she murmured at length--"never forgive
+myself for the deep wrong I have done your noble nature; nor do I ask you
+to forgive me; because--because your every tone and look and gesture
+expresses the full forgiveness, you are too delicate and generous to
+speak!"
+
+"No, sweet wife, do not ask me to forgive you; for you have done no
+willful wrong that needs forgiveness. And I have no forgiveness for you,
+sweet, but only love! infinite, eternal love! Our past is dead and
+buried. Let it be forgotten. You will leave this house with me this
+evening, love. And as soon as our duties will release us from this
+neighborhood we will return to England, where a host of friends will
+welcome us home. And here is something that will surprise and please you,
+love. Your flight is not known to the world. We are believed to be living
+in Italy together, where I have been traveling alone in secret search for
+you these many months. We shall return to society as from a lengthened
+wedding tour. Come, love, will you go away with me this very evening?"
+
+"I will go anywhere, do anything you wish--for, under God, henceforth
+I have no will but yours, oh, my lord and love!" murmured the young wife,
+sweetly, and solemnly, as she turned her face to his, and he sealed her
+promise with an earnest kiss.
+
+The same evening the Duke of Hereward took his recovered bride to the
+pretty, rustic inn at L'Ange, and installed her in a pleasant suite of
+apartments. They remained at L'Ange until after the funeral of poor John
+Scott, whose body was interred in the little cemetery by St. Marie
+L'Ange.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward defrayed all the expenses of the burial, and
+settled upon the widow an income sufficient to enable her to live in
+comfort and respectability. With the full consent of the unloving mother,
+who was but too willing to be relieved of her incumbrance, the young
+Duchess of Hereward adopted little Marie Perdue; "perdue" no longer, but
+the cherished pet of a fond foster-mother.
+
+Before leaving France, the Duke and Duchess of Hereward richly endowed
+the charities of the Convent of St. Rosalie, which had been so long the
+refuge of the lost bride. The duchess took an affectionate leave of the
+gentle abbess and her simple nuns, who had for so many months been her
+only companions. She promised to make them an annual visit.
+
+The young duke took his recovered bride over to England, then on to
+Scotland, and finally to their beautiful home, Lone Castle, where the
+young couple were received by their tenantry with great rejoicings.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lost Lady of Lone
+
+Author: E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+Release Date: June 11, 2005 [EBook #16039]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST LADY OF LONE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>THE LOST LADY OF LONE</h1>
+
+<h2>By MRS. E.D.E.N. SOUTHWORTH,</h2>
+
+<p>Author of &quot;Nearest and Dearest,&quot; &quot;The Hidden Hand,&quot; &quot;Unknown,&quot;
+&quot;Only a Girl's Heart,&quot; &quot;For Woman's Love,&quot; etc.</p>
+
+<h2>1876</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3>PUBLISHERS' NOTICE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">The Lost Lady of Lone</span>&quot; is different from any of Mrs.
+Southworth's other novels. The plot, which is unusually provocative of
+conjecture and interest, is founded on thrilling and tragic events which
+occurred in the domestic history of one of the most distinguished
+families in the Highlands of Scotland. The materials which these
+interesting and tragic annals place at the disposal of Mrs. Southworth
+give full scope to her unrivalled skill in depicting character and
+developing a plot, and she has made the most of her opportunity and her
+subject.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+<p>
+
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.--The bride of Lone</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.--An ideal love</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.--The ruined heir</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.--Salome's choice</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.--Arondelle's consolation</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.--A horrible mystery on the wedding-day</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.--The morning's discovery</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.--A horrible discovery</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.--After the discovery</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.--The letter and its effect</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.--The vailed passenger</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.--The house on Westminster Road</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.--A surprise for Mrs. Scott</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.--The second bridal morn</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.--The cloud falls</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.--Vanished</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.--The lost Lady of Lone</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.--The flight of the duchess</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.--Salome's refuge</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.--Salome's protectress</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.--The bridegroom</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.--At Lone</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.--A startling charge</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.--The vindication</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.--Who was found?</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.--Off the track</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.--In the convent</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.--The soul's struggle</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.--The stranger in the chapel</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.--The haunter</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.--The abbess' story</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.--The duke's double</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.--After the earthquake</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.--Risen from the grave</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.--Face to face</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.--A gathering storm</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.--A sentence of banishment</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.--The storm bursts</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.--The rivals</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.--After the storm</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.--Father and son</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.--Her son</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.--The duke's ward</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.--Retribution</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.--After the revelation</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.--Retribution</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.--The end of a lost life</a><br />
+ <a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII.--Husband and wife</a><br />
+ </p>
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE LOST LADY OF LONE.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BRIDE OF LONE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, Meester McRath? Sae grand doings I hae na seen sin the day o' the
+queen's visit to Lone. That wad be in the auld duke's time. And a waefu'
+day it wa'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dinna ye gae back to that day, Girzie Ross. It gars my blood boil only
+to think o' it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, Sandy, mon, sure the ill that was dune that day is weel compensate
+on this. Sooth, if only marriages be made in heaven, as they say, sure
+this is one. The laird will get his ain again, and the bonnyest leddy in
+a' the land to boot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She <i>is</i> a bonny lass, but na too gude for him, although her fair
+hand does gie him back his lands.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's only a' just as it sud be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, it's no all as it sud be. Look at they fules trying to pit
+up yon triumphal arch! The loons hae actually gotten the motto
+'<span class="smcaps">happiness</span>' set upside down, sae that a' the blooming red roses
+are falling out o' it. An ill omen that if onything be an ill omen. I
+maun rin and set it right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The speakers in this short colloquy were Mrs. Girzie Ross, housekeeper,
+and Mr. Alexander McRath, house-steward of Castle Lone.</p>
+
+<p>The locality was in the Highlands of Scotland. The season was early
+summer. The hour was near sunset. The scene was one of great beauty and
+sublimity. The occasion one of high festivity and rejoicing.</p>
+
+<p>The preparations were being completed for a grand event. For on the
+morning of the next day a deep wrong was to be made right by the marriage
+of the young and beautiful Lady of Lone to the chosen lord of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Lone Castle was a home of almost ideal grandeur and loveliness, situated
+in one of the wildest and most picturesque regions of the Highlands, yet
+brought to the utmost perfection of fertility by skillful cultivation.</p>
+
+<p>The castle was originally the stronghold of a race of powerful and
+warlike Scottish chieftains, ancestors of the illustrious ducal line of
+Scott-Hereward. It was strongly built, on a rocky island, that arose from
+The midst of a deep clear lake, surrounded by lofty mountains.</p>
+
+<p>For generations past, the castle had been but a picturesque ruin, and the
+island a barren desert, tenanted only by some old retainer of the ancient
+family, who found shelter within its huge walls, and picked up a scanty
+living by showing the famous ruins to artists and tourists.</p>
+
+<p>But some years previous to the commencement of our story, when
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott succeeded his father, as seventh Duke of
+Hereward, he conceived the magnificent, but most extravagant idea of
+transforming that grim, old Highland fortress, perched upon its rocky
+island, surrounded by water and walled in by mountains&mdash;into a mansion of
+Paradise and a garden of Eden.</p>
+
+<p>When he first spoke of his plan, he was called visionary and extravagant;
+and when he persisted in carrying it into execution, he was called mad.</p>
+
+<p>The most skillful engineers and architects in Europe were consulted and
+their plans examined, and a selection of designs and contractors made
+from the best among them. And then the restoration, or rather the
+transfiguration, of the place was the labor of many years, at the cost
+of much money.</p>
+
+<p>Fabulous sums were lavished upon Lone. But the Duke's enthusiasm grew
+as the work grew and the cost increased. All his unentailed estates in
+England were first heavily mortgaged and afterwards sold, and the
+proceeds swallowed up in the creation of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>The duchess, inspired by her husband, was as enthusiastic as the duke.
+When his resources were at an end and Lone unfinished she gave up her
+marriage settlements, including her dower house, which was sold that the
+proceeds might go to the completion of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>But all this did not suffice to pay the stupendous cost.</p>
+
+<p>Then the duke did the maddest act of his life. He raised the needed money
+from usurers by giving them a mortgage on his own life estate in Lone
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>The work drew near to its completion.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime the duke's agents were ransacking the chief cities in
+Europe in search of rare paintings, statues, vases, and other works of
+art or articles of virtu to decorate the halls and chambers of Lone; for
+which also the most famous manufacturers in France and Germany were
+elaborating suitable designs in upholstery.</p>
+
+<p>Every man directing every department of the works at Lone, whether as
+engineer, architect, decorator, or furnisher, every man was an artist in
+his own speciality. The work within and without was to be a perfect work
+at whatever cost of time, money, and labor.</p>
+
+<p>At length, at the end of ten years from its commencement, the work was
+completed.</p>
+
+<p>And for the sublimity of its scenery, the beauty of its grounds, the
+almost tropical luxuriance of its gardens, the magnificence of its
+buildings, the splendor of its decorations, and the luxury of its
+appointments, Lone was unequalled.</p>
+
+<p>What if the mad duke had nearly ruined himself in raising it?</p>
+
+<p>Lone was henceforth the pride of engineers, the model of architects, the
+subject of artists, the theme of poets, the Mecca of pilgrims, the eighth
+wonder of the world.</p>
+
+<p>Lone was opened for the first time a few weeks after its completion, on
+the occasion of the coming of age of the duke's eldest son and heir, the
+young Marquis of Arondelle, which fell upon the first of June.</p>
+
+<p>A grand festival was held at Lone, and a great crowd assembled to do
+honor to the anniversary. A noble and gentle company filled the halls and
+chambers of the castle, and nearly all the Clan Scott assembled on the
+grounds.</p>
+
+<p>The festival was a grand triumph.</p>
+
+<p>Among the thousands present were certain artists and reporters of the
+press, and so it followed that the next issue of the <i>London News</i>
+contained full-page pictures of Castle Lone and Inch Lone, with their
+terraces, parterres, arches, arbors and groves; Loch Lone, with its
+elegant piers, bridges and boats; and the surrounding mountains, with
+their caves, grottoes, falls and fountains.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the birthday festival was a perfect triumph, and the fame of Lone
+went forth to the uttermost ends of the earth. The English Colonists at
+Australia, Cape of Good Hope, and New Zealand, read all about it in
+copies of the <i>London News</i>, sent out to them by thoughtful London
+friends. We remember the day, some years since, when we, sitting by our
+cottage fire, read all about it in an illustrated paper, and pondered
+over the happy fate of those who could live in paradise while still on
+earth. Five years later, we would not have changed places with the
+Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>But this is a digression.</p>
+
+<p>The duke was in his earthly heaven; but was the duke happy, or even
+content?</p>
+
+<p>Ah! no. He was overwhelmed with debt. Even Lone was mortgaged as deeply
+as it could be&mdash;that is, as to the extent of the duke's own life
+interests in the estate. Beyond that he could not burden the estate,
+which was entailed upon his heirs male. Besides his financial
+embarrassments, the duke was afflicted with another evil&mdash;he was
+consumed with a fever too common with prince and with peasant, as well
+as with peer&mdash;the fever of a land hunger.</p>
+
+<p>The prince desires to add province to province; the peer to add manor to
+manor; the peasant to own a little home of his own, and then to add acre
+to acre.</p>
+
+<p>The Lord of Lone glorying in his earthly paradise, wished to see it
+enlarged, wished to add one estate to another until he should become
+the largest land-owner in Scotland, or have his land-hunger appeased.
+He bought up all the land adjoining Lone, that could be purchased at any
+price, paying a little cash down, and giving notes for the balance on
+each purchase. Thus, in the course of three years, Lone was nearly
+doubled in territorial extent.</p>
+
+<p>But the older creditors became clamorous. Bond, and mortgage holders
+threatened foreclosure, and the financial affairs of the &quot;mad duke,&quot;
+outwardly and apparently so prosperous, were really very desperate. The
+family were seriously in danger of expulsion from Lone.</p>
+
+<p>It was at this crisis that the devoted son came to the help of his
+father&mdash;not wisely, as many people thought then&mdash;not fortunately, as it
+turned out. To prevent his father from being compelled to leave Lone, and
+to protect him from the persecution of creditors, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle performed an act of self-sacrifice and filial devotion seldom
+equalled in the world's history. He renounced all his own entailed
+rights, and sold all his prospective life interest in Lone. His was a
+young, strong life, good for fifty or sixty years longer. His interest
+brought a sum large enough to pay off the mortgage on Lone and to settle
+all others of his father's outstanding debts.</p>
+
+<p>Thus peaceable possession of Lone might have been secured to the family
+during the natural life of the duke. At the demise of the duke, instead
+of descending to his son and heir, it would pass into the possession of
+other parties, with whom it would remain as long the heir should live.</p>
+
+<p>Thus, I say, by the sacrifice of the son the peace of the father might
+have been secured&mdash;for a time. And all might have gone well at Lone but
+for one unlucky event which finally set the seal on the ruin of the ducal
+family.</p>
+
+<p>And yet that event was intended as an honor, and considered as an honor.</p>
+
+<p>In a word the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the royal family, were
+coming to the Highlands. And the Duke of Hereward received an intimation
+that her majesty would stop on her royal progress and honor Lone with a
+visit of two days. This was a distinction in no wise to be slighted by
+any subject under any circumstances, and certainly not by the duke of
+Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>The Queen's visit would form the crowning glory of Lone. The chambers
+occupied by majesty would henceforth be holy ground, and would be pointed
+out with reverence to the stranger in all succeeding generations.</p>
+
+<p>In anticipation of this honor the &quot;mad&quot; Duke of Hereward launched out
+into his maddest extravagances.</p>
+
+<p>He had but ten days in which to prepare for the royal visit, but he made
+the best use of his time.</p>
+
+<p>The guest chambers at Lone, already fitted up in princely magnificence,
+had new splendors added to them. The castle and the grounds were adorned
+and decorated with lavish expenditure. The lake was alive with
+gayly-rigged boats. Triumphal arches were erected at stated intervals
+of the drive leading from the public road, across the bridge connecting
+the shore with the island, and&mdash;maddest extravagance of all&mdash;the ground
+was laid out and fitted up for a grand tournament after the style of the
+time of Richard Coeur de Lion, to be held there during the queen's
+visit&mdash;that fatal visit spoken of in the early part of this chapter.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, fatal!&mdash;for a hundred thousand pounds sterling, won by the son's
+self-sacrifice, which should have gone to satisfy the clamorous creditors
+of the duke, was squandered in extravagant preparations to royally
+entertain England's expensive royal family.</p>
+
+<p>A second time Lone was the scene of unparalleled display, festivity, and
+rejoicing. Once more all the country round about was assembled there;
+again the artists and reporters of the London press were among the crowd;
+and again full-page pictures of the ceremonies attending the queen's
+reception and entertainment were published in the illustrated papers, and
+the fame of that royal visit went out to the uttermost parts of the
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>But mark this: Every footman that waited at the grand state-dinner table
+was a bailiff in disguise, in charge of the plate and china, which,
+together with all the fabulous riches of art, literature, science and
+<i>virtu</i> collected at Lone had been taken in execution, by the
+officers secretly in possession.</p>
+
+<p>The royal party, with their retinue, left Lone on the afternoon of the
+third day.</p>
+
+<p>And then the crash came? The blow was sudden, overwhelming and utterly
+destructive.</p>
+
+<p>The shock of the fall of Lone was felt from one end of the kingdom to the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>For the last time a crowd gathered around Castle Lone. But they came not
+as festive guests but as a flock of vultures around a carcass, bent on
+prey. For the last time artists and reporters came not to illustrate the
+triumphs, but to record the downfall of the great ducal house of
+Scott-Hereward; to make sketches, take photographs and write descriptions
+of the magnificent and splendid halls and chambers, picture-galleries and
+museums, before they should be dismantled by the rapacious purchasers who
+flocked to the vendue of Lone, to profit by the ruin of the proprietor.</p>
+
+<p>And for the last time illustrations of Lone and its glories went forth
+over every part of the world where the English language is spoken, or the
+English mails penetrate.</p>
+
+<p>Another heavy blow fell upon the doomed duke. Even while the grand vendue
+was still in progress the duchess died of grief.</p>
+
+<p>When all was over, and the good duchess was laid in the family vault, the
+duke and the young marquis disappeared from Lone and none knew whither
+they went. Some said that they had gone to Australia; some that they were
+in America; some that they were on the Continent. Others declared that
+they had hidden themselves in the wilderness of London, where they were
+living in great poverty and obscurity, and even under assumed names.</p>
+
+<p>Opinions and rumors differed also concerning the character and conduct of
+the young marquis. Many called him a devoted son, filled with the spirit
+of heroic self-sacrifice. Many others affirmed that he was a hypocrite
+and a villain, addicted to drinking, gambling, and other vices and even
+cited times, places, and occasions of his sinning.</p>
+
+<p>There never lived a man of whom so much good and so much evil was
+said as of the young Marquis of Arondelle. A stranger coming into the
+neighborhood of Lone, would hear these opposite reports and never be able
+to decide whether the absent and self-exiled young nobleman was a model
+of virtue or a monster of vice.</p>
+
+<p>But there was one whose faith in him was firm as her faith in Heaven.</p>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron was the daughter of a Highland shepherd, living about ten
+miles north of Ben Lone. No court lady in the land was fairer than this
+rustic Highland beauty. Her form was tall, fine, and commanding. Her step
+was stately and graceful as the step of an antelope. Her features were
+large, regular, and clear cut, as if chiseled in marble, yet full of
+blooming and sparkling life as ruddy health and mountain air could fill
+them. Her hair was golden brown, and clustered in innumerable shining
+ringlets closely around her fair open forehead and rounded throat. Her
+eyes were large, and clear bright blue. Her expression full of innocent
+freedom and joyousness.</p>
+
+<p>Rumor said that the fast young Marquis of Arondelle, while deer-stalking
+from his hunting lodge in the neighborhood of Ben Lone, had chanced to
+draw rein at the gate of Rob. Cameron's sheiling, and had received from
+the shapely hand of the beautiful shepherdess a cup of water, and had
+been so suddenly and forcibly smitten by her Juno-like beauty, that
+thenceforth his visits to his hunting lodge became very frequent, both in
+season and out of season, and that he was a very dry soul, whose thirst
+could be satisfied by nothing but the spring water that spouted close by
+the shepherd's sheiling, dipped up and offered by the hands of the
+beautiful shepherdess.</p>
+
+<p>Much blame was cast by the rustic neighbors upon all parties
+concerned&mdash;first of all, upon the young marquis, who they declared &quot;meant
+nae guid to the lass,&quot; and then to the old shepherd, who they said, &quot;suld
+tak mair care o' his puir mitherless bairn,&quot; and lastly, to the girl,
+who, as they affirmed, &quot;suld guide hersel' wi' mair discretion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>None of these criticisms ever came to the ears of the parties concerned:
+they never do, you know.</p>
+
+<p>Besides the lovers seemed to be infatuated with each other, and the
+shepherd seemed to be blind to what was going on in his sheiling. To be
+sure, he was out all day with his sheep, while his lass was alone in the
+sheiling. Or, if by sickness <i>he</i> was forced to stay home, then
+<i>she</i> was out all day with the sheep alone.</p>
+
+<p>Gossip said that the young marquis visited the handsome shepherdess in
+her sheiling, and met her by appointment, when she was out with her
+flock.</p>
+
+<p>And as the occasion grew, so grew the scandal, and so grew indignation
+against the marquis and scorn of the shepherdess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He'll nae mean to marry the quean! If she were my lass, I'd kick him
+out, an' he were twenty times a markis!&quot; said the shepherd's next
+neighbor, and many approved his sentiment. These were among the
+detractors of the young nobleman.</p>
+
+<p>But he had warm defenders&mdash;who affirmed that the Marquis of Arondelle
+would never seek a peasant girl to win her affections, unless he intended
+to make her his marchioness&mdash;which was an idea too preposterous to be
+entertained for an instant&mdash;therefore there could be no truth in these
+rumors.</p>
+
+<p>And at length, when the great thunderbolt fell that destroyed Lone and
+banished the ducal family, there were not wanting &quot;guid neebors&quot; who
+taunted Rose Cameron with such words as these:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The braw young markis hae made a fule o' ye, lass. Thoul't ne'er see him
+mair. And a guid job, too. Best ye'd ne'er see him at a'!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But the handsome shepherdess betrayed no sign of mortification or doubt.
+When such prognostics were uttered, she crested her queenly head with a
+smile of conscious power, and looked as though&mdash;&quot;she could, an if she
+would,&quot;&mdash;tell more about the Marquis of Arondelle, than any of these
+people guessed.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, princely Lone passed into the possession of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, a London banker of enormous wealth. He had not always been Sir
+Lemuel Levison. But he had once been Lord Mayor of London, and for some
+part that he had taken in a public demonstration or a royal pageant, (I
+forget which,) he had been knighted by her Majesty.</p>
+
+<p>He was, at this time, a tall, spare, fair-faced, gray-haired and gray
+bearded man of sixty-five. He was a widower, with &quot;one only daughter,&quot;
+the youngest and sole survivor of a large family of children.</p>
+
+<p>This daughter, Salome, had never known a mother's love nor a father's
+care. She was under three years old when her mother passed away.</p>
+
+<p>Then her father, hating his desolate home, broke up his establishment on
+Westbourne Terrace, London, and placed his infant daughter under the care
+of the nuns in the Convent of the Holy Nativity in France.</p>
+
+<p>Here Salome Levison passed the days of her dreamy childhood and early
+youth. Her father seldom found time to visit her at her convent school,
+and she never went home to spend her holidays. She had no home to go to.</p>
+
+<p>When Salome was eighteen years of age, the Superior of the convent wrote
+to Sir Lemuel Levison, enclosing a letter from his daughter that
+considerably startled the absorbed banker and forgetful father. He had
+not seen his daughter for two years, and now these letters informed him
+that she wished to become a Nun of the Holy Nativity, and to enter upon
+her novitiate immediately! But that being a minor, she could not do so
+without his consent.</p>
+
+<p>His sole surviving child! The sole heiress of his enormous wealth! On
+whom he depended, to make a home for him in his declining years, when he
+should have made a few more millions of millions upon which to retire!</p>
+
+<p>And now this long neglected daughter had found consolation in devotion,
+and wished to take the vail which was to hide her forever from the world!</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison hastened to France, and brought his daughter back to
+England. He took apartments at a quiet London hotel, and looked about for
+a suitable country-seat to purchase.</p>
+
+<p>At this time Lone was advertised. He went thither with the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Lone, liked it, wanted it, and determined to &quot;pay for it and take
+it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped the vandalish dismantling of the premises by outbidding
+everybody else and purchasing all the furniture, decorations, plate,
+pictures, statues, vases, mosaics, and everything else, and ordering
+them to be left in their old positions.</p>
+
+<p>He then engaged the house-steward, the housekeeper, and as many more of
+the servants of the late proprietor as he could induce to remain at Lone.</p>
+
+<p>And when the princely castle was cleared of its crowds, and once more
+restored to order, beauty and peace, Sir Lemuel Levison went back to
+London to bring his daughter home.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, submissive to her father's will, yet disappointed in her wish to
+take the vail, met every event in life with apathy.</p>
+
+<p>Even when the splendors of Lone broke upon her vision she regarded them
+with an air of indifference that amused, while it mortified, her father.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see how it is, my girl,&quot; he said. &quot;You have renounced the world, and
+are pining for the convent. But you know nothing of the world. Give it a
+fair trial of three years. Then you will be twenty-one years old, of
+legal age to act for yourself, with some knowledge of that which you
+would ignorantly renounce; and then if you persist in your desire to take
+the vail&mdash;well! I shall then have neither the power nor the wish to
+prevent you,&quot; added the wise old banker, who felt perfectly confident
+that at the end of the specified time his daughter would no longer pine
+to immure herself in a convent.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, grateful for this concession, and feeling perfectly self-assured
+that she would never be won by the world, kissed her father, and roused
+herself to be as much of a comfort and solace to him as she might be in
+the three years of probation. And she took her place at the head of her
+father's magnificent establishment at Lone with much of gentle quiet and
+dignity.</p>
+
+<p>And now it is time to give you some more accurate knowledge of the
+outward appearance and the inner life of this motherless, convent-reared
+girl, who, though a young and wealthy heiress, was bent on forsaking the
+world and taking the vail. In the first place, she was not beautiful at
+all in repose. There can be no physical beauty without physical health.
+And Salome Levison partook of the delicate organization of her mother,
+who had passed away in early womanhood, and of her brothers and sisters,
+who had gone in infancy or childhood.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, when still and silent, was, at first sight plain. She was rather
+below the medium height, slight and thin in form, pale and dark in
+complexion, with irregular features, and quiet, downcast, dark-gray eyes,
+whose long lashes cast shadows upon pallid cheeks, and which were arched
+with dark eyebrows on a massive forehead, shaded with an abundance of
+dark brown hair, simply parted in the middle, drawn back and wound into
+a rich roll. Her dress was as simple as her station permitted it to be.</p>
+
+<p>Altogether she seemed a girl unattractive in person and reserved in
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>The very opposite of the handsome shepherdess of Ben Lone.</p>
+
+<p>And yet when she looked up or smiled, her face was transfigured into a
+wondrous beauty; such intellectual and spiritual beauty as that perfect
+piece of flesh and blood never could have expressed. And she was a
+&quot;sealed book.&quot; Yet the hour was at hand when the &quot;sealed book&quot; was to be
+opened&mdash;when her dreaming soul, like the sleeping princess in the wood,
+was to be awakened by the touch of holy love to make the beauty of her
+person and the glory of her life.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>AN IDEAL LOVE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>A few weeks after their settlement at Lone, Sir Lemuel Levison returned
+to London on affairs connected with his final retirement from active
+business.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was left at the castle, with the numerous servants of the
+establishment, but otherwise quite alone. She had neither governess,
+companion, nor confidential maid. She suffered from this enforced
+solitude. She had seen all the splendors of the interior of Lone, and
+there was nothing new to discover&mdash;except&mdash;yes, there was Malcom's Tower,
+which tradition said was the most ancient portion of the castle, whose
+foundations had been dug from the solid rock, hundreds of feet below the
+surface of the lake.</p>
+
+<p>The tower had been restored with the rest of the castle, but had never
+been fitted up for occupation.</p>
+
+<p>Salome determined to spend one morning in exploring the old tower from
+foundation to top.</p>
+
+<p>She summoned the housekeeper to her presence, and made known her purpose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Macolm's Watch Tower, Miss! Weel, then, it's naething to see within,
+forbye a few auld family portraits and sic like, left there by the auld
+duke; but there'll be an unco' foine view frae the top on a braw day like
+this,&quot; said Dame Ross, as she detached a bunch of keys from her belt, and
+signified her readiness to attend her young mistress.</p>
+
+<p>I need not detail the explorations of the young lady from the horrible
+dungeon of the foundation&mdash;up the narrow, winding steps, cut in the
+thickness of the outer wall, which was perforated on the inner side by
+doorways on each landing, leading into the strong, round stone rooms or
+cells on each floor, lighted only by long narrow slits in the solid
+masonry. All the lower cells were empty.</p>
+
+<p>But when they reached the top of the winding steps and opened the door of
+the upper cell, the housekeeper said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here are deposited some o' the relics left by the auld duke until such
+time as he shall be ready to tak' them awa'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome followed her into the room and suddenly drew back in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>She saw standing out from the gloom, the form of a young man of majestic
+beauty and grace.</p>
+
+<p>A second look showed her that this was only a full-length life-sized
+portrait&mdash;but of whom?</p>
+
+<p>Her gaze became riveted on the glorious presence.</p>
+
+<p>The portrait represented a young man of about twenty-five years of age,
+tall, finely formed, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with a well-turned,
+stately head, a Grecian profile, a fair, open brow, dark, deep blue eyes,
+and very rich auburn hair and beard. He wore the picturesque highland
+dress&mdash;the tartan of the Clan Scott.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not the dress, the form, the face that fascinated the gaze of
+the girl. It was the air, the look, the <span class="smcaps">soul</span> that shone through
+it all!</p>
+
+<p>A sun ray, glancing through the narrow slit in the solid wall, fell
+directly upon the fine face, lighting it up as with a halo of glory!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is the face of the young St. John! Nay, it is more divine! It is
+the face of Gabriel who standeth in the presence of the Lord! But it
+expresses more of power! It is the face of Michael rather, when he put
+the hosts of hell to flight! Oh! a wondrously glorious face!&quot; said the
+rapt young enthusiast to herself, as she gazed in awe-struck silence on
+the portrait.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye are looking at that picture, young leddy? Ay it weel deserves your
+regards! It is a grand one!&quot; said Dame Ross, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Who is it? One of the young princes?</i>&quot; inquired Salome, in a low
+tone, full of reverential admiration.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ane o' the young princes? Gude guide us! Nae, young leddy; I hae seen
+the young princes ance, on an unco' ill day for Lone! And I dinna care
+if I never see ane mair. But they dinna look like that,&quot; said the
+housekeeper, with a deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is it, then?&quot; whispered Salome, still gazing on the portrait with
+somewhat of the rapt devotion with which she had been wont to gaze on
+pictured saint, or angel, on her convent walls. &quot;Who is it, Mrs. Ross?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wha is it? Wha suld it be, but our ain young laird? Our ain bonny
+laddie? Our young Markis o' Arondelle? Oh, waes the day he ever left
+Lone!&quot; exclaimed Dame Girzie, lifting her apron to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Marquis of Arondelle!&quot; echoed Salome, catching her breath, and
+gazing with even more interest upon the glorious picture.</p>
+
+<p>Even while she gazed, the ray that had lighted it for a moment was
+withdrawn by the setting sun, and the picture was swallowed up in sudden
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Marquis of Arondelle,&quot; repeated Salome in a low reverent tone, as
+if speaking to herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, the young Markis o' Arondelle; wae worth the day he went awa'!&quot; said
+the housekeeper, wiping her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Salome turned suddenly to the weeping woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have heard&mdash;I have heard&mdash;&quot; she began in a low, hesitating voice, and
+then she suddenly stopped and looked at the dame.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, young leddy, nae doubt ye hae heard unco mony a fule tale anent our
+young laird; but if ye would care to hear the verra truth, ye suld do so
+frae mysel. But come noo, leddy. It is too dark to see onything mair in
+this room. We'll gae out on the battlements gin ye like, and tak' a luke
+at the landscape while the twilight lasts,&quot; said Dame Girzie.</p>
+
+<p>Salome assented with a nod, and they climbed the last steep flight of
+stairs, cut in the solid wall, and leading from this upper room to the
+top of the watch-tower.</p>
+
+<p>They came out upon a magnificent view.</p>
+
+<p>The bright, long twilight of these Northern latitudes still hung
+luminously over island, lake and mountain.</p>
+
+<p>While Salome gazed upon it Dame Girzie said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All this frae the tower to the horizon, far as our eyes can reach, and
+far'er, was for eight centuries the land of the Lairds of Lone. And noo!
+a' hae gane frae them, and they hae gane frae us, and na mon kens where
+they bide or how they fare. Wae's me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was indeed a household wreck,&quot; said Salome, with sigh of sincere
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye may say that, leddy, and mak' na mistake.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is that lofty mountain-top that I see on the edge of the horizon
+away to the north, just fading in the twilight?&quot; inquired Salome, partly
+to divert the dame from her gloomy thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yon? Ay. Yon will be, Ben Lone. It will be twenty miles awa', gin it be
+a furlong. Our young laird had a braw hunting lodge there, where in the
+season he was wont to spend weeks thegither wi' his kinsman, Johnnie
+Scott, for the young laird was unco' fond of deer stalking, and sic like
+sport. I dinna ken wha owns the lodge now, or whether it went wi' the
+lave of the estate,&quot; said Dame Girzie, with a deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is growing quite chilly up here,&quot; said Salome, shivering, and drawing
+her little red shawl more closely around her slight frame. &quot;I think we
+will go down now, Mrs. Ross. And if you will be so good as to come to me
+after tea, this evening, I shall like to hear the story of this sorrowful
+family wreck,&quot; she added, as she turned to leave the place.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, as the heiress sat in the small drawing room appropriated
+to her own use, the housekeeper rapped and was admitted.</p>
+
+<p>And after seating herself at the bidding of her young mistress, Girzie
+Ross opened her mouth and told the true story of the fall of Lone, as I
+have already told to my readers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And this devoted son actually sacrificed all the prospects of his whole
+future life, in order to give peace and prosperity to his father's
+declining days,&quot; murmured Salome, with her eyes full of tears and her
+usually pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He did, young leddy, like the noble soul, he was,&quot; said Dame Girzie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I never heard of such an act of renunciation in my life,&quot; murmured
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And the pity of it was, young leddy, that it was a' in vain,&quot; said the
+housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I know. Where is he now?&quot; inquired the young girl, in a subdued
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I dinna ken, leddy. Naebody kens,&quot; answered Girzie Ross, with a deep
+sigh, which was unconsciously echoed by the listener.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dame Ross not to trespass on her young mistress's indulgence, arose
+and respectfully took her leave.</p>
+
+<p>Salome fell into a deep reverie. From that hour she had something else to
+think about, beside the convent and the vail.</p>
+
+<p>The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and
+employed her thoughts. That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir,
+a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall
+on the next morning.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie
+Ross a simple question. And she wondered at her own hesitation to do it.
+At length she asked it:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord Arondelle?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Like him, young leddy? Why, it is his verra sel'! And only not sae bonny
+because it canna move, or smile, or speak. Ye should see him <i>alive</i>
+to ken him weel,&quot; said the housekeeper, heartily.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent a
+dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing
+upon the face.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, while the housekeeper attended her at tea, she took courage
+to make another inquiry, in a very low voice:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is Lord Arondelle engaged, Mrs. Ross?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She blushed crimson and turned away her head the moment she had asked the
+question.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Engaged? What&mdash;troth-plighted do you mean, young leddy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; in a very low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Bless the lass! nay, nor no thought of it,&quot; answered the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I was thinking that perhaps it would be well if he were not, that is
+all,&quot; explained Salome, a little confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>That night, as she undressed to retire to bed, she looked at herself in
+the glass critically for the first time in her life.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a pretty face that was reflected there. It was a pale, thin,
+dark face, that might have been redeemed by the broad, smooth forehead,
+shaped round by bands of dark brown hair, and lighted by the large,
+tender, thoughtful gray eyes, had not that forehead worn a look of
+anxious care, and those eyes an expression of eager inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But then I am so plain&mdash;so very, very plain,&quot; she said to herself, as if
+uttering the negation of some preceding train of thought.</p>
+
+<p>And with a deep sigh she retired to rest.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Girzie Ross herself was the first to speak of the young
+marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hae been thinking, young leddy, what garred ye ask me gin the young
+laird, were troth plighted. And I mistrust ye must hae heard these fule
+stories anent his hardship, having a sweetheart at Ben Lone. There's
+nae truth in sic tales, me leddy. No that I'm denying she's a handsome
+hizzy, this Rose Cameron; but she's nae one to mak' the young laird
+forget his rank. Ye'll no credit sic tales, me young leddy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have heard no tales of the sort,&quot; said Salome, looking up in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, hae ye no? Aweel, then, its nae matter,&quot; said the dame.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But what tales are there, Mrs. Ross?&quot; uneasily inquired the heiress.
+And then she instantly perceived the indiscretion of her question, and
+regretted that she had asked it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou aye, it's just the fule talk o' thae gossips up by Ben Lone. They
+behoove to say that's its na the game that draws the young laird sae
+often to Ben Lone; but just Rab Cameron's handsome lass, Rose, and she
+<i>is</i> a handsome quean as I said before; but nae 'are to mak' the
+young master lose his head for a' that! Sae ye maun na beleiv' a word
+of it, me young leddy,&quot; said Dame Girzie.</p>
+
+<p>And she hastened to change the subject.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! what a power beauty is! It can make a prince forget his royal state,
+and sue to a peasant girl,&quot; sighed Salome to herself. &quot;I wonder&mdash;I
+wonder, if there <i>is</i> any truth in that report? Oh, I hope there is
+not, for his own sake. I wonder where he is&mdash;what he is doing? But that
+is no affair of mine. I have nothing at all to do with it! I wonder if I
+shall ever meet him. I wonder if he would think me very ugly? Nonsense,
+what if he should? He is nothing to me. I&mdash;I <i>do</i> wonder if a young
+man so noble in character, so handsome in person as he is, ever could
+like a girl without any beauty at all, even if she&mdash;even if she&mdash;Oh,
+dear! what a fool I am! I had better never have come out of the convent.
+I will think no more about him,&quot; said Salome, resolutely taking up a
+volume of the &quot;Lives of the Saints,&quot; and turning to the page that related
+how&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;St. Rosalie,<br /></span>
+<span>Darling of each heart and eye,<br /></span>
+<span>From all the youth of Italy<br /></span>
+<span>Retired to God.&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&quot;That is the noblest love and service, after all,&quot; she said&mdash;&quot;the
+noblest, surely, because it is Divine!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And she resolved to emulate the example of the young and beautiful
+Italian virgin. She, too, would retire to God. That is, she would enter
+her convent as soon as her three probationary years should be passed.</p>
+
+<p>But though she so resolved to devote herself to Heaven in this abnormal
+way, the natural human love that now glowed in her heart, would not be
+put down by an unnatural resolve.</p>
+
+<p>Days and nights passed, and she still thought of the banished heir all
+day, and dreamed of him all night&mdash;the more intensely as well as purely
+perhaps, because she had never looked upon his living face.</p>
+
+<p>To her he was an abstract ideal.</p>
+
+<p>Later in the month her father returned to Lone&mdash;on business of more
+importance than that which had hurried him away.</p>
+
+<p>He had only retired from one phase of public life to enter upon another.</p>
+
+<p>There was to be a new Parliament. And at the solicitations of many
+interested parties, and perhaps also at the promptings of his own late
+ambition, Sir Lemuel Levison consented to stand for the borough of Lone.
+In the absence of the young Marquis of Arondelle there was no one to
+oppose him, and he was returned by an almost unanimous vote.</p>
+
+<p>Early in February, Sir Lemuel Levison took his dreaming daughter and went
+up to London to take his seat in the House of Commons at the meeting of
+Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>He engaged a sumptuously furnished house on Westbourne Terrace, and
+invited a distant relative, Lady Belgrave, the childless widow of a
+baronet, to come and pass the season with him and chaperone his daughter
+on her entrance into society.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade was sixty years old, tall, stout, fair-complexioned,
+gray-haired, healthy, good-humored, and well-dressed&mdash;altogether as
+commonplace and harmless a fine lady as could be found in the fashionable
+world.</p>
+
+<p>Salome had never seen her, scarcely ever heard of her before the day of
+her arrival at Westbourne Terrace.</p>
+
+<p>Salome met Lady Belgrade with courtesy and kindness, but with much
+indifference.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade, on her part, met her young kinswoman with critical
+curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She is not pretty, not at all pretty, and one does not like to have a
+plain girl to bring out. She is not pretty, and what is worse than all,
+she seems <i>to know it</i>. And she can only grow pretty by believing
+that she is so. A girl with such a pair of eyes as hers can always get
+the reputation of beauty if she can only be made to believe in herself,&quot;
+was Lady Belgrade's secret comment; but&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What beautiful eyes you have, my dear!&quot; she said with effusion, as she
+kissed Salome on both cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>The girl smiled and blushed with pleasure, for this was the first time
+in all her life that she had been credited with any beauty at all.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade was partly right and partly wrong.</p>
+
+<p>A girl with such a physique as Salome could never be pretty, never be
+handsome, but, with such a soul as hers, might grow beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>At her Majesty's first drawing-room, Salome Levison was presented at
+court, where she attracted the attention, only as the daughter of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, the new Radical member for Lone, and as the sole heiress
+of the great banker's almost fabulous wealth.</p>
+
+<p>Then under the experienced guidance of Lady Belgrade, she was launched
+into fashionable society. And society received the young expectant of
+enormous wealth, as society always does, with excessive adulation.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was admired, followed, flattered, feted, as though she had been
+a beauty as well as an heiress. She was petted at home and worshiped
+abroad. Her father gave unlimited pocket-money in form of bank-cheques,
+to be filled up at her own discretion. For she was his only daughter, and
+he wished to get her in love with the world and out of conceit of a
+convent. And surely the run of his bank, and of all the fine shops of
+London, would do that, he thought, if anything could.</p>
+
+<p>But Salome remained a &quot;sealed book&quot; to the wealthy banker, and a great
+trial to the fashionable chaperon who had her in training. Salome
+<i>would not</i> grow pretty, in spite of all that could be done for her.
+Salome would not make a sensation, for all her father's wealth and her
+own expectations. She remained quiet, shy, silent, dreamy, even in the
+gayest society, as in the Highland solitudes, with one worship in her
+soul&mdash;the worship of that self-devoted son&mdash;that self-banished prince,
+whose &quot;counterfeit presentment&quot; she had seen in the tower at Lone, and
+who had become the idol of her religion.</p>
+
+<p>But all this did not hinder the heiress from receiving some very matter
+of fact and highly eligible offers of marriage; for though Salome, in the
+holiness of her dreams, was almost unapproachable, the banker was not
+inaccessible. And it was through her father that Salome, in the course of
+the season, had successively the coronet of a widowed earl, the title of
+a duke's younger son, and the fortune of a baronet who was just of age,
+laid at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>She rejected them all&mdash;to her father's great disappointment and
+disturbance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I fear&mdash;I do much fear that her mind still runs on that convent. She
+does nothing but dream, dream, dream, and absolutely ignore homage that
+would turn another girl's head. I wish she were well married, or&mdash;I had
+almost said ill married! anything is better than the convent for my only
+surviving child! If she will not accept an earl or a baronet, why cannot
+her perversity take the form of any other girl's perversity? Why can she
+not fall in love with some penniless younger son, or some dissipated
+captain in a marching regiment? I am sure even under such circumstances
+I should not perform the part of the 'cruel parent' in the comedies! I
+should say, 'Bless you my children,' with all my heart! And I should
+enrich the impecunious young son, or reform the tipsy soldier. Anything
+but the convent for my only child!&quot; concluded the banker, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>But Salome had ceased to think of the convent. She thought now only of
+the missing marquis.</p>
+
+<p>The offers of marriage that had been made to Salome, rejected though they
+were, had this good effect upon her mind. They encouraged her to think
+more hopefully of herself. Salome was too unworldly, too pure, and holy,
+to suspect that these offers had been made her from any other motive than
+personal preference. It was possible, then, that she might be loved. If
+other men preferred her, so also might he on whom she had fixed. And now
+it had come to this with the dreaming girl&mdash;she resolved to think no more
+of retiring to a convent, but to live in the world that contained her
+hero; to keep herself free from all engagements for his sake, to give
+<i>herself</i> to him, if possible, if not to give his land back to him
+some day, at least. So in her secret soul she consecrated herself in a
+pure devotion to a man she had never seen, and who did not even know of
+her existence.</p>
+
+<p>When Parliament rose at the end of the London season, Sir Lemuel Levison
+took his daughter on an extended Continental tour, showing her all the
+wonders of nature, and all the glories of art in countries and cities.
+And Salome was interested and instructed, of course. Yet the greatest
+value her travels had for her was in the possibility of their bringing
+her to a meeting with the missing heir. It had been said that the mad
+duke and his son were somewhere on the Continent. A wide field! Yet, on
+the arrival of Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison at any city, Salome's first
+thought was this:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps they are living here, and I shall see him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But she was always disappointed. And at the end of a seven months'
+sojourn on the Continent, Sir Lemuel Levison brought his daughter back
+to London, only in time for the meeting of Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>Only two years of Salome's probation was left&mdash;only two more seasons
+in London. Her father's anxiety increased.</p>
+
+<p>He sent for her chaperone again, and opened his house in Westbourne
+Terrace to all the world of fashion. Again the young heiress was
+followed, flattered, feted as much as if she had been a beauty as well.
+Again she received and rejected several eligible offers of marriage. And
+so the second season passed.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison took his daughter to Scotland, and invited a large
+company to stay with them at Lone, thinking that, after all, more matches
+were made in the close daily intercourse of a country house, than in the
+crowded ball-rooms of a London season.</p>
+
+<p>But though the banker's daughter received two or three more eligible
+offers of marriage, she politely declined them all, and stole away as
+often as she could to worship the pictured image in the old tower.</p>
+
+<p>Her chaperone was in despair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How many good men and brave has she refused, do you know, Lemuel?&quot;
+inquired Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Seven, to my certain knowledge,&quot; angrily replied the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps she likes some one you know nothing about,&quot; suggested the
+dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She does not; I would let her marry almost any man rather than have her
+enter a convent, as she is sure to do when she is of age. I would let her
+marry any one; aye, even Johnnie Scott, who is the most worthless scamp I
+know in the world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And pray who is Johnnie Scott!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, a handsome rascal; is sort of kinsman and hanger-on of the young
+Marquis of Arondelle; he used to be. I don't know anything more about
+him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps he <i>is</i> the man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, he is not. There is no man in the convent. Well, we go up to
+London again in February. It will be her last season. If she does not
+fall in love or marry before May, when she will be twenty-one years of
+age, she will immure herself in a convent, as I am pledged not to prevent
+her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The conversation ended unsatisfactorily just here.</p>
+
+<p>In the beginning of February Sir Lemuel Levison, with his daughter and
+her chaperone, went up to London for her third season. They established
+themselves again in the sumptuous house on Westbourne Terrace, and again
+entered into the whirl of fashionable gayeties.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite in the beginning of the season that Sir Lemuel and Miss
+Levison received invitations to a dinner party at the Premier's.</p>
+
+<p>It was to be a semi-political dinner, at which were to be entertained
+certain ministers, members of Parliament, with their wives, and leading
+journalists.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel accepted for himself and Miss Levison. On the appointed day
+they rendered themselves at the Premier's house, where they were
+courteously welcomed by the great minister and his accomplished wife.</p>
+
+<p>After the usual greetings had been exchanged with the guests that were
+present, and while Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison were conversing with their
+hostess, the Premier came up with a stranger on his right arm.</p>
+
+<p>Salome looked up, her heart gave a great bound and then stood still.</p>
+
+<p>The original of the portrait in the tower, the self-devoted son, the
+self-exiled heir, the idol of her pure worship, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle stood before her.</p>
+
+<p>And while the scene swam before her eyes, the Premier bowed, and
+presenting him, said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel, let me introduce to you, Mr. John Scott of the <i>National
+Liberator</i>. Mr. Scott, Sir Lemuel Levison, our new member for Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. John Scott!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE RUINED HEIR.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Where, meanwhile, was the &quot;mad&quot; duke with his loyal son?</p>
+
+<p>Various reports had been circulated concerning them, so long as they had
+been remembered. Some had said that they had emigrated to Australia;
+others that they had gone to Canada; others again that they were living
+on the Continent. All agreed that wherever they were, they must be in
+great destitution.</p>
+
+<p>But now, three years had passed since the fall of Lone and the
+disappearance of the ruined ducal family, and they were very nearly
+forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile where were they then?</p>
+
+<p>They were hidden in the great wilderness of London.</p>
+
+<p>On leaving Lone, the stricken duke, crushed equally under domestic
+affliction and financial ruin, and failing both in mind and body, started
+for London, tenderly escorted by his son.</p>
+
+<p>It was the last extravagance of the young marquis to engage a whole
+compartment in a first-class carriage on the Great Northern Railway
+train, that the fallen and humbled duke might travel comfortably and
+privately without being subjected to annoyance by the gaze of the
+curious, or comments of the thoughtless.</p>
+
+<p>On reaching London they went first to an obscure but respectable inn in
+a borough, where they remained unknown for a few days, while the marquis
+sought for lodgings which should combine privacy, decency and cheapness,
+in some densely-populated, unfashionable quarter of the city, where their
+identity would be lost in the crowd, and where they would never by any
+chance meet any one whom they had ever met before.</p>
+
+<p>They found such a refuge at length, in a lodging-house kept by the widow
+of a curate in Catharine street, Strand.</p>
+
+<p>Here the ruined duke and marquis dropped their titles, and lived only
+under their baptismal name and family names.</p>
+
+<p>Here Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of
+Arondelle in the Peerage of England, and Baron Lone, of Lone, in the
+Peerage of Scotland, was known only as old Mr. Scott.</p>
+
+<p>And his son Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, by courtesy Marquis of
+Arondelle, was known only as young Mr. John Scott.</p>
+
+<p>Now as there were probably some thousands of &quot;Scotts,&quot; and among them,
+some hundreds of &quot;John Scotts,&quot; in all ranks of life, from the old landed
+proprietor with his town-house in Belgravia, to the poor coster-monger
+with his donkey-cart in Covent Garden, in this great city of London,
+there was little danger that the real rank of these ruined noblemen
+should be suspected, and no possibility that they should be recognized
+and identified. They were as completely lost to their old world as
+though they had been hidden in the Australian bush or New Zealand
+forests.</p>
+
+<p>Here as Mr. Scott and Mr. John Scott, they lived three years.</p>
+
+<p>The old duke, overwhelmed by his family calamity, gradually sank deeper
+and deeper into mental and bodily imbecility.</p>
+
+<p>Here the young marquis picked up a scanty living for himself and father
+by contributing short articles to the columns of the <i>National
+Liberator</i>, the great organ of the Reform Party.</p>
+
+<p>He wrote under the name of &quot;Justus.&quot; After a few months his articles
+began to attract attention for their originality of thought, boldness
+of utterance, and brilliancy of style.</p>
+
+<p>Much speculation was on foot in political and journalistic circles as to
+the author of the articles signed &quot;Justus.&quot; But his incognito was
+respected.</p>
+
+<p>At length on a notable occasion, the gifted young journalist was
+requested by the publisher of the <i>National Liberator</i>, to write
+a leader on a certain Reform Bill then up before the House of Commons.</p>
+
+<p>This work was so congenial to the principles and sentiments of the
+author, that it became a labor of love, and was performed, as all such
+labors should be, with all the strength of his intellect and affections.</p>
+
+<p>This leader made the anonymous writer famous in a day. He at once became
+the theme of all the political and newspaper clubs.</p>
+
+<p>And now a grand honor came to him.</p>
+
+<p>The Premier&mdash;no less a person&mdash;sent his private secretary to the office
+of the <i>National Liberator</i> to inquire the name and address of the
+author of the articles by &quot;Justus,&quot; with a request to be informed of them
+if there should be no objection on the part of author or publisher.</p>
+
+<p>The private secretary was told, with the consent of the author, what the
+name and address was.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. John Scott, office of the <i>National Liberator</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Upon receiving this information, the Premier addressed a note to the
+young journalist, speaking in high terms of his leader on the Reform
+Bill, predicting for him a brilliant career, and requesting the writer
+to call on the minister at noon the following day.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis was quite as much pleased at this distinguished
+recognition of his genius as any other aspiring young journalist might
+have been.</p>
+
+<p>He wrote and accepted the invitation.</p>
+
+<p>And at the appointed hour the next day he presented himself at Elmhurst
+House, the Premier's residence at Kensington.</p>
+
+<p>He sent up his card, bearing the plain name:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. John Scott.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He was promptly shown up stairs to a handsome library, where he found the
+great statesman among his books and papers.</p>
+
+<p>His lordship arose and received his visitor with much cordiality, and
+invited him to be seated.</p>
+
+<p>And during the interview that followed it would have been difficult to
+decide who was the best pleased&mdash;the great minister with this young
+disciple of his school, or the new journalist with this illustrious head
+of his party.</p>
+
+<p>This agreeable meeting was succeeded by others.</p>
+
+<p>At length the young journalist was invited to a sort of semi-political
+dinner at Elmhurst House, to meet certain eminent members of the reform
+party.</p>
+
+<p>This invitation pleased the marquis. It would give him the opportunity
+of meeting men whom he really wished to know. He thought he might accept
+it and go to the dinner as plain Mr. John Scott, of the <i>National
+Liberator</i>, without danger of being recognized as the Marquis of
+Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>For in the days of his family's prosperity he had been too young to enter
+London society.</p>
+
+<p>And in these days of his adversity he was known to but a limited number
+of individuals in the city, and only by his common family name.</p>
+
+<p>On the appointed evening, therefore, he put on his well-brushed
+dress-suit, spotless linen, and fresh gloves, and presented himself at
+Elmhurst House as well dressed as any West End noble or city nabob there.</p>
+
+<p>He was shown up to the drawing-room by the attentive footman, who opened
+the door, and announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. John Scott.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And the young Marquis of Arondelle entered the room, where a brilliant
+little company of about half a dozen gentlemen and as many ladies were
+assembled.</p>
+
+<p>The noble host came forward to welcome the new guest. His lordship met
+him with much cordiality, and immediately presented him to Lady &mdash;&mdash;, who
+received him with the graceful and gracious courtesy for which she was
+so well known.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the minister took the young journalist across the room toward
+a very tall, thin, fair-skinned, gray-haired old gentleman, who stood
+with a pale, dark-eyed, richly-dressed young girl by his side.</p>
+
+<p>They were standing for the moment, with their backs to the company, and
+were critically examining a picture on the wall&mdash;a master-piece of one
+of the old Italian painters.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel,&quot; said the host, lightly touching the art-critic on the
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>The old gentleman turned around.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel, permit me to present to you Mr. John Jones&mdash;I beg
+pardon&mdash;Mr. John Scott, of the <i>National Liberator</i>&mdash;Mr. Scott, Sir
+Lemuel Levison, our member for Lone,&quot; said the minister.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison saw before him the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom he
+had know as a boy and young man for years in the Highlands, and of whom,
+indeed, he had purchased his life interest in Lone. But he gave no sign
+of this recognition.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis, on his part, had every reason to know the man who had
+succeeded, not to say supplanted, his father at Lone Castle. But by no
+sign did he betray this knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>The recognition was mutual, instantaneous and complete. Yet both were
+gravely self-possessed, and addressed each other as if they had never met
+before.</p>
+
+<p>Then the banker called the attention of the young lady by his side:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes and saw before her the idol of her secret worship,
+knowing him by his portrait at Lone. She paled and flushed, while her
+father, with old-fashioned formality, was saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, let me introduce to your acquaintance, Mr. John Scott of
+the <i>National Liberator</i>. You have read and admired his articles
+under the signature of Justus, you know!&mdash;Mr. Scott, my daughter, Miss
+Levison.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Both bowed gravely, and as they looked up their eyes met in one swift
+and swiftly withdrawn glance.</p>
+
+<p>And before a word could be exchanged between them the doors were thrown
+open and the butler announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady is served.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel, will you give your arm to Lady &mdash;&mdash;, and allow me to take
+Miss Levison in to dinner?&quot; said the noble host, drawing the young lady's
+hand within his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. John Scott&quot; took in Lady Belgrave.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner Miss Levison found herself seated nearly opposite to the young
+marquis. She could not watch him, she could not even lift her eyes to his
+face, but she could not chose but listen to every syllable that fell from
+his lips. It was the cue of some of the leading politicians present to
+draw out this young apostle of the reform cause. And of course they
+proceeded to do it.</p>
+
+<p>The young journalist, modest and reserved at first, as became a disciple
+in the presence of the leaders of the great cause, gradually grew more
+communicative, then animated, then eloquent.</p>
+
+<p>Among his hearers, none listened with a deeper interest than Salome
+Levison. Although he did not address one syllable of his conversation
+to her, nor cast one glance of his eyes upon her, yet she hung upon his
+words as though they had been the oracles of a prophet.</p>
+
+<p>If the high ideal honor and reverence in which she held him, could have
+been increased by any circumstance, it must have been from the sentiments
+expressed, the principles declared in his discourse.</p>
+
+<p>She saw before her, not only the loyal son, who had sacrificed himself
+to save his father, but she saw also in him the reformer, enlightener,
+educator and benefactor of his race and age.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the men she had met in the great world of society, during the
+three years that she had been &quot;out,&quot; she had not found his equal, either
+in manly beauty and dignity, or in moral and intellectual excellence.</p>
+
+<p><i>His</i> brow needs no ducal coronet to ennoble it! <i>His</i> name
+needs no title to illustrate it. The &quot;princely Hereward!&quot; &quot;If all the men
+of his race resembled him, they well deserved this popular soubriquet.
+And whether this gentleman calls himself Mr. Scott or Lord Arondelle,
+I shall think of him only as the 'princely Hereward.'&quot; mused Salome, as
+she sat and listened to the music of his voice, and the wisdom of his
+words.</p>
+
+<p>She was sorry when their hostess gave the signal for the ladies to rise
+from the table and leave the gentlemen to their wine.</p>
+
+<p>They went into the drawing-room, where the conversation turned upon the
+subject of the brilliant young journalist. No one knew who he was. Scott,
+though a very good name, was such a common one! But the noble host's
+endorsement was certainly enough to pass this gifted young gentleman
+in any society. The ladies talked of nothing but Mr. Scott, and his
+perfection of person, manner and conversation, until the entrance of
+the gentlemen from the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>The host and the member for Lone came in arm in arm, and a little in the
+rear of the other guests, and lingered behind them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This most extraordinary young man, this Mr. Scott&mdash;you have known him
+some time, my lord?&quot; said Sir Lemuel Levison, in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, probably as long as you have, Sir Lemuel,&quot; replied the Premier, with
+a peculiarly intelligent smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, yes! I see! Your lordship has possibly detected my recognition of
+this young gentleman,&quot; said Sir Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course. And I, on my part, knew him when I first saw him again after
+some years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;His name was common enough to escape detection.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but his face was not, my dear sir. The profile of the 'princely
+Hereward' could never be mistaken. Our first meeting was purely
+accidental. He was pointed out to me one evening at a public meeting,
+as the 'Justus' of the '<i>National Liberator</i>.' I looked and
+recognized the Marquis of Arondelle. Nothing surprises or <i>should</i>
+surprise a middle-aged man. Therefore, I was not in the least degree
+moved by what I had discovered. I sent, however, to the office of the
+<i>Liberator</i> to inquire the address, not of the Marquis of Arondelle,
+but of the writer, under the signature of 'Justus.' Received for answer
+that it was Mr. John Scott, office of the <i>Liberator</i>. I wrote to
+Mr. John Scott, and invited him to call on me. That was the beginning of
+my more recent acquaintance with this gifted young gentleman. Why he has
+chosen to drop his title I cannot know. He has every right to be called
+by his family name, only, if he so pleases. And, Sir Lemuel, we must
+regard his pleasure in this matter. Not even to my wife have I betrayed
+him,&quot; said the Premier, as they passed into the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Umph, umph, umph,&quot; grunted the banker, who, surfeited with wealth though
+he was, could think of but one cause to every evil in the world, and
+that the want of money, and of but one remedy for that evil, and that
+was&mdash;plenty of money. &quot;Umph, umph, umph! It is his poverty has made him
+drop the title that he cannot support. If he would only marry my girl
+now, it would all come right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The entrance of the tea-service occupied the guests for the next half
+hour, at the end of which the little company broke up and took leave.</p>
+
+<p>Salome Levison went home more thoughtful and dreamy than ever
+before&mdash;more out of favor with herself, more in love with her &quot;paladin,&quot;
+more resolved never to marry any man except he should be John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>She almost loathed the hollow world of fashion in which she lived. Yet
+she went more into society than ever, though she enjoyed it so much less.
+She had a powerful motive for doing so. She attended all the balls,
+parties, dinners, concerts, plays, and operas to which she was invited,
+only with the hope of meeting again with him whose image had never left
+her heart since it first met her vision.</p>
+
+<p>But she never was gratified. She never saw him again in society. John
+Scott was unknown to the world of fashion.</p>
+
+<p>The season drew to its close. Constant going out, day after day, and
+night after night, would have weakened much stronger health than that
+possessed by Salome Levison. And, when added to this was constant longing
+expectation, and constant sickening disappointment, we cannot wonder that
+our pale heroine grew paler still.</p>
+
+<p>Her chaperone declared herself &quot;worn out&quot; and unable to continue her
+arduous duties much longer.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison was puzzled and anxious.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot see what has come to my girl! She goes out all the time; she
+accepts every invitation; gives herself no rest; yet never seems to enjoy
+herself anywhere. She grows paler and thinner every day, and there is a
+hectic spot on her cheeks and a feverish brightness in her eyes that I do
+not like at all. I have seen them before, and I have too much reason to
+know them! I do believe she is fretting herself into a decline for her
+convent. I do believe she only goes out as a sort of penance for her
+imaginary sins! Poor child! I must really have a talk and come to an
+understanding with her!&quot; said the anxious father to himself, as he mused
+on the condition of his daughter.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h3>SALOME'S CHOICE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison was taking his breakfast in bed. The London season was
+near its close. Parliament sat late at night, and often all night. Sir
+Lemuel, a punctual and diligent member of the House, seldom returned home
+before the early dawn.</p>
+
+<p>So Sir Lemuel was taking his breakfast in bed, and &quot;small blame to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It was a very simple breakfast of black tea, dry toast, fresh eggs, and
+cold ham.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take these things away now, Potts. Go and find Miss Levison's maid, and
+tell her to let her mistress know that I wish to see my daughter here,
+before she goes out,&quot; said the banker, as he drained and set down his
+tea-cup.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Sir Lemuel,&quot; respectfully answered the servant, as he lifted the
+breakfast tray and bore it off.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Umph! that is the manner in which I have to manoeuvre for an interview
+with my own daughter, before I can get one,&quot; grumbled the banker, as he
+lay back on his pillow and took up a newspaper from the counter-pane.</p>
+
+<p>Before he had time to read the morning's report of the night's doings at
+the House, Salome entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>The banker darted a swift keen look at her, that took in her whole aspect
+at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>She was dressed for a drive. She wore a simple suit of rich brown silk,
+with hat, vail and gloves to match, white linen collar and cuffs, and
+crimson ribbon bow on her bosom, and a crimson rose in her hat. Her face
+was pale and clear, but so thin that her broad, fair forehead looked too
+broad beneath its soft waves of dark hair, and her deep gray eyes seemed
+too large and bright under their arched black eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You wished to see me, dear papa?&quot; she said, gently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my love. But&mdash;you are going out? Of course you are. You are always
+going out, when you are not gone. I hope, however, that I have not
+interfered with any very important engagement of yours, my dear?&quot; said
+the banker, half impatiently, half affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, papa, love! I was only going with Lady Belgrade to a flower-show
+at the Crystal Palace. I will give it up very willingly if you wish me to
+do so,&quot; said Salome, gently, stooping and pressing her lips to his, and
+then seating herself on the side of his bed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not wish you to do so, my child. I shall be going out myself in
+a couple of hours. But I want to have a little conversation with you.
+I suppose a few minutes more or less will make no difference in your
+enjoyment of the flower-show.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None whatever, papa, dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! Salome, now that I look at you well, I do not believe you care
+a penny for the flower-show. Come, tell me the truth, girl. Do you care
+one penny to go to the flower-show?&quot; he inquired, looking keenly into her
+pensive face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, papa, dear,&quot; she answered, in a very low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! I thought not. Now do you care for <i>any</i> of the shows,
+plays, balls, and other tom-fooleries that occupy you day and night?
+I pause for a reply, my daughter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, papa, I do not,&quot; she answered, in a still lower tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then why the deuce do you go to them?&quot; demanded the banker.</p>
+
+<p>His daughter's soft, gray eyes sank beneath his scrutinizing gaze, but
+she did not answer. How <i>could</i> she confess that she went out into
+company daily and nightly only in the hope of seeing again the one man
+to whom she had given her unsought heart, and for whose presence her very
+soul seemed famishing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it that you <i>do</i> care for, then, Salome?&quot; demanded her
+father, varying his question.</p>
+
+<p>Her head sank upon her bosom, but still she did not answer. How could she
+tell him that she cared only for a man who did not care for her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is unbearable!&quot; burst forth the banker. &quot;Here you are with every
+indulgence that affection can yield you, every luxury that money can give
+you, and yet you are not well nor content. What ails you girl? Are you
+pining after your convent? Set fire to it. Are you pining after your
+convent, I ask you, Salome?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, <i>no</i>, papa!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What!&quot; demanded her father, starting up at her reply and gazing with
+doubt into her pale, earnest face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am not thinking of the convent, dear papa. Indeed I had forgotten all
+about it. If it will give you any pleasure to hear it, dear papa, let me
+tell you that I have quite given up all ideas of entering a convent,&quot;
+added Salome, with a pensive smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What!&quot; exclaimed the banker, starting up in a sitting position and
+bending toward his daughter as if in doubt whether to gaze her through
+and through or to catch her to his heart.</p>
+
+<p>She met that look and understood her father's love for his only child,
+and reproached herself for having been so blind to it for these three
+years past.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dearest papa,&quot; she said, with tender earnestness, &quot;I have no longer the
+slightest wish or intention of ever entering a convent. And I wonder now
+how I ever could have been so insane as to think I could live all my life
+contentedly in a convent, or so selfish as to forget that by doing so I
+should leave my father alone in the world!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My darling child! Is this truly so? Are these really your thoughts?&quot;
+exclaimed the banker, with such a look of delight as Salome had not
+believed possible in so aged a face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Really and truly, my father! And does it give you so much pleasure?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pleasure my daughter! It gives me the greatest joy! Hand me my
+dressing-gown, my dear. I must get up. I cannot lie here any longer.
+You have put new life into me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome handed him his gown, socks, and slippers, and then went to clear
+off his big easy-chair, which was burdened with his yesterday's dress
+suit, and draw it up for his use.</p>
+
+<p>And in a few minutes the banker, wrapped in his gown, with his feet in
+his slippers, was seated comfortably in his arm-chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, shall I ring for Potts, papa, dear?&quot; inquired Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, my love, I don't want Potts, I want you. Sit down near me, Salome,
+and listen to me. You have made me very happy this morning, my darling;
+and now I wish to make you happy; you are not so now; but I am your
+father; you are my only child; all that I have will be yours; but in the
+meantime, you are not happy. What can I do, my beloved child, to make
+you so?&quot; said the banker, drawing her to his side and kissing her
+tenderly, and then releasing her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Papa, dear, I should be a most ungrateful daughter if I were not happy,&quot;
+answered the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then you <i>are</i> a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you
+are very far from happy,&quot; said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet
+looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.</p>
+
+<p>Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only
+tell me how. Tell me, my dear,&quot; persisted her father.</p>
+
+<p>But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide
+in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you,&quot; said
+Sir Lemuel, sadly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Father, dear father, I <i>do</i> love you; and I will confide in you,&quot;
+said Salome, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting
+out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you
+have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me
+all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is
+holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor
+girl, not your awkward, blundering old father,&quot; suddenly said the banker,
+breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon
+his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear, gentle father, no mother could be tenderer than you,&quot; murmured
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell me all, then, my darling. It is the first wish of my heart to see
+you happily married. And no trifling obstacle shall stand in the way of
+its accomplishment. <i>Who is he, Salome?</i>&quot; he inquired, in a low
+whisper, as he passed his hand around her neck.</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but she kissed and fondled his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You cannot bring yourself to tell me yet? Well, take your own time, my
+love. You will tell me some time or another,&quot; he continued, returning her
+soft caresses.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I will tell you sometime, dear, good, tender father. But now&mdash;when
+do we leave town papa?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In less than three weeks, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And where do we go?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To Lone Castle, if you like; if not, anywhere you prefer, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then we <i>will</i> go to Lone, if you please, papa.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Papa?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, love.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you do something for me before we leave town?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will do anything on earth that you wish me to do for you, my dear,&quot;
+said the banker, looking anxiously toward her.</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated for a few moments, and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Papa, I want you to give just such a semi-political dinner party as that
+given by the Premier in the beginning of the season.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What! my little, pale Salome taking an interest in politics!&quot; exclaimed
+the banker, in droll surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, papa; and turning politician on a small, womanish scale. You will
+give this semi-political dinner?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why of course I will! Whom shall we invite?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Papa, the very same party to a man, whom we met at the Premier's
+dinner.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let me see. Who was there? Oh! there were three members of Parliament
+and their wives; two city magnates and their daughters; you and myself,
+Lady Belgrade, and&mdash;and the Marquis of&mdash;John&mdash;Mr. John Scott, I mean.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, papa, that was the company. Send the invitations out to-day, for
+this day week please&mdash;if no engagement intervenes to prevent you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, my dear. You see to it. I leave it all in your hands. Now you
+may ring for Potts, my dear. I have to dress and go down to the House. I
+am chairman of a committee there, that meets at two. And you, my love,
+must be off to your flower-show. You must not keep Lady Belgrade
+waiting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome touched the bell, and on the entrance of the valet, she kissed her
+father's hand and retired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now I wonder,&quot; mused the old gentleman, &quot;who it is she wants to meet
+again, out of that dinner company? It cannot be either of the old M.P.'s
+or their wives; nor the two elderly city magnates, or their tall
+daughters; that disposes of ten out of the fourteen invited guests.
+The remainder included Lady Belgrade, myself, Salome herself, and&mdash;Lord,
+bless my soul, alive!&quot; burst forth the banker, with such a start, that
+his valet, who was brushing his hair, begged his pardon, and said that he
+did not mean it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord, bless my soul alive,&quot; mentally continued the banker, without
+paying the slightest attention to the apologizing servant. &quot;The Marquis
+of Arondelle! He was the fourteenth guest, and the only young man
+present! And upon my word and honor, the very handsomest and most
+attractive young fellow I ever saw in all the days of my life! Come!&quot; he
+added to himself, as the full revelation of the truth burst upon his
+mind; &quot;<i>that</i> can be easily enough arranged. If he is the sensible,
+practical man I take him to be, he will get back his estates and the very
+best little wife that ever was wed into the bargain; and my girl will be
+a marchioness, and in time a duchess. But stay&mdash;what is that I heard up
+at Lone about the young marquis and a handsome shepherdess? Chut! what is
+that to us? That is probably a slander. The marquis is a noble young
+fellow; and I will bring him home with me this evening. I will not wait
+a week until that dinner comes off. We cannot afford to lose so much time
+at the end of the season,&quot; mused the banker, through all the time his
+valet was dressing him.</p>
+
+<p>And now we must glance back to that evening when John Scott, Marquis of
+Arondelle, first met Salome Levison. He had met many statuesque, pink and
+white beauties in his young life; and he had admired each and all with
+all a young man's ardor. But not one of them had touched his heart, as
+did the first full gaze of those large, soft gray eyes that were lifted
+to his and immediately dropped as the old banker had presented him to&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, Miss Levison.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She was not statuesque. She was not pink and white. She was not at all
+handsome, or even pretty; yet something in the pale, sweet, earnest face,
+something in the soft clear gray eyes touched his heart even before he
+was presented to her. But when she lifted those eloquent eyes to his
+face, there was such a world of sympathy, appreciation and devotion in
+their swift and swiftly-withdrawn gaze, that her soul seemed then and
+there to reveal itself to his soul.</p>
+
+<p>He never again met the full gaze of those spirit eyes. He never exchanged
+a word with her after the first few formal words of greeting. He had only
+bowed to her, in taking leave that evening.</p>
+
+<p>Yet those eyes had haunted him in their meek appealing tenderness ever
+since. He did not meet her anywhere by accident, and he did not try to
+meet her by design. He only thought of her constantly. But what had he to
+do with the banker's wealthy heiress, the future mistress of Lone? If he
+were so unwise as to seek her acquaintance, the world would be quick to
+ascribe the most mercenary motives to his conduct. But like weaker minded
+lovers, he comforted himself by writing such transcendental poetry as
+&quot;The Soul's Recognition,&quot; &quot;The Meeting of the Spirits,&quot; &quot;What Those Eyes
+Said,&quot; etc. He did not publish these. After having relieved his mind of
+them, he put them away to keep in his portfolio. So you see the handsome,
+&quot;princely&quot; Hereward was as much in love with our pale, gray-eyed girl as
+She could possibly be with him.</p>
+
+<p>And so with the young marquis also the season passed slowly and heavily
+away, until the day came when into his den at the office of the
+<i>Liberator</i> walked Sir Lemuel Levison.</p>
+
+<p>His heart really beat faster, although it was only her father who
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>He arose, and placed a chair for his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord Arondelle, you <i>know</i> I knew you when I met you at Lord P.'s
+dinner-party, and I saw that you knew me. It was not my business to
+interfere with your incognito, and so I met you as you met me&mdash;as a
+stranger. But surely here and now we may meet as friends without
+disguise,&quot; said the banker, as he slowly sank into his seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We must do so, Sir Lemuel, since we are <i>tete-a-tete</i>. It would
+be idle and useless to do otherwise,&quot; replied the young marquis,
+courteously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now, my young friend, you are wondering what has brought me here,&quot;
+continued the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am at least most grateful to any circumstance that gives me the
+pleasure of your company, Sir Lemuel,&quot; courteously replied the young
+marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my lord, I come to beg you to waive ceremony, and go home with me
+to dinner this evening. I hope you have no engagement to prevent you from
+coming,&quot; added Sir Lemuel, with more earnestness than the occasion seemed
+to call for.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have no engagement to prevent me,&quot; answered the young man frankly, but
+slowly and thoughtfully, for he was wondering not only at the invitation
+but at the suddenness and earnestness with which it was given.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I <i>hope</i> you will come?&quot; said the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are very kind, Sir Lemuel. Yes, thanks, I will come,&quot; said the
+marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So happy! Will you allow me to call for you&mdash;at&mdash;at your lodgings?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Sir Lemuel, if you will kindly call <i>here</i> at your own
+hour, it will be more directly in your way home, and you will find me
+ready to accompany you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Quite right. I will be here at seven. Good morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And with this the banker went away.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He wants me to make an article about something, I suppose,&quot; mused the
+young man when the elder had gone. &quot;I will go. I will see that sweet girl
+again, even if I never see her afterwards.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The temptation was certainly very strong. And so, at the appointed hour,
+when the banker called at the office of the <i>National Liberator</i> he
+found the young gentleman in evening dress ready to accompany him home.</p>
+
+<p>Salome Levison was dressed for dinner, and seated in the drawing-room
+with her chaperone, Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was certainly not expecting any guest. But she intended to go to
+the opera that evening with Lady Belgrade, to hear the last act of Norma.
+Luckily for Sir Lemuel's plan, it was not a peremptory engagement, and
+could easily be set aside.</p>
+
+<p>On this evening she was beautifully dressed. She wore a delicate tea-rose
+tinted rich silk skirt, with an over skirt of point lace, looped up with
+tea-rose buds, a tea-rose in her dark hair, a necklace of opals set in
+diamonds, and bracelets of the same beautiful jewels. Refined, elegant,
+and most interesting she certainly looked.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the banker came home, and himself conducted the unexpected
+guest to the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. John Scott, my dear,&quot; said Sir Lemuel, bringing the young gentleman
+up to his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis caught the sudden lighting up of those soft, gray eyes,
+and the sudden flushing of those delicate cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>It was but for an instant; for even as he bowed before her, her eyes fell
+and her color faded.</p>
+
+<p>It was but for an instant, yet in that glance those eyes had again
+revealed her soul to his.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis was not a vain man. He could not at once believe the
+evidence of his own consciousness. But he found it rather more awkward to
+sit down and open a conversation with this pale, shy girl, than he ever
+had in his palmiest days to make himself agreeable to the brightest
+beauty that ever honored Castle Lone with a visit.</p>
+
+<p>For once the presence of a chaperone was not unwelcome to a pair of young
+people secretly in love with each other.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade chattered of the weather, the opera the park, and what not,
+and relieved the embarrassment of the lovers during the interval in which
+Sir Lemuel Levison had gone to change his dress.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis seldom spoke to Salome, but when he did, his voice sank
+to a low, tender, reverential tone that thrilled her inmost spirit. She
+replied to him only in soft monosyllables, but her drooping eyelids, and
+kindling cheeks, told him all he wished to know. He might have wondered
+more at the interest he had seemed to excite in a girl he had met but
+once before, had he not had a corresponding experience himself. He knew
+that he himself had been deeply impressed by this sweet, shy, pale girl,
+on the first meeting of her soft gray eyes, with their soul of love
+shining through them.</p>
+
+<p>He did not know that this &quot;soul of love&quot; had first been awakened in her,
+by hearing his story and seeing his portrait, and that it was which so
+powerfully attracted him&mdash;for love creates love.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison hurried over his toilet, and soon entered the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner was immediately announced.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Scott, will you take my daughter to the table?&quot; said the banker, as
+he gave his own arm to Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>It was an elegant little dinner for four, arranged upon a round table.
+There was no possibility of estrangement, in so small a party as that.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel talked gayly, and without effort, for he was very happy. Lady
+Belgrade chattered, because she was spiritually a magpie. And as both
+constantly appealed to &quot;Mr. Scott,&quot; or to Salome, it was impossible for
+either of the lovers to relapse into awkward silence. The conversation
+was general and lively.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison and Lady Belgrade would have talked in the most
+flattering manner of &quot;Mr. Scott's&quot; leaders, if that young gentleman had
+not laughingly waived off all such direct compliments.</p>
+
+<p>When dinner was over, Lady Belgrade gave the signal, and arose from the
+table. Salome followed her, and left the two gentlemen to their wine.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It afflicts me to have to call you Mr. Scott, my lord,&quot; said Sir Lemuel,
+when he found himself alone with his guest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then call me John, as you used to do when I rode upon your foot in my
+childhood, and when I used to come to you in all my worst scrapes in
+boyhood&mdash;I shall never resume my title, Sir Lemuel,&quot; replied the young
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never!&quot; exclaimed the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never, Sir Lemuel. A pauper lord is rather a ridiculous object. I will
+never be one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You <i>could</i> not be one. I won't hear you say such things about
+yourself. See here, John. Do you know why I bought Lone when I knew it
+was to be sold?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I suppose because you wanted it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now what did I want with Lone? I, an old widower, without family, except
+one little girl at school? I did not want Lone. I wanted you to have it.
+But I knew that if I did not buy it some one else would. And&mdash;I had this
+only daughter, who would have Lone after me. And I thought perhaps&mdash;But
+then you disappeared, you know, and no one on earth could tell for three
+years what had become of you, when you suddenly turned up as Mr. John
+Scott at the Premier's dinner.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The banker paused, and ran his hand through his gray hair.</p>
+
+<p>The young man looked at him with curiosity and interest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Plague take it all! her mother, if she has one, could manage this matter
+so much better than I can,&quot; muttered the banker, as he poured out a glass
+of wine and drank it. &quot;Well, Lord Arondelle&mdash;I will give myself the
+pleasure of calling you so while we are <i>tete-a-tete</i> 'over the
+walnuts and wine.' Lord Arondelle, there is my daughter; what do you
+think of her?&quot; he demanded, bending down his gray brows and fixing his
+keen blue eyes scrutinizingly upon the young man's face which flushed at
+the suddenness of the question. But he quickly recovered himself, and
+replied in a low, reverent tone:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think Miss Levison the loveliest young creature I have ever had the
+happiness to know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You do! So do <i>I</i>! I think so too. And the man who gets my girl to
+wife will get a pearl of price.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I truly believe that,&quot; said the young man, with an involuntary sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is right! Ahem! Bother it! a woman could do this so much better
+than such a blundering old fellow as I! Well, there! Salome has, in the
+three years since her first entrance into society, refused half a score
+of eligible men. She is, and always has been, perfectly free from any
+such engagement. If you are equally free, my dear marquis&mdash;(If I could
+only be her mother for three seconds)&mdash;Ahem! if you are equally free,
+and if you admire my girl as you say you do, and if you can win her
+affections&mdash;she&mdash;she shall be yours, and I will settle Lone upon her.
+There, her mother would have done this better, I know. So much better
+that you would have proposed to my daughter without ever dreaming that
+the suggestion came from our side. But as for me, I have flung my girl
+at your head, nothing less!&quot; grumbled the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear Sir Lemuel,&quot; said the young man, with some emotion, as he left
+his seat and came and stood by the banker's chair, leaning affectionately
+over him; &quot;when I first met your lovely daughter, I was so deeply
+impressed by her rare sweetness, gentleness, intelligence&mdash;ah! Heaven
+knows what it was! It was something more than all these. In a word, I was
+so deeply impressed by her perfect loveliness, that had I been as really
+the heir of Lone as I was the Marquis of Arondelle, I should at once have
+cultivated her further acquaintance, and, before this, have laid my heart
+and hand, titles and estates, at her feet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, well, my boy? Well, my dear lad, why didn't you do it?&quot; inquired
+the banker, with tears rising to his kind eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have just told you, because I was a ruined man,&quot; said the marquis with
+mournful dignity.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'A ruined man?'&quot; echoed the banker, with almost angry earnestness.
+&quot;<i>I</i> know that you are <i>not</i> a ruined man! And you know, even
+better than I do, because you have more brains than I have; <span class="smcaps">you</span>
+know that no young man, sound in body and sound in mind, can be ruined
+by any financial calamity that can fall upon him. You love my daughter,
+you say. Well, then, you have my authority to ask her to be your wife.
+There, what do you say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis sat down and covered his face with his hand for one
+thoughtful moment, and then replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is a happiness so unexpected that it seems unreal. Sir Lemuel, do
+you really appreciate the fact that I am a man without a shilling that
+I do not earn by my labor?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I really appreciate the fact, and most highly appreciate the fact that
+you are Marquis of Arondelle, and to be Duke of Hereward&mdash;and that you
+are personally as noble in nature as you are fortunately noble in
+descent. And although my first motive in favoring this marriage is the
+pure desire for yours and for my daughter's happiness, still I assure
+you, my lord, I am keenly alive to its eligibility in a mere worldly
+point of view. Your ancient historical title is, (to speak as a man of
+the world,) much more than an equivalent for my daughter's expectations.
+But it is not, as I said before, as a highly eligible, conventional
+marriage that I most desire it, but as a marriage that I feel sure will
+secure the happiness of yourself and my daughter, whom I shall,
+nevertheless, be very proud to see, some day, Duchess of Hereward.
+Come, now, I never saw a gallant young man hesitate so long. I shall grow
+angry presently.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel,&quot; said the marquis, with some irrepressible emotion, &quot;were
+I now really the Duke of Hereward, and the owner of Lone, and were your
+lovely daughter as dowerless as I am penniless at this moment, and did
+you give her to me, my deepest gratitude would be due you, and you have
+it now. When may I see Miss Levison and put my fate to the test?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's right. Upon my word, my boy, if I were a galvanic foreigner
+instead of a staid Englishman, I should jump up and embrace you. Consider
+yourself embraced. When shall you see her? We will go into the dining
+room now and get a cup of tea from the ladies; after which, you shall see
+her as soon and as often as you please. And after you win her, as I am
+sure you will, we will have a blithe wedding and you and your bride will
+do the Continent for a wedding-tour, and then come back and spend the
+Autumn at Lone. We two old papas, the duke and myself, will join you
+there, and everything will be quite as it used to be in the old days.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! my poor father!&quot; sighed the young man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What of the duke, my dear boy? You told me he was well,&quot; said the
+banker, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, he is well in body, better in body than he has been for years; but
+I think that is only because his mind is failing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry to hear that! In what respect does this failure show
+itself&mdash;in loss of memory?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In partial loss of memory; but chiefly in a hallucination that possesses
+him. He thinks that he is still the master of Lone as well as the Duke
+of Hereward. He thinks that he lives in London, and in the most
+Objectionable part of London, only to gratify my 'eccentric whim' of
+being a journalist. And he daily and hourly urges me to return with him
+to Lone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the name of Heaven, then gratify him! Take him to Lone as my guest,
+until you can keep him there as your own. Let him be happy in the
+illusion that he is still its master. I will see that the servants there,
+who are most of them his own old people, do not say or do anything to
+dispel the illusion! Come, my son-in-law, that is to be, will you take
+your father at once to Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>For all answer the young marquis grasped and wrung the hand of his old
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But will you do it?&quot; persisted the banker, who wanted to be satisfied on
+that point.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will think of it. I will think most gratefully of your kind
+invitation, Sir Lemuel. And now shall we join the ladies?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly,&quot; said the banker.</p>
+
+<p>They went into the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade was presiding over the tea urn.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, who was seated near her, looked up and saw him. Again the marquis
+noted the sudden, beautiful lighting up of those soft, gray eyes, as they
+were lifted for a moment to his face. Again they fell beneath his glance,
+as her pale cheeks flushed up. He could not be mistaken. This sweet girl
+whom he loved, loved him in return.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I was just about to send for you. You lingered long at table, Sir
+Lemuel,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, as the two gentlemen bowed and seated
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, important political and journalistic matters to discuss,&quot; said Sir
+Lemuel. (&quot;Only they were <i>not</i> discussed,&quot;) he added, mentally.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So I supposed,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, as she handed him a cup of tea,
+which he immediately passed to his guest.</p>
+
+<p>After tea, when the service was removed, Sir Lemuel challenged Lady
+Belgrade for a game of chess, and told his daughter to show Mr. Scott
+those chromoes of the Madonnas of Raphael which had arrived in the last
+parcel from Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Salome flushed to the edges of her dark hair as she arose, glanced
+shyly at her guest for an instant, and walked to the other end of the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>There, on a gilded stand, under a brilliant gasolier, lay a large and
+handsome volume, which Salome indicated as the one referred to by her
+father.</p>
+
+<p>The marquis brought two chairs to the stand, and they sat down to go over
+the book.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the banker and the dowager commenced their game of chess. But
+from time to time, each looked furtively in the direction of the young
+people. <i>They</i> were looking at the Madonnas of Raphael, and, once
+in a while, shyly into each other's eyes. All that Sir Lemuel saw there
+pleased him. All that Lady Belgrade saw there <i>dis</i>pleased her.</p>
+
+<p>At length she put her hand over that of her antagonist, and stopped his
+move while she said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel, a conflagration may be arrested by stamping out a spark of
+fire.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whatever do you mean, my lady!&quot; inquired the perplexed banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An inundation may be prevented by stopping up a small leak.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am more mystified than ever!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look at Salome and Mr. Scott, then,&quot; said her ladyship, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what of them? They seem to be very happy and very well pleased
+with each other.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! that is it, and worse may come of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What worse can come of it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel, this Mr. Scott, you must remember, is nothing but an
+adventurer, who only gains an entrance into respectable circles on
+account of his journalistic reputation. He is probably also a pauper,
+but being a very handsome and attractive man, he is certainly a very
+dangerous, and likely to be a very successful fortune-hunter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You mean he may try to marry my heiress?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Sir Lemuel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He has my full consent to do so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir Lemuel!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen, my good lady, I have a secret to tell you. That gentleman whom
+we have known as Mr. John Scott only, is really Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Marquis of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A woman of the world is hardly ever &quot;taken aback.&quot; Lady Belgrade gave no
+exclamation. But she caught her breath and stared at the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is as I have told you. He is the Marquis of Arondelle. He is going to
+marry my daughter. He will get back Lone through her. And she will be
+Marchioness of Arondelle, and in due time Duchess of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You&mdash;don't&mdash;say&mdash;so!&quot; breathed her ladyship, slowly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now, you know how to manage it. You must aid the young couple as
+much as you can by giving them as much as possible of each other's
+society.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I see,&quot; said her ladyship. &quot;And now&mdash;don't look toward them again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The banker nodded intelligently. And they gave their attention to the
+game.</p>
+
+<p>And the two young people seemed to find inexhaustible interest in the
+volume they were bending over.</p>
+
+<p>It was eleven o'clock before the young marquis arose to take leave.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have asked Miss Levison to ride with me in the Park to-morrow, and she
+has kindly consented&mdash;with your approbation, Sir Lemuel,&quot; said the young
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, Mr. Scott. I consider horseback riding one of the most
+healthful of exercises,&quot; said the banker, heartily.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis then bowed and took his leave.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade gathered up her embroidery work and bade them good-night.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My girl, what do you think of Mr. Scott?&quot; asked the banker, when he was
+left alone with his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, papa,&quot; she breathed in an embarrassed manner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you know who he really is, my dear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, papa, I knew him when I first met him at the Premier's dinner.
+I knew him by his portrait that I saw at Castle Lone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, you did!&quot; said the banker, musing.</p>
+
+<p>His daughter looked at him for a moment, and then suddenly threw herself
+into his arms, clasped his neck and kissed him fervently, exclaiming,
+with her face radiant with delight:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, papa! this is all your doing! I understand it all, dear papa! Bless
+you! bless you! bless you, my own, own dear papa! You have made your
+child so happy!&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h3>ARONDELLE'S CONSOLATION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>On the next day, at the appointed hour, Salome came down to the
+drawing-room dressed for her ride.</p>
+
+<p>She wore a rich habit of dark blue summer-cloth, fastened with small
+gold buttons, fine, tiny white linen cuffs and collar, dark blue gloves,
+dark blue velvet hat with a short, white ostrich plume secured by a small
+gold butterfly, and she carried in her hand a slender ivory-handled
+riding-whip, set with a sapphire. Her dress was neat, elegant, and
+appropriate; and her face was for the moment radiant and beautiful
+from inward joy.</p>
+
+<p>In due time, the young marquis presented himself, and the lovers went
+forth for their ride.</p>
+
+<p>It is not necessary to linger over this courtship, in which &quot;the course
+of true love&quot; ran so smooth as to seem monotonous to all but the lovers
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p>The ride was followed by the small dinner party. And after that the young
+marquis became a daily visitor at Elmthorpe House, where he was ever
+received with fatherly affection by Sir Lemuel, and with subdued delight
+by Salome.</p>
+
+<p>The lovers had come to a mutual understanding for days before the marquis
+made a formal proposal for Miss Levison's hand.</p>
+
+<p>But it happened one evening that they found themselves alone in the
+drawing-room. They were seated at a table, loaded with books of
+engravings, photographs, and so forth.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was turning over the pages of Dore's Milton.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Close the volume, now, Miss Levison,&quot; Lord Arondelle said at length,
+uttering the formal words with a tone and look of such reverential
+tenderness as to seem a caress.</p>
+
+<p>Salome shut the book, and looked up to read the open volume of his
+eloquent face; but her eyes instantly sank beneath the gaze of ardent
+passion that met them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen to me, Salome, my beloved; for I love you, and have loved you
+ever since the first moment when I met the beautiful spirit beaming
+through your sweet eyes&mdash;'Sweetest eyes were ever seen!' Dear eyes! look
+on me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome, for all her profound and ardent affections, was still a very shy
+maiden. She wished to raise her eyes to his; she wished to pour her heart
+out to him; to let him have the comfort of knowing how perfectly she
+loved him, how utterly she was his own. But she could not look at him,
+she could not speak to him as yet. Her dark eyelashes drooped to her
+crimson cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My beloved, do you hear me? I am telling you how I have loved you since
+I first met your heavenly eyes. This is no lover's rhapsody, my own, for
+your eyes are heavenly in their spiritual beauty. And they have haunted
+me, Salome, like the eyes of a guardian angel ever since they first
+looked upon me. Daily they would have drawn me to your side but for my
+wrecked and ruined state,&quot; he said, with a half suppressed sigh.</p>
+
+<p>His look, his tone, and, more than all, his allusion to the calamity of
+his house, reached her soul, and broke the spell of reserve by which she
+was bound.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, do not say that you are ruined!&quot; she cried, in a voice thrilled and
+thrilling with profound emotion. &quot;Do not think that you are ruined.
+<i>You</i> could <i>never</i> be ruined. <i>Nothing</i> could ruin
+<i>you</i>. It is not in the power of fate to ruin a man like
+<span class="smcaps">you</span>. And if you loved me when you first met my eyes it was
+because you read in them the soul that was created yours! And if these
+eyes have haunted you ever since it was because this soul has been always
+longing, yearning, aspiring towards yours!&quot; And she dropped her face in
+her hands and wept for pure joy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, Salome, can this be indeed true? Can I have been so blessed? Am
+I indeed so happy? Then is this abundant compensation for all that I have
+lost in this world! Heavenly consolation for all I have suffered on
+earth! Speak again, oh, my dearest! Tell me once more, for I can scarcely
+realize my happiness! Speak again, beloved, for your words are life to
+me!&quot; he exclaimed, with profound emotion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I will tell you all!&quot; she said, wiping away her joyful tears and
+looking up. &quot;I will tell you everything for it is your right! You have
+made me so happy to-day! I loved you from the beginning. First, I loved
+the magnanimous, self-sacrificing man who, at the age of twenty-one
+years, with a brilliant future before him, could renounce all his
+prospects to give peace to his father's latter years. I loved you then,
+Lord Arondelle, before I knew what manner of man you looked!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How blessed, how surely blessed I am in hearing you,&quot; he breathed, in
+a low and reverent tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Afterward I saw your portrait in Malcolm's Tower at Lone,&quot; she
+continued, in a soft voice. &quot;And I saw a beauty and a grandeur in the
+face and form that seemed the fitting manifestation of a soul like yours.
+And I loved you more than ever. My mornings were passed in the tower near
+the glory of that picture. But I gazed on it so hopelessly! You were
+missing, you were lost to your world! And then I was so plain, so pale,
+and dark and gray-eyed. If I should ever be so fortunate as to meet you,
+I thought you would never be likely to love me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My consolation! You are most lovely from your spirit, and now you
+<i>know</i> that I loved you from my first meeting with you,&quot; he
+breathed, in a low, earnest tone, pouring his whole soul's devotion
+through the gaze that he fixed on her face.</p>
+
+<p>Again her eyes drooped as she murmured:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If I am lovely in the very least, it must be that my love for you has
+made me so; for, even then, when I had only heard your story and seen
+your portrait, I loved you so, that I could not think of marriage with
+any other man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And that was the reason why you refused so many excellent offers?&quot; he
+inquired, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps that was the reason,&quot; she replied, lowly bending her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell me more, my consolation! I thirst for your words; they are as the
+words of life to me,&quot; he murmured, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>She continued, still speaking in a low, thrilling voice:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At last&mdash;at last&mdash;at last&mdash;after three long years of waiting, longing,
+aspiring, I met you face to face. Oh!&quot; she exclaimed, and as she spoke
+her hand for the first time went out to meet his, which closed upon it
+with a close clasp, and her eyes lifted themselves to his in a full
+blaze of love that seemed to blend their spirits into one.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! if in that moment you loved me, it must have been because you read
+my soul, for in that moment I consecrated my life to you for acceptance
+or rejection. I recorded a vow in heaven to be no man's wife unless
+I could be yours; but to live unmarried so that when, in the course of
+nature, my dear father should pass to the higher life and leave me Castle
+Lone, I might be free to transfer it to its rightful owner.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! my beloved! you would have been capable of such an act of
+renunciation as that! But I could not have accepted the sacrifice,
+Salome.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In that case I should have made a will and bequeathed it to you, and
+then prayed to the Lord to take me from the earth, that you might have it
+all the sooner. But let that pass. Thanks be to Heaven, there is no need
+of that. It would have been sweet to die for you, but it is so much
+sweeter to <i>live</i> for you, dearest!&quot; she said, lifting up a face
+in which rosy blushes, radiant smiles, and beaming eyes were blended in
+dazzling beauty.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! angel of my destiny, what can I render you for all the blessings you
+have brought me?&quot; exclaimed her lover, clasping her to his bosom in a
+close embrace.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your love&mdash;your love! which will crown me a queen among women!&quot; she
+whispered, softly.</p>
+
+<p>The morning succeeding this scene, Lord Arondelle called and asked for
+a private interview with Sir Lemuel Levison.</p>
+
+<p>He was invited up into the library, where he found the banker alone among
+his books.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good morning, Arondelle. Glad to see you. Take this chair,&quot; said the old
+gentleman, rising, shaking hands with his visitor, and placing a seat for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The young marquis returned the hearty shake of the banker's hand, and
+took the offered chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, I suppose that you have come to tell me that you have taken up the
+girl I flung at your head about a month ago?&quot; said the banker, rubbing
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, nothing of the sort,&quot; replied the young marquis, effectually
+declining to understand the jest of his host. &quot;I do not remember that you
+ever flung any girl at my head. I came, Sir Lemuel, to tell you that I am
+so happy as to have won Miss Levison's consent to be my wife, if we have
+your approbation,&quot; he added, with a bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! It amounts to about the same thing. Well, my dear boy, you have
+my consent and blessing on two conditions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Name them, Sir Lemuel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The first is, that you can assure me on your honor that you really do
+love my daughter. I would not give her to an emperor who did not love her
+as she deserves to be loved,&quot; said the banker, emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Love her!&quot; repeated the young man, in a deep and earnest tone. &quot;Love is
+scarcely the word, nor adoration, nor worship! She is the soul of my
+soul! She lives in my life, and my life is the larger, higher, holier for
+her!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! I don't understand one word of what you are talking about, but I
+suppose it means that you really do love Salome. So the first condition
+will be fulfilled,&quot; said the banker, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And the second, sir. What is the second?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The second is, that the marriage shall take place within a month from
+this time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Agreed, sir. The sooner the better. The sooner I may call your lovely
+daughter mine, the sooner I shall be the most blessed among men,&quot;
+exclaimed the young marquis, earnestly clapping his palm into the open
+hand of the banker, and shaking it heartily.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There! well, the second condition will be fulfilled. And now I will tell
+you what I never told you in so many words before, namely, that on the
+day Salome Levison becomes Marchioness of Arondelle, I will give her Lone
+as a marriage portion. There, now, not a word more upon that subject. I
+will send a message to my attorney to meet us here to-morrow morning,&quot;
+said the banker, rising and ringing the bell.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will let me thank&mdash;&quot; began the marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I won't!&quot; exclaimed the banker, cutting short the young gentleman's
+acknowledgements. &quot;Excuse me now half a minute, I want to write a line,&quot;
+he added, as he hastily scribbled off a note.</p>
+
+<p>A footman entered in answer to the bell.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take this to the office of the Messrs. Prye, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and
+wait an answer,&quot; said Sir Lemuel, handing the folded note to the man, who
+bowed and retired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Prye must meet us here to-morrow morning to see to the marriage
+settlements. And I must see to Prye! Even lawyers may be hurried if they
+be well paid for making haste!&quot; concluded the banker, rubbing his hands.
+&quot;But now go and find Salome, and tell her it is all right! She has not
+got a stern father to ruffle the course of her true love, but a spooney
+old fellow who spreads out his hands over your heads and says: 'Bul-less
+you, my chee-ild-der-en!'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Lord Arondelle smiled at the dry banker's imitation of the heavy
+stage-father, but made no comment.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, go see Salome; and then go to the duke, your father, and acquaint
+him with the result of your proposal. I take it for granted that you had
+his grace's authority for making it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I had, sir. He told me to be guided by my own judgment.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well tell him all about the settlements as I have told them to you.
+Agree to any amendment he may propose, for I will make it all right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is allowing a very large margin, indeed. I thank you, Sir Lemuel;
+but I must reflect before taking advantage of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, well; perhaps the duke will meet my solicitor here to-morrow
+morning in regard to the settlements. I consider the fact that he has
+steadily declined every invitation I have sent him to come to us on any
+occasion. Still, I hope he may be induced to honor us with his presence
+to-morrow in the interest of these marriage settlements, and to remain
+and dine with us in honor of this betrothal,&quot; said the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope you will kindly continue to excuse my father, sir. His age, his
+infirmities, his failing mind and body, will, I trust, be his sufficient
+apologies,&quot; said the young marquis gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You think that he will not come, then!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I fear that he cannot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm sorry for that. However, tell him all that I have told you, and
+agree to any alterations in the settlements that he may see fit to
+suggest. There! Go to Salome! Go to Salome! I must be off to the House,&quot;
+said the conscientious M.P. rising, and putting an end to the interview.</p>
+
+<p>It was subsequently arranged that the marriage should be celebrated at
+Castle Lone on that day three weeks.</p>
+
+<p>Two weeks out of the three, Sir Lemuel Levison remained in town to give
+his daughter and her chaperon an opportunity of getting up as good a
+trousseau as could be prepared in so short a time. But jewellers,
+milliners, and dressmakers may be hurried as well as lawyers, when they
+are well paid to make haste. And so, in two weeks, the banker's heiress,
+the future Marchioness of Arondelle and Duchess of Hereward, had a
+trousseau as magnificent and splendid as if it had been in preparation
+for two years. When it was all carefully packed and sent down to Lone,
+Sir Lemuel Levison and his household prepared to follow.</p>
+
+<p>On the day before their departure a very curious thing happened.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel was waiting in his library, when a footman entered and laid a
+card before him. It was not a visiting card, but a business card. And it
+bore the name of a firm:</p>
+
+<p>Dazzle and Sparkle, jewellers, Number Blank, Bond street.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the meaning of this?&quot; inquired the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, sir, the person who brought it directed me to say, that
+he craves to speak with you on the most important business,&quot; answered the
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Important to himself most likely, and not in the least so to me. Well,
+show him up,&quot; said Sir Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p>The servant withdrew and, after a few moments, reappeared and announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Dazzle, of Dazzle and Sparkle, Bond street.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A little, round-bodied, bald-headed man entered the library.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison received him with some surprise, but with much
+politeness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have come, sir, on a little business,&quot; began the visitor, who
+forthwith proceeded and explained his business at length.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed that the imbecile Duke of Hereward, being well pleased with his
+son's marriage, and imagining himself still to be the master of Lone and
+of a princely revenue, went to Messrs. Dazzle and Sparkle, and ordered
+a splendid set of diamonds for his prospective daughter-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>The firm, who, as well as all the world of London, had heard of the
+forthcoming marriage between the son of the pauper duke and the daughter
+of the wealthy banker, gravely accepted the order, pondered over it, and
+finally determined to lay the whole matter before the banker himself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have acted with much discretion, Mr. Dazzle. Fill the duke's order,
+and hold me responsible for the amount. And say nothing of the affair,&quot;
+was the banker's answer to the tradesman, who bowed and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Sir Lemuel Levison, his daughter, her chaperon, and
+their household, went down to Castle Lone.</p>
+
+<p>Active preparations were at once commenced for the wedding, which was to
+take place at Lone on the Tuesday of the following week.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing that Salome did on reaching the castle was to have the
+portrait of the Marquis of Arondelle brought down from the tower and
+mounted in state between the two lofty front windows of her favorite
+sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>Among the servants at Lone, none received the bride elect with more
+effusive love than the old housekeeper, Girzie Ross.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, me leddy! Heaven, sent ye to redeem Lone. My benison on ye, me
+leddy! and my ban on yon hizzie, wha hae been makin' sic' an ado, ever
+sin the report o' your betrothal has been noised about!&quot; said the dame.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But who are you talking about, my dear Mrs. Ross?&quot; inquired Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou just that handsom hizzie, Rosy Cameron, wha will hae it that she, her
+vera sel', is troth-plighted to our young laird&mdash;the jaud!&quot; replied the
+housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, Mrs. Ross, surely that must be a mistake of yours. No girl could
+have the impertinence to say such a false thing of Lord Arondelle,&quot;
+exclaimed Salome, in disgust and abhorrence of the very idea presented.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, then, my young lady, <i>she</i> ha' the impertinence to say just
+that thing&mdash;not in a whisper and in a corner, but loudly in the vera
+castle court, to whilk she cam yestreen, sae noisily that I was fain to
+threaten her wi' the constable before I could get shet o' her,&quot; said the
+housekeeper nodding her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What can the girl mean by it? What excuse can she possibly have to
+justify such a mad charge?&quot; inquired Salome, in a painful anxiety that
+she could neither conquer nor yet explain to herself. She did not doubt
+the honor of her promised husband. She would have died rather than doubt
+him. Why, then, should this sudden anguish wring her heart. &quot;What excuse
+can she have, Mrs. Ross?&quot; repeated Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, me leddy, wha kens? Boys will be boys. And whiles the best o' them
+will be wild where a bonny lassie is concerned. No that's I'm saying sic
+a thing anent our young laird. But ye ken he used to be unco fond o' the
+sport o' deer stalking up by Ben Lone, where this handsome hizzie, Rose
+Cameron, bides wi' her owld feyther. And I e'en think the young laird,
+may whiles, hae putten a speak on the lass. Nae mair nor less than just
+that,&quot; said the housekeeper as she left the room to look after some
+important household work.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes after her exit, Sir Lemuel Levison entered.</p>
+
+<p>Finding his daughter almost in tears, he naturally inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What on earth is the matter with you, my child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing, papa! At least nothing that should trouble me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But what is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well then, papa, dear, here has been a foolish girl&mdash;<i>very</i>
+foolish, I think she must be, going about, intruding even into the
+Castle, and telling all that will listen to her, that <i>she</i> is
+betrothed to the Marquis of Arondelle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! Just as I feared!&quot; muttered the banker, in a tone that instantly
+riveted the attention of his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>What</i> did you fear, my father?&quot; she inquired, fixing her eyes upon
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>The banker hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>His daughter repeated her question:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>What</i> did you fear, my dear father?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, just what has happened, my love!&quot; impatiently answered the banker.
+&quot;That this silly report would reach your ears and give you uneasiness. It
+<i>has</i> reached you; but do not, I beseech you, let it trouble you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is no truth in it of course, papa?&quot; said Salome, in a tone of
+entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, at least none that need concern you. Lord bless my soul, girl,
+young men will be young men! Arondelle is now about twenty-five years of
+age. And he was not brought up in a convent, as you were. He has lived
+for a quarter of a century in the world! Surely, you do not expect that
+a young man should live as long as that without ever admiring a pretty
+face, and even telling its owner so, do you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I never once thought about that, at all, papa,&quot; said Salome, in a
+mournful tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I'll warrant you didn't! Well, don't think anything more of it now.
+And don't expect too much of human nature. In this year of grace there
+are no saints left alive! Believe that, and accept it, my girl!&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>A HORRIBLE MYSTERY ON THE WEDDING DAY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>On the day before the wedding all the preparations were completed.</p>
+
+<p>The grounds around the castle, paradisial in their own natural beauty
+under this heavenly blue sky of June, were adorned with all that art and
+taste and wealth could bring to enhance their attractions in honor of the
+occasion.</p>
+
+<p>Triumphal arches of rare exotic flowers were erected at intervals along
+the avenue leading from the castle courtyard down to the bridge that
+spanned Loch Lone from the island, to the mountain hamlet on the main
+land. The bridge itself was canopied with evergreens, and starred with
+roses. Every house in the little hamlet of Lone was so wreathed and
+festooned with flowers as to look like a fairy bower. The little gothic
+church, said to be coeval in history with the castle itself, was
+decorated within and without as for an Easter or Christmas festival. And
+the only inn of the place, an antiquated but most comfortable public
+house, known for centuries as the &quot;Hereward Arms,&quot; was almost covered
+with flags, banners and bushes, in honor of the presence of the Duke of
+Hereward, and the Marquis of Arondelle, especially, and of other noble
+guests who had arrived there to assist at the wedding of the next day.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the expectant bridegroom and his aged father were at the Hereward
+Arms. Etiquette did not admit of their being guests at the Castle on the
+day before the expected marriage. And much ado had the young marquis to
+keep the duke quietly at the inn. The old man enjoying his pleasing
+hallucination of being still the proprietor of Lone, and the possessor of
+a princely revenue, fretted against the delay that detained him at the
+Hereward Arms, when he was so anxious to go on to Castle Lone. And his
+son did not venture to leave him until late at night, when he left him in
+bed and asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Then the young marquis walked out and crossed the evergreen covered
+bridge leading to the Castle grounds. He knew that custom did not
+sanction his visit to his bride-elect on the night before their wedding,
+but he could at least gaze on the walls that sheltered her, while he
+rambled over the rich lawns, parterres, shrubberies, and terraces.</p>
+
+<p>Within the Castle, meanwhile, all the arrangements for the morning's
+festivity were completed.</p>
+
+<p>Halls, drawing-rooms, parlors, chambers, and dining-rooms, all
+sumptuously furnished and beautifully decorated, were ready for the
+wedding guests.</p>
+
+<p>In the dining-room the luxurious wedding-breakfast was set. The service
+was of solid gold and finest Sevres china; the viands comprised every
+foreign and domestic delicacy fitting the feast.</p>
+
+<p>In the drawing-room the magnificent bridal presents were
+displayed&mdash;coronets, necklaces, earrings, brooches, bracelets, rings,
+of pearls, diamonds, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and amethysts; jewel
+caskets, dressing cases, work boxes, and writing desks, of ormolu, of
+malachite, of pearl, and of ivory, of silver, and of gold; illuminated
+prayer-books and Bibles, with antique covers and clasps set with precious
+stones; tea and dinner sets of solid gold; camel's hair and Cashmere
+shawls and scarfs; sets of lace in Honiton, Brussels, Valencia. Irish
+point and old point&mdash;on to an endless list of the most splendid
+offerings.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;The wealth of Ormus and of Ind&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>seemed to load the tables in costly gifts to the banker's daughter, and
+marquis' bride.</p>
+
+<p>In the bride's own luxurious dressing-room, the elegant bridal costume
+was displayed. It consisted of a fine point-lace dress over a
+trained-skirt of rich white satin, a full-length vail of priceless
+cardinal point-lace; white kid boots, embroidered with small pearls;
+white kid gloves, trimmed at the wrists with lace; wreath and bouquet of
+orange flowers; necklace and pendant earrings and bracelets of rich
+Oriental pearls, set with diamonds. These jewels were the imaginary gift
+of the mad duke to the bride-elect of his son, and were paid for, as has
+been already explained, by the bride's own father. A sentiment of tender
+reverence for the unfortunate old duke had inspired Salome to select
+these jewels from all the others that had been lavished upon her, to wear
+on her wedding day.</p>
+
+<p>To the credit of the good banker's delicacy and discretion let it be
+said, that not even Salome knew but that this elegant gift had been given
+by the duke in reality as it was in intention.</p>
+
+<p>The Castle was now full of guests, friends of the bride and of her
+father's family. The eight young ladies who were to attend her to the
+altar, had arrived early in the afternoon, each chaperoned by her mother,
+aunt, or some matronly friend. These had all been shown to their separate
+apartments.</p>
+
+<p>They assembled again at the seven o'clock dinner in the family
+dining-room, and afterwards made a little tour of inspection through
+the rooms, looking with approval and admiration upon the sumptuous
+wedding-breakfast table, set in the great dining-room, and with surprise
+and enthusiasm at the splendid wedding presents displayed in the
+drawing-room. Finally, after a social cup of tea, they separated and
+retired to their several rooms, that they might be up in good time the
+next morning.</p>
+
+<p>When Salome entered her own bed-chamber, she found the old housekeeper,
+Girzie Ross, awaiting her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I took the liberty, me leddy, to come to see ye, gin ye hae ony commands
+for me the night,&quot; said the dame, courtesying.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Mrs. Ross, I have no orders to give. All is done, as I understand.
+If there be anything left undone, you will use you own discretion about
+it. I can thoroughly trust you,&quot; said Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Guid-night, then, me leddy. And a guid rest and a blithe waking till
+ye,&quot; said the dame, courtesying again, and turning to leave the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;One moment, Mrs. Ross, if you please,&quot; said the young lady, gently
+arresting her steps.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, me leddy, as mony as ye'll please,&quot; promptly replied the dame,
+returning to her place.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish to ask you a question,&quot; began Salome, in a slow and hesitating
+manner. &quot;Have you seen or heard anything more of that girl, Mrs. Ross?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Meaning that ne'er-do-weel light o' love Rose Cameron, me leddy!&quot;
+inquired the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Rose Cameron. There have been such crowds of people on the island
+today to inspect the decorations, that I thought&mdash;I thought&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As that handsome jaud might be amang 'em, me leddy? Ou, ay, and sae she
+waur! But when I caught her prowling about here, I sent Mr. McRath to
+warn her off the place, and threaten her wi' the constable gin she
+didna gang!&quot; said the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But that was cruel, Mrs. Ross.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, na, me leddy. It waur unco well dune! She was after no guid prowling
+about here, and making an excuse o' luking at the deekorated grounds. She
+didna care for the sight a bodle! Aweel she's gane, and a guid riddance.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What does the girl look like, Mrs. Ross?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, leddy, she's a strapping wench! tall and broad-shouldered, and
+full-breasted, with a handsome head that she carries unco high, and big,
+bold blue eyes, and a heap o' long, red hair. That's Rosy Cameron, me
+leddy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>This was a rather rough portrait of the Juno-like Highland beauty; but
+then, it was drawn by an enemy, you know.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But dinna fash yersel' about yon hizzie ony mair, me young leddy. She'll
+na be permitted to trouble ye,&quot; concluded the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do, Mrs. Ross. Thanks. But pray do not let anyone be harsh
+with that poor girl. If she is a little crazy, she is all the more to be
+pitied. Good-night,&quot; said Salome, thus gently dismissing her talkative
+attendant.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Guid night, me young leddy. Guid rest and blithe waking to ye,&quot; repeated
+the old woman, as she courtesied and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Poor girl!&quot; mused Salome. &quot;I cannot help sympathizing with her tonight.
+What if Arondelle who is so courteous to all, were courteous to her also.
+And she, unused to courtesy in her rude Highland home, mistook such
+gentle courtesy for preference, for love, and gave him her love in
+return? He would not be in the least to be blamed, while she would be
+much to be pitied. What a cruel sight these wedding preparations must be
+to her! What a miserable night this must be for her! I must see to that
+poor girl's welfare,&quot; concluded Salome.</p>
+
+<p>A low rap at her door disturbed her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Her maid entered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it, Janet?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel's man has just brought me a message for
+you. Sir Lemuel requests, Miss, that you will come to his room before you
+retire.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dear papa, I will go at once. You need not wait for me here, Janet. Just
+turn the lights down low&mdash;they make the room so warm&mdash;and leave the
+windows partly open, and then go to bed, my girl, I shall not want you
+again tonight,&quot; said Salome, as she passed out of the chamber and went
+down to the long hall, at the opposite extremity of which was her
+father's room.</p>
+
+<p>She entered silently, and found the banker wrapped in his gray silk
+dressing-gown and seated in his large resting-chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come and sit by me, my dear. I only wanted to have a little talk with
+you tonight,&quot; he said, holding out his hand to her.</p>
+
+<p>She went up to him, clasped and kissed the out-stretched hand, and then
+seated herself, not on the chair by his side, for that would not have
+brought her near enough to him, but on the footstool at his feet, so that
+she could lay her head upon his knees.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, my darling, I have not been a good father to you,&quot; he said,
+sadly, as he ran his long white fingers through the tresses of the little
+dark-haired head that lay upon his knees.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, papa! the best and dearest papa that ever lived!&quot; she answered,
+drawing his hand to her lips and kissing it fondly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no; I have not been a good father to you, my poor motherless child.
+I feel it to-night. I left you fourteen years in a foreign convent, and
+scarcely ever saw you. Was that being a good father to you, my child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, dear, it was. I had to be educated. And the nuns did their whole
+duty by me, did they not?&quot; said Salome, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They sent me home a sweet and lovely child, who in the three years that
+she has been my greatest blessing and comfort has made me feel and know
+how much I lost in banishing her from my presence so long&mdash;fourteen
+years!&mdash;a time never to be redeemed!&quot; said the banker, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, papa, dear. It can and shall be redeemed. For now you know I shall
+live with you as long as you live. My marriage will not deprive you of
+your daughter, but give you a dear and noble son. You know it is settled
+that after our brief wedding we shall return to Lone, and you and the
+duke, and Arondelle and myself, will all live here together until the
+meeting of Parliament in February, and then we shall go up to London
+together. So cheer up, papa. All the coming years shall compensate
+for all we have lost in the past,&quot; said Salome, gayly caressing him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'The coming years?' Ah, my darling! do you forget that I am quite an old
+man to be your father? You were the child of my old age, Salome! I was
+nearly fifty when you were born. I am nearly seventy now!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Dear father!</i>&quot; murmured Salome, caressing him with ineffable
+tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do not let me sadden you, my darling. I would not be a day younger. It
+is well to be old. It is well to have lived a long time in this world,
+for it is a good world. But good as it is, it is but rudimentary. It is
+to the human being only what the soil is to the seed&mdash;the germinating
+bed; the full and perfect world is beyond. Young Christians believe this.
+Aged Christians know it. There, brighten up! And think that this marriage
+of yours and Arondelle's if it be as true as I feel assured it is&mdash;will
+be not for time only but for all eternity! Believe this and be happier
+than you were ever before! There now, my darling! I called you in here
+to make my little confession. I have received absolution. Now go to your
+rest. Good night,&quot; said the banker, bending and kissing her forehead.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dear, dearest father! bless your daughter before she goes,&quot; said Salome,
+in a voice thrilling with emotion, as she raised from her seat and knelt
+at her father's feet.</p>
+
+<p>The old man laid his hand upon her bowed head and solemnly invoked a
+blessing upon her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;May the Lord look down on you, my daughter. May He give you health and
+grace to bear your burdens and do your duties as wife and mother, and
+save and bless you and yours, now and ever more, for Christ's dear sake.
+<span class="smcaps">Amen</span>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She arose in silence from her knees, put her arms around his neck, kissed
+him, and glided from the room.</p>
+
+<p>And now a terrible and mysterious thing happened to the bride-elect.</p>
+
+<p>The lights had been turned very low in the hall. The household had all
+retired to rest. The stillness and the sense of darkness awed her as she
+glided noiselessly along in the deep shadows. Suddenly she saw the form
+of a man approaching from the direction of her own room. He might be some
+belated servant on some legitimate business for one of the guests, yet he
+startled her. She looked intently toward him, but in the obscure light
+she could only see that he was a tall man in dark clothing, and with a
+very white face. She shrank back in the shadow of the wall as he swiftly
+and silently approached her.</p>
+
+<p>Then with amazement she recognized the face and form of her betrothed
+husband. But the face was deadly pale, and the form was shaking as with
+an ague fit.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Arondelle</span>! <i>You here!</i>&quot; she exclaimed, starting towards
+him.</p>
+
+<p>But she met only the empty air, the form had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>In unbounded amazement she stared all around to see where it could have
+gone, and in what part of the darksome hall she herself then stood.</p>
+
+<p>She found herself opposite to the entrance of a long, narrow passage
+opening from the hall and leading to the door of a staircase
+communicating with the dungeons of Malcolm's Tower.</p>
+
+<p>She looked down that passage. It was black as the mouth of Hades!</p>
+
+<p>A nameless terror seized her, and she fled precipitately down the hall,
+nor stopped until she had reached her own room, rushed in, and shut and
+bolted the door. Then she sank down into the nearest chair, feeling cold
+as ice, and trembling from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>Her maid had over-acted her instructions, and had not only turned the
+lights low, but had turned them out entirely.</p>
+
+<p>There was no need of artificial light, however; for the windows were open
+and the room was flooded with the brilliant moonshine of these northern
+latitudes.</p>
+
+<p>Salome did not know or care how the room was lighted. She sat there
+thrilled with awe of what she had just experienced.</p>
+
+<p>Had she really seen the marquis?&mdash;or his spirit? Or had she been the
+victim of an optical illusion?</p>
+
+<p>If she had seen the marquis, what could have brought him secretly into
+the house and up into the hall of the bed-rooms, at that hour of the
+night? And why did he not answer her, when she called him?</p>
+
+<p>It surely could not have been the marquis whom she saw! He never would
+have crept into the house and up to their private-rooms, at that hour of
+the night, or fled from her, when she called him?</p>
+
+<p>What was it then that she had seen in the likeness of her lover?</p>
+
+<p>Was it the disembodied spirit of Arondelle? <i>Could</i> the spirit of a
+living man appear in one place, while the body of the man was present in
+another? She had heard and read of such wonders, yet she could not accept
+them as facts.</p>
+
+<p>No, this was no spirit.</p>
+
+<p>What then? Had she been the subject of an optical illusion? She had heard
+of those wonders also!</p>
+
+<p>But no! This was too real, too solid, too substantial for an optical
+illusion!</p>
+
+<p>Was the form she had seen possibly that of some other person, some guest
+of the house, who had lost his way.</p>
+
+<p>No, and a thousand noes! She knew every guest staying at the castle, and
+knew that not one of them bore the slightest resemblance to the Marquis
+of Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>No, the form that she had seen in the murky hall seemed that of her
+betrothed husband, or it was his spirit.</p>
+
+<p>She could not tell which, nor could she test the question now. The house
+was full of wedding guests, who were now most probably sound asleep in
+their beds. And the household all had long since retired. She could not
+rouse them only to satisfy her own doubts without any other practical
+result. For what if the intruder were Lord Arondelle? He was not in the
+least an objectional guest. And in the morning he would explain his
+strange presence.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Salome had reasoned herself into some degree of calmness.
+But she was still too much excited to feel sleepy or to think of retiring
+to bed.</p>
+
+<p>The mid-summer night was warm and close, even there in the Highlands&mdash;or
+in her nervous condition it seemed to her to be so. She wanted more air.
+She went to the window, and seated herself in an easy-chair, and looked
+out.</p>
+
+<p>A heavenly night!</p>
+
+<p>The deep-blue sky was spangled with myriads of sparkling stars. The full
+harvest moon was at the zenith and pouring down a flood of silvery
+radiance over mountain, lake and island.</p>
+
+<p>Right opposite the window was the elegant little bridge that spanned the
+lake between the island and the mountain, at the base of which stood the
+little Gothic church with the cottages of the hamlet clustered around it.</p>
+
+<p>A beautiful scene!</p>
+
+<p>This morning it had been gay and noisy with a rejoicing crowd come to
+inspect the decorated grounds, and to triumph over the approaching
+marriage of their disinherited young lord, with the present heiress of
+his lost estate.</p>
+
+<p>To-morrow this scene would be even more gay and more noisy, with a
+greater and more rejoicing crowd. For all the Clan Scott were to gather
+here to do honor to the nuptials of their hereditary chieftain.</p>
+
+<p>But to-night the beautiful scene was holy in its solitude and stillness.</p>
+
+<p>Hark!</p>
+
+<p>A sound of voices beneath the window.</p>
+
+<p>Salome started, and drew back. And the next moment, paralyzed by
+consternation and despair, she overheard the following conversation:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Hist!</i> are you there, Rose?&quot; inquired a dear familiar voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I'm here, me laird! After being turnit frae the castle like a thief,
+or a beggar, or a dog! after being threatened wi' a constable and a
+prison if I ever showed my face here; but once mair I hae come agen, in
+obedience to your bidding! Come creeping, creeping, creeping ander the
+castle wa', by night, like ony puir cat afeared o' scauding water! Ay, me
+laird, I'm here, mair fule I!&quot; replied a woman's voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush, Rose! Do not say so, my girl. And do not call me 'lord;' I am your
+slave and not your 'lord,' my lady queen! You know I love you&mdash;you only
+of all women.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Luve me? Ou, ay, sae ye tell me. But this gran' wedding is coming unco
+near to be naething but a jest. How far will ye carry the jest? Up till
+the altar railings? Into the bridal chamber? It's deceiving and fuling
+me, ye are, me laird! But I'll tell ye weel! Ye sail no marry yon girl,
+I say! Gin ye gae sae far as to lead her to the kirk mesel' will meet you
+at the altar and forbid the marriage. And <i>then</i> see wha will put me
+out!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush, hush, you wild Highland witch, and listen to me. I shall not marry
+that girl! How can I, when I am married to you? I have had an object in
+letting this thing go on thus far. My plans could not all be accomplished
+until to-night. But to-night something will happen that will put all
+thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage effectually out of the heads
+of all parties concerned, I will warrant. And to-morrow, you and I will
+be far away from this place&mdash;together, and never to part again. Wait here
+for me, my love; I shall not be long away. But on your life, do not stir,
+or speak, or scarcely breathe until you see me again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long will you be gone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two hours. You can be patient?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I can be patient.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Here the low, whispering voice ceased. And Salome?</p>
+
+<p>Before that conversation was half through, Salome had fallen back in her
+chair in a deadly swoon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MORNING'S DISCOVERY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Miss Levison recovered her consciousness it was broad daylight. The
+rising sun glancing over the top of the Eastern mountain sent arrows of
+golden light in through the window at which she sat.</p>
+
+<p>Music filled the morning air!</p>
+
+<p>Salome passed her hands over her eyes, and gazed around. So long and
+deep had been her swoon that, for the time, she had utterly lost her
+memory, and now found difficulty in trying to recover it. Bewildered,
+she looked about, and listened to the strange, wild music sounding under
+her window&mdash;a sort of morning serenade or reveille, it seemed.</p>
+
+<p>Next her eyes fell upon her magnificent bridal array, displayed on stands
+near the elegant dressing-table.</p>
+
+<p>Then she remembered that this was her wedding-day, and a flush of joy
+lighted up her face.</p>
+
+<p>But it passed in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>What was this that lay so heavy at her heart! Was it the remnant of an
+evil dream?</p>
+
+<p>What had happened? Something must have happened! Else why should she find
+herself seated in that easy-chair at the open window, and see that her
+bed had not been occupied?</p>
+
+<p>Then, slowly, she recollected the events of the previous night&mdash;her
+retirement to her chamber; her talk there with the housekeeper about Rose
+Cameron, the &quot;handsome hizzie,&quot; who had been haunting the premises and
+giving trouble all that day; the message from her father; her affecting
+interview with him in his bedroom; her return to her own apartment
+through the dimly-lighted, deserted hall, where she met the pale and
+spectral form of Lord Arondelle, who vanished as she called to him!
+her terrified flight into her own chamber!</p>
+
+<p>All these incidents she clearly remembered.</p>
+
+<p>Then her excited vigil in the easy-chair, by the open window, and the two
+voices that broke upon it&mdash;that of her betrothed husband and that of a
+woman&mdash;of this same Rose Cameron, whose name had been so disreputably
+connected with Lord Arondelle's; who then and there claimed to be his
+wife and was not contradicted!</p>
+
+<p>There! that was the weight that lay so heavy at her heart!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And yet it must have been a dream!&quot; she said to herself. Of course she
+had fallen asleep there in the easy-chair, and with her thoughts running
+on the apparition she had met in the hall, and on the country people's
+gossip about Lord Arondelle and Rose Cameron, she had had that evil
+dream. Unquestionably it was only a dream! Lord Arondelle could never
+play so base a part as he had seemed to do in her dream! She reproached
+herself for having even involuntarily been the subject of it.</p>
+
+<p>And yet! and yet! the weight lay heavy at her heart, and although this
+was a warm June morning, she shivered as though it had been January.</p>
+
+<p>She arose to close the window.</p>
+
+<p>Then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>What a magnificent and beautiful scene burst upon her vision! The eastern
+horizon was ablaze with glory. Lovely morning clouds, soft, transparent
+white, tinted with rose, violet and gold, tempered the dazzling splendor
+of the rising sun, and half vailed the opal-hued mountain tops, and even
+hung upon the emerald mountain side. Morning sky, rosy clouds, and opal
+mountains, were all reflected as by a mirror in the clear water of the
+lake below.</p>
+
+<p>The hamlet at the foot of the mountain was gay with flags and banners and
+festoons of flowers. The bridge spanning the lake and connecting the
+hamlet with the island, was grand with triumphal arches. The lake was
+alive with gayly-trimmed pleasure-boats of every description. The island,
+with its groves, shrubberies, parterres, arbors, terraces, statues, was
+decorated with flags and banners, innumerable colored lamps and floral
+mottoes and devices.</p>
+
+<p>The streets of the hamlet, the bridge and the island was each alive with
+a merry crowd of tenantry and peasantry in their picturesque holiday
+suits, coming to see the wedding pageant.</p>
+
+<p>Gayer than all was the gathering of the Clan Scott, in their brilliant
+tartans, and with their national music to do honor to the nuptials of the
+heir of their chief.</p>
+
+<p>As Miss Levison looked and listened, the shadows of the night vanished
+from her mind as clouds before the sun!</p>
+
+<p>How strange the thought that the evil dream should have troubled her at
+all! But the dream had seemed as real as any waking experience. But then,
+again, dreams often do seem so! She would think no more of it, except
+to repent having been so unjust to Lord Arondelle, even though it was but
+in an involuntary dream.</p>
+
+<p>It was as yet very early in the morning&mdash;not seven o'clock. Her
+serenaders had waked her betimes, and the country people had clearly
+determined to lose not one hour of that festive day. But Miss Levison was
+still shivering in the mild June morning. She thought she would ask for a
+cup of coffee to warm her.</p>
+
+<p>She rang her bell.</p>
+
+<p>Her maid entered the room, courtesied, and stood waiting</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Janet, tell the housekeeper to send me a strong, hot cup of coffee,&quot; she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Miss. If you please, Miss, my lord's gentleman is below with a note
+and a parcel for you, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, Janet. Do you bring it up and ask the man to wait. There may
+be answer,&quot; replied Miss Levison, as the rose clouds rolled over her
+clear, pale cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>The girl courtesied and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To think of my being so wicked as to have such a dream about
+him&mdash;<i>him</i>!&quot; she said to herself, as again she shivered with cold.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the housekeeper entered with a tiny cup of coffee on a small
+silver tray in her hand, and with many cordial congratulations on her
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately the lace curtains of the bed were down, so that she could not
+see that it had not been slept in, and annoy her young mistress with
+exclamations and questions.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, me young leddy! a blithe bridal morn ye hae got; and a braw sight on
+the ramparts of a' the Scotts, wi' their tartans and bag-pipes, come to
+do ye honor!&quot; said the housekeeper, as she held the tray to her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Levison drank the coffee, returned the cup, and then inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is Janet? I sent her with a message; she should have returned by
+this time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, aye, sae she should. She's clacking her clavvers wi' yon lad frae
+the 'Hereward Arm.' But here she is now, me young leddy,&quot; answered the
+housekeeper, as the maid entered the room and placed in her mistress'
+hand a note and a small parcel, tied up in white paper with narrow white
+ribbon, and sealed with the Hereward crest.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Levison opened the note and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Hereward Arms Inn</span>, Tuesday Morning.</p>
+
+<p>I greet you, my only beloved, on this our bridal morning&mdash;the
+commencement of a long and happy union for both of us! Yes, a long union,
+for it will stretch into eternity, and a happy one, for come what will,
+we shall be happy in each other. I send you the richest jewel that has
+ever been in our possession, the only one which has survived the wreck of
+our fortunes. It has been preserved more on account of its traditionary
+interest than for its intrinsic value. Tradition tells us that at the
+taking of Jerusalem, in the first crusade, this jewel was snatched from
+the turban of Saladin, the Sultan, in single combat, by our wild
+crusading ancestor, Ranulph d' Arondelle. It adorned his own hemlet at
+the siege of St. Jean d' Acre, some years later. In short, it has been
+handed down from father to son through six centuries and sixteen
+generations. It has &quot;in the thickest carnage blazed&quot; on battle-fields,
+and in the maddest merriment flashed in festive scenes. Yet it is an
+offering all too poor for my great love to make, or your great worth to
+receive. But take it as the best I have to give.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Arondelle</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>She read this note with tearful eyes, roseate cheeks' and smiling lips.
+And then she untied the white ribbon and opened the white paper. It first
+disclosed a golden casket about four inches square, richly chased and
+bearing the Hereward arms set in small precious stones. The tiny key was
+in the lock. She opened it and found, lying on a bed of rich white satin,
+a large, burning, blazing ruby heart&mdash;the famous ruby of the Hereward,
+said to be the largest in the world. Miss Levison had read of this jewel
+as one of the most valuable among precious stones. She had heard also,
+what evidently the young marquis did not think worth while to tell her in
+connection with its history, namely, that it had been held as an amulet
+of such power that it was believed the ducal house of Hereward would
+never be without a male heir as long as it possessed that priceless ruby
+heart. Miss Levison supposed this to be the reason why it had been
+preserved by the old duke from the total wreck of his fortune. And the
+marquis had given it to her! Well, that was not giving it out of the
+family, since she was to be his wife. While offering it he had
+undervalued the royal gift. But how highly she appreciated it, rating
+it far above all the other jewels that blazed upon her table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And to think I should have had such an evil dream about him, and even
+suffered myself to be troubled by it!&quot; she said, pressing his note to her
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>Then she shivered so hardly that her old housekeeper exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Me dear young leddy, ye hae surely taken cauld. Let me order a fire
+kindled here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nonsense, Mrs. Ross&mdash;a fire on this warm summer morning? I could not
+bear it. Besides if I shiver with cold one moment, I glow with heat the
+next,&quot; said Miss Levison, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay; I am sair afeard ye's gaun to be ill, wi' all thae shivers and
+glows,&quot; replied the dame, shaking her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nonsense again, Mrs. Ross, dear woman. I am well enough. Now, Janet, did
+you tell his lordship's messenger to wait?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Levison drew a little writing-stand to her side, opened the desk,
+took out materials and penned the following note:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Lone Castle</span>, Tuesday.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">My Most Beloved and honored</span>: Your right royal gift is beyond all
+price for richness, beauty, traditional interest, and symbolism, and as
+such I shall hold it above all other gifts, and cherish it to the end of
+my life. But it is not only to speak of your invaluable gift I write; it
+is also to ask you to do a strange thing to please me this morning. It is
+now eight o'clock. We are appointed to meet at the church at eleven. Will
+you meet me <i>here</i> first at half-past nine? I wish to tell you
+something before we go to the altar. It is nothing important that I have
+to tell you&mdash;you will probably only laugh at it; but I must get it off my
+mind; for it weighs there like a sin. Come and receive my little
+confession, and give absolution to <span class="smcaps">Your Own Salome</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>She enveloped and directed this note, and gave it to Janet, with orders
+to hand it to Lord Arondelle's man.</p>
+
+<p>When the girl had left the room, Miss Levison turned to the housekeeper
+and inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Has my father's bell rung yet, do you know?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, me young leddy, it has na rung yet. Sir Lemuel's man, Mr. Peter, is
+down-stairs, waiting for the summons.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps he had better call his master,&quot; suggested Miss Levison.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, Miss, sae I tauld him; but he said his orders were no to call his
+master the morn', but to wait till he heard his bell ring. He's waiting
+for that e'en noo.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, Mrs. Ross. Papa was up late last night, I know, and is
+probably tired this morning. So we must let him sleep as long as
+possible. But as soon as his bell rings, be sure to take him up a cup
+of coffee.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Verra weel, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And, Mrs. Ross, I hope that all our guests are cared for, and served in
+their own rooms with tea and toast, or coffee and muffins, as they
+choose?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, ay, me dear young leddy, I hae ta'en care of a' that. And what will
+I bring yersel', Miss, before ye begin to dress?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing; I have had a cup of coffee. That is sufficient for the
+present.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Neathing but ae wee bit cup o' coffee, my dear young leddy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; I have no appetite. I suppose no girl ever did have on her wedding
+morning,&quot; said Miss Levison, shivering and then flushing.</p>
+
+<p>The housekeeper contemplated her young mistress with growing anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am sure ye are no weel,&quot; she ventured again to suggest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am quite well, my dear Mrs. Ross. Do not disturb yourself. But go now
+and send Janet and Kitty to me. I must begin to dress.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The housekeeper left the room, and was soon replaced by the lady's maid
+and the upper house-maid.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is my bath ready, Kitty?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Miss; and I have poured six bottles of ody collone intil it,&quot; said
+the girl, with a very self-approving air.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You needn't have done that,&quot; said Miss Levison, with an amused smile,
+&quot;but you meant well, and I thank you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She took her customary morning bath, and slipping on a soft, white,
+cashmere wrapper, placed herself in the hands of her maidens to be
+dressed for the altar.</p>
+
+<p>Janet combed, and brushed and arranged the shining dark brown hair. Kitty
+laced the dainty white velvet boots. Janet arrayed her in her bridal
+robes, and Kitty clasped the costly jewels around her neck and arms. One
+placed the bridal vail and wreath upon her head, while the other drew the
+pretty pearl-embroidered gloves upon her hands.</p>
+
+<p>At length her toilet was complete, and she stood up, beautiful in her
+youth, love, and joy, and imperial in her array.</p>
+
+<p>She wore a long trained dress of the richest white satin, trimmed with
+deep point lace flounces, headed with trails of orange flower buds; an
+over-dress of fine cardinal point lace, looped up with festoons of orange
+buds; a point lace berthe and short sleeve ruffles; a necklace, pendant,
+and bracelets of pearls set in diamonds, white kid gloves, embroidered
+with fine white silk; white satin boots worked with pearls. On her head
+the rich, full orange flower wreath. And over all, like mist over frost
+and snow, fell the long bridal vail of finest point lace, softening the
+whole effect.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The young ladies, your bridesmaids, bid me tell you, Miss, that they are
+quite ready to come to you, when you are so to receive them,&quot; said Kitty,
+as she placed the bouquet of orange flowers in its jewelled holder, and
+handed it to her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well. I will send for them in good time,&quot; answered Miss Levison,
+glancing at the little golden clock upon the mantel-piece, and noticing
+that it was nearly half-past nine, the hour at which she expected Lord
+Arondelle. &quot;But now, Kitty, my good girl, go and inquire if my father is
+up, and return and let me know. I would like to see him in his room.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The house-maid courtesied and went out, and after a few minutes' absence
+returned running.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel hasn't rung his bell yet, and Mr. Peters
+says, with his duty to you, Miss, as it is so late, hadn't he better call
+his master?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By no means! Let Mr. Peters obey his master's orders not to disturb him
+until his bell rings,&quot; answered the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Miss; and if you please, Miss, here is a card, and his lordship,
+Lord Arondelle, is down stairs asking for you, Miss,&quot; said the girl,
+laying the pasteboard in question before her young mistress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord Arondelle! Yes, I expected his lordship. Where is he?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. McRath showed him into the library, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Quite right. None of our guests have left their rooms yet?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Miss, they be all busy a dressing of themselves, as I think.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! then go before me and open the door, and tell his lordship that
+I shall be with him in a moment,&quot; said Miss Levison.</p>
+
+<p>The girl dropped another courtesy and preceded her mistress down stairs.
+In going down the great upper hall, Miss Levison passed the door of the
+dark, narrow passage at right angles with the hall, and leading to the
+tower stairs, where she had seen the apparition of the night before. She
+shivered and hurried on. She paused a moment before the door leading to
+the ante-room of her father's bed-chamber, and listened to hear if he
+were stirring; but all within seemed as still as death. She went on and
+descended the stairs and reached the library-door, just as Kitty opened
+it and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Levison, my lord,&quot; and retired to give place to the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Levison entered the library.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Arondelle, in his wedding dress, stood by the central book-table. As
+his costume was the regulation uniform of a gentleman's full dress, it
+needs no description here. Gentlemen array themselves much in the
+same style for a dinner or a ball, a wedding or a funeral&mdash;the only
+difference to mark the occasion being in the color of the gloves.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Arondelle advanced to meet his bride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My love and queen! this meeting is a grace granted me indeed! How
+beautiful you are!&quot; he exclaimed, taking both her hands and carrying them
+to his lips. &quot;But you are shivering, sweet girl! You are cold!&quot; he added
+anxiously, as he looked at her more attentively.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have been shivering all the morning. I sat at my open window late
+last night and got a little chilled; but it is nothing,&quot; she answered,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You shall not do such suicidal things, when I have the charge of you, my
+little lady,&quot; he said, half jestingly, half seriously, as he led her to a
+sofa and seated her on it, taking his own seat by her side.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come, now,&quot; he gayly continued, &quot;was that indiscreet star-gazing which
+has resulted in a cold the little sin for which you wish me to give you
+absolution?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, my lord. My sin was an evil dream.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A dream!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, a dream.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But a dream cannot be a sin!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hear it, and then judge. But first&mdash;tell me&mdash;were you in the castle late
+last night?&quot; she gravely inquired.</p>
+
+<p>He paused and gazed at her before he replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>I</i> in the castle late last night? Why, most certainly not! Why
+ever should you ask me such a question, my love?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because if you were not in the castle last night&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I met your 'fetch,' as the country people would call it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My&mdash;I beg your pardon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your 'fetch,' your double, your spectre, your spirit, whatever you may
+call it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whatever do you mean, Salome?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shall I tell you all about it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course&mdash;yes, do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Levison began and related all the circumstances in detail of her
+night visit to her father's room, and her meeting with an appearance
+which she took to be that of her betrothed husband, but which, on being
+called by her, instantly vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Arondelle mused for awhile. Miss Levison gazed on him in anxious
+suspense for a few minutes, and then inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you think of it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My love, if I were a transcendental visionary, I might say, that at
+the hour you saw my image before you, my thoughts, my mind, my spirit,
+whatever you choose to call my inner self, was actually with you, and
+so became visible to you; but&mdash;&quot; he paused.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;what?&quot; she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not being a transcendentalist or a visionary, I am forced to the
+conclusion that what you thought you saw, was, really nothing but an
+optical illusion!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You think that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed I do!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I assure you, that the image seemed as real, as substantial, and as
+solid to me then as you do now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No doubt of it! Optical illusions always seem very real&mdash;perfectly
+real.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was an optical illusion then! That is settled! And now!&quot; exclaimed
+Salome. Then she paused.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, and now! About the sinful dream! What did you dream of? Throwing me
+over at the last moment and marrying a handsomer man?&quot; gayly inquired the
+young marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will tell you presently what I dreamed; but first tell me, were you in
+our grounds last night?&quot; she gravely inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my little lady; but how did you know of it?&quot; inquired the young
+marquis in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did not know it. Were you under my window?&quot; she asked, in a low,
+tremulous tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, love. How came you to suspect me?&quot; he inquired, more than ever
+astonished.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did not suspect you. Had you a companion with you?&quot; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Salome. Certainly not. Why, sweet, do you ask me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought I heard your voice speaking to some one who answered you under
+my window.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, love, there was no one with me. I was quite alone. And I
+did not speak at all&mdash;not even to myself. I am not in the habit of
+soliloquizing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Please tell me, if you can, at what hour you were under my window.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was between ten and eleven o'clock. I was walking in the grounds,
+and I went under your wall and looked up. I saw three shadows pass
+the lighted windows, which I took to be those of yourself and your
+attendants, and then suddenly the lights were turned off and all was
+dark. I knew then that you had retired to rest, and of course I turned
+away and walked back to the hamlet. But, love, instead of telling the
+little story you promised, it seems that you have put me through a very
+sharp examination,&quot; said his lordship, laughing. &quot;Now, what do you mean
+by it? There is something behind all this,&quot; he added, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course there is something behind. Did I not tell you that I had a
+confession to make concerning a wicked dream? Listen, Lord Arondelle. At
+the time you stood under my window and saw the light turned off, and
+supposing that I had gone to rest, you turned away and left the grounds,
+at that time I had <i>not</i> gone to rest, but had gone to my father's
+room, in returning from which I experienced that strange optical
+illusion. My nerves must have been strangely disordered, for when I
+reached my own chamber again, and finding it quite dark, opened the
+window and sat down to look out upon the moonlit lake, I immediately fell
+asleep, and had a terrible, and a terribly real and distinct dream&mdash;a
+dream, dear, that nearly overturned my reason, I do believe.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What was it, love?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>She told him without the least reserve.</p>
+
+<p>He listened to her with interest, and then laughed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The idea of your having such a dream about me as that! I do not wonder
+it weighed upon your mind. Yes, it was very wicked of you, my sinful
+child&mdash;very. But since you sincerely repent, I freely absolve you.
+<i>Benedicite!</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome looked and listened to him with surprise; for as she spoke of
+dreaming that he called Rose Cameron his wife, he not only laughed at
+that idea, but really appeared as if the very existence of the girl was
+unknown to him.</p>
+
+<p>Then Salome ventured another question:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you know any one of the name of Rose Cameron?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, not personally. I believe one of our shepherds, up at Ben Lone, has
+a very handsome daughter of that name, but I have never seen her,&quot; said
+the young marquis, with an open sincerity that carried conviction with
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was amazed, but convinced. What could have started the false
+reports concerning the young marquis and the handsome shepherdess?
+Clearly Rose's own hallucination. She had seen the marquis somewhere,
+without having been seen by him; she had fallen in love with him, and
+had partly lost her reason and imagined all the rest, she thought.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And so you have never even looked upon the beauty of that dream?&quot; she
+said, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never even looked upon her,&quot; assented the marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I do, in downright earnest, beg your pardon for my dream,&quot; said
+Salome, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I have already given you absolution, my erring daughter?
+<i>Benedicite! Benedicite!</i>&quot; replied the marquis still laughing.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment there was a light rap at the library door, followed by the
+entrance of a footman who placed a small, twisted note in the hands of
+Miss Levison. She opened it and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">My Dear Child</span>: It is after ten o'clock. We go to church at
+eleven. Sir Lemuel has not yet rung his bell. His valet having received
+his orders last night not to call him this morning, has declined to do
+so. What is to be done under these circumstances? Send me a verbal
+message by the bearer. Your loving Aunt,</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Sophie Belgrade</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>&quot;My father not yet risen!&quot; exclaimed Salome in surprise. &quot;He must have
+overslept himself with fatigue. Tell Lady Belgrade, with my thanks, that
+I will go to my father's room and waken him,&quot; she added, turning to the
+footman, who bowed and went to deliver his message.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope Sir Lemuel is quite well?&quot; said the young marquis, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is quite well. My father regulates his habits so well as to live in
+perfect harmony with the laws of life and health. If he fatigues himself
+over night, he always takes a compensating rest in the morning. That is
+what he is doing now. But I think he is sleeping even longer than he
+intended to do, so I really must arouse him now, if we are to keep our
+appointment with the minister. Good-by, until we meet at the church, Lord
+Arondelle,&quot; she said, as she floated from the room in her bridal robe,
+and vail.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who says that she is not beautiful, belies her? She is lovely in person
+and in spirit,&quot; murmured the young marquis, as he took up his hat to
+leave the house.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>A HORRIBLE DISCOVERY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>In order not to attract the attention of the crowds of people who swarmed
+in the village, on the bridge, and on the island, Lord Arondelle had
+driven over to the castle in a closed cab that now waited at the gates
+to take him back again.</p>
+
+<p>He left the library and went out into the great hall.</p>
+
+<p>The hall porter, an elderly, stout, and important-looking functionary,
+slowly arose from his chair to honor the young marquis by opening the
+doors with his own official hands instead of leaving that duty to the
+footman.</p>
+
+<p>And Lord Arondelle was just in the act of passing out when his steps were
+suddenly arrested.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">A wild and piercing shriek rang through the house, startling all its
+echoes!</span></p>
+
+<p>It was followed by a dead silence, and then by the sound of many hurrying
+feet and terrified exclamations.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome! my bride! Oh, what has happened!&quot; thought the startled young
+marquis, rushing back into the hall and up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>In the upper hall he found a crowd of terrified people, all hurrying in
+one direction&mdash;toward the bedroom of the banker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The dear old gentleman has got a fit, I fear, and his daughter has
+discovered him in it,&quot; was the next thought that flashed upon the mind of
+the marquis as, without waiting to ask questions, he rushed through and
+distanced the crowd, and reached the door of the banker's bedroom, which
+was blocked up by men and women, wedding guests, and servants, some
+questioning and exclaiming, some weeping and wailing, some standing in
+panic-stricken silence.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What has happened?&quot; cried the young marquis pushing his way with more
+violence than ceremony through all that impeded his entrance into the
+chamber.</p>
+
+<p>No one answered him. No one dared to do so.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is Lord Arondelle&mdash;let his lordship pass,&quot; said one of the wedding
+guests, recognizing the expectant bridegroom as he entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>An awe-struck group of persons was gathered around some object on the
+floor; they made way in silence for the approach of the marquis.</p>
+
+<p>He passed in and looked down.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Horror upon horrors!</span> There lay the dead body of the banker,
+full-dressed as on the evening before, but with his head crushed in and
+surrounded by a pool of coagulated blood! The face was marble white; the
+eyes were open and stony, the jaws had dropped and stiffened into death.
+Across the body lay the swooning form of his daughter, with her bridal
+vail and robes all dabbled in her father's blood.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Heaven of heavens!</span> Who has done this?&quot; cried the marquis, a
+cold sweat of horror bursting from his pallid brow as he stared upon this
+ghastly sight!</p>
+
+<p>A dozen voices answered him at once, to the effect that no one yet knew.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Run! run! and fetch a doctor instantly! Some of you! any of you who can
+go the quickest!&quot; he cried, as he stooped and lifted the insensible form
+of his bride and laid her on the bed&mdash;the bed that had not been occupied
+during the night. Evidently from these appearances, the banker had been
+murdered before his usual hour of retiring.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who has gone for a doctor?&quot; inquired Lord Arondelle, in an agony of
+anxiety, as he bent over the unconscious form of his beloved one.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have despatched Gilbert, yer lairdship. He will mak' unco guid haste,&quot;
+answered the steward, who stood overcome with grief as he gazed upon the
+ghastly corpse of his unfortunate master.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, who stood by too deeply awed for tears,
+and up to this moment for action either&mdash;&quot;my lord, you had better go out
+of the room for the present, and take all these men with you, and leave
+Miss Levison to the care of myself and the women. This is all unspeakably
+horrible! But our first care should be for her. We must loosen her dress,
+and take other measures for her recovery.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, yes! Great Heaven! yes! Do all you can for her! This is maddening!&quot;
+groaned the marquis, smiting his forehead as he left the bedside,
+yielding his place to the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do try to command yourself, Lord Arondelle. This is, indeed, a most
+awful shock. It would have been awful at any time, but on your wedding
+day it comes with double violence. But do summon all your strength of
+mind, for <i>her</i> sake. Think of her. She came to this room in her
+bridal dress to call her father, that he might get ready to take her to
+the altar, to give her to you, and she found him here murdered&mdash;weltering
+in his blood. It was enough to have killed her, or unseated her reason
+forever,&quot; said the lady, as she busied herself with unfastening the rich,
+white, satin bodice of the wedding robe.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Salome! Salome! that I could bear this sorrow for you! Oh, my
+darling, that all my love should be powerless to save you from a sorrow
+like this!&quot; cried the young man, dropping his head upon his clenched
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord,&quot; continued Lady Belgrade, who was now applying a vial of sal
+ammonia to her patient's nostrils: &quot;my dear Lord Arondelle, rouse
+yourself for her sake! She has no father, brother, or male relative to
+take direction of affairs in this awful crisis of her life. You, her
+betrothed husband, should do it&mdash;must do it! Rouse yourself at once. Look
+at this stupefied and gaping crowd of people! Do not be like one of them.
+Something must be done at once. Do <span class="smcaps">what ought to be done</span>!&quot; she
+cried with sudden vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know what should be done, and I will do it,&quot; said the young man, in
+a tone of mournful resolution. Then turning to the crowd that filled the
+chamber of horror, he said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My friends we must leave this room for the present to the care of Lady
+Belgrade and her female attendants.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then to the dowager he said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, let one of your maids cover that body with a sheet and let no
+one move it by so much as an inch, until the arrival of the coroner. As
+soon as it is possible to do so, you will of course have Miss Levison
+conveyed to her own chamber. But when you leave this room pray lock it
+up, and place a servant before the door as sentry, that nothing may be
+disturbed before the inquest.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Lastly addressing the stupefied house-steward, he said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;McRath, come with me. The castle doors must all be closed, and no
+one permitted to learn the arrival of a police force, which must be
+immediately summoned.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, after a last agonized gaze upon the insensible form of his
+bride, he left the room of horrors, followed by the house-steward and all
+the male intruders.</p>
+
+<p>The news of the murder spread through the castle and all over the island,
+carrying consternation with it. Yet the wedding guests outside, who were
+quite at liberty to go, showed no disposition to do so. They had come to
+take part in a joyous wedding festival&mdash;they remained, held by the
+strange fascination of ghastly interest that hangs over the scene of
+a murder&mdash;and such a murder!</p>
+
+<p>So, the crowd, instead of diminishing, greatly increased. Peasants from
+the hills around, who, having had no wedding garments, had forborne to
+appear at the feast, now came in their tattered plaids, impelled by an
+eager curiosity to gaze upon the walls of the castle, and see and hear
+all they could concerning the mysterious murder that had been perpetrated
+within it.</p>
+
+<p>The country side rang with the terrible story. And soon the telegraph
+wires flashed it all over the kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>The coroner hastened to the castle, inspected the corpse, and ordered
+that everything should remain untouched. He then empanelled a jury for
+the inquest, whose first session was held in the chamber of death, from
+which the suffering daughter of the deceased banker had been tenderly
+removed.</p>
+
+<p>Such among the guests who were not detained as witnesses, found
+themselves at liberty to depart. But very few availed themselves of
+the privilege. They preferred to stop and see the end of the inquest.</p>
+
+<p>Skillful and experienced detectives were summoned by telegraph from
+Scotland Yard, London, and arrived at the castle about midnight.</p>
+
+<p>The house was placed in charge of the police while the investigation was
+pending.</p>
+
+<p>But the materials for the formation of a decided verdict seemed very
+meagre.</p>
+
+<p>A careful examination of the body showed that the banker had been killed
+by one mortal blow inflicted by a blunt and heavy instrument that had
+crushed in the skull. The instrument was searched for, and soon found
+in a small but very heavy bronze statuette of Somnes that used to stand
+on the bedroom mantel-piece; but was now picked up from the carpet,
+crusted with blood and gray hair. But the miscreant who had held that
+deadly weapon, and dealt that mortal blow, could not be detected.</p>
+
+<p>Investigation further brought to light that an extensive robbery had been
+committed. From the banker's person his diamond-studded gold watch,
+chain, and seals, his gold snuff-box, set with emeralds, a heavy
+cornelian seal ring set in gold, and his diamond studs and sleeve buttons
+were taken. A patent safe, which stood in his room, and contained
+valuable documents as well as a large amount of money, had been broken
+open, the documents scattered, and the money carried off.</p>
+
+<p>Yet no trace of the robber could be found.</p>
+
+<p>The broken safe was the only piece of &quot;professional&quot; burglary to be seen
+anywhere about the house. The fastenings on every door and every window
+were intact.</p>
+
+<p>The most plausible theory of the murder was, that some burglar, or
+burglars, attracted and tempted by the rumor of almost fabulous treasure
+then in the castle in the form of wedding offerings to the bride, had
+gained access to the building, and penetrated to the upper chambers,
+where, finding the banker still up and awake, they had killed him by one
+fell blow, to prevent discovery.</p>
+
+<p>True, the priceless wedding presents had not been disturbed. They still
+blazed in their open caskets upon the drawing-room table&mdash;a splendid
+spectacle. But then they had been guarded all through the night by two
+faithful men-servants armed with revolvers and seated at the table under
+a lighted chandelier. It was supposed that the robbers, seeing this
+lighted and guarded room, had crept past it and mounted to the banker's
+chamber to pursue their nefarious purpose there; that simple robbery was
+their first intention, but being seen by the watchful banker, they had
+instantly killed him to prevent his giving the alarm.</p>
+
+<p>For no alarm had been given!</p>
+
+<p>Every inmate of the house who was examined testified to having passed
+a quiet night, undisturbed by any noise.</p>
+
+<p>The hall porter and footmen whose duty it was to see to the closing of
+the castle at night, and the opening of it in the morning, testified to
+having fastened every door at eleven o'clock on the previous night, and
+to having found them still fastened at six in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>How, then, did the murderers and robbers gain access to the house, since
+there was no sign of a broken lock or bolt to be seen anywhere, except in
+the safe in the banker's room.</p>
+
+<p>Suspicion seemed to point to some inmate of the castle, who must have let
+the miscreants in.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, but what inmate?</p>
+
+<p>No member of the small family, of course; no visitor, certainly; no
+servant, probably! Yet, for want of another subject, suspicion fell upon
+Peters, the valet. He was always the last to see his master at night, and
+the first to see him in the morning. He had a pass-key to the ante-room
+of his master's chamber. It was believed to be a very suspicious
+circumstance, also that he had so persistently declined to call his
+master that morning, asserting as he did to the very last that Sir Lemuel
+had given orders that he should not be disturbed until he rang his bell.</p>
+
+<p>This story of the valet was doubted. It was suspected that he might have
+been in league with the robbers and murderers, might have admitted them
+to the house that night after the family had retired, and concealed them
+until the hour came for the commission of their crime; and that he made
+excuses in the morning not to call his master so as to prevent as long as
+possible the discovery of the murder, and give the murderers time to get
+off from the scene of their awful crime.</p>
+
+<p>The valet was not openly accused by any one. The officers of the law were
+too discreet to permit that to be done.</p>
+
+<p>But he was detained as a witness, and subjected to a very severe
+examination.</p>
+
+<p>Peters was a very tall, very spare, middle-aged man, with a slight stoop
+in his shoulders, with a thin, flushed face, sharp features, weak, blue
+eyes, and scanty red hair and whiskers, dressed with foppish precision.
+He looked something like a fool; but as little like the confederate
+of robbers and murderers as it was possible to imagine.</p>
+
+<p>Witness testified that his name was Abraham Peters, that he was born in
+Drury Lane, London, and was now forty years of age; that he had been in
+the service of Sir Lemuel Levison for the last five years; that he loved
+and honored the deceased banker, and had every reason to believe that his
+master valued him also. He said that it was his service every night to
+assist his master in undressing and getting to bed, and every morning in
+getting up and dressing.</p>
+
+<p>A juror asked the witness whether he was in the habit of waiting every
+morning for his master's bell to ring before going to his room.</p>
+
+<p>The witness answered that he was not; that he had standing orders to call
+his master every morning at seven o'clock, except otherwise instructed by
+Sir Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p>Another juror inquired of the witness whether he had received these
+exceptional instructions on the previous night.</p>
+
+<p>The witness answered that he had received such; that his master had sent
+him with a message to his daughter, Miss Levison, requesting her to come
+to his room, as he wished to have a talk with her. He delivered his
+message through Miss Levison's maid, and returned to his master's room.
+But when Miss Levison was announced Sir Lemuel dismissed him with
+permission to retire to bed at once, and not to call his master in the
+morning, but to wait until Sir Lemuel should ring his bell.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I left Miss Levison with her father, your honor, and that was the last
+time as ever I saw my master alive,&quot; concluded the valet, trembling like
+a leaf.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I presume that Miss Levison will be able to corroborate this part of
+your testimony. Where <i>is</i> Miss Levison? Let her be called,&quot; said
+the coroner.</p>
+
+<p>The family physician, who was present at the inquest, arose in his place
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Levison, sir, is not now available as a witness. She is lying in
+her chamber, nearly at the point of death, with brain fever.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord bless my soul, I am sorry to hear that! But it is no wonder, poor
+young lady, after such a shock,&quot; said the kind-hearted coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But here, sir,&quot; continued the doctor, &quot;is a witness who, I think, will
+be able to give us some light.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>AFTER THE DISCOVERY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Sir, if you please, I request that this witness be immediately placed
+under examination,&quot; said Lord Arondelle, who sat, with pale, stern
+visage, among the spectators, now addressing the coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, certainly, my lord. Let the man be called,&quot; answered the latter.</p>
+
+<p>A short, stout, red-haired and freckle-faced boy, clothed in a well-worn
+suit of gray tweed, came forward and was duly sworn.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is your name, my lad?&quot; inquired the coroner's clerk.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Cuddie McGill, an' it please your worship,&quot; replied the shock-headed
+youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your age?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Anan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How old are you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew's Eve, at night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where do you live?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wi' my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well now, then, what do you know about this case?&quot; inquired the clerk,
+who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant,
+preliminary answers of the witness under examination.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just
+happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa', and doctor here,
+he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just,&quot;
+replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But tell us what you saw.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, then, your worship, I had been hard at wark a' the day, and could
+na get awa to see the wedding deecorations. But after my wark was dune
+and I had my bit aitmeal cake and parritch, I e'en cam' my way over the
+brig to hae a luke at them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, and what did you see besides the decorations?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An it please your worship, as I cam through the thick shrubbery I spied
+a lassie, standing under the balcony on the east side o' the castle wa'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At what hour was this?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I dinna ken preceesely. It may hae been ten o'clock; for I ken the moon
+was about twa hours high.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, well; go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hid mysel' in the firs and watchit the lassie; for I said to mysel' it
+wair a tryste wi' her lad, and I behoove to find out wha they were. Sae I
+watchit the lassie. And presently a tall gallant cam' up till her, and
+they spake thegither. I could na hear what they said. But anon the tall
+mon went his ways, and the lassie bided her lane under the balcony. I
+wondered at that. And I waited to see the end. I waited, it seemed to me,
+full twa hour. The moon was weel nigh overhead, when at lang last the
+gallant cam' on wi' anither tall mon. And they passed sae nigh that I
+heard their talk. Spake the gallant: 'I would na hae had it happened for
+a' we hae gained.' Said the ither ane: 'It could na be helpit. The auld
+mon skreekit. He would hae brocht the house upon us, and we hadna stappit
+his mouth.' And the twa passit out o' hearing, and sune cam' to the
+lassie under the balcony. And the three talkit thegither, but I just
+couldna hear a word they spake. And sae I went my ways home, wondering
+what it a' meant. But I thocht nae muckle harm until the morn when I
+heerd o' the murder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would you know the tall man again if you were to see him?&quot; inquired the
+coroner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, for ye ken I could na see a feature o' his face.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would you know the girl again?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na. I could na see the lass ony mair than the gallant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nor the third man?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, nor the ither ane.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did you hear any name or any place spoken of between the parties?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, na name, na pleece. I hae tuld your honor all I heerd. I heerd no
+mair than I hae said,&quot; replied the witness.</p>
+
+<p>And the severest cross-examination could not draw anything more from him.</p>
+
+<p>The officials put their heads together and talked in whispers.</p>
+
+<p>This last witness gave, after all, the nearest to a clue of any they had
+yet received.</p>
+
+<p>The notes of the testimony were put in the hands of the London detective
+then present.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Allow me to remind you, sir,&quot; said Lord Arondelle, &quot;that this interview
+testified to by the last witness, was said to have taken place between
+ten and twelve at night, and that there is a train for London which stops
+at Lone at a quarter past twelve. Would it not be well to make inquiries
+at the station as to what passengers, if any, got on at Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A good idea. Thanks, my lord. We will summon the agent who happened to
+be on duty at that hour,&quot; said the coroner.</p>
+
+<p>And a messenger was immediately dispatched to Lone to bring the railway
+official in question.</p>
+
+<p>In the interim, several of the household servants were examined, but
+without bringing any new facts to light.</p>
+
+<p>After an absence of two hours, the messenger returned accompanied by
+Donald McNeil, the ticket-agent who had been in the office for the
+midnight train of the preceding day.</p>
+
+<p>He was a man of middle age and medium size, with a fair complexion, sandy
+hair and open, honest countenance. He was clothed in a suit of black and
+white-checked cloth.</p>
+
+<p>He was duly sworn and examined. He gave his name as Donald McNeil, his
+age forty years, and his home in the hamlet of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are a ticket-agent at the Railway Station at Lone?&quot; inquired the
+coroner's clerk.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You were on duty at that station last night, between twelve midnight and
+one, morning?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I was, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Does the train for London stop at Lone at that hour?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The up-train stops at Lone, at a quarter past twal, sir, and seldom
+varies for as muckle as twa minutes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It stopped last night as usual, at a quarter past twelve?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It did, sir, av coorse.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did any passengers get on that train from Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>One</i> passenger did, sir; whilk I remarked it more particularly,
+because the passenger was a young lass, travelling her lane, and it is
+unco seldom a woman tak's that train at that hour, and never her lane.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! there was but one passenger, then, that took the midnight train from
+Lone for London?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But one, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And she was a woman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A young lass, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did she take a through ticket?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, sir, to London.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What class?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Second-class.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Had she luggage?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An unco heavy black leather bag, sir, that was a'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How do you know the bag was heavy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By the way she lugged it, sir. The porter offered to relieve her o' it,
+but she wad na trust it out o' her hand ae minute.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! Was it a large bag?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, sir, no that large, but unco heavy, as it might be filled fu' o'
+minerals, the like of whilk the college lads whiles collect in the
+mountains. Na, it was no' large, but unco heavy, and she wad na let it
+out o' her hand ae minute.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just so. Would you know that young woman again if you were to see her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, I could na see her face. She wore a thick, dark vail, doublit over
+and over her face, the whilk was the moir to be noticed because the nicht
+was sae warm.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You say her face was concealed. How, then, did you know her to be a
+young woman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, by her form and her gait just, and by her speech.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She talked with you, then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, she spak just three words when she handed in the money for her
+ticket: 'One&mdash;second-class&mdash;through.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would you recognize her voice again if you should hear it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, that I should.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How was this young woman dressed?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She wore a lang, black tweed cloak wi' a hood till it, and a dark vail.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A few more questions were asked, but as nothing new was elicited the
+witness was permitted to retire.</p>
+
+<p>Other witnesses were examined, and old witnesses were recalled hour after
+hour and day after day, without effect. No new light was thrown upon the
+mystery.</p>
+
+<p>No one, except Cuddie McGill, the saddler's apprentice, could be found
+who had seen the suspicious man and woman lurking under the balcony.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly Lord Arondelle remembered the &quot;dream&quot; Miss Levison had told him
+of the two persons whom she mistook to be himself and Rose Cameron
+talking together under her window. But Miss Levison was so far incapable
+of giving evidence as to be lying at the point of death with brain fever.
+So it would have been worse than useless to have spoken of her dream, or
+supposed dream.</p>
+
+<p>The coroner's inquest sat several days without arriving at any definite
+conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>The most plausible theory of the murder seemed to be that a robbery had
+been planned between the valet and certain unknown confederates, who had
+all been tempted by the great treasures known to be in the castle that
+night in the form of costly bridal presents; that no murder was at first
+intended; that the confederates had been secretly admitted to the castle
+through the connivance of the valet; that the strong guard placed over
+the treasures in the lighted drawing-room had saved them from robbery;
+that the robbers, disappointed of their first expectations, next went,
+with the farther connivance of the valet, to the bedchamber of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, for the purpose of emptying his strong box; that being detected
+in their criminal designs by the wakeful banker, they had silenced him by
+one fatal blow on the head; that they had then accomplished the robbery
+of the strong box, and of the person of the deceased banker; and had been
+secretly let out of the castle by the valet.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, it was thought that the man and the woman discovered under the
+balcony by Cuddie McGill on the night of the murder, were confederates
+in the crime, and the woman was the midnight passenger to whom Donald
+McNeil sold the second-class railway ticket to London, and that the heavy
+black bag she carried contained the booty taken from the castle.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening of the third day of the unsatisfactory inquest a verdict
+was returned to this effect.</p>
+
+<p>That the deceased Sir Lemuel Levison, Knight, had come to his death by
+a blow from a heavy bronze statuette held in the hands of some person
+unknown to the jury. And that Peters, the valet of the deceased banker,
+was accessory to the murder.</p>
+
+<p>A coroner's warrant was immediately issued, and the valet was arrested,
+and confined in jail to await the action of the grand jury.</p>
+
+<p>An experienced detective officer was sent upon the track of the
+mysterious, vailed woman, with the heavy black bag, who on the night
+of the murder had taken the midnight train from Lone to London.</p>
+
+<p>Then at length the coroner's jury adjourned, and Castle Lone was cleared
+of the law officers and all others who had remained there in attendance
+upon the inquest.</p>
+
+<p>And the preparations for the funeral of the deceased banker were allowed
+to go on.</p>
+
+<p>In addition to the long train of servants there remained now in the
+castle but seven persons:</p>
+
+<p>The young lady of the house, who lay prostrate and unconscious upon the
+bed of extreme illness or death; Lady Belgrade, who in all this trouble
+had nearly lost her wits; the Marquis of Arondelle, who had been
+requested to take the direction of affairs; the old Duke of Hereward,
+who had been brought to the castle in a helpless condition; the family
+physician, who had turned over all his other patients to his assistant,
+and was now devoting himself to the care of the unhappy daughter of the
+house; and lastly the family solicitor, and his clerk, who were down
+for the obsequies.</p>
+
+<p>Beside these, the undertaker and his men came and went while completing
+their preparations for the funeral.</p>
+
+<p>There had been some talk of embalming the body, and delaying the burial,
+until the daughter of the deceased banker should view her father's face
+once more; but the impossibility of restoring the crushed skull to shape
+rendered it advisable that she should not be shocked by a sight of it. So
+the day of the funeral was set.</p>
+
+<p>But before that day came, another important event occurred at Lone
+Castle. It was not entirely unexpected. The old Duke of Hereward, since
+his arrival at the castle, had sunk very fast. He had been carefully
+guarded from the knowledge of the tragedy which had been enacted within
+its walls. He knew nothing of the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, or even
+of the banker's presence in the castle. His failing mind had gone back to
+the past, and he fondly imagined himself, as of yore, the Lord of Lone
+and of all its vast revenues. The presence and attendance of all his old
+train of servants, who, as I said before, had been kindly retained in the
+service of the banker's family, helped the happy illusion in which the
+last days of the old duke were passed, until one afternoon, just as the
+sun was sinking out of sight behind Ben Lone, the old man went quietly
+to sleep in his arm-chair, and never woke again in this world.</p>
+
+<p>A few days after this, in the midst of a large concourse of friends,
+neighbors and mourners, the mortal remains of Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of Arondelle, in the peerage of
+England, and Lord of Lone and Baron Scott, in the peerage of Scotland,
+were laid side by side with those of Sir Lemuel Levison, Kt., in the
+family vault of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>The reading of the late banker's will was deferred until his daughter and
+sole heiress should be in a condition to attend it.</p>
+
+<p>And the family solicitor took it away with him to London to keep until it
+should be called for.</p>
+
+<p>The crisis of Salome's illness passed safely. She was out of the imminent
+danger of death, though she was still extremely weak.</p>
+
+<p>The family physician returned to his home and his practice in the village
+of Lone, and only visited his patient at the castle morning and evening.</p>
+
+<p>Now, therefore, besides the train of household servants, there remained
+at the castle but three inmates&mdash;Salome Levison, reduced by sorrow and
+illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady
+Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and
+the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the
+Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was &quot;of the most
+straitest sect, a Pharisee&quot; of conventional etiquette, nevertheless
+implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the
+heiress, and the reading of the father's will.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily
+consented to stay.</p>
+
+<p>But Salome's recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she
+seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.</p>
+
+<p>Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost
+the memory of its cause&mdash;her father's shocking death. Thus she had no new
+grief or horror to experience.</p>
+
+<p>No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to
+allude to it.</p>
+
+<p>The occasion was this:</p>
+
+<p>On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and
+sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her
+boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent
+for the young duke to come to her.</p>
+
+<p>He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.</p>
+
+<p>He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was
+almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her
+former self she had faded.</p>
+
+<p>As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair
+flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked,
+that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her
+away.</p>
+
+<p>He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and
+then sat down next her.</p>
+
+<p>After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and
+asking:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Has the murderer been discovered yet?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will
+lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch,&quot; answered the young
+duke, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where have they laid the body of my dear father?&quot; she next inquired in
+a low hushed tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the family vault beside those of my own parents,&quot; gravely replied the
+young man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your own&mdash;<i>parents</i>, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone
+before, but&mdash;your father&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My father has passed to his eternal home. It is well with him as with
+yours. They are happy. And we&mdash;have a common sorrow, love!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did not know&mdash;I did not know. No one told me,&quot; murmured Salome, as she
+dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible. Yet
+I <i>did</i> think, they had told you of my father's departure, else I
+had not alluded to it so suddenly. There! weep no more, love! Viewed in
+the true light, those who have passed higher are rather to be envied than
+mourned.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then to change the current of her thoughts he said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, if it concerns you,&quot; she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love. You
+are of age, my Salome?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance&mdash;an onerous and
+responsible position.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But you will sustain it for me. I shall not feel its weight,&quot; she
+murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would
+gladly relieve me of the dear trust,&quot; said the duke, with a smile. &quot;We
+must, however, be guided by your father's will, which I am happy to know
+is in entire harmony with your own wishes. And that brings me to what I
+wished to say. Kage, your late father's solicitor, is in possession of
+his last will. He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately
+after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your
+presence at its perusal. But he only waits for your recovery and a
+summons from me to bring it. Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the
+exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down,&quot;
+concluded the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My father's last will!&quot; softly murmured Salome. &quot;Send the telegram
+to-day, please. To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing
+from him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you,
+and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the
+will, in the case of his, the writer's, sudden death,&quot; gravely added the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A letter from my dear father to me? A letter from the grave! No, rather
+a letter from Heaven! Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at
+once, dear John,&quot; said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her
+pale, transparent cheek.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal
+importance with the will&mdash;though no lawyer would think so,&quot; said the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know its purport then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations
+that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke the door opened and Lady Belgrade entered the room, saying
+softly, as she would have spoken beside the cradle of a sick baby:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am sorry to disturb your grace; but the fifteen minutes permitted by
+the doctor have passed, and Salome must not sit up longer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am going now, dear madam,&quot; said the duke, rising.</p>
+
+<p>He took Salome's hand, held it for a moment in his, while he gazed into
+her eyes, then pressed it to his lips, and so took his morning's leave of
+her.</p>
+
+<p>The same forenoon he rode over to the Lone Station, and dispatched a
+telegram to the family solicitor, Kage.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received
+the duke's telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private
+interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the
+will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of
+the assembled household.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his
+daughter?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will
+recognize when you hear it read,&quot; answered the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it.
+Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker
+anticipated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in
+the event of his sudden decease.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None that I have heard of.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Or to the mysterious woman who was supposed to have carried off the
+booty?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None, Detective Keightley called on me yesterday for some information
+regarding the stolen property, and I furnished him with a photograph of
+that snuff-box given to Sir Lemuel Levison by the Sultan of Turkey&mdash;the
+gold one richly set with precious stones. Sir Lemuel had it photographed
+by my advice, for identification in case of its being stolen. And he left
+several duplicate copies with me. I gave one to Keightley. But the man
+could give me no information in return. The missing woman seemed lost in
+London. And the proverbial little needle in the haystack might be as
+easily found,&quot; said the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>The announcement of luncheon put an end to the interview.</p>
+
+<p>The two gentlemen passed on into the smaller dining-room where Lady
+Belgrade awaited them. She received the solicitor politely and invited
+him to the table.</p>
+
+<p>After the three were seated and helped to what they preferred, her
+ladyship turned to the lawyers and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My niece understands that you have a letter for her, left in your charge
+by her father. She wishes you to send it to her immediately. Her maid is
+here waiting to take it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pardon me, my dear lady, the letter must remain in my possession until
+after the reading of the will, when, for certain reasons, it must be
+read, as the will, in the presence of the household. Pray explain this to
+Miss Levison, and tell her that I shall be ready to read and deliver both
+at five o'clock this afternoon, if that will meet her convenience,&quot; said
+the lawyer, respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will suit her; but I hope the forms will not occupy more than an
+hour. Miss Levison is still extremely feeble, and ought not to sit up
+longer,&quot; said the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It will not require more than half an hour, madam,&quot; replied Mr. Kage.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade gave the message to the maid for her mistress. And when the
+girl retired, the conversation turned upon the proceedings of the London
+detectives in pursuit of the unknown murderers.</p>
+
+<p>At the appointed hour the household servants were all assembled in the
+dining-room. At the head of the long table sat the family attorney and
+his clerk. Before them lay a japanned tin box, secured by a brass
+padlock. It contained the last will, the letter, and other documents
+appertaining to the deceased banker's estate. They were only waiting for
+the entrance of Miss Levison and her friends. No one else was expected.
+There was not the usual crowd of poor relatives who &quot;crop up&quot; at the
+reading of almost every rich man's will. The late Sir Lemuel Levison had
+no poor relations whatever. His people were all rich, and all scattered
+over Europe and America, at the head of banks, or branches of banks, in
+every great capital, of the almost illustrious house of &quot;Levison,
+Bankers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The assembled household had not to wait long. The door opened and the
+young lady of Lone entered, supported on each side by the Duke of
+Hereward and the dowager, Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>Her fair, transparent, spiritual face looked whiter than ever, in
+contrast to her deep black crape dress, as she bowed to the lawyer, and
+passed to her seat at the table.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and the dowager seated themselves on either side of her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are you quite ready, Miss Levison, to hear the will of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison?&quot; inquired the attorney.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am quite ready, Mr. Kage, thanks,&quot; replied the young lady, in a low
+voice, and speaking with an effort.</p>
+
+<p>The attorney unlocked the box, took out the will, unfolded and proceeded
+to read it.</p>
+
+<p>The document was dated several years back. It was neither long nor
+complex. After liberal bequests to each one of his household servants,
+rich keepsakes to his dear friends, an annuity to the dowager Lady
+Belgrade, and a princely endowment to found an orphan asylum and
+children's hospital in the heart of London, he bequeathed the residue of
+his vast estates, both real and personal, without reserve and without
+conditions, to his only and beloved child, Salome.</p>
+
+<p>After the reading of the will was finished, the attorney arose, came
+around to where the ladies sat, and congratulated Miss Levison and Lady
+Belgrade, on their rich inheritance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How could he do it?&quot; thought the unconventional and weeping heiress.
+&quot;Oh, how could he congratulate me on an inheritance which came, and could
+only have come, through my dear father's decease!&quot; Then in a voice broken
+with emotion, she said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Mr. Kage. Will you please now to read my dear papa's
+letter?&mdash;since you <i>are</i> to read it aloud, I think,&quot; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Such was the deceased Sir Lemuel's direction, my dear Miss Levison,&quot;
+said the lawyer. And returning to his place at the head of the table, he
+took the letter from the japanned box, opened it, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This letter from my late honored client to his daughter was committed by
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison to my charge to be retained and read after
+the will, in the event of a circumstance which has already occurred&mdash;I
+mean the sudden and unexpected death of the writer. The letter will
+explain itself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Here the lawyer cleared his throat, and began to read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Elmhurst House</span>, Kensington, London,
+Monday, May 1st, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">My Dearest Only Child</span>: Blessings on your head! Nothing could
+have made me happier, than has your betrothal to so admirable a young man
+as the Marquis of Arondelle. Had I possessed the privilege of choosing
+a husband for you, and a son-in-law for myself, from the whole race of
+mankind, I should have chosen him above all others. But, my dearest
+Salome, the satisfaction I enjoy in your prospects of happiness is
+shadowed by one faint cloud. It is not much, my love; it is only the
+consciousness of my age and of the precarious state of my health. I may
+not live to see you united to the noble husband of your choice. Therefore
+it is that I have urged your speedy marriage with what your good
+chaperon, Lady Belgrade, evidently considers indecorous haste. She must
+continue to think it indecorous, because unreasonable. I cannot, and will
+not, darken your sunshine of joy, by giving to you <i>now</i> the real
+reason of my precipitation&mdash;the extremely precarious state of my health.
+Yet, in the event of my being suddenly taken from you, I must prepare
+this letter to be delivered to you after my death, that you may know my
+last wishes. If I live to see you wedded to the good Lord Arondelle,
+this paper shall be torn up and destroyed; if not, if I should be
+suddenly snatched away from you before your wedding-day, this letter will
+be read to you, after my will shall have been read, in the presence of
+your betrothed husband, your good chaperon and your assembled household,
+that you and they and all may know my last wishes concerning you, and
+that none shall dare to blame you for obeying them, even though in doing
+so you have to pursue a very unusual course. My wish, therefore, is that
+your marriage with Lord Arondelle may not be delayed for a day upon
+account of my death; but that it take place at the time fixed or as soon
+thereafter as practicable. In giving these directions, I feel sure that I
+am consulting the wishes of Lord Arondelle, the best interests of
+yourself, and the happiness of both. Follow my directions, therefore, my
+dearest daughter, and may the blessing of our Father in Heaven rest upon
+you and yours, is the prayer of</p>
+
+<p>Your devoted father, <span class="smcaps">Lemuel Levison</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>During the reading of the letter the face of Salome was bathed in tears
+and buried in her pocket-handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sat by her, with his arm around her waist, supporting her.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the reading, without looking up, she stretched out her hand
+and whispered softly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give me my dear father's letter now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The attorney, who was engaged in re-folding the documents and restoring
+them to the japanned box, left his seat, and came to her side, and placed
+the letter in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Mr. Kage,&quot; she said, wiping her eyes and looking up. &quot;But now
+will you tell me if you know what my dear father meant by writing of the
+precarious state of his health? He seemed to enjoy a very vigorous
+and green old age.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, he '<i>seemed</i>' to do so, my dear young lady; but it was all
+seeming. He was really affected with a mortal malady, which his
+physicians warned him might prove fatal at any moment,&quot; gravely replied
+the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And he never hinted it to us!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He did not wish to sadden your young life with a knowledge of his
+affliction.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My own dear papa! My dear, dear papa! loving, self-sacrificing to the
+end of his earthly life! never thinking of his own happiness&mdash;always
+thinking of mine or of others! My dear, dear father!&quot; murmured the still
+weeping daughter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He thought of your happiness, and of the happiness of your betrothed
+husband, my dear young lady, when he committed that letter to my care, to
+be delivered to you in case of his sudden death, and when he charged me
+to urge with all my might, your compliance with its instructions. And now
+permit me to add, my dear Miss Levison, that to obey your father's will
+in
+this matter would be the very best and wisest course you could pursue.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Mr. Kage; I know that you are a faithful friend to our family;
+but&mdash;I must have a little time to recover,&quot; murmured Salome, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here, you may remember my dear Salome, that when I told you of this
+letter in the possession of Mr. Kage, I said that I thought I knew its
+purport from certain conversations I had held with your late father. He
+had hinted to me the dangerous condition of his health, and he had
+expressed a hope that no accident to himself should be permitted to
+postpone our marriage; and then he told me that he had left a letter with
+his solicitor to be read in case of his sudden death, and that the letter
+would explain itself. He concluded by begging me if anything should
+happen to him to necessitate the delivery of that letter to you, to urge
+upon you the wisdom and policy of following its direction. He could not
+have given me a commission I should be more anxious or earnest in
+executing. My dear Salome, will you obey your good father's wishes? Will
+you give me at once a husband's right to love and cherish you?&quot; he
+added in a low whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, give me a little time,&quot; she murmured&mdash;&quot;give me a little time. There
+is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as
+you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so
+weak and broken-spirited. Give me a little time, dear John, to recover
+some strength to overcome my sorrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Here she broke down and wept.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think we had best take her back to her room,&quot; said Lady Belgrade,
+rising.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his
+pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties,
+and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl
+from the room.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were
+left alone.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses,
+and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.</p>
+
+<p>It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke
+of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her
+father's wishes.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it: Dr. McWilliams, the family
+physician, urged it: above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of
+Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade,
+objected to it.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could
+decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities&mdash;the impropriety of
+the daughter's marriage so soon after the father's murder.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the
+Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer
+visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.</p>
+
+<p>The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome
+Levison. She contracted a serious cough.</p>
+
+<p>Then the family physician, (so to speak,) &quot;put down his foot&quot; with
+professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is a question of life or death, my lady,&quot; he said to the
+dowager&mdash;&quot;a question of life and death, ye mind! And not of
+conventionality and etiquette! Let conventionality and etiquette go to
+the D., from whom they first came. This girl must die, or she must marry
+immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian
+Archipelago. That is all that can save her. And as for you, my laird
+duke,&quot; continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he
+always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, &quot;as for
+you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie's scruples, and marry
+her out of hand, the de'il hae me but I'll e'en marry her mysel', and
+tak' her awa to save her life! Now, then will I tak' her mysel' or will
+you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will take her!&quot; said the young duke, smiling. Then turning to the
+dowager, he added, gravely: &quot;Lady Belgrade, this marriage must and shall
+take place immediately. You must add your efforts to mine to overcome
+your niece's scruples. Your ladyship has been working against me
+heretofore. I hope now, after hearing what the doctor has said, that
+you will work with me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course, if the child's life and health are in question: and, indeed,
+this climate is much too severe for her, and she certainly does need
+rousing; and as it has been three months now since Sir Lemuel Levison's
+funeral, I don't see&mdash;But, of course, after all, it is for you and Salome
+to decide as you please;&quot; answered Lady Belgrade, in a confused and
+hesitating manner, for when the dowager went outside of her
+conventionalities she lost herself.</p>
+
+<p>Salome Levison was again besieged by the pleadings of her lover, the
+counsels of her solicitor, and the arguments of her physician, all with
+the co-operation of her chaperon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not see what else can be done, my dear,&quot; she said to her protegee.
+&quot;The ceremony can be performed as quietly as possible, and you two can go
+away, and the world be no wiser.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As if I cared for the world! I will do this in obedience to my dear
+father's directions and my betrothed husband's wishes, and I do not even
+think of the world,&quot; gravely replied Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, then, to the details, my dear. What day shall we fix? And shall the
+ceremony be preformed here at the castle or at the church at Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, not here! not here! I could not bear to be married here, or at the
+Lone church either. No, Lady Belgrade. We must go up to our town house in
+London, and be married quietly at St. Peter's in Kensington, where I used
+to attend divine service with my dear papa,&quot; said Salome, becoming
+agitated.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, my love. But don't excite yourself. We will go. And the
+sooner the better. These horrid Scotch mists are aggravating my
+rheumatism beyond endurance,&quot; concluded the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>It was now the last week in September. But so diligently did the dowager,
+and the servants under her orders exert themselves both at Castle Lone
+and in London, that before the first of October, Miss Levison, with her
+chaperon and their attendants, were all comfortably settled in the
+luxurious town-house in the West End.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward took lodgings near the home of his bride-elect.</p>
+
+<p>As the marriage settlements had been executed, and the bridal
+paraphernalia prepared for the first marriage day set three months
+before, there was really nothing to do in the way of preparation for the
+wedding, and no reason for even so much as a week's delay. An early
+day was therefore set. It was decided that the ceremony should be
+performed without the least parade.</p>
+
+<p>Since her departure from Castle Lone and her arrival at their town house,
+the change of scene and of circumstances, and the preliminaries of her
+wedding and her journey, had the happiest effects upon Miss Levison's
+health and spirits.</p>
+
+<p>She recovered her cheerfulness, and even acquired a bloom she had never
+possessed before. And her attendants took care to keep from her all that
+could revive her memory of the tragedy at Lone.</p>
+
+<p>One morning the Duke of Hereward came to the house and asked to see Lady
+Belgrade alone.</p>
+
+<p>The dowager received him in the library.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Has Miss Levison seen the morning papers?&quot; he inquired, as soon as the
+usual greetings were over.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, they have not yet come,&quot; answered her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank Heaven! Do not let her see them on any account! I would not have
+her shocked. The truth is,&quot; he added, in explanation of his words to the
+wondering dowager, &quot;I have important news to tell you. The mysterious
+vailed woman, supposed to be connected with the robbery and murder at
+Lone Castle, has been found and arrested. The stolen property has been
+discovered in her possession. And she&mdash;you will be infinitely
+shocked&mdash;she proves to be Rose Cameron, the daughter of one of our
+shepherds, living near Ben Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE VAILED PASSENGER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>We must return to the night of the murder, and to the man and woman whom
+Salome Levison heard, and did not merely &quot;dream&quot; that she heard,
+conversing under her balcony at midnight.</p>
+
+<p>When left alone in her dark and silent hiding-place, the woman waited
+long and impatiently. Sometimes she crept out from her shadowy nook, and
+stole a look up to the casements of the castle, but they were all dark
+and silent, and closely shut, save one immediately above her head, which
+stood open, though neither lighted nor occupied.</p>
+
+<p>She had waited perhaps an hour when stealthy footsteps were heard
+approaching, and not one, but two men came up whispering in hurried and
+agitated tones. She caught a few words of their troubled talk.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have betrayed me! I never meant, under any circumstances, that you
+should have done such a deed!&quot; said one.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was necessary to our safety. We should have been discovered and
+arrested,&quot; said the other.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have brought the curse of Cain upon my head!&quot; groaned the first
+speaker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come, come, my lord, brace up! No one intended what has happened. It was
+an accident, a calamity, but it is an accomplished fact, and 'what is
+done, is done,' and 'what is past remedy is past regret.' If the old man
+hadn't squealed&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush! burn you! the girl will hear!&quot; whispered the first speaker, as
+they approached the woman under the balcony.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose, here; don't speak. Take this bag; be very careful of it; do not
+let it for a moment go out of your sight, or even out of your hand. Go
+to Lone station. The train for London stops there at 12:15. Take a
+second-class ticket, keep your face covered with a thick vail until you
+get to London, and to the house. I will join you there in a few days,&quot;
+said the first speaker, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why canna ye gae now, my laird?&quot; impatiently inquired the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It would be dangerous, Rose.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm thinking it is laughing at me ye are, Laird Arondelle. You'll bide
+here and marry yon leddy,&quot; said the girl, tossing her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, on my soul! How can I, when I have married you? Have you not got
+your marriage certificate with you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I hae got my lines, but I dinna like ye to bide here, near your
+leddy, whiles I gang my lane to London.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose, our safety requires that you should go alone to London. You cannot
+trust me; yet see how much I trust you. You have in that bag, which I
+have confided to your care, uncounted treasures. Take it carefully to
+London and to the house on Westminster Road. Conceal it there and wait
+for me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is yon lad that cam' wi' ye frae the castle?&quot; inquired the girl,
+pointing to the other man who had withdrawn apart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is one of the servants of the castle, who is in my confidence. Never
+mind him. Hurry away now, my lass. You have just time to cross the bridge
+and reach the station, to catch the train. You are not afraid to go
+alone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay, I'm no feared. But dinna be lang awa' yersel', my laird, or
+I shall be thinking my thoughts about yon leddy,&quot; said the girl, as she
+folded the dark vail around and around the hat, and without further
+leave-taking, started off in a brisk walk toward the bridge.</p>
+
+<p>She passed through the castle grounds and over the bridge, and went on to
+the station, without having met another human being.</p>
+
+<p>She secured her ticket, as has been related, and when the train stopped,
+she took her place on a second-class car.</p>
+
+<p>Being very much of an animal, and very much fatigued, she could not be
+kept awake even by the excitement of her novel and perilous position,
+but, holding on to her booty, and lulled by the swift motion of the
+train, she fell asleep, and slept until eight o'clock next morning,
+when she was awakened by the stopping of the train and the bustle of the
+arrival at Euston Square Station. Her first thought was for the safety of
+her bag. With a start of dismay she missed it from her lap, where she had
+been holding it so tightly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' it 's yer little valise yer a looking for, my dear, there it be at
+yer feet, where it fell, with a crash, while ye slept. An' there was
+anything in it would break, sure it 's broken entirely,&quot; said a kindly
+man, pointing to the bag upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>She hastily picked it up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! if any one had known what it contains, would it have been left there
+in safety all the time I slept?&quot; she asked herself, as her hands closed
+tightly upon her recovered treasure.</p>
+
+<p>But the passengers were all leaving the train, and so she got out with
+the rest.</p>
+
+<p>She was too cunning to take a cab from the station. She left it on
+foot and walked a mile or two, making many turns, before, at length she
+hailed a &quot;four wheeler,&quot; hired it and directed the cabman to drive to
+Number &mdash;&mdash; Westminster Road.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HOUSE ON WESTMINSTER ROAD.</h3>
+
+
+<p>An hour's ride through some of the most crowded streets of London brought
+her to her destination&mdash;a tall, dingy, three-storied brick house, in a
+block of the same.</p>
+
+<p>She paid and dismissed the cab at the door, and then went up and rang the
+bell.</p>
+
+<p>It was answered by an old woman, in a black skirt, red sack, white apron,
+and white cap.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, to be sure, ma'am, you have taken me unexpected; but I'm main
+glad to see you so soon. Come in, and I'll make you comfortable in no
+time,&quot; said the woman, with kindly respect, as she held the door wide
+open for her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any one been here sin' we left Mrs. Rogers?&quot; inquired the traveller.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, ma'am&mdash;no soul. It is very lonely here without you. Let me take your
+bag, ma'am. It do seem heavy,&quot; said Mrs. Rogers, as she held out her hand
+and took hold of the handle of the satchel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, I thank ye. It's na that heavy neither,&quot; exclaimed the girl,
+nervously jerking back the bag, and following her conductor into the
+house and up stairs.</p>
+
+<p>An unlikely house to be the shelter of thieves and the receptacle of
+stolen goods. There was a look of sober respectability about its
+dinginess that might have appertained to a suburban doctor with a large
+family and a small practice. An old oil cloth, whole, but with its
+pattern half washed off, covered the narrow hall&mdash;an old stair-carpet of
+originally good quality, but now thread-bare in places, covered the
+steps. This was all that could be seen from the open door by any chance
+caller. But upstairs all was very different.</p>
+
+<p>As the girl reached the landing, the old woman opened a door on her left
+and ushered her into a bright, glaring room, filled up with cheap new
+furniture, in which blinding colors and bad taste predominated. Carpets,
+curtains, chair and sofa covers, and hassocks, all bright scarlet;
+cornices, mirrors, and picture frames, (framing cheap, showy pictures,)
+all in brassy looking gilt. Through this sitting-room the girl passed
+into a bedroom, where, also, the furniture was in scarlet and gilt,
+except the white draperied bed and the dressing-table. Here the girl
+threw herself down in an easy-chair saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll just bide here a bit and wash my face and hands, while ye'll gae
+bring my breakfast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, ma'am. What would you like to have?&quot; inquired the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ait meal parritch, fust of a', to begin wi' twa kippered herrings; a
+sausage; a beefsteak; twa eggs; a pot o' arange marmalade; a plate of
+milk toast, some muffins, and some fresh rolls,&quot; concluded the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Anything more, ma'am?&quot; dryly inquired Mrs. Rogers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay&mdash;ay! Ye may bring me a mutton chop, wi' the lave.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tea or coffee, ma'am?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Baith, and mak' haste wi' it,&quot; answered the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman, smiling to herself, went out.</p>
+
+<p>The girl being left alone, fastened both doors of her room, hung napkins
+over the key-holes, drew close the scarlet curtains of her windows, and
+then sat down on the floor and opened the bag and turned out its contents
+on the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunatus! what a sight! Well might her fellow-passenger have heard
+a crash when the bag slipped from her lap to the bottom of the car!</p>
+
+<p>About twelve little canvas bags filled with coins, and marked variously
+on the sides&mdash;&pound;50, &pound;100, &pound;500, &pound;1,000.</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at the treasure in a sort of rapture of possession! How fast
+her heart beat! She did not think that there was so much money in the
+whole world! She began to count the bags, and add up their marked
+figures, to try to estimate the amount. There were two bags marked one
+thousand, four marked five hundred, three marked one hundred, and three
+marked fifty pounds&mdash;in all twelve little canvas bags containing
+altogether four thousand four hundred and fifty pounds.</p>
+
+<p>What a mine of wealth! How she gloated over it! She longed to cut open
+the little canvas bags and spread the whole glittering mass of gold and
+silver on the carpet before her, that she might gaze upon it&mdash;not as a
+miser to hoard it, but as a vain beauty to spend it. How many bonnets and
+dresses and shawls and laces and jewels this money would buy? How she
+longed to lay it out! But she dared not do it yet. She dared not even
+open the canvas bags. She must conceal her riches.</p>
+
+<p>She began to put the bags back in the satchel.</p>
+
+<p>In doing so, she perceived that she had not half emptied it&mdash;there was
+something in each of the buttoned pockets on the inside. She opened the
+pockets and turned out their contents.</p>
+
+<p>Rainbows and sunbeams and flashes of lightning!</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes were dazzled with splendor. There was set in a ring a large
+solitaire diamond in which seemed collected all the light and color of
+the sun! There was a watch in a gold hunting case, thickly studded with
+precious stones, and bearing in the center of its circle the initials of
+the late owner, set in diamonds, and which was suspended to a heavy gold
+chain. There was a snuff-box of solid gold encrusted with pearls, opals,
+diamonds, rubies, emeralds, amethysts and sapphires, in a design of
+Oriental beauty and splendor.</p>
+
+<p>There were also diamond studs and diamond sleeve-buttons&mdash;each a large
+solitaire of immense value, and there were other jewels in the form of
+seals, lockets, and so forth; and all those delighted her woman's eyes
+and heart. But, above all, the golden box, set with all sorts of flaming
+precious stones, with its splendid colors and blazing fires dazzled her
+sight and dazed her mind.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I <i>will</i> keep this for mysel',&quot; she said, as she put it in the
+bosom of her dress&mdash;&quot;I will, I <i>will</i>, I WILL! He shall na hae this
+again. I'll tell him it was lost or sto'en.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then she opened the satchel and began to put away the other jewels, until
+she took up the watch, looked at it longingly, put it in the bag, took it
+out again, and finally, without a word, slipped it into her bosom beside
+the box.</p>
+
+<p>Next she trifled with the temptation of the diamond ring. She slipped it
+on and off her finger. She had large beautiful hands in perfect
+proportion to her large beautiful form, and the ring that had fitted the
+banker's long thin finger fitted her round white one perfectly. So, she
+took the jewelled box from her bosom, opened it, put the diamond ring in
+it, then closed and returned it to its hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>Finally retaining the box, the watch and the rings, she replaced all the
+jewels and the money-bags in the satchel, and put the satchel for the
+present between the mattresses of her bed. While thus engaged she heard
+her old attendant moving about in the next room, and she knew that she
+was setting the table for her breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>So she hastened to smooth the bed again, and snatch the napkins off the
+keyholes, and unlock the doors lest her very caution should excite
+suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>Then at length she took time to wash the railroad dust from her face, and
+brush it from her hair.</p>
+
+<p>And finally she passed into her sitting-room where she found the table
+laid for her single breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Presently her housekeeper entered bringing one tray on which stood tea
+and coffee with their accompaniments, and followed by a young kitchen
+maid with another tray on which stood the bread, butter, marmalade,
+meat, fish, etc., with <i>their</i> accompaniments.</p>
+
+<p>When all these were arranged upon the table, Rose Cameron sat down and
+fell to.</p>
+
+<p>Being a very perfect animal, she was blessed with an excellent appetite
+and a healthy digestion. She was therefore, a very heavy feeder; and now
+bread, butter, fish, meat, marmalade disappeared rapidly from the scene,
+to the great amusement of the housekeeper and kitchen maid, who had never
+seen &quot;a lady&quot; eat so ravenously.</p>
+
+<p>When the breakfast service was removed, she went back into her bedroom,
+locked the door, and covered the keyholes as before, and took the satchel
+from between the mattresses, and opened it to gloat over her treasures;
+for she quite considered them as her own. Again she was &quot;tempted of the
+devil.&quot; She thought of the fine shops in London, and the fine ready-made
+dresses she could buy with the very smallest of these bags of money.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why should I no'? What's his is mine! I'll e'en tak the wee baggie, and
+gae till the fine shops,&quot; she said to herself. And selecting one of the
+fifty pound bags, she replaced the others in the satchel, and put the
+satchel in its hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>She got ready for her expedition by arraying herself in a cheap,
+dark-blue silk suit, and a straw hat with a blue feather. Then she
+carefully locked her bedroom door, and took the key with her when she
+left the house.</p>
+
+<p>Her ambition did not take any very high flights, although she did believe
+herself to be a countess. She knew nothing of the splendid shops of the
+West End. She only knew the Borrough and St. Paul's churchyard, both of
+which she thought, contained the riches and splendors of the whole world.
+She went to the nearest cab-stand, took a cab, and drove to St. Paul's
+churchyard, (in ancient times a cemetery, but now a network of narrow,
+crowded streets, filled with cheap, showy shops.) She spent the best part
+of the day in that attractive locality.</p>
+
+<p>When she returned, late in the afternoon, the canvas bag was empty and
+the cab was full, for Rose Cameron, the country girl, ignorant of the
+world, but having a saving faith in the dishonesty of cities, refused to
+trust the dealers to send the goods home, but insisted on fetching them
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>She displayed her purchases&mdash;mostly gaudy trash&mdash;to the wondering eyes of
+Mrs. Rogers, and then, tired out with her long night's journey and her
+whole day's shopping, she ate a heavy supper and went to bed. Such
+excesses never seemed to over-task her fine digestive organs or disturb
+her sleep. After an unbroken night's rest she awoke the next morning with
+a clear head and a keen appetite, and rang for the housekeeper to bring
+her a cup of tea to her bedside.</p>
+
+<p>While waiting for her tea she wondered if her &quot;guid mon&quot; would arrive
+during the next twenty-four hours.</p>
+
+<p>And that revived in her mind the memory of her supposed rival. During
+the preceding day she had been so absorbed in the contemplation of her
+newly-acquired treasures in jewelry and money that she had scarcely
+thought of what might then be going on at Castle Lone.</p>
+
+<p>Now she wondered what happened there; whether the marriage had failed to
+take place; but, of course, she said to herself, it had failed. Lord
+Arondelle would never commit bigamy&mdash;but <i>how</i> had it failed? What
+had been made to happen to prevent it from going on? And what had the
+bride and her friends said or thought?</p>
+
+<p>Above all, why had Lord Arondelle, married to herself as she fully
+believed him to be, <i>why</i> had Lord Arondelle allowed the affair
+to go so far, even to the wedding-morning, when the wedding-feast was
+prepared, and the wedding guests arrived?</p>
+
+<p>It must have been done to mortify and humiliate those city strangers who
+sat in his father's seat, she thought.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, but she would have given a great deal to have seen her hated rival's
+face on that wedding-morning when no wedding took place?</p>
+
+<p>No doubt &quot;John&quot; would tell her all about it when he arrived. And oh! How
+impatient she became for his arrival!</p>
+
+<p>Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper with
+a cup of tea in one hand and the <i>Times</i> in the other.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good morning, ma'am. And hoping you find yourself well this morning!
+Here is your tea, ma'am. And here is the paper, ma'am. There's the most
+hawful murder been committed, ma'am, which I thought you might enjoy
+along of your tea,&quot; said the worthy woman, as she drew a little stand by
+the bedside and placed the cup and the newspaper upon it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A murder?&quot; listlessly repeated Rose Cameron, rising on her elbow, and
+taking the tea-cup in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, ma'am, the most hawfullest murder as ever you 'eard of, on an'
+'elpless old gent, away up at a place in Scotland called Lone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Eh!</span>&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron, starting, and nearly letting fall
+her tea-cup.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, ma'am, and the most hawfullest part of it was, as it was done in
+the night afore his darter's wedding-day, and his blessed darter herself
+was the first to find her father's dead body in the morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gude guide us!&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron, putting down her untasted tea,
+and staring at the speaker in blank dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may read all about it in the paper, ma'am,&quot; said the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;When did it a' happen?&quot; huskily inquired the girl, whose face was now
+ashen pale.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;On the night before last, ma'am. The same night you were traveling up to
+London by the Great Northern. And bless us and save us, the poor bride
+must have found her poor pa's dead body just about the time you arrived
+at home here, ma'am, for the paper says it was ten o'clock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou! wae's me! wae's me! wae's me!&quot; cried Rose, covering her ashen-pale
+face with her hands and sinking back on her pillow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, indeed I'm sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am, if it gives
+you such a turn. I <i>did</i> hope it would amuse you while you sipped
+your tea. But la! there! some ladies do be <i>so</i> narvy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' that's the way the braw wedding was stappit!&quot; cried Rose, without
+even hearing the words of her attendant.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, ma'am,&quot; replied Mrs. Rogers, not understanding the allusion of the
+speaker, &quot;<i>that</i> was the way the wedding was stopped, in course. No
+wedding could go on after <i>that</i>, you know, ma'am, anyhow, let alone
+the bride falling into a fit the minute she saw the bloody corpse of her
+murdered father, and being of a raving manyyack ever since. Instead of a
+wedding and a feast there will be an inquest and a funeral.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Was&mdash;there&mdash;a&mdash;robbery?&quot; inquired Rose Cameron in a low, faint,
+frightened tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, ma'am, a great robbery of money and jewelry, and no clue yet to the
+vilyuns as did it! But won't you drink your tea, ma'am?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, na, I dinna need it now. Ou! this is awfu'! Wae worth the day!&quot;
+exclaimed the horror-stricken girl, shivering from head to foot as with
+an ague.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, I am very sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am. But I
+thought it would interest you. I didn't think it would shock you. But,
+indeed, if I were you, I wouldn't take on so about people I didn't know
+anything about. And you didn't know anything about <i>them</i>. You
+haven't even asked the names,&quot; urged the worthy woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, na, I did na ken onything anent them; but it is unco awfu'!&quot; said
+Rose, in hurried, tremulous tones.</p>
+
+<p>Not for all her hidden treasures would she have had it suspected that she
+even remotely knew anything about the murder or the man who was murdered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And yet you take on about them. Ah! your heart is too tender, ma'am. If
+you are going to take up everybody else's crosses as well as your own,
+you'll never get through this world, ma'am. Take an old woman's word
+for that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank'ee, Mrs. Rogers. Noo, please gae awa and leave me my lane. I'll
+ring for ye if I want ye,&quot; said Rose, nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, ma'am. I'll go and see after your breakfast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, onything at a'! The same as yestreen. Only gae awa!&quot; exclaimed the
+excited girl, too deeply moved now even to care what she should eat for
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>When the housekeeper had left her alone she gave way to the emotions of
+horror and fear which prudence had caused her to restrain in the presence
+of the woman. She wept, and sobbed, and cried out, and struck her hands
+together. She was, in truth, in an agony of terror.</p>
+
+<p>For now she understood the hidden meaning of her lover's words, when on
+the night of the murder he had said to her, under the balcony, &quot;Something
+will happen to-night that will put all thoughts of marrying and giving
+in marriage out of the heads of all concerned.&quot; And she comprehended also
+how the meaning of the fragmentary conversation she had overheard between
+her lover and his companion, as they approached her from the house: &quot;You
+have brought the curse of Cain upon me.&quot; &quot;It could not be helped.&quot; &quot;If
+the old man had not squealed out,&quot; and so forth.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison had been robbed and murdered, and she&mdash;Rose
+Cameron&mdash;had been accessory to the robbery and the murder! She had lain
+in wait under the balcony while the burglars went in and slaughtered the
+old banker, and emptied his money chest. She had received the booty, and
+carried it off, and brought it to London. She had it even then in her
+possession!</p>
+
+<p>She was liable to discovery, arrest, trial, conviction, execution.</p>
+
+<p>With a cry of intense horror she covered up her head under the bedclothes
+and shook as with a violent ague. She had suspected, and indeed, she had
+known by circumstance and inference, that the money and jewels contained
+in the bag she had brought from Castle Lone, had been taken from the
+house, but she had tried to ignore the fact that they had been stolen.
+But now the knowledge was forced upon her.</p>
+
+<p>She had been accessory both before and after the facts to the crime of
+robbery and murder, and she was subject to trial and execution. It all
+now seemed like a horrible nightmare, from which she tried in vain to
+wake.</p>
+
+<p>While she shivered and shook under the bedclothes, the housekeeper came
+up and opened the door and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Scott have come, ma'am. Will he come up?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, bid him come till me at ance!&quot; cried the agitated woman, without
+uncovering her head.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes passed and the door opened again and her lover entered the
+room still wearing his travelling wraps.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose, my lass, what ails you?&quot; he inquired, approaching the bed, and
+seeing her shaking under the bedclothes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's in a cauld sweat, I am, frae head to foot,&quot; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have got an ague! Your teeth are chattering!&quot; said Mr. Scott,
+stooping over her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Keep awa' frae me! Dinna come nigh me!&quot; she cried, cuddling down closer
+under the clothing. She had not yet uncovered her face or looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the meaning of all this, Rose?&quot; he inquired, in a tone of
+displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Speer that question to yoursel'! no' to me!&quot; she answered, shuddering.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look at me!&quot; said the man, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I canna look at you! I winna look at you! I hae ta'en an awfu' scunner
+till ye!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What have I done to you, you exasperating woman, that you should behave
+to me in this insolent manner?&quot; demanded the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What hae ye dune till me, is it? Ye hae hanggit me! nae less!&quot; cried the
+girl, with a shudder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Hanged</i> you? Whatever do you mean? Are ye crazy, girl?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, weel nigh!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But what do you mean by saying that I have hanged you? Come, I insist on
+knowing!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, then I just ken a' anent the murder up at Lone Castle! Ye hae drawn
+me in till a robbery and murder, without me kenning onything anent it
+until a' was ower, and me with the waefu' woodie before me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose, if I understand you, it seems that you think I was in some sort
+concerned in the death of Sir Lemuel Levison?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, that is just what I <i>be</i> thinking!&quot; said the shuddering girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then you do me a very foul and infamous injustice, Rose! Look at me! Do
+I look like an assassin? Look at me, I say!&quot; sternly insisted the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I canna luke at ye! I winna luke at ye! I hae lukit at ye ower muckle
+for my ain gude already!&quot; cried the girl, cowering under the clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See here, lass? I say that you are utterly wrong! I had no connection
+whatever with the death of the banker! I would not have hurt a hair of
+his gray head for all that he was worth! Come! I answer you seriously and
+kindly, although your grotesque and horrible suspicion deserves about
+equally to be laughed at or punished. Come, look into my face now and see
+whether I am not telling you the truth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And sae ye did na do the deed?&quot; she inquired at length, uncovering her
+head and showing a pale affrighted face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My poor lass, how terrified you have been! No, of course, I did not. But
+how came you to know anything about that horrible affair?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Rose took up the morning paper and put it in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! confound the press!&quot; muttered the man between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What did ye say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;These papers, with their ghastly accounts of murders, are nuisances,
+Rose!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay sae they be! But ye didna do the deed?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man made a gesture of impatience.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, then sin ye had na knowledge o' the deed until after it was done,
+what did ye mean by saying that something wad happen, wad pit a' thoughts
+o' marriage and gi'eing in marriage out the heads o' a' concerned?&mdash;when
+ye spak till me under the balcony that same night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I meant&mdash;I meant,&quot; said the man, hesitating, &quot;that I would let the
+preparations for the wedding go on to the very altar, and then before the
+altar I would reject the bride! I had heard something about her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! I thought ye did it a' for spite!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But Rose, I never thought you were such an utter coward as I have found
+you out to be to-day!&quot; said the man reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay' I can staund muckle; but I canna staund murder!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is not even certain that there has been any murder committed. The
+coroner's jury have not yet brought in their verdict. Many people think
+that the old man fell dead with a sudden attack of heart-disease, and in
+falling, struck his head upon the top of that bronze statuette, which was
+found lying by him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay! and that wad be likely eneuch! for na robber wou'd gae to kill a man
+wi' siccan a weepon as that,&quot; said Rose, who had begun to recover her
+composure.</p>
+
+<p>Then the man began to question her in his turn:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You brought the satchel safely?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I brought it safely.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lock the door and I'll get it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man locked the door. While his back was turned, Rose jumped out of
+bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. Then she put her hand in between the
+mattresses and drew out the bag.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have you examined its contents?&quot; inquired the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, I hanna opened it once,&quot; replied the girl, unhesitatingly telling a
+falsehood.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! then I have a surprise for you. Sir Lemuel Levison was my banker. He
+had my money, and also my jewels, in his charge. He delivered them to me
+last night a few minutes before I brought them out and gave them to you.
+You know I wished you to take them to London because&mdash;I meant to reject
+Miss Levison at the altar, and after that, of course, I could not return
+to the castle for anything. Don't you see?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I see! But stap! stap! Noo you mind me about the bag. When you
+brought out the bag that night, I heard you and a man talking. You said
+to the man, 'You hae brocht the curse o' Cain upon me.' Noo, an ye had
+naething to do wi' the murder, what did ye mean by that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man's face grew very dark. &quot;She cross-questions me,&quot; he muttered to
+himself. Then controlling his emotions, he affected to laugh, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How you do twist and turn things, Rose! One would think you were
+interested in convicting me. But I had rather think that you are a little
+cracked on this subject. I never used the words you think you heard. The
+servant had brought me the wrong walking-stick, one that was too short
+for me, and so I said, 'You have brought that cursed cane to me.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, <i>that</i> indeed!&quot; said the credulous girl, &quot;But what did
+<i>he</i> mean when he said, 'It could na be helpit. The auld man
+squealed?'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't know what he meant, nor do I know whether he used those words.
+Probably he did not; and you mistook him as you have mistaken me. But I
+am really tired of being so cross-questioned, Rose. Look me in the face,
+and tell me whether you really believe me to be guilty or not?&quot; he said,
+in his most frank and persuasive manner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, na, I canna believe ony ill o' ye, Johnnie Scott,&quot; replied the girl.</p>
+
+<p>And, in fact, the man had such magnetic power over her that he could make
+her believe anything that he wished.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now let us look into this satchel,&quot; he said, proceeding to open it.</p>
+
+<p>He took out the bags of money.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is one bag gone! fifty pounds gone!&quot; he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, that canna be, gin it was in the bag. I hanna opened it ance,&quot; said
+the girl, unhesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>The man paid no attention to her words, but took out the jewels and began
+to examine them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Confound it! The watch and chain are gone, and the solitaire diamond
+ring is gone, and&mdash;&quot; here the man broke out into a volley of curses
+forcible enough to right a ship in a storm, and said: &quot;The jewel
+snuff-box, worth ten times all the other jewels put together, is gone!
+How is this, Rose?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I dinna ken. How suld I ken? I took the bag frae your hands, and I put
+it back intil your hands, e'en just as I took it, without ever once
+seeing the inside o' it,&quot; boldly replied the girl.</p>
+
+<p>A volley of curses from the man followed, and then he inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Was the bag out of your possession at any time since you received it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, not ance.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then that infernal valet has taken the lion's share of the prog! I
+wish I had him by the throat!&quot; exclaimed the man, with a torrent of
+imprecations.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do ye mean by a' that?&quot; inquired Rose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I mean, that servant I believed in has robbed me, that is all,&quot; said the
+man.</p>
+
+<p>With her recovered spirits Rose had regained her appetite. She now rang
+the bell loudly.</p>
+
+<p>The housekeeper answered it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Is</i> breakfast ready?&quot; inquired the hungry creature.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, madam; and I will put in on the table just as soon as you are ready
+for it,&quot; answered the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Put it on now, then,&quot; replied the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The housekeeper left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Rose made a hasty toilet while her husband was washing the railway dust
+from his face and head.</p>
+
+<p>And then both went into the adjoining parlor, where the morning meal was
+by this time laid.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast the man went out.</p>
+
+<p>The woman remained in the house. She was in a very unenviable state of
+mind. She was not yet quite easy on the subject of the murder at Lone
+Castle. For although her husband and herself might have no connection
+with the crime, still they had undoubtedly been lurking secretly about
+the house on the very night of its perpetration, and therefore might get
+into great trouble. And, besides, she was frightened at having secreted
+the costly watch and chain, snuff-box, and other jewels, from her Scott,
+and then told him a falsehood about them. What if he should find her out
+in her dishonesty and duplicity?</p>
+
+<p>She did not dream of giving up her stolen property. She would risk all
+for the possession of that precious golden box, whose brilliant colors
+and blazing jewels fascinated her very soul; but where could she securely
+hide it from her husband's search? At that moment it was with the watch
+and the diamond ring under the bolster of her bed. But there it was in
+danger of being discovered, should a search be made.</p>
+
+<p>She went into her bedroom and looked about for a hiding-place.</p>
+
+<p>At length she found one which she thought would be secure.</p>
+
+<p>The gilt cornice at the top of her bedroom window was hollow. She climbed
+up on top of her dressing bureau, and reaching as far as she could she
+pushed first the snuff-box, (which also contained the diamond ring,)
+and then the watch and chain, far into the hollow part of the cornice,
+over the window.</p>
+
+<p>There she thought they would be perfectly safe.</p>
+
+<p>The next few days passed without anything occurring to disturb the peace
+of this misguided peasant girl.</p>
+
+<p>Every morning the man who called himself Lord Arondelle, but who was
+known at the house he occupied only as Mr. Scott, and who professed to be
+the husband of the young woman&mdash;went out in the morning and remained
+absent until evening.</p>
+
+<p>Every day the girl, known to her servants as Mrs. Scott, spent in
+dressing, going out riding in a cab, and freely spending the money that
+her husband lavished upon her, and in gormandizing in a manner that must
+have destroyed the digestive organs of any animal less sound and strong
+than this &quot;handsome hizzie&quot; from the Highlands.</p>
+
+<p>On the Monday of the week following the tragedy at Castle Lone, however,
+Mr. Scott came home in the evening in a state of agitation and alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is that satchel with the money?&quot; he inquired as he entered the
+bedroom of his wife.</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him in astonishment, but his looks so frightened her that
+she hastened to produce the bag.</p>
+
+<p>He took from it a little bag of gold marked &pound;500, and threw it in her
+lap, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There, take that!&quot; And before she could utter a word, he hurried out of
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>She ran down stairs after him, calling:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;John! John! what ails you? What hae fashed ye sae muckle?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But he banged the hall door and was gone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's unco queer!&quot; said Rose, as she retraced her steps, up stairs,
+feeling a vague anxiety creeping upon her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He'll be back sune. He has na gane a journey, for he has na ta'en e'en
+sa mickle as a change o' linnen, or a second collar,&quot; she said, as she
+regained her room, and sank down breathless into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>The bag of gold he had left her next attracted her attention. &pound;500&mdash;ten
+times as much as she had ever possessed in her life. The contemplation of
+this fortune drove all speculations about the movements of &quot;John&quot; out of
+her head. &quot;John&quot; was always queer and uncertain, and <i>would</i> go off
+suddenly sometimes and be gone for days.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I winna fash mysel' anent him! He may tak' his ain gait, and I'll tak'
+mine!&quot; she said to herself, as she resolved to go out the very next day
+and buy what her heart had long been set upon&mdash;a cashmere shawl!</p>
+
+<p>The next morning's papers however contained news from Lone, which, had
+Rose taken the trouble to look at them, must have thrown some light upon
+the sudden departure of Mr. Scott.</p>
+
+<p>They contained this telegraphic item, copied from the evening papers:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;The coroner's inquest that has been sitting at Lone, returned last night
+a verdict of murder against Peters, the valet of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison, and against some person or persons unknown. The valet has been
+arrested and committed to gaol to await the action of the grand jury. It
+is said that he is very much depressed in spirits, and it is supposed
+that he will make a full confession, and save himself from the extreme
+penalty of the law by giving up the names of his confederates in the
+crime, and turning Queen's evidence against them.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>Rose did not read the papers at all. They did not interest that fine
+animal.</p>
+
+<p>She went shopping that day, and bought a blazing scarlet cashmere shawl.
+Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she was not troubled. She
+had a roast pheasant, champagne, and candied fruits for supper, and
+she was happy.</p>
+
+<p>She went shopping the next day, and bought a flashing set of jewels.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she had another luxurious
+supper, and was still happy. In this way a week passed, and still Mr.
+Scott did not come back. But Rose shopped and gormandized and enjoyed
+her healthy animal life.</p>
+
+<p>Then she felt tempted to wear her gold watch and chain when she dressed
+to go abroad. So one morning she put it on, and went out. She had not the
+slightest suspicion of the danger to which she exposed herself by wearing
+it. She was not afraid of any one finding it in her possession, except
+her husband. So she wore it proudly day after day.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, about ten days after the departure of &quot;Mr. Scott,&quot; the
+postman left a letter for her. It was a drop-letter. She opened it and
+read.</p>
+
+<p>It was without date or signature, and merely contained these lines:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;Business detains me from you longer than I had expected to stay. Do not
+be anxious. I will return or send very soon.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>Rose was not anxious. She was enjoying herself. Now after shopping and
+eating and drinking all day, she went to the theatre at night. The
+theatre&mdash;one of the humblest in the city&mdash;was a new sensation to her,
+and her first visit to one was so delightful that she resolved to repeat
+it every evening.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shanna fash mysel' anent Johnnie ony mair. He'll come hame when he
+gets ready,&quot; she said in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>But weeks grew into months, and &quot;Johnnie&quot; did not come home.</p>
+
+<p>Rose's five hundred pounds had sunk down to fifty pounds, and then indeed
+she did begin to grow impatient for the return of her husband. Suppose
+the money should give out before he came back?</p>
+
+<p>One day, while she was disturbing herself by these questions, she went
+out shopping as usual. When she had made her purchases she looked at her
+watch, and found that it had stopped. She was too ignorant to know what
+was the matter with it. She only knew that when she wound it up it would
+not go.</p>
+
+<p>So she asked the dealer from whom she had bought her goods to direct her
+to a watchmaker.</p>
+
+<p>The dealer gave her the address of a jeweller not far off.</p>
+
+<p>She took her watch to &quot;Messrs. North and Simms, Watchmakers and
+Jewellers,&quot; and asked an elderly man behind the counter, who happened to
+be one of the firm, if he could make her watch &quot;gae&quot; while she waited for
+it in the shop. And she detached it from its chain and handed it to him.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. North received the rich, diamond-studded, gold repeater, and
+looked at the tawdry, ignorant, vain creature that presented it, with
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Then he examined the initials set in diamonds, and a change came over
+his face. He went to his desk, taking the watch with him. He drew out a
+small drawer, took from it a photograph, and compared it with the watch
+in his hand. Then he placed both together in the drawer and locked it and
+beckoned a young man from the opposite counter, scribbled a few words on
+a card and sent him out with it.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, who had watched all these movements without the least suspicion of
+their meaning, now moved toward the jeweller and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel then, hae ye lookit at my watch and can ye na mak it ga?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The spring is broken, Miss, and it will take a little time to repair it.
+You can leave it with me, if you please,&quot; replied Mr. North.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, then, and I'm nae sic a fule! I'll na leave it with you at a'.
+If you canna mak it gae just gie it till me,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p>Now Mr. North did not wish his customer to leave his shop yet a while.
+The truth was that photographs of the late Sir Lemuel Levison's watch and
+snuff-box, in the possession of his legal steward, had been copied and
+the copies distributed by London directory to every jeweller in the city,
+as a means of discovering the stolen property, and finally detecting the
+criminals.</p>
+
+<p>Messrs. North and Simms had received a copy of each.</p>
+
+<p>And when Rose presented the rich watch to be repaired, Mr. North had at
+first suspected and then identified the article as the missing watch of
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison. And he had locked it in the drawer with the
+photographs, and dispatched a messenger to the nearest police station for
+an officer.</p>
+
+<p>His object now was to detain Rose Cameron until the arrival of that
+officer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you look at something in my line this morning, Miss?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na. Gi'e me my watch, and I will gae my ways home,&quot; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have a set of diamonds here that once belonged to the Empress
+Josephine. They are very magnificent. Would you not like to see them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, ay! an empress's diamonds? ay, indeed I wad!&quot; cried the poor fool,
+vivaciously.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. North drew from his glass case a casket containing a fine set of
+brilliants, which probably the Empress Josephine had never even heard of,
+and displayed it before the wondering eyes of the Highland lass.</p>
+
+<p>While she was gazing in rapt admiration upon the blazing jewels, the
+messenger returned, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Excuse me, Miss, I wish to speak to a customer,&quot; said the jeweller, as
+he met the officer and silently took him up to the farther end of the
+shop to his desk, opened a little drawer and showed him the watch and the
+photographs.</p>
+
+<p>Then they conferred together for a short time. The jeweller told the
+policeman how the watch had fallen into his hands; but that the pretended
+owner, finding that he could not repair it while she waited, had refused
+to leave it, and insisted on taking it home with her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give it to her. Let her take it home. She can then be followed and her
+residence ascertained. I think, without doubt, that we have now got a
+certain clue to the perpetrators of the robbery and murder at Castle
+Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SCOTT.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Will ye gie me my watch or no?&quot; exclaimed Rose, growing impatient of
+the whispered colloquy between the jeweller and the policeman in plain
+clothes, although she was quite unsuspicious of its subject.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here it is, madam,&quot; said the jeweller, with the utmost politeness, as he
+came and placed the watch in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>She attached it to her chain and then left the shop.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman sauntered carelessly toward the door and kept his eye
+covertly upon her.</p>
+
+<p>She got into a four-wheeled cab and drove off.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman hailed a &quot;Hansom,&quot; sprang into it, and directed the driver
+to keep the first cab in sight and follow it to its destination.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, as it was now late in the afternoon, and she was longing for her
+turbot, green-turtle soup, and roast pheasants and champagne, drove
+directly home.</p>
+
+<p>Her housekeeper met her at the door with good news.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A letter from the master, ma'am. The postman brought it soon after you
+left home,&quot; she said, putting another &quot;drop&quot; letter in the hand of her
+mistress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is dinner ready?&quot; inquired Rose, who was more interested in her meals
+than in her lover.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just ready, ma'am,&quot; replied the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Put it on the table directly, then,&quot; said Rose, as she ran up stairs to
+her own room.</p>
+
+<p>She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter to read it, at her
+ease.</p>
+
+<p>It was without date and very short. It only informed her that the writer
+was still detained by &quot;circumstances beyond his control,&quot; and enjoined
+her to wait patiently in her house on Westminster Road, until she should
+see him.</p>
+
+<p>It was also without signature.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And there's nae money in it. I dinna ken why he should write to me at
+a', if he will send me nae money,&quot; was the angry comment of Rose, as she
+impatiently threw the letter into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Her &quot;improved&quot; circumstances had not taught the peasant girl any
+refinement of manners. She did not think it at all necessary to change
+her dress, or even to wash her face after her dusty drive. But when
+dinner was announced, she went to the table as she had come into the
+house. And she enjoyed her dinner as only a young person with a perfectly
+healthful and intensely sensual organization could. She lingered long
+over her dessert of candied fruits, creams, jellies, and light wines.
+And when the housekeeper came in at length with the strong black coffee,
+she made the woman sit down and gossip with her about London life.</p>
+
+<p>While they were so employed, &quot;the boy in buttons,&quot; whose duty it was to
+attend the street door and answer the bell, entered the room and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A gemman down stairs axing to see the missus. I told 'im 'er was at
+dinner, and mussent be disturbed at meals, which 'e hanswered, and said
+as 'is business were most himportant, and 'e must see you whether or no,
+ma'am, which I beg yer parding for 'sturbing yer agin horders.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It will be a mon frae Johnnie Scott. He'll be fetching me a message or
+some money. Gae tell him to come in,&quot; said Rose, in hopeful excitement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Must I bring the gemman up here, missus?&quot; inquired Buttons.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, ye fule! Where else? Wad ye ask the gentlemon intil the kitchen? And
+we had na that money rooms to choose fra!&quot; said Rose, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>And indeed, in that great empty old house, she had but three to her own
+use&mdash;the tawdry scarlet parlor, which was also her dining room; the
+equally tawdry scarlet chamber; and the dressing-room behind it.</p>
+
+<p>The boy vanished and soon reappeared, ushering in the policeman in plain
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will be coming frae Mr. Scott, wi' a message?&quot; said Rose, without
+rising to receive him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, mum; haven't the pleasure of that gent's acquaintance, though I
+would like to enjoy it. I come to <i>Mrs.</i> Scott, however, and on
+particular unpleasant business. What is your full name, mum?&quot; gruffly
+inquired the policeman, approaching her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And what will my name be to you, ye rude mon? And wha ga'ed ye
+commission to force yersel, on my company at my dinner?&quot; indignantly
+inquired Rose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My commission, as you call it, mum, lies in this warrant, which
+authorizes me to make a thorough search of these premises for property
+stolen from Lone Castle on the night of the first of June last.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As the policeman spoke, Rose stared at him with eyes that grew larger,
+and a face that grew whiter every minute. And as she stared, she suddenly
+recognized the visitor as the man she had seen in the jeweller's shop,
+talking with the proprietor while the latter was pretending to be
+examining the watch she had put in his hand for repairs.</p>
+
+<p>And now the whole truth burst upon her. The watch had been recognized by
+the jeweller, who perhaps had seen it in Sir Lemuel Levison's possession,
+or perhaps had had it in his own for cleaning, and he had sent for this
+policeman in plain clothes, who had followed her home, &quot;spotted&quot; the
+house, and then taken out a search-warrant. Fright and rage possessed her
+soul. And oh! in the midst of all, how she cursed her own folly in
+secreting those dangerous jewels in the house, and her madness in wearing
+the watch abroad.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope you will submit quietly to the necessary search, mum. It will be
+the better for you,&quot; said the officer.</p>
+
+<p>Then rage got the better of fright in Rose Cameron's distracted bosom.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll tear your e'en out, first, ye&mdash;&quot; here followed a volley of
+expletives not fit to be reported here&mdash;&quot;before ye s' all bring me to sic
+an open shame! Search my house, will ye? Ye daur!&quot; and here the handsome
+Amazon struck an attitude of resistance.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman went to the front window, threw it up, and beckoned to some
+persons below.</p>
+
+<p>In two minutes, the sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, the
+door was opened, and a couple of officers entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron gazed at them in terror and defiance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. Scott, you are my prisoner. We arrest you on the charge of
+complicity in the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, and the robbery of Castle
+Lone!&quot; said the first policeman, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tak' yer claws affen me, ye de'il!&quot; exclaimed Rose, springing from under
+his hand, and then shrinking, shuddering, into the nearest chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perkins, look after this woman, while I direct the search of the house.
+You come with me, Thompson. We will go through this room now,&quot; said the
+first policeman, putting his hand on the lock of the chamber door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye sell na gae into my bedroom, ye de'il! It is na decent for a strange
+mon to gae into a leddy's chamber!&quot; cried Rose, springing before him to
+bar his entrance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind her, Mr. Pryor; I'll take care of her,&quot; said the man called
+Perkins, as with a firm hand he laid hold of his prisoner, and forced
+her, screaming, scratching, and resisting with all her might from the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Excuse me, my girl, but this is a murder case, and we must not stand
+upon politeness to the fair sex; here,&quot; added Perkins, as he forced her
+down upon her chair and held her there so firmly that all she could do
+was to spit, glare, and rail at him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my dear, good lady, do be quiet. You are in the hands of the law,
+which I believe you to be as innersent as the dove unborn; but it will be
+the best for you to submit quietly,&quot; said the housekeeper, who had
+hitherto sat in appalled silence, taking note of the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will na submit to ony sic indignity,&quot; screamed Rose, with an
+additional torrent of very objectionable language.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime officers Pryor and Thompson passed into the bedroom and began
+the search. Bureau and bureau drawers, wardrobes, boxes, caskets, cases,
+were opened, ransacked, and their contents turned out, but no sign of
+the stolen property was discovered. Closets, wash-stands, and chair
+cushions next underwent a thorough examination, with a similar result.
+Then the bed was pulled to pieces, and the mattresses were closely
+scrutinized, to detect any sign of a recent ripping and re-sewing of any
+part of the seams through which the stolen jewels might have been pushed
+in among the stuffing, but evidently the mattresses had not been tampered
+with.</p>
+
+<p>Then the two officers of the law stopped and looked at each other.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Before proceeding further in our search, we must be sure as the stolen
+goods are not in this room,&quot; said Pryor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't know where they can be concealed in this room,&quot; said Thompson.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We must apply our infallible square inch rule, now. Take the inside of
+this room from floor to ceiling, and search in succession <i>every square
+inch of it</i>. No matter whether the part under review seems a likely or
+an unlikely, or even a possible or an impossible place of concealment,
+search it whether or no. Stolen goods are often found in impossible
+places, or in what seems to be such,&quot; said Pryor.</p>
+
+<p>The search was re-commenced on the new principle, and following the
+square inch system into an impossible place, they at last came upon the
+stolen treasure, hidden in the hollow of the cornice at the top of the
+scarlet window curtains, near the bedstead.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here we are! all right! The jewel snuff box, and the solitaire
+diamond ring. The watch and chain will be found upon her person. This
+will be sufficient for to-day. We must close and seal these rooms, and
+place a couple of men on guard here before we take the girl to the
+station-house,&quot; said Pryor, as he carefully bestowed the recovered
+jewels in the deep breast-pocket of his coat.</p>
+
+<p>The two officers returned to the parlor, where they found Perkins sitting
+by the prisoner, who was now pallid and quiet, merely because she had
+raged herself into a state of exhaustion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go and fetch a close cab, Thompson. And you, good woman, fetch your
+missus' hat and wraps, and whatever else you may think she will need to
+go to the Police Station-House, and spend the night there. I will also
+trouble you for that watch and chain, my dear,&quot; said Pryor, turning
+lastly to his prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will na gie my bonny watch! And I will na gae to your filthy
+station-house, ye&mdash;!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Whew! Inspector Pryor was used to storms of abuse from female prisoners,
+and could stand them well on most occasions; but now he turned as from a
+shower of fire, and walked rapidly to the window, while Perkins forcibly
+took from her the watch and chain, and put them for the present into his
+own pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Thompson came in to announce the cab, and the housekeeper entered
+with her mistress's hat and shawl, and a small bundle tied up in a
+handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>But Rose stormed and wept, and utterly refused either to put on the hat
+and shawl, or to enter the cab. Nor could any amount of pursuasion or
+threats move her obstinacy until she found that the officers of the law
+were about to take her by force, and without her proper out-door dress.</p>
+
+<p>Then, indeed, she yielded to the coaxing of her housekeeper, and allowed
+the old woman to prepare her for her compulsory drive.</p>
+
+<p>When she was ready, Inspector Pryor would have escorted her down stairs,
+but she shook off his hand with angry scorn, and with an expletive that
+made even his case-hardened ears burn and tingle again.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If I maun gae, I will gae; but I willna hae your filthy hand on me, ye
+beastly de'il!&quot; she added, as she reached the cab. She paused an instant,
+with her foot upon the step, and looked up and down the street, as if
+she contemplated for a moment a flight for liberty and life; but probably
+she did not like the prospect of the hue and cry, the pursuit and
+recapture sure to ensue, for the next instant she stepped into the cab.</p>
+
+<p>That night Rose Cameron passed in the Police Station-House of the
+Westminster precinct. She had slept in much less comfortable, if more
+respectable quarters, when she lived in the Highland hut at the foot of
+Ben Lone.</p>
+
+<p>The officers who had her in charge overlooked all her viciousness in
+consideration of her youth and beauty, and afforded her every indulgence
+which their own duty and her safe-keeping permitted. They gave her a cell
+and a clean cot to herself; and one of them, to whom she gave a
+sovereign, went out at her orders and bought for her a luxurious and
+abundant supper.</p>
+
+<p>And Rose&mdash;a perfect animal, as I beg leave to remind you&mdash;ate heartily
+and slept soundly, notwithstanding her perils and terrors.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Rose Cameron was taken before the sitting magistrate of
+the Police Court at Vincent Square.</p>
+
+<p>The two witnesses from Lone, McNeil, the saddler, who had seen her
+lurking under the window of the castle at midnight on the night of the
+murder; and Ferguson, the railway clerk, who had sold her the ticket for
+the twelve-fifteen express to London, had been summoned by telegraph on
+the day before, had come up by the night train, and were now in court
+ready to identify the prisoner. Sir Lemuel Levison's house-steward, also
+summoned by telegraph, was there to identify the stolen jewels which were
+produced in court. The examination was brief and conclusive. McNeil and
+Ferguson swore to the woman as being Rose Cameron, and also as being the
+very woman they had each seen on the night of the murder, under the
+suspicious circumstances already mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>And McRath swore to the watch and chain, the jewelled snuff-box, and the
+solitaire diamond ring as the property of his deceased master, worn upon
+his person on the same night of the murder.</p>
+
+<p>The three policemen swore to finding the stolen property in the
+possession of the prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron was incapable of inventing a plausible defence.</p>
+
+<p>When asked how this property came into her possession, she said she had
+picked up the watch and chain found upon her person, on the sidewalk, on
+Westminster Road, where she supposed the owner must have dropped it, and
+as she did not know who the owner might be, she had kept it, to her
+sorrow. But as for the gold snuff-box and the solitaire diamond ring, she
+did not know anything about them; she had never seen them in her life,
+until they were drawn out of the hollow cornice by Inspector Pryor, and
+where they must have been hidden by somebody else.</p>
+
+<p>This explanation was not received. And before the morning was over, Rose
+Cameron was remanded to her cell in the police station-house to wait
+until she could be taken back to Scotland for trial.</p>
+
+<p>When she reached her cell, she gave herself up to a passion of hysterical
+weeping and sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>She was interrupted by a visit from her friendly housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My poor, dear, injured lady, I was here early this morning to see you,
+but could not get in,&quot; said the woman, after the first exciting greetings
+were over.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sit ye down. Dinna staund, and tire yersel',&quot; said the poor creature,
+glad to see any familiar face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my good young lady, you were always very kind to me. And I never can
+believe as you've had anything to do with what you are accused of,&quot; said
+the good woman, weeping.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And sae I hadna. I dinna ken onything anent it. As for yon braw boxie, I
+ne'er set een on it, na, nor the fine ring, till the policeman pu'ed it
+doon frae the tap o' the window curtain. And the fine watch, they fund on
+me, and said belongit to Sir Lemuel Levison; that watch waur gied to me
+by a gude freend,&quot; said Rose, wiping the great tears from her stormy
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will believe it, my good young lady. I can very well believe it. I see
+how you have been imposed upon by bad people; but do you keep a stiff
+upper lip, madam, and don't be in no ways cast down, and your innercence
+will come like pure gold from the furniss, as the saying is. And now, my
+dear young lady, I have some news for you, as will help to divert your
+mind from your troubles, I hope,&quot; said the well-meaning woman,
+soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is it about Johnnie Scott? Is it about my gude mon?&quot; eagerly inquired
+Rose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, my dear young lady, it is not about him. You remember the marriage
+that was broken off, for the time between the young Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! broken off by the murder of the bride's feyther, the nicht before
+the wedding day&mdash;the murder o' Sir Lemuel Levison, wi' whilk I now staund
+accusit. Ou, aye, I mind it! I am na likely to forget it!&quot; sharply
+answered Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my dear young lady, the marriage is on again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Eh</i>!&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron, springing up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my dear young lady. You know I always take time to look over the
+morning papers that are left at the house for you, and this morning I
+read that a grand marriage would take place at St. George's, Hanover
+Square, between the young Duke of Hereward&mdash;he who was Marquis of
+Arondelle before his father's death&mdash;and the heiress of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison. And how, after the ceremony, there would be a breakfast
+at the bride's house, and then how the happy pair would set out for their
+wedding tower.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>While the well-meaning housekeeper was speaking, Rose Cameron was staring
+at her in dumb amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I brought the paper in my pocket, ma'am, thinking, under all the
+circumstances, it would interest you and help to make you forget your
+own troubles. Would you like to read it for yourself?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! gie me the paper,&quot; cried Rose, snatching it from the housekeeper
+before the latter could hand it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where's the place? Where's the place?&quot; cried the impatient young woman,
+wildly turning the pages.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here it is ma'am. At the top of the '<span class="smcaps">Fashionable News</span>,'&quot; said
+the landlady, pointing out the item.</p>
+
+<p>Rose pounced upon it, and read aloud:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;The marriage of His Grace, the Duke of Hereward, with Miss Levison, only
+daughter and heiress of the late Sir Lemuel Levison, will be celebrated
+at twelve, noon, to-day, at St. George's, Hanover Square. After the
+ceremony the noble party will adjourn to Elmhurst House, Westbourne
+Terrace, the home of the bride, to partake of the wedding breakfast,
+after which the happy pair will leave town by the tidal train for Dover,
+<i>en route</i> for their continental tour.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron threw down the paper and sprang to her feet with the bound
+of a tigress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, the villain! Oh, the shamfu', fause, leeing villain! This wad be the
+important business that kept him awa' frae me! This wad be the reason why
+he got me lockit up in prison here&mdash;for I ken weel that he pit the dogs
+o' the law on my track noo, if I dinna ken before&mdash;to keep me fra getting
+out to ban his marriage noo, as I wad ha banned it then hadna something
+else dune it for me. But it isna too late yet! I'll ban his wedding
+travels, gin I couldna ban his wedding! I'll bring him down to disgrace
+and shame afore a' his graund wedding guests&mdash;the fause-hearted, leeing,
+shamefu' villain! I will pu' him down frae his grandeur yet, gin ye will
+only help me!&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron, pouring out this torrent of words,
+as she strode up and down the narrow floor of her cell with the stride of
+an enraged lioness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear, good young lady, I don't know, the least in the world, why you
+should get so excited over the young duke's marriage,&quot; said the
+housekeeper, gazing in amazement and terror upon the face of the
+infuriated young creature.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why suld I get excited o'er it, indeed?&quot; exclaimed Rose, stopping
+suddenly in her furious stride, and confronting her unoffending visitor
+with a scowl of rage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come now; come now;&quot; murmured the woman, soothingly, for she began to
+fear that she was in the presence, and in the power, of a lunatic.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dinna yo ken then, ye auld fule, that the Dooke o' Hareward is my ain
+gude mon?&quot; imperiously demanded Rose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, her poor head! Her poor head is going, and no wonder, poor lass!&quot;
+murmured the old woman, compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But how suld ye ken?&quot; cried Rose, scornfully throwing herself down into
+her seat again. &quot;He ca'ed himsel' Mr. John Scott. Mr. John Scott! And
+mysel' Mrs. John Scott. And sae ye kenned us, and nae itherwise.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Poor girl! Poor girl!&quot; murmured the housekeeper. &quot;She's far gone! Far
+gone! Poor girl!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Puir girl, is it? It will be puir dooke before a' is ended! I'll hae him
+hanggit for trigomy, or what e'er ye ca' the marryin' o' twa wives at
+ance. Twa wives! Ou! I'll nae staund it! I'll nae staund it!&quot; cried Rose,
+suddenly bounding to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come now! Come now! my dear, good young lady,&quot; said the housekeeper,
+coaxingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye'll nae believe it! Ye'll nae believe he's my ain gude mon wha has
+marrit the heiress the morn? Look here, then! And look here! And look
+here!&quot; continued the girl, impetuously, as she took a small morocco
+letter-case from her bosom and opened it, and took out one after
+another&mdash;a parchment, a letter, and a photograph.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, dear, I'll look at anything you like,&quot; said the housekeeper, with
+a sigh, for she thought she was only humoring a lunatic.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here's my marritge lines. And I was marrit here, in Lunnun town,
+at a kirk ye ca' St. Margaret's, by a minister ca'ed Smith. It's a'
+doon here in the lines. Look for yoursel'. Ye can read. See! Here will
+be my name, Rose Cameron. And here will be my gudeman's&mdash;de'il ha'e
+him!&mdash;Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis of Arondelle. And here will
+be the minister's name at the fut&mdash;James Smith; and the witnesses&mdash;John
+Jones, clerk, and Ann Gray, (she waur an auld body in a black bonnet and
+shawl). Noo! is that a' richt and lawfu'?&quot; demanded Rose, triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, ma'am, it looks so!&quot; said the perplexed housekeeper. And
+these indiscreet words burst from her lips, almost without her own
+volition&mdash;&quot;But the idea of the young Marquis of Arondelle marrying of
+you in downright earnest is beyond belief! It is, indeed!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And what for nae?&quot; cried Rose, angrily. &quot;What for nae, wad he nae marry
+me, if he lo'ed me? He wad na hae me without marritge ye suld ken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No offence, my dear young madam. None at all. I was only astonished,
+that's all,&quot; said the housekeeper, deprecatingly, though she wondered and
+doubted whether all she heard and saw was truth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And, here! See here! Here is a letter I got frae him sune after the
+wedding. Ye ken the Dooke o' Harewood was Markiss o' Arondelle time when
+he married me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, so it seems,&quot; said the housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel then, see here. This letter begins&mdash;'<i>My ain dear Wifie</i>,' ye
+mind?&mdash;'<i>My ain dear Wifie</i>'&mdash;and gaes on wi' a lot o' luve, and a'
+that, whilk I need na read, till ye. And it ends, look here&mdash;'<i>Your
+devoted husband</i>&mdash;<span class="smcaps">Arondelle</span>.' There! what do ye think o'
+that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm so astonished, ma'am, I don't know what to think.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But ye ken weel noo, that my gude mon wha ca'ed himsel' John Scott, was
+the Markiss o' Arondelle, and is noo the Dooke of Harewood?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, ma'am, I know that!&mdash;that is, if I'm awake and not dreaming,&quot; added
+the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And ye ken weel that the Dooke of Harewood hae get me lappet up here in
+prison sae I canna get out to prevent him ha'eing his wicked will, in
+marrying the heiress o' Lone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know that, too, ma'am&mdash;that is, if I'm not dreaming, as I said
+before,&quot; answered the bewildered old woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, noo, I canna get out to forestal this graund wickedness. The
+shamefu' villain took gude care to prevent that, but I can circumvent
+him, for a' that, gin ye will help me, Mrs. Brown. Will ye?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may be sure o' that, my poor young lady; for if things be as they
+seem, you have suffered much wrong,&quot; earnestly answered the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, then, tak' my marritge lines, my letter, and this likeness o' my
+laird&mdash;and may the black de'il burn him in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my dear child, don't say that. It is dreadful. Tell me what I am to
+do with these papers and this picture.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;First of a', ye'll be very carefu' o' 'em, and be sure to bring them
+back safe to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, surely, my dear; but what am I to do with them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye'll get a cab, and tak' the papers and the picture to the bride's
+house, and ask to see the bride alone, on a matter o' life and death. And
+ye maun tak' nae denial. Ye maun see her, and tell her anent mysel' here,
+betrayed into prison sae I canna come to warn her. And show her my
+marritge lines, and my letter, and my laird's pictur'&mdash;the foul fien' fly
+awa' wi' him!&mdash;and tell her, gin she dinna believe them, to gae to the
+auld kirk o' St. Margaret's, Wes'minster, and look at the register, and
+see the minister, Mr. Smith, and the clerk, Mr. Jones, and the auld
+bodie, Mrs. Gray, and she'll find out anent it! Will ye do this for me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I will, my dear child.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here is a half-sovereign then to pay for the cab hire. And, oh! be sure
+ye tak' unco gude care o' my papers! They's a' my fortun', ye ken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, indeed, I know how important they are to you, and I will bring them
+back safe,&quot; said the housekeeper, as she put the marriage certificate,
+the letter, the portrait, and the money in her pocket, and arose to leave
+the cell.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And noo, we'll see, an' I dinna bring ye to open shame, ye graund
+de'il!&quot; exclaimed Rose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't blame your anger, my poor dear, but don't use bad words. And now
+I am off. Good-day to you until I see you again,&quot; said the woman, as she
+left the cell.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Brown was a good woman, but she did delight in hearing and retailing
+gossip, and in making and seeing a sensation; so she rather enjoyed her
+errand to Westbourne Terrace. She was also a brave woman, so she did not
+shrink from meeting the high-born bridegroom and the bride with her
+overwhelming revelations.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SECOND BRIDAL MORN.</h3>
+
+
+<p>We must return to Elmhurst House and take up the thread of Salome's
+destiny, where we left it on the morning on which the young Duke of
+Hereward had called on Lady Belgrade and informed her ladyship of the
+arrest of the mysterious, vailed passenger, and implored her to keep all
+the papers announcing that arrest, or in any manner referring to the
+tragedy at Castle Lone, from the sight of the bereaved daughter and
+betrothed bride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And so the mysterious vailed woman had been discovered, and she turns
+out to be Rose Cameron!&quot; repeated Lady Belgrade, reflectively. Then,
+after a pause, she said: &quot;I wonder who was her confederate in that
+atrocious crime&mdash;or, rather, who was her master in it? for she is too
+weak and simple to have been anything but a blind tool, poor creature!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You knew her, then?&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Only by report while I was staying at Castle Lone. But the report came
+from the tenantry, who had known her from childhood&mdash;a handsome,
+ignorant, vain and credulous fool of a peasant girl, more likely to
+become the victim of some godless man, than the confederate of murderers.
+Did <i>you</i> know her, duke?&quot; meaningly inquired the lady, as she
+remembered the reports in circulation at Castle Lone, that connected the
+name of the handsome shepherdess with that of the young nobleman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I never saw the girl in my life. I have heard her beauty highly
+praised by some of the late companions of my hunting expeditions at Ben
+Lone; but I had no opportunity of judging for myself; and, moreover,
+I always discouraged such conversation among my comrades. But there, that
+is quite enough of the unhappy girl. I mentioned her arrest not as a most
+important fact only, but in order to warn you not to let our dear Salome
+get a sight of the daily papers, until you have looked over them, and
+assured yourself that they contain no reference to this arrest.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see the wisdom of your warning, and I will endeavor to be guided by
+it; but it may be difficult to do so. My very sequestration of the papers
+may excite Salome's suspicions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then lose them; tear them; but do not let her see any part of them which
+may contain any reference to this girl. I thank Heaven that to-morrow I
+shall be able to take her out of the country and guard her peace and
+safety with my own head and hand. I shall take care also to keep her away
+until the trial and conviction of the criminals shall be over and done
+with, so that she may not be in any way harassed or distressed by the
+proceedings.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, that will be very wise. If she were in England or Scotland during
+the time of the trial, she might be subpoenaed as a witness for the
+prosecution. She was the first, poor child, to discover the dead body of
+her father, you know,&quot; said Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not forget that circumstance, or what distress it may yet cause
+her,&quot; replied the young duke.</p>
+
+<p>And very soon after he took leave and went away.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade's task in keeping the day's papers from the sight of Salome
+Levison was easier than she had anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, deeply interested and absorbed in the final preparations for her
+marriage, did not even think of the newspapers, much less ask for them.</p>
+
+<p>The bridal day dawned, once more, for the heiress of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, with her attendant, was up early. The young girl, since her
+departure from Lone Castle, the scene of her father's murder, and her
+arrival at Elmhurst House, and occupations with her wedding preparations,
+had wonderfully recovered her health and spirits.</p>
+
+<p>Yet on this, her bridal day, she arose with a heavy heart. A vague dread
+of impending evil weighed upon her spirits.</p>
+
+<p>This occasion might well have brought back vividly cruelly to her memory,
+that fatal bridal morn when, going to invoke her father's presence and
+blessing on her marriage, she found him lying stiff and stark in the
+crimson pool of his own curdled blood. She had no father here on earth,
+now, to give her to the man she loved, and to bless her union with him.</p>
+
+<p>That, in itself might have been enough to account for the gloom that
+darkened her wedding day. But that was not all. For, though her father
+was not visibly present here on earth, she knew that he watched and
+blessed her from his eternal home. No! but her prophetic soul was
+darkened by the shadow of some approaching misfortune.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret, her new maid, brought her a cup of coffee in her chamber. After
+she had drank it, she went sadly in her dressing-room, to make her toilet
+for the altar.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret was her only attendant and dresser.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was still in the deepest mourning for her murdered father. In
+leaving it off, for the marriage altar only, she had resolved to replace
+it only by such a simple dress as might have been worn by any portionless
+bride in the middle class of society.</p>
+
+<p>She wore a plain white tulle dress, over a lustreless white silk, an
+Illusion vail, a wreath of orange buds, and white kid gloves and gaiters.
+She wore no jewels of any sort.</p>
+
+<p>Her bridesmaids, only two in number, were dressed like herself, except
+that they wore no vails, and that their wreaths were of white rose buds.</p>
+
+<p>At eleven o'clock in the morning, a handsome but very plain coach drew up
+before the gate of Elmhurst Terrace.</p>
+
+<p>The bride, attended by her two bridesmaids and Lady Belgrade, entered it,
+and was driven off quietly to St. George's, Hanover square.</p>
+
+<p>No invitations had been issued for the wedding, except to the nearest
+family connections of the bride and bridegroom.</p>
+
+<p>But unfortunately the news of the approaching marriage had crept out, and
+got into the morning papers, and consequently the street before the
+church, the churchyard, and the church itself, were crowded with
+spectators.</p>
+
+<p>Way was made for the small bridal procession, which was met at the
+entrance by the bridegroom's party, consisting of himself, his &quot;best
+man,&quot; and his second groomsman.</p>
+
+<p>There, with reverential tenderness, the young Duke of Hereward greeted
+his bride. And the small procession passed up the central aisle, and
+formed before the altar.</p>
+
+<p>Around them stood the nearest friends of the two families.</p>
+
+<p>Behind them, extending back to the farthest extremity of the church,
+crowded a miscellaneous mass of spectators.</p>
+
+<p>This must have happened through the oversight of those parties whose duty
+it was to have had the church doors closed and guarded, so that the
+marriage of the so recently and cruelly orphaned daughter might be as
+private and decorous as it was intended to be.</p>
+
+<p>Baron Von Levison, the head of the Berlin branch of the great European
+banking firm of Levison, had come over to act the part of father to his
+orphan niece, and stood near the chancel to give her away.</p>
+
+<p>The Bishop of London, assisted by two clergymen, all in their sacred
+robes of office, stood within the chancel to perform the marriage
+ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>After the short preliminary exhortation, the ceremony was commenced. The
+bride was very pale, paler than she had ever been, even in those dread
+days when she stood always face to face with death. In making the
+responses her voice faltered, fainted, and died away with every new
+effort. No one would have thought from her look, tone or manner, that she
+was giving her hand, where her heart had so long and so entirely been
+bestowed. She seemed rather like a victim forced unwillingly to the altar
+by despotism or by necessity, than a happy bride about to be united to
+the man of her choice.</p>
+
+<p>At length the trial was over. The benediction was pronounced, and the
+young husband sealed the sacred rites by a kiss on the cold lips of his
+youthful wife.</p>
+
+<p>Friends crowded around with congratulations; but all who took the hand of
+Salome, Duchess of Hereward, felt its icy chill even through her glove
+and theirs.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No wonder poor child,&quot; they said to themselves; &quot;she is thinking of her
+father, murdered on her first appointed wedding-day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But it was not that. Salome had too clear a spiritual insight not to know
+that her father was more alive than he had been while on earth, and that
+he was bending down and blessing her, even there.</p>
+
+<p>No; but the dark shadow of the approaching ill drew nearer and nearer.
+She could not know what it was. She could only feel it coming and
+chilling and darkening her soul.</p>
+
+<p>After a few minutes passed in the vestry, during which the marriage of
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Salome Levison was
+duly registered and signed and witnessed, the newly-married pair were
+at liberty to return home.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke handed his youthful duchess into his own handsomely
+appointed carriage.</p>
+
+<p>Baron Von Levison took her vacated place in the carriage with Lady
+Belgrade and the bridesmaids.</p>
+
+<p>The few invited guests, being only the nearest family connections of the
+bride and bridegroom, got into their carriages and followed to the
+bride's residence on Westbourne Terrace, where the wedding breakfast
+awaited.</p>
+
+<p>There were now no decorated halls and drawing-rooms, no bands of music,
+no display of splendid bridal presents, no parade whatever.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, an elegant breakfast-table was laid for the guests. It was
+decorated only with fragrant white flowers from the home conservatory,
+furnished with white Sevres china and silver, and provided with a
+luxurious and dainty repast. That was all. All magnificence and splendor
+of display was carefully avoided in the feast as in the ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>Only ten in all sat down to the table, viz., the bride and bridegroom,
+two bridesmaids, two groomsmen, Lady Belgrade, Baron Von Levison, the
+Bishop of London, and the Rector of St. George's.</p>
+
+<p>A graver wedding party never was brought together. Even the youthful
+bridesmaids and groomsmen, expected to be &quot;the life of the company,&quot; were
+awed into silence by the preponderance of age and clerical dignity in the
+little assembly, for the bishop was not ready with his usual harmless
+little jest, and the rector did not care to take precedence over his
+superior.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation was serious rather than merry, and the speeches earnest
+rather than witty.</p>
+
+<p>Near the end of the breakfast, the bride's health was proposed by the
+first groomsman in a complimentary speech, which was acknowledged in a
+few appropriate remarks by her nearest relative, the Baron Von Levison.
+The bridegroom's health was then proposed by the baron, and acknowledged
+by a deep and silent bow from the duke.</p>
+
+<p>Then the health of the bridesmaids, the clergy, Lady Belgrade, and the
+Baron Von Levison were duly honored.</p>
+
+<p>And then the young bride arose, courtesied to her guests, and attended by
+her bridesmaids, retired to change her wedding dress for a traveling
+suit.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How deadly pale she looks! Is my niece really happy in this marriage?&quot;
+inquired the Baron Von Levison, in a low tone, of Lady Belgrade, as the
+guests left the table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She is very happy in this marriage, which she has set her heart on for
+years. In a word, this young wife is madly in love with her husband. But
+you must consider what an awful shock she had on her first appointed
+wedding-day, and how it must recur to her mind in this,&quot; answered the
+dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, to be sure! to be sure! poor child! poor child!&quot; muttered the German
+head of the family.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the young Duchess of Hereward reached her apartments.</p>
+
+<p>Her dresser, Margaret, was in attendance. Her travelling suit of black
+bombazine, trimmed with black crape, was laid out. With the assistance of
+her maid she slowly divested herself of her white vail and robes, and put
+on the black travelling dress. A black sack and a black felt hat, both
+deeply trimmed with crape, and black gloves, completed her toilet.</p>
+
+<p>When she was quite ready she kissed her two bridesmaids and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Leave me alone now for a few minutes, dear girls, and wait for me in the
+drawing-room. I will join you very soon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young ladies returned her kisses and retired.</p>
+
+<p>Then Salome dismissed her maid, that Margaret should prepare to accompany
+her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, as soon as she found herself alone, she sank on her knees to
+pray, that, if possible, this dark shadow might be permitted to pass away
+from her soul; that light and strength and grace might be given her to do
+all her duties and bear all her burdens as Christian wife and neighbor;
+that she and her husband might be blessed with true and eternal love for
+each other, for their neighbor, and above all for their Lord.</p>
+
+<p>As she finished her prayer, and arose from her knees, her maid re-entered
+the room, dressed to attend her mistress on her journey.</p>
+
+<p>The girl did not forget to honor the bride with her new title.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon, your grace,&quot; she said, &quot;but there is a strange-looking old
+woman down stairs who says she is a widow from Westminster Road, and that
+she must see your grace on a matter of life and death, before you start
+on your wedding tour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know any such person,&quot; said the young duchess, slowly, while
+that vague shadow of impending calamity gathered over her spirit more
+darkly and heavily than before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thomas, the hall footman, brought me the message from the woman, your
+grace, and I went down to see her myself before troubling you. I thought
+she might be only a bolder begger than usual. But she is no begger, your
+grace. She looks respectable,&quot; answered the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go to the woman and explain to her that I have no time to see her now,
+and ask her if she cannot intrust her business to you to be brought to
+me,&quot; said the duchess.</p>
+
+<p>The maid courtesied and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it? What is it? Why does every unusual event strike such deadly
+terror to my heart?&quot; inquired the bride, as she sank, pale and trembling,
+into her resting-chair.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the door opened and Margaret re-appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg your grace's pardon, but the old woman is very obstinate and
+persistent. She will not tell me her business. She says it is with your
+grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter
+of more importance than life or death; and that&mdash;indeed I beg your
+pardon, your grace&mdash;but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message,
+it seems so impertinent,&quot; said the girl, blushing and casting down her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nevertheless, deliver it. I will excuse you. The impertinence will not
+be yours,&quot; said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me
+straight in the face, and said&mdash;'Tell your mistress, if she would save
+herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell
+her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!'&quot; answered the girl,
+in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'<i>Before I see the Duke of Hereward again</i>.' Ah, what is it? What
+is it?&quot; murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to
+Margaret. &quot;Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Once more the girl obediently left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with
+dread of&mdash;she knew not what!</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared,
+ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>Salome looked up.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CLOUD FALLS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Rose Cameron's emissary entered the bride's chamber, the young
+duchess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again,
+overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching
+calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her
+bridal day.</p>
+
+<p>And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to
+sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her
+nervous and sensitive organization.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying
+before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet,
+shawl, and gown. No very alarming intruder to contemplate.</p>
+
+<p>The woman, on her part, instead of the proud and insolent beauty she had
+expected to see, in all the pomp and pride of her bridal day and her new
+rank, beheld a fair and gentle girl, still clothed in the deepest
+mourning for her murdered father.</p>
+
+<p>And her heart, which had been hardened against the supposed triumphant
+rival of the poor peasant girl, now melted with sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>And she, who had persistently forced her way into the bride's chamber,
+with the grim determination to spring the news upon her without
+hesitation or compassion, now cast about in her simple mind how to
+break such a terrible shock with tenderness and discretion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You look very much fatigued. Pray sit down there and rest yourself,
+while you talk to me,&quot; said the young duchess, gently, and pointing to
+a chair near her own.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I am tired enough in mind and body, my lady, along of not having
+slept a wink all last night on account of&mdash;what I'll tell you soon, my
+lady. So I'll even take you at your kind word, my lady, and presume to
+sit down in your ladyship's presence,&quot; sighed the woman, slowly sinking
+into the indicated seat, and then adding: &quot;I know as ladyship is not
+exactly the right way to speak to a duke's lady as is a duchess; but I
+don't know as I know what is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You must say 'your grace' in speaking to the duchess,&quot; volunteered
+Margaret, in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind, never mind,&quot; said the bride, with a slight smile. &quot;I am
+quite ready to hear whatever you may have to say to me. What can I do for
+you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The visitor hesitated and moaned. All her eager desire to overwhelm Rose
+Cameron's rival with the shameful news of her bridegroom's previous
+marriage and living wife had evaporated, leaving only deep sympathy
+and compassion for the sweet young girl, who looked so kindly, and spoke
+so gentle. Yet deeply she felt that, even for this gentle girl's sake,
+she must reveal the fatal secret! It was dreadful enough and humiliating
+enough to have had the marriage ceremony read over herself and an already
+married man, the husband of a living woman; but it would be infinitely
+worse, it would be horrible and shameful, to let her go off in ignorance,
+believing herself to be that man's wife&mdash;to travel with him over Europe.</p>
+
+<p>All this, the honest woman from Westminster Road knew and felt, yet she
+had not the courage now to shock that gentle girl's heart by telling the
+news which must stop her journey.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Please excuse me; but I must really beg you to be quick in telling me
+what I can do to serve you. My time is limited. Within an hour we have to
+catch the tidal train to Dover. And&mdash;I have much to do in the interim,&quot;
+said the young duchess, speaking with gentle courtesy to this poor,
+shabby woman in the rusty widow's weeds.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my lady&mdash;grace, I mean! there is no need of being quick! When
+you hear all I have to tell you&mdash;to my sorrow as well as yours, my
+grace!&mdash;your hurry will all be over; and you will not care about catching
+the tidal train&mdash;not if you are the lady as I take my&mdash;<i>your</i> grace
+to be!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you mean?&quot; inquired Salome, in low, tremulous tones.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady&mdash;grace, I mean! will you send your maid away? What I have to
+tell you, must be told to you alone,&quot; whispered the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Margaret, you may retire. I will ring when I want you,&quot; said the young
+duchess.</p>
+
+<p>And her maid, disgusted, for her curiosity had been strongly aroused,
+left the room and closed the door. And, as Margaret had too much
+self-respect to listen at the key-hole, she remained in ignorance of
+what passed between the young duchess and the uncanny visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your strange words trouble me,&quot; said Salome, as soon as she found
+herself alone with her visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, my lady, your grace, I know it. And I am sorry for it. But I cannot
+help it. And, indeed, I'm very much afeared as I shall trouble you more
+afore I am done.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then pray proceed. Tell me at once all you have to tell. And permit me
+to remind you that my time is limited,&quot; urged the young duchess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, madam, my lady&mdash;grace, I mean. But grant me your pardon if I repeat
+that there is indeed no hurry. You will not take the tidal train to
+Dover. Not if you be the Christian lady as I take you for,&quot; gravely
+replied the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I must really insist upon your speaking out plainly and at once,&quot; said
+Salome, with more of firmness than she had as yet exhibited, although her
+pale cheeks grew a shade paler.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady&mdash;your grace, I should say&mdash;when I started to come here this
+morning, to bring you the news I have to tell, my heart was <i>that</i>
+full of anger against him and you, for the deep wrongs done to one I know
+and love, that I did not care how suddenly I told it, or how awfully
+it might shock you. But now that I see you, dear lady&mdash;grace, I mean&mdash;I
+do hate myself for having of such a tale to tell. But, for all that&mdash;for
+your sake as well as for hers, I must tell it,&quot; said the woman, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;For Heaven's sake, go on! What is it you have to tell me?&quot; inquired the
+bride, in a fainting voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, your lady, my grace&mdash;Oh, dear! I know that ain't the right
+way to speak, but&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No matter! no matter! Only tell me what you have to tell and have done
+with it!&quot; said Salome, impatiently at last.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then&mdash;I beg ten thousand pardons, my lady, but did your ladyship
+ever hear tell, up your way in Scotland, of a very handsome young woman
+of the lower orders, by the name of Rose Cameron?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I have heard of such a girl,&quot; answered the bride, in a low tone,
+averting her face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought your ladyship must have heard of her. And now&mdash;I beg a million
+of pardons, my lady&mdash;but did your ladyship ever happen to hear of a
+certain person's name mentioned alongside of hers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I decline to answer a question so improper. What can such a question
+have to do with your present business?&quot; inquired the bride, with more
+of gentle dignity than we have ever known her to assume.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It has a great deal to do with it, your ladyship. It has everything to
+do with it, as I shall soon prove to your grace. Take no offence, dear
+lady. I won't use any name to trouble you. And I won't say anything but
+what I can prove. Will you let me go on on them terms, your ladyship?&quot;
+humbly inquired the messenger.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, yes, if you only <span class="smcaps">will</span> be quick. I <i>wish</i> you to go
+on. I believe you to mean well, though I do not exactly know what you
+really <i>do</i> mean,&quot; said Salome, nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, my lady, if you ever heard of this handsome Highland peasant
+girl, called Rose Cameron, you must have heard that she lived long of her
+old father, a shepherd, dwelling at the foot of Ben Lone, near by
+where&mdash;a&mdash;a certain person had his shooting-lodge. My dear lady, it is
+the same wicked old story as we hear over and over again, and a many
+times too often. Well, the young man&mdash;a certain person, I mean&mdash;while at
+his shooting-box, foot of Ben Lone, happened to see this handsome lass,
+and fell in love with her at first sight, as certain persons sometimes do
+with young peasant girls as they oughtn't to marry. But mayhap your
+ladyship have heard all this before.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome had heard it all before; and now, in silence and sadness, she was
+wondering what she had to hear more; but certainly not expecting to hear
+the degrading revelation her visitor had still to make.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my lady,&quot; resumed the visitor, &quot;a certain person courted handsome
+Rose Cameron a long time, trying to coax her to accept of his heart
+without his hand, after the manner of certain persons, to poor and pretty
+young girls. But the handsome peasant was as proud as a princess, and so
+she was. And she would see him hanged first, and so she would, before she
+would degrade herself for him, especially as she wasn't overmuch in love
+with him herself, but only pleased with his preference, and proud to show
+him off. She didn't worship him at all. She worshiped herself, my lady.
+And she could take care of herself and keep him in his place, even while
+she sort of encouraged his attentions. That was the secret of her power
+over him, my lady. She would neither take him on his terms nor let him
+go. And the more she resisted him the more he fell down and worshiped
+her, until, at length, he was ready to give up everything for her sake,
+and offer her marriage. That was what she really wanted to fetch him to,
+for she was ambitious as well as honest&mdash;that she was! Are you listening
+to me, my lady?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am listening,&quot; breathed the bride, in a faint voice.</p>
+
+<p>She had turned her chair around, so that her weary head could rest upon
+the corner of the dressing-table, where she now leaned, face downward,
+on her spread hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my lady, when she had fetched him to that pass as to offer her
+marriage, she took him at his word, and he brought her up to London. And
+they were married, sure enough, in the old church at St. Margaret's
+near by where I live, in Westminster.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is false! It is false! It is false as&mdash;Oh! Heaven of Heavens!&quot; cried
+Salome, wildly, throwing back her head and hands, and then dropping them
+again with a low, heart-broken moan.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am cut to the soul, my lady, to say this; but I must say it, even for
+your sake, my lady, and I only say what I can easy prove,&quot; spoke the
+woman, humbly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go on, go on,&quot; moaned Salome, without lifting her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my lady, after their marriage, they came to my house to live,
+which this was the way of it; I had a three-story brick house on
+Westminster Road, and I took lodgers. But what between getting only a few
+lodgers, and them being bad pay, I got myself over head and ears in debt,
+and was in danger of being sold up by my creditors, when a certain
+person, as called hisself Mr. John Scott, come and took the whole house
+right offen my hands just as it was, and engaged me as his housekeeper,
+telling of me as he was just married, and was agoing to bring home his
+wife. Well, my lady, he advanced me money to pay my debts, and then he
+fetched Mrs. John Scott, which was no other than Rose Cameron, my lady,
+as I soon after found out from herself. Well, he fetches Mrs. John Scott
+to look at the first floor which he was agoing to refit complete for her,
+and according to her taste. Well, your ladyship, she, having of a very
+glarish sort of her own, she chooses furniture all scarlet and gold,
+enough to put your eyes out. And when all was fixed up onto that first
+floor, then he brought her home sure enough.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Without lifting her face, Salome murmured some words in so low and
+smothered a tone that they were inaudible to her visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon, my lady. What did you please to say?&quot; inquired the woman,
+bending toward the bowed head of the bride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I asked how long ago was it?&quot; she repeated, in a faint voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just about a year, my lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, my lady, first along he seemed very fond of her, seemed to
+doat on her, and loaded her with dresses, and trinkets, and sweetmeats,
+and nick-nacks of all sorts, and never came home without bringing of her
+something. And she never got anything very nice but what she would call
+me up and give me some; for she made quite a companion of me, my lady.
+But after a few weeks, Mr. John Scott was frequent away from home for
+days together. But this didn't trouble Mrs. John Scott much. I soon saw
+as she wasn't that deep in love with him as she couldn't live without
+him. And so he kept her well supplied with finery and dainties, or with
+the money to get them, he might go off as often, and stay as long as
+he liked. She lived an idle, easy, merry life, and frequent went to the
+play-house, and took me. 'And all was merry as a marriage bell,' as the
+old saying says, until this summer, when Mr. John Scott went off, and
+stayed longer then he ever stayed before. Well, my lady, while he was
+still away, one morning in last June, Mrs. John Scott takes up the
+<i>Times</i> to look over. She didn't often look over the papers, and
+when she did it was only to see what was going to be played at the
+theatres. But <i>that</i> morning her eyes happened to light down on
+something in the paper as put her into a perfect fury. She was so beside
+herself as to let out a good deal that she meant to have kept in. And by
+her own goings on I found out that it was the announcement of the
+marriage, that was to come off in two days at Lone Castle, between the
+young Marquis of Hereward and the daughter and heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, as had set her on fire. I tried my best to quiet her, and even
+asked her what it was to her? She said she would soon let 'em all know
+what it was to her. I begged her to explain. But she would give me no
+satisfaction. She seemed all cock-a-whoop, begging your ladyship's
+pardon, to go somewhere and do something. And that same night she packed
+her carpet-bag and off she went. I asked her what I should say to Mr.
+John Scott if he should come home before she did. And she told me never
+to mind. I shouldn't have any call to say anything. <i>She</i> should
+see him before <i>I</i> could. And so off she went that same night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What night was that?&quot; slowly and faintly breathed Salome, without
+lifting her fallen head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Two nights before&mdash;before the marriage was to have been, my lady,&quot;
+answered the woman, in a low and hesitating tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Proceed, please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now, my lady, I must tell you what happened at Lone, as I received
+it from her own lips this very morning, before I came here. She went down
+to Scotland by the night express of the Great Northern, and arrived at
+Lone early in the morning of the day before the wedding-day that should
+have been. She found great preparations going on for the marriage of the
+markis and the heiress. She went over to the castle with the crowd of the
+country people who gathered there to see the grand decorations for the
+wedding. But she saw nothing of the bride or of the bridegroom; and,
+moreover, she was warned off with threats by the servants of the castle.
+But at length, towards night-fall, my lady, she saw Mr. John Scott, as he
+called himself, hanging about the Hereward Arms, and she 'went for him,'
+as the saying is. But he drew her apart from the crowd. And there she
+charged him with perfidy, and threatened to appear at the church the next
+day with her marriage lines and forbid the banns. He did all he could to
+quiet her, said that she was deceived and mistaken, and that he could not
+marry any one, being already married to herself, and that if she would
+meet him that night at the castle, just under the balcony, near Malcolm's
+Tower, he would explain everything to her satisfaction.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>It was no dream, then!</i> Oh, Heaven! it was no dream! And my own
+senses witness against him!&quot; exclaimed Salome again, throwing up her face
+and hands with a cry of anguish, and then dropping them, as before, upon
+the table in an attitude of abject despair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, this is too much for you! too much!&quot; said the compassionate
+woman, weeping over the distress she had caused.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no; go on, go on; I will hear it all. My own senses, pitying Heaven!
+my own senses bear witness to it,&quot; moaned Salome, in a smothered voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my lady, it grieves me deeply to go on, as you bid me. They met, Mr.
+John Scott, as he called himself, and Rose Cameron, at the time and place
+agreed on&mdash;at midnight at Castle Lone, under the balcony near Malcolm's
+Tower. And there, my lady, he repeated to her that he was not going to
+marry anybody, reminding her that he was already married to herself; and
+he explained that something would happen before morning, which would put
+all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage out of the heads of all
+parties concerned. And then he&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A groan of anguish burst from the almost breaking heart of the wretched
+bride, as she lifted a face convulsed and deathly white with her soul's
+great agony.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady! oh, my lady!&quot; exclaimed the woman, in much alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I heard it all! I heard it all!&quot; cried Salome, as if speaking to herself
+and unconscious of the presence of a hearer. &quot;I heard it all! I heard it
+all! Yea! my own senses were witnesses of my own dishonor and despair!&quot;
+she groaned, as she threw her arms and her head violently forward upon
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, for mercy's sake, my lady!&quot; exclaimed the widow, standing up
+and bending over her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, what a hell! what a hell is this world we live in! And what devils
+walk to and fro upon the earth!&mdash;devils beautiful and deceitful as the
+fallen archangel himself!&quot; moaned Salome, all unconscious of the words.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my dear lady, for goodness' sake, now don't talk so, that's a
+darling,&quot; coaxed the good woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Do not heed me</span>! Go on! go on! Give me the death-blow at once,
+and have done with it!&quot; cried Salome, lifting her blanched and writhen
+face and wringing hands, and then dashing them down again.</p>
+
+<p>The appalled visitor seemed stricken dumb.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go on, go on,&quot; moaned the poor bride in a half smothered tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord help me! I have forgotten where I was! I wish it had befallen
+anybody but me to have this here hard duty to do! Where was I again? Ah!
+under the balcony. My lady, he told her to wait there for him until he
+came back. And he went away, and was gone an hour or more. Then he came
+back, and another man along of him. The night was so still, she heard
+them coming before they got in sight. And she heard them a talking in
+a low voice. And Mr. John Scott he seemed awful put out about something
+or other as the other man had done agin his orders. And he said, hoarse
+like, 'I wouldn't have had it done, no, not for all we have got by it!'
+And the other one said, 'It couldn't be helped. The old man squealed, and
+we had to squelch him.' Says Mr. John Scott: 'You've brought the curse of
+Cain upon me!' Says t'other one, 'It was chance. What's done is done,
+and can't be undone. What's past remedy is past regret. And what can't be
+cured must be endured. The old man squealed, and had to be squelched, or
+he'd have brought the house about our ears&mdash;'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my father! my dear father! my poor, murdered father! And <i>you</i>!
+oh <i>you</i>! with the beauty and glory of the archangel, and the
+cruelty and deceit of the arch fiend, I can never look upon your face
+again&mdash;never! The sight would blast me like a flame of fire,&quot; raved
+Salome, throwing back her head, wringing her hands, and gasping as if
+for breath of life.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my dear lady, I know how hard it is! Pardon me, my lady, but I feel
+a mother's heart in my bosom for you. Try to be patient, sweet lady, and
+do not despair. You are so young yet, hardly more than a child you seem.
+You have a long life before you yet. And if you be good, as I am sure you
+will be, it will be a happy life, in which these early sorrows will pass
+away like morning mists,&quot; said the woman, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, never more for me will morning dawn! Eternal night rests on my soul!
+For myself I do not care! But, oh, my ruined archangel!&quot; she wailed,
+burying her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>A dead silence fell between the two, until Salome, without changing her
+position, murmured;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go on to the end; I will not interrupt you again. Oh, that I could wake
+from this night-mare!&mdash;or&mdash;expire in it! Go on and finish.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, while the two men were speaking, they came in sight of the
+woman who was waiting under the balcony. Then Mr. John Scott says: 'Hush!
+my girl will hear us.' And they hushed, but it was too late&mdash;she had
+heard them. Mr. John Scott came up to her in a hurry, and put a small but
+heavy bag in her hand, saying that she must take it and take care of it,
+and never let it go out of her possession, and that she must hurry back
+to Lone Station and catch the midnight express train back to London, and
+that he himself would follow her, and join her at home the next night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And all that, too, was proved&mdash;yes, proved by the mouths of two
+witnesses at the inquest, though they did not either of them recognize
+the man or the woman,&quot; moaned Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. John Scott returned to my house about breakfast time the next
+morning, my lady, bringing that bag with her, which I noticed she
+wouldn't let out of her sight, no, nor even out of her hand, while I was
+near her. She wouldn't answer any of my questions, or give me any
+satisfaction then, even so far as to tell me where she had been, or if
+she had seen Mr. John Scott. So I knew nothing until the next morning,
+when I got the <i>Times</i>. I don't in general care about reading the
+papers myself, but opened it that morning to see if there was anything
+in it about the grand wedding at Lone. And oh! My lady, I saw how the
+wedding had been stopped on account of&mdash;on account&mdash;of what happened to
+Sir Lemuel Levison that night, my lady, as I don't like to talk of it,
+or even t think of it. But when Mrs. John Scott rang her bell that
+morning, my lady, I took up the paper with her cup of tea, which she
+always took in bed. And oh, my lady, when she came to know what had
+happened at Lone, she went off into the very worst hysterics I ever
+saw. I was struck all of a heap! I couldn't imagine why she should take
+it so awfully to heart as that. But that's neither here nor there. I know
+<i>now</i> why she took it so to heart. In the midst of all the hubbub,
+Mr. John Scott returned. And she fairly flew at him! She said, among
+other bitter, things, that he would bring her to the gallows yet! And she
+charged him with what she had overheard. But somehow or other he laughed
+at her, and explained it all away to her satisfaction. He could always
+make her believe whatever he pleased. If he had told her the rainbow was
+only a few yards of striped Leamington ribbon, she would have believed
+him! He didn't stay more than an hour, and was off again in a hurry. We
+didn't see him again until the last of the week. It was the news of the
+coroner's verdict on the Lone murder case was telegraphed to London, when
+he came rushing in at the door and up the stairs like a mad-man. And in
+ten minutes he came rushing down stairs again and out of the street door
+like a madman, but he carried the heavy little bag off with him in his
+hand. And he has never been back since. But, from time to time, he wrote
+to her, and sent her money, and told her that business still kept him
+away. But, mind you, my lady, his letters were all without date or
+signature, and were drop letters, now from one London post-office, and
+now from another, so that she never knew where to address him.
+Not that she cared. As long as her money lasted she was, perfectly
+satisfied. She lived comfortably, and she amused herself, and often
+went to the play and took me with her, and all went merry again until
+yesterday, when, all on a sudden, the police made a descent on the house,
+and arrested Mrs. John Scott on a charge of being implicated in the
+robbery and murder at Castle Lone, and proceeded to search the house,
+where they found the watch-chain, snuff-box, and other valuable property
+belonging to the late Sir Lemuel Levison!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Great Heaven! they found these things in the house rented by&mdash;by&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome could say no more, but ended with a groan that
+seemed to rend body and soul apart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They found the stolen jewels there, my lady. My unhappy mistress denied
+all knowledge of them, but her words availed her nothing. She was carried
+off to prison that same night. This morning she was taken before the
+sitting magistrate, and examined, and remanded to prison, until she can
+be carried back to Scotland for trial. Neither she nor I know at what
+hour she may be removed, or by what train she may be taken to Scotland.
+She may be gone now, for aught I know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is the poor creature now confined?&quot; inquired Salome, in a dying
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the Westminster police station-house, my lady, if she has not been
+already removed. But I must tell your ladyship&mdash;your grace, I mean&mdash;how I
+happen to come to you now. I was at the West End this morning, my lady,
+and in returning to the city I passed St. George's Church, Hanover
+Square, and I saw the pageant of your wedding. And when I got back to
+Westminster and looked into the station-house to see my unfortunate
+mistress, and to help her mind often her own troubles, I told her about
+the wedding of the Duke of Hereward with the heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at St. George's Church, my lady. She went off into the most
+terrible fit of excitement I ever seen her in yet, and I have seen her in
+some considerable ones, now I do assure your ladyship. And in her raving
+and tearing, my lady, I first heerd that Mr. John Scott and the young
+Marquis of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward was all one and the same
+gentleman, and he was the lawful husband of Rose Cameron. My lady, I
+thought her troubles had turned her head, and so I did not believe a word
+she said. And, my lady, I do not expect <i>you</i> to believe <i>me</i>
+without proof, any more than I believed <i>her</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Heaven of Heavens! I have the proof! I have the proof in the
+evidence of my own senses, too fatally discredited until now. But if you
+have further proof, give it me at once,&quot; groaned Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here is the marriage certificate. Look at that first, my lady, if you
+please,&quot; said Mrs. Brown, putting the document in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>Salome gazed at it with beclouded vision, but she saw that it was a
+genuine certificate of marriage between Archibald-Alexander-John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle, and, Rose Cameron, signed by James Smith, Rector of
+St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, and witnessed by John Thomas Price,
+Sexton, and Ann Gray, Pew-opener.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The man must have been mad! mad! to have done this, in the first
+instance, and then&mdash;done what he has just this morning,&quot; moaned Salome,
+as she returned the certificate to the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, he thought as he had got Rose Cameron lagged, he would never be
+found out. Here, my lady, is the first letter he wrote to her after they
+were married. I reckon it is a foolish love-letter enough, not worth
+reading; but what I want you to notice is, his handwriting, and the way
+he commences his letter&mdash;'My Darling Wife,' and the way he ends it&mdash;'Your
+Devoted Husband, Arondelle.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I recognize the handwriting, and I note the signature. I do not wish to
+read the letter,&quot; muttered Salome, waving it away.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, my lady, here is a photograph of his grace, given to his
+wife a few days before their marriage,&quot; said the widow, offering a small
+card.</p>
+
+<p>Salome took it, looked at it, and dropped it with a long, low wail of
+anguish.</p>
+
+<p>It was a duplicate of one presented to herself by the Duke of Hereward,
+from the same negative.</p>
+
+<p>Silence again fell between the lady and her visitor until it was broken
+by a rap at the door, and the voice of the maid without, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Beg pardon, your grace, but Lady Belgrade desires me to say that you
+have but fifteen minutes to catch the train.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well,&quot; replied the young duchess; but her voice sounded strangely
+unlike her own.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your ladyship will not go on your bridal tour?&quot; said the visitor,
+imploringly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I shall not go on a bridal tour. How can I?&mdash;I am not a bride. I am
+not a wife. I am not the Duchess of Hereward. I am just Salome Levison,
+as I was before that false marriage ceremony was performed over me! But
+do you be discreet. Say nothing below stairs of what has passed between
+us here,&quot; said Salome, speaking now with such amazing self-control that
+no one could have guessed the anguish and despair of her soul but for the
+marble whiteness and rigidity of her face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be sure I shall not say one word, my lady,&quot; answered Mrs. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>There was another low rap at the door, and again the voice of the maid
+was heard:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Please your grace, what shall I say to Lady Belgrade?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell her ladyship that I am nearly ready,&quot; answered the young duchess.
+&quot;And, Margaret,&quot; she added, &quot;show this good woman out. And then, do not
+return here until I ring.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The visitor courtesied and went to the door, where she was met by the
+maid, who conducted her down stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Salome locked and double-locked and bolted the doors leading from
+her apartments to the front corridor, and then she retreated to her
+dressing-room, alone with her terrible trial.</p>
+
+<p>Who can conceive the mortal agony suffered by that young, overburdened
+heart and overtasked brain.</p>
+
+<p>Who can estimate the force of the conflict that raged in her bosom,
+between her passion and her conscience? Between her love and her duty?
+Between what she knew of her worshiped husband, from daily association,
+and what she had just heard proved upon him by overwhelming testimony,
+confirmed also by the evidence of her own too long discredited senses!</p>
+
+<p>He&mdash;her Apollo&mdash;her ideal of all manly excellence&mdash;her archangel, as in
+the infatuation of her passion she had called him&mdash;he a bigamist, and an
+accomplice in the murder of her father!</p>
+
+<p>It was incredible! incomprehensible! maddening!</p>
+
+<p>Or surely it was some awful nightmare dream, from which she must soon
+awake.</p>
+
+<p>What should she do? How meet again the people below?</p>
+
+<p>She would not look upon <i>his</i> face again. She could not. She felt
+that to do so would be perdition.</p>
+
+<p>In the darkness of her despair a great temptation assailed her.</p>
+
+<p>But we must leave her alone to wrestle with the demon, while we join the
+wedding-party below.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>VANISHED.</h3>
+
+
+<p>After the withdrawal of the bride and her attendant from the
+breakfast-table, the bridegroom and his friends remained a few moments
+longer, and then joined Lady Belgrade and the bridesmaids in the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>They passed some fifteen or twenty minutes in pleasant social chat upon
+the event of the morning, the state of the weather, and the political,
+financial, or fashionable topics of the day.</p>
+
+<p>In half an hour they felt disposed to yawn, and some surreptitiously
+consulted their watches.</p>
+
+<p>Then one of the bridesmaids, at the request of Lady Belgrade, sat down to
+the piano and condescended to favor the company with a very fine wedding
+march.</p>
+
+<p>Three quarters of an hour passed, and then the Baron Von Levison&mdash;(Paul
+Levison, the head of the great Berlin branch of the banking-house of
+&quot;Levison,&quot; had been ennobled in Germany, as his brother had been knighted
+in England)&mdash;Baron Von Levison then inquired of the bridegroom what train
+he intended to take.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The tidal train, which leaves London Bridge Station at three-thirty,&quot;
+answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then your grace should leave here in fifteen minutes, if you wish to
+catch that train,&quot; said the baron.</p>
+
+<p>The bridegroom spoke aside to Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Had we not better send and see if Salome is ready? We have but little
+time to lose.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; said her ladyship, who immediately rang the bell, and dispatched
+a message to the young duchess's dressing-maid.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes elapsed, and an answer was returned to the effect that her
+grace would be ready in time to catch the train.</p>
+
+<p>The travelling carriage was at the door, and all the lighter luggage,
+such as dressing-bags, extra shawls and umbrellas, were put in it.</p>
+
+<p>And they waited full fifteen minutes, without seeing or hearing from the
+loitering bride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will go up to Salome myself,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, pray do not hurry her; if we miss this train we can take the next,
+and though we cannot catch the night-boat from Dover to Calais, we can
+stop at the 'Lord Warden' and cross the Channel to-morrow morning,&quot;
+urged the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At least I will send another message to her, and let her know that the
+time is more than up,&quot; said her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>And again she rang the bell and sent a servant with a message to the
+lady's maid.</p>
+
+<p>Full ten minutes passed, and then Margaret, the maid, came herself to the
+drawing-room door, begged pardon for her intrusion, and asked to speak
+with Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade went out to her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it? The time is up! This delay is perfectly disgraceful. They
+will never be able to catch the tidal train now&mdash;never!&quot; said her
+ladyship in a displeased tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, my lady, I am afraid something has happened,&quot; said the
+girl, in a frightened tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you mean?&quot; inquired the dowager, sharply.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, my lady, I went up and found all the doors leading from
+the corridor into her grace's suite of apartments locked fast. I knocked
+and called, at first softly, then loudly, but received no answer. I
+listened, my lady, but I heard no sound nor motion in the rooms.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will go up myself,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>And she hurried, as fast as her age and her size would permit, to the
+part of the house comprising the apartments of the duchess. Three doors
+opened from the corridor, relatively, into the boudoir, bed-room, and
+dressing-room, which were also connected by communicating doors within.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade rapped and called at each in succession, but in vain. There
+was no response.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She has fainted in her room! That is what has happened! This day of
+fatigue and excitement has been too much for her, in the delicate state
+of her health. Every one noticed how ill she looked when she came up
+stairs. Margaret, there is a back door, you are aware, leading from your
+lady's bath-room down to the flower garden. Go around and go up the back
+stairs and see if that door is open&mdash;if so, enter the rooms by it and
+open this,&quot; said her ladyship, never ceasing, while she talked, to rap
+at and shake the door at which she stood.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret flew to obey, and made such good haste, that in about two
+minutes she was heard within the rooms hurrying to open the closed door.
+In two seconds bolts were withdrawn, keys turned, and the door was
+opened.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How is she?&quot; quickly demanded the dowager, as she stepped into the
+dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady, I haven't seen her grace. If you please, perhaps she is in her
+chamber,&quot; replied the maid.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade bustled into the bed-room, looking all around for the
+bride, then into the boudoir, calling on her name.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome! Salome, my dear! Where are you?&quot; No answer; all in the luxurious
+rooms still and silent as the grave.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is very strange! She <i>may</i> be in the garden,&quot; said her
+ladyship, passing quickly into the bath-room, and descending the stairs
+that led directly into a small flower-garden enclosed by high walls.</p>
+
+<p>The garden was now dead and sear in the late October frost. No sign of
+the missing girl was there.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is very strange! Can she have gone down into the drawing-room,
+after all? I will see. There is no possibility of catching the tidal
+train now. It is already three o'clock; the train leaves London Bridge
+Station at three thirty, and it is a good hour's ride from Kensington!&quot;
+said Lady Belgrade, speaking more to herself than to her attendant, as
+she came out of the rooms.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shall I go through the house and inquire if any one has seen her grace,
+my lady?&quot; respectfully suggested Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes; but first shut and lock that garden door of your lady's bath-room.
+It is not safe to leave it open,&quot; replied Lady Belgrade, as she again
+descended the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>As she entered the drawing-room, the young Duke of Hereward came to meet
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope nothing is the matter. Salome was not looking strong this
+morning. And this delay? I trust that she is well?&quot; he said, in an
+anxious, inquiring tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome is not in her apartments. I have sent a servant to seek her
+through the house. Her delay has made you miss the train, your grace,&quot;
+said Lady Belgrade, in visible annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That does not much matter, so that the delay has not been caused by her
+indisposition,&quot; said the young duke, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No indisposition could possibly excuse such eccentricity of conduct at
+such a time. Salome is moving somewhere about the house, according to her
+crazy custom,&quot; said Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I really cannot hear that sweet girl so cruelly maligned, even by her
+aunt,&quot; said the duke, with a deprecating smile.</p>
+
+<p>As they spoke, the Baron Von Levison appeared and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should have been very glad to have seen you off, duke, and to have
+thrown a metaphorical old shoe after you; but your bride seems to have
+taken so long to tie her bonnet strings, that she has made you miss your
+train. And now you can't go until the night express, and I really can't
+wait to see you off by that. I have an appointment at the Bank of England
+at four. God bless you, my dear duke. Make my adieux to my niece, and
+tell her that if the men of her family had been as unpunctual as the
+women seem to be, they never would have established banks all over
+Europe.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And with a hearty shake of the bridegroom's hand, and a deep bow to Lady
+Belgrade, the Baron Von Levison took leave.</p>
+
+<p>His example was followed by the bishop and the rector, who now came up
+and expressed regret at the inconvenience the bridegroom would experience
+by having missed his train, but agreed that it was much better to know
+that fact before starting for it, and having the long drive to London
+Bridge Station and back again for nothing. And they extolled the comfort
+of the night express, and the elegance of accommodations to be found at
+the Lord Warden Hotel. And upon the whole, they concluded that his grace
+had not missed much, after all, in missing the &quot;tidal.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then again they wished much happiness to attend the married life of the
+young couple, and so bade adieux and departed.</p>
+
+<p>There now remained of the wedding guests only the two bridesmaids and the
+groomsmen.</p>
+
+<p>These were grouped near one of the bay-windows, and engaged in a subdued
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade still stood near the door, waiting
+for news of the lingering bride.</p>
+
+<p>To them, at length, came the maid, Margaret, with pallid face and
+frightened air.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, my lady, we have searched all over the house and inquired
+of everybody in it. But no one has seen her grace, nor can she be found.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LOST LADY OF LONE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Cannot be found? Whatever do you mean, girl? You cannot mean to say
+that the Duchess of Hereward is not in this house?&quot; demanded Lady
+Belgrade, in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon, my lady; but we have made a thorough search of the
+premises, without being able to find her grace,&quot; respectfully answered
+the maid.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, but this is ridiculous! The duchess is in some of the rooms; she
+must be! Go and renew your search, and tell her grace, when you find her,
+that she has made the duke miss the tidal train; but that we are waiting
+for her here,&quot; commanded the lady.</p>
+
+<p>The girl went, very submissively, on her errand.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade dropped wearily into her chair, muttering:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do think servants are so idiotic. They can't find her because she
+happens to be out of her own room. I would go and hunt her up myself, but
+really the fatigue of this day has been too much for me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward did not reply. He walked restlessly up and down the
+floor, filled with a vague uneasiness, for which he could not account to
+himself&mdash;for surely, he reflected, Salome must be in the house somewhere;
+it could not possibly be otherwise; and there were a dozen simple reasons
+why she might be missed for a few minutes; doubtless she would soon
+appear, and smile at their impatience.</p>
+
+<p>Ay, but the minutes were fast growing into hours, and Salome did not
+re-appear.</p>
+
+<p>The maid returned once more from her fruitless search.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, I beg your pardon, my lady; but we cannot find her grace, either
+in the house or in the garden,&quot; she said, with a very solemn courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now this is really beyond endurance! I suppose I must go and look for
+her myself,&quot; answered Lady Belgrade, rising in displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you let me accompany your ladyship?&quot; gravely inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade hesitated for a few moments, and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&mdash;yes, you may come. We will go down stairs first.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They descended to the first floor, and went through the dining-room,
+sitting-room, library and little parlors; but without finding her they
+sought.</p>
+
+<p>Then they ascended to the next floor and went through the
+picture-gallery, the music-room, the dancing-saloon, the hall, and
+lastly, the three drawing-rooms, in case that she might have returned
+there while they were absent. But their search was still without success.</p>
+
+<p>Then they ascended to the upper floors, and looked all through the
+handsome suites of private apartments, but still without discovering
+a trace of the missing bride.</p>
+
+<p>And so all over the house, from basement to attic, and from central hall
+to garden wall, they went searching in vain for the lost one.</p>
+
+<p>The dowager and the duke returned to the drawing-room and looked each
+other in the face.</p>
+
+<p>The dowager was stupefied with bewilderment. The duke was pale with
+anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>The mystery was growing serious and alarming.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you think of it, Lady Belgrade?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot think at all. I am at my wit's end,&quot; answered the lady. &quot;What
+do <i>you</i> think?&quot; she inquired, after a moment's pause.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think&mdash;that we had better call the servants up, one at a time, and put
+them separately through a strict examination,&quot; answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>A footman appeared in answer to it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Examine him first, your grace,&quot; said the lady.</p>
+
+<p>The duke put the young man through a strict catechism, without
+satisfactory results. John was the hall footman, whose business it was
+to answer the street-door bell and announce visitors. And he assured
+his grace that no one had entered or left the house that morning, to
+<i>his</i> knowledge, except the wedding party and their attendants.</p>
+
+<p>The hall-porter was next summoned and examined, and his report was found
+to correspond exactly to that of the footman.</p>
+
+<p>The butler was sent for and questioned, but could throw no light on the
+mystery of the lady's disappearance.</p>
+
+<p>The pantry footman was next called up. His duty was to wait on the butler
+and attend the servants' door, to take in provisions delivered there. And
+the first plausible clue to the mystery of Salome's disappearance was
+received from him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my lady,&quot; he said, &quot;there have been a stranger to the servants'
+door this morning&mdash;an elderly old widow woman, my lady, dressed in black,
+and werry much in earnest about seeing her grace; would take no denial,
+my lady, on no account; which compelled me to go to her grace's
+lady's-maid, Miss Watson, my lady, and send a message to her grace,&quot;
+said the young footman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did the duchess see this strange visitor?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Watson come down and seen her first, your grace, and told her how
+she mustn't disturb the duchess. But the visitor was so dead set on
+seeing her grace, and used such strong language about it, that at last
+Miss Watson took up her message and in a few minutes come back and took
+up the visitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She did? And what next?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Please, my lady, there was nothing next. In about an hour Miss Margaret
+brought the elderly old lady down, and I showed her out of the servants'
+door.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did she leave the house alone?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your grace, just as she came, alone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go and tell Margaret Watson to come here,&quot; said Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed and retired.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the girl made her appearance again.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How is it, Watson, that you did not mention the visitor you showed up
+into your lady's room this morning?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade, in a severe
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, my lady, I did not think the visitor signified anything,&quot;
+meekly answered the maid.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How could you tell <i>what</i> signified at a time like this?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon, my lady; but it was the time itself that made me forget
+the visitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who was she? What time did she come? What did she want?&quot; sharply
+demanded the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Please, my lady, she said her name was Smith, or Jones, or some such
+common name as that. I think it was Jones, my lady. And she lived on
+Westminster Road&mdash;or it might have been Blackfriars Road. Least-ways
+it was one of those roads leading to a bridge because I remember it made
+me think of the river.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Extremely satisfactory! At what hour did this Mrs. Smith or Jones, from
+Westminster or Blackfriars, come?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just as her grace went up to her room to change her dress. She had just
+finished changing it when the woman was admitted.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now! what did the woman want of the duchess?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know, my lady. Her business was with her grace alone. And she
+requested to have me sent out of the room. I did not see the woman again,
+until her grace called me to show her, the woman, out again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you did so?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my lady. And I have not seen the woman since. And&mdash;I have not seen
+her grace since, either, my lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may go now,&quot; answered Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>And the girl withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade were once more left alone
+together.</p>
+
+<p>Again their eyes met in anxious scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you think now, Duke?&quot; inquired her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think the disappearance of the duchess is connected with the visit of
+that strange woman. She may have been an unfortunate beggar, who, with
+some story of extreme distress, so worked upon Salome's sympathies as to
+draw her away from home, to see for herself, and give relief to the
+sufferers. Or&mdash;I shudder to think of it&mdash;she may have been a thief, or
+the companion of thieves, and with just such a story, decoyed the duchess
+out for purposes of plunder. This does not certainly seem to be a
+probable theory of the disappearance, but it does really seem the only
+possible one,&quot; concluded the duke, in a grave voice.</p>
+
+<p>And though he spoke calmly, his soul was shaken with a terrible anxiety
+that every moment now increased.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But is it at all likely that Salome, even with all her excessive
+benevolence, could have been induced to leave her home at such a time
+as this, even at the most distressing call of charity? Would she not
+have given money and sent a servant?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Under normal conditions she would have done as you say. But remember,
+dear madam, that Salome is not in a normal condition. Remember that it is
+but three months since she suffered an almost fatal nervous shock in the
+discovery of her father's murdered body on her own wedding morning.
+Remember that it is scarcely six weeks since her recovery from the nearly
+fatal brain fever that followed&mdash;if indeed she has ever fully recovered.
+<i>I</i> do not believe that she has, or that she will until I shall have
+taken her abroad, when total change of scene, with time and distance, may
+restore her,&quot; sighed the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought she was looking very well for the last few weeks,&quot; said Lady
+Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, until within the last few days, in which she seems to have
+suffered a relapse, easily accounted for, I think, by the association
+of ideas. The near approach of her wedding day brought vividly back to
+her mind the tragic events of her first appointed wedding morning, and
+caused the illness that has been noticed by all our friends this day. The
+excitement of the occasion has augmented this illness. Salome has been
+suffering very much all day. Every one noticed it, although, with the
+self-possession of a gentlewoman, she went calmly through the ceremonies
+at the church, and through the breakfast here. But I think she must
+have broken down in her room, and while in that state of nervous
+prostration she must have become an easy dupe to that beggar, or thief,
+whichever her strange visitor may have been,&quot; said the duke; and while
+he spoke so calmly on such an anxious and exciting subject, he, too,
+under circumstances of extreme trial and suspense, exhibited the
+self-possession and self-control which is the birthright of the true
+gentleman no less than of the true gentlewoman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It may be as you think. It would be no use to question the servants
+further. They know no more than we do. We can do nothing more now but
+wait, with what patience we may, for the return of that eccentric girl,&quot;
+said Lady Belgrade, with a deep sigh, as she settled herself down in her
+chair.</p>
+
+<p>Another hour passed&mdash;an hour of enforced inactivity, yet of unspeakable
+anxiety. Three hours had now elapsed since the mysterious disappearance
+of the bride; and yet no news of her came.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She does not return! This grows insupportable!&quot; exclaimed Lady Belgrade,
+at length, losing all patience, and starting up from her chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She <i>may</i> be detained by the sick bed, or the death bed, of some
+sufferer who has sent for her,&quot; replied the duke, huskily, trying to hope
+against hope.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As if she would so absent herself on her wedding day, on the eve of her
+wedding tour!&quot; exclaimed the lady, beginning to walk the floor in a
+thoroughly exasperated state of mind.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course she would not, in her normal mental condition; but, as I said
+before&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, I know what you said before. You insinuated that Salome may be
+insane from the latent effects of her recent brain fever, developed by
+the excitement of the last few days. And, Heaven knows, you may be right!
+It looks like it! Mysteriously gone off on her wedding day, in the
+interim between the wedding breakfast and the wedding tour! Gone off
+alone, no one knows where, without having left an explanation or a
+message for any one. What can have taken her out? Where can she be? Why
+don't she return? And night coming on fast. If she does not return within
+half an hour, you will miss the next train also, Duke,&quot; exclaimed Lady
+Belgrade, pausing in her restless walk, and throwing herself heavily into
+her chair again.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps,&quot; said the Duke, in great perplexity, &quot;we had better have the
+lady's maid up again, and question her more strictly in regard to the
+strange visitor's name and address; for I feel certain that the
+disappearance of the duchess is immediately connected with the visit of
+that woman. If we can, by judicious questions, so stimulate the memory of
+the girl as to obtain accurate information about the name and residence,
+we can send and make inquiries.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>For all answer, Lady Belgrade arose and rung the bell for about the
+twentieth time that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>And Margaret Watson was again called to the drawing-room and questioned.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, if you please, my lady, I am very sorry. I would give anything
+in the world if I could only remember exactly what the old person's name
+was, and where she lived. But indeed, my lady, what with being very
+much engaged with waiting on her grace, and packing up the last little
+things for the journey, and getting together the dressing-bags and such
+like, and having of my mind on them and not on the woman, and no ways
+expecting anything like this to happen, I wasn't that interested in the
+visitor to tax my memory with her affairs. But I know her name was a
+common one, like Smith or Jones, and I <i>think</i> it was Jones. And I
+know she said she lived on Westminster Road or Blackfriars Road, or some
+other road leading over a bridge, which I remember because it made me
+think about the river. But I couldn't tell which,&quot; said the girl in
+answer to the cross-questioning.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And is that all you can tell us?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon, my lady, but that is all I can remember,&quot; meekly replied
+the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then you might as well remember nothing. You can go!&quot; said Lady
+Belgrade, in deep displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>The girl retired, a little crestfallen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is there any other fool you would like to have called up and
+cross-examined, Duke?&quot; sarcastically inquired the lady.</p>
+
+<p>The duke made a gesture of negation. And the lady relapsed into painful
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>And now another weary, weary hour crept by without bringing news of the
+lost one.</p>
+
+<p>The watchers seemed to &quot;possess their souls&quot; in patience, if not &quot;in
+peace.&quot; There was really nothing to be done but to wait. There was no
+place where inquiries could be made. At this time of the year nearly all
+the fashionable world of London was out of town. Nor at any time had
+Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone. Nor would
+it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help
+to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible
+anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring
+forth.</p>
+
+<p>But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine
+continues, &quot;in well regulated families,&quot; through the most revolutionary
+sort of domestic troubles.</p>
+
+<p>The first dinner bell had rung; but neither of the anxious watchers had
+even heard it.</p>
+
+<p>The groom of the chambers came in and lighted the gas in the
+drawing-rooms, and retired in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Still the watchers sat waiting in a state of intense, repressed
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>The second dinner bell rang. And almost immediately the butler appeared
+at the door, and announced, with his formula:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady is served,&quot; and then:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will your grace join me at dinner?&quot; courteously inquired Lady Belgrade,
+thinking at the same time of the unparalleled circumstance of the
+bridegroom dining without his bride upon his wedding day&mdash;&quot;Will your
+grace join me at dinner?&quot; she repeated, perceiving that he had not heard,
+or at least had not answered her question.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon. Pray, excuse me, your ladyship. I am really not equal&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see! I see! Nor am I equal to going through what, at best, would be
+a mere form,&quot; said her ladyship. Then turning toward the waiting butler,
+she said&mdash;&quot;Remove the service, Sillery. We shall not dine to-day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>And the two watchers, whose anxiety was fast growing into insupportable
+anguish, waited still, for still, as yet, they could do nothing else but
+wait and control themselves.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace has missed the last train,&quot; said Lady Belgrade, at length, as
+the little cuckoo clock on the mantel shelf struck ten.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes the night express leaves London Bridge station for Dover at
+ten-thirty, and it is a full hour's drive from Kensington,&quot; replied the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>And both secretly thanked fortune that the wedding guests had all
+departed before the bride's mysterious absence from the house at such
+a time had become known; and they knew not but that &quot;the happy pair
+had left by the tidal train for Dover, <i>en route</i> for their
+continental tour,&quot;&mdash;as per wedding programme. And both silently hoped
+that the household servants would not talk.</p>
+
+<p>The time crept wearily on. The clock struck eleven.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot endure this frightful suspense one moment longer! I never heard
+of such a case in all the days of my life! A bride to vanish away on her
+bridal day! Duke of Hereward you are her husband! <span class="smcaps">What is to be
+done</span>?&quot; exclaimed Lady Belgrade, starting up from her seat and giving
+full sway to all the repressed excitement of the last few hours.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear lady,&quot; said the duke, controlling his own emotions by a strong
+effort of will, and speaking with a calmness he did not feel&mdash;&quot;My dear
+lady, the first thing you should do, should be to command yourself.
+Listen to me, dear Lady Belgrade. I have waited here in constrained
+quietness, hoping for our Salome's return from moment to moment, and
+fearing to expose her to gossip by any indiscreet haste in seeking her
+abroad. But I can wait no longer. I must commence the search abroad at
+once. I shall go immediately to a skillful detective, whom I know from
+reputation, and put the case in his hands. What seems to us so alarming
+and incomprehensible, may be to a man of his experience simple and clear
+enough. We are too near the fact to see it truly in its proper light.
+This man I understand to be faithful and discreet, one who may be
+intrusted with the investigation of the most delicate affairs. I will
+employ him immediately, in the confidence that no publicity will be given
+to this mystery. In the meanwhile, my dear Lady Belgrade, I counsel you
+to call the household servants all together. Do not inform them of the
+nature of my errand out, but caution them to silence and discretion as to
+the absence of their lady. You will allow me to confide this trust to
+you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Assuredly, Duke! And let me tell you that these servants are all so
+idolatrously devoted to their mistress, that they would never breathe, or
+suffer to be breathed in their presence, one syllable that could, in the
+remotest degree, reflect upon her dignity,&quot; said the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will return within an hour, madam,&quot; replied the duke, as he bowed and
+left the room.</p>
+
+<p>He went directly to the nearest police station at Church Court,
+Kensington.</p>
+
+<p>He asked to see Detective Collinson of the force.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, Detective Collinson was at the office, and soon made his
+appearance.</p>
+
+<p>The duke asked for a private interview.</p>
+
+<p>The detective invited him to sit down in an empty side-room.</p>
+
+<p>There the duke put the case of the missing lady in his hands, giving him
+all the circumstances supposed to be connected with her disappearance.</p>
+
+<p>The detective exhibited not the slightest surprise at the hearing of this
+unprecedented story, nor did he express any opinion. Detectives never are
+surprised at anything that may happen at any time to anybody, nor have
+they ever any opinions to venture in advance.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Collinson said he would take the case and give it his undivided
+attention, but would promise nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward, obliged to be contented with this answer, arose to
+leave the room. In passing out he met the chief, who had not been present
+when he first entered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I beg your grace's pardon, but I consider this meeting very
+fortunate,&quot; said that officer, respectfully touching his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Upon what ground?&quot; gravely inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace is wanted as a witness for the Crown, on the trial of John
+Potts and Rose Cameron, charged with the murder of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison. The girl, who was arrested at a house in Westminster Road a few
+days ago, has been sent down to Scotland, and the trial will commence, on
+the day after to-morrow, at the Assizes now open at Bannff. But,
+according to the newspaper report, we thought your grace to be now on
+your way to Paris, and we were just about to dispatch a special messenger
+to you. So your grace will perceive how fortunate this meeting turns out
+to be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I perceive,&quot; said the duke, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And your grace will not be inconvenienced, I hope,&quot; said the chief, as
+he bowed and placed a folded paper in the duke's hand.</p>
+
+<p>It was a subpoena commanding the recipient, under certain pains and
+penalties, to render himself at the Town Hall of Bannff as a witness for
+the Crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts, alias Abraham Peters,
+and Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS</h3>
+
+
+<p>When the emissary of Rose Cameron had gone, the young Duchess of
+Hereward, in a whirlwind of long-repressed excitement, slammed, locked
+and bolted all the doors leading from her apartments into the hall, and
+then fled into her dressing-room and cast herself head long down upon the
+floor in the collapse of utter, infinite despair&mdash;despair in all its
+depth of darkness, without its benumbing calmness!</p>
+
+<p>Her soul was shaken by a tempest of warring passions! Amazement,
+indignation, grief, horror, raged through her agonized bosom!</p>
+
+<p>It was well that no human eye beheld her in this deep degradation of woe!
+For in the madness of her anguish, she rolled on the floor, and tore the
+clothing from her shoulders and the dark hair from her head! She uttered
+such groans and cries as are seldom heard on this earth&mdash;such as perhaps
+fill the murky atmosphere of hell. She impiously called on Heaven to
+strike her dead as she lay! She was indeed on the very brink of raving
+insanity.</p>
+
+<p>There was but one thought that held her reason on its throne&mdash;the
+necessity of immediate flight and escape&mdash;escape from the man whom she
+had just vowed at the altar to love, honor, and obey until death&mdash;the man
+whom she had worshiped as an archangel!</p>
+
+<p>The man?&mdash;the fiend, rather!</p>
+
+<p>What had she just now found him proved to be?</p>
+
+<p>Yes <i>proved</i> to be, beyond the merciful possibility of a saving
+doubt!&mdash;proved to be by the most overwhelming and convicting testimony,
+corroborated also by the evidence of her own eyes and ears, too long
+discredited for his sake.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes had seen him lurking stealthily in the dark hall, near her
+father's bedroom door, late on the night of that father's murder. She had
+spoken to him, and at the sound of her voice he had shrunk silently out
+of sight.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she had discredited the evidence of her own eyes, and persuaded
+herself that she had been the subject of an optical illusion.</p>
+
+<p>Her ears had heard a part of his midnight conversation with his female
+confederate under the balcony&mdash;had heard his prediction that something
+would happen that night to prevent the marriage that he promised her
+should never take place&mdash;a prediction so awfully fulfilled in the morning
+by the discovery of the dead body of her murdered father! She had fainted
+at the sound of his voice, uttering such treacherous and cruel words;
+yet on her return to consciousness she had disbelieved the evidence of
+her own ears, and convinced herself that she had been the victim of a
+nightmare dream!</p>
+
+<p>Yes! she had disallowed the direct evidence of her own senses rather
+than believe such diabolical wickedness of her idol! But now the
+evidence of her own eyes and ears was corroborated by the most
+complete and convincing testimony&mdash;the conversation under the balcony,
+as reported by Rose Cameron's messenger, corresponded exactly with the
+conversation overheard by herself at the time and place it was said to
+have occurred, but which she dismissed from her mind as an evil dream!
+This corroborating testimony proved it to be an atrocious reality! And
+the man to whom she had given her hand that morning was an accomplice
+in the murder of her father! unintentionally perhaps, for the witness
+testified to the horror he expressed on learning from his confederate
+that a murder had been committed: &quot;The old man squealed and we had to
+squelch him!&quot; How she shuddered at the memory of these horrible words!</p>
+
+<p>But this man was not her husband, after all! Although a marriage ceremony
+had been performed between them by a bishop, he was not her husband, but
+the husband of Rose Cameron. She had overwhelming and convincing proof of
+this also!</p>
+
+<p>The letters written to Rose Cameron, calling her his dear wife, and
+signing himself her devoted husband &quot;Arondelle,&quot; were in the handwriting
+of the Duke of Hereward! She could have sworn to that handwriting,
+under any circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>And the photograph shown as the likeness of Rose Cameron's husband, was a
+duplicate of one in her own possession, given her by the duke himself.</p>
+
+<p>And, above all, the certificate of marriage between them, signed by the
+officiating clergyman and witnessed by the officers of the church, was
+unquestionably genuine, regular, and legal!</p>
+
+<p>No! there was not one merciful doubt to found a hope of his innocence
+upon! It was amazing, stupefying, annihilating, but it was true. Her idol
+was a fiend, glorious in personal beauty, diabolical in spirit, as the
+fallen archangel Lucifer, Son of the Morning!</p>
+
+<p>He was deeply, atrociously, insanely guilty!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, insanely! for how could he have acted so recklessly, as well as so
+criminally, if he had not been insane? Would he not have known that swift
+discovery and disgrace were sure to follow the almost open commission
+of such base crimes? And if no feeling of honor or conscience could have
+deterred him, would not the fear of certain consequences have done so?</p>
+
+<p><i>His</i> insanity was <i>her</i> only rational theory of the case! But
+his supposed insanity did not vindicate him to her pure and just mind.
+For he was not an insane <i>man</i> so much as an insane devil! He had
+only been mad in his recklessness, not in his crimes.</p>
+
+<p>Then quickly through her storm-tossed soul passed the thought that both
+sacred and profane history recorded instances of crimes committed by
+righteous and honorable men. Amazing truth! She remembered the piety and
+the <i>sin</i> of David, when he stole the wife of Uriah, and betrayed
+that loyal servant and brave soldier to a treacherous and bloody death!
+She remembered the loyalty and the <i>treason</i> of that chivalrous
+young Scottish prince who headed a fratricidal rebellion, in which his
+father and his king was slain, and who, as James IV., lived a life of
+remorse and penance, until, in his turn, he was slain on the fatal field
+of Flodden. She thought of these, and other instances, in which it might
+seem as if an angel and a devil lived together, animating one man's body.
+This would, of course, produce inconsistency of conduct, insanity of
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>But among all the harrowing thoughts that hurried through her tortured
+mind, one feeling was predominant&mdash;the necessity of instant flight. There
+was no other cause for her to pursue. The bridal train was awaiting her
+down stairs. Soon they would send to summon her again. How could she meet
+them? What could she say to them? How could she ever look upon the face
+of the Duke of Hereward and <i>live</i>?</p>
+
+<p>She must fly at once. No, there was no time to write a note and leave it
+pinned on her dressing-table cushion. Besides, what could she say in her
+note? Nothing; or nothing that she would say.</p>
+
+<p>She must go and make no sign. She forced herself to rise from the floor
+and commence hurried preparations for immediate flight.</p>
+
+<p>In all the tumult of her soul, some intuition guided her through her
+hasty arrangements to take the most effectual means to elude pursuit and
+baffle discovery.</p>
+
+<p>She took off her handsome mourning dress of black silk and crape that she
+had put on to travel in, and she packed it, with the black felt hat,
+vail, sack and gloves that belonged to the suit, in one of her trunks,
+which she carefully locked.</p>
+
+<p>Then from some receptacle of her left-off colored dresses, she selected
+a dark-gray silk suit, with sack, hat, vail and gloves to match. And in
+that she dressed herself.</p>
+
+<p>Then she reflected.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They will think that I went away in my mourning dress, which they will
+miss. If they describe me, they will describe a lady in deep mourning. If
+any one comes in pursuit, they will look for a young woman in black,
+and pass me by, because I shall wear gray and keep my vail down.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then she concealed in her bosom all the cash she had in hand, being about
+fifteen hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, which she had previously
+drawn out for her own private uses during her bridal tour. This she
+thought would go far to meet the unknown expenses of her future. She also
+took her diamonds. She might have to sell them, she thought, for support.</p>
+
+<p>Then, when she was quite ready, dressed in the dark gray suit, sack, hat,
+vail and gloves, and with a small valise in her hand, she went into her
+bath-room, and to the back door at the head of the private stairs leading
+down to the little garden of roses that was her own favorite bower.</p>
+
+<p>She watched for a few seconds, to be sure that no one was in sight, and
+then she slipped swiftly down the stairs and crossed the garden to a
+narrow back door, which she quickly opened and passed through, shutting
+it after her. It closed with a spring and cut off her re-entrance there,
+even if she had been disposed to turn back.</p>
+
+<p>But she was not.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced nervously up and down the lane at the back of the garden
+wall, but saw no one there.</p>
+
+<p>Then she walked rapidly away, and turned into a narrow street, keeping
+her gray vail doubled over her face all the time.</p>
+
+<p>She purposely lost herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, getting
+farther and farther from her home, before she ventured near a cab-stand.</p>
+
+<p>At length she hailed a closed cab, engaged it, entered it, closed all
+the blinds, and directed the driver to take her to the Brighton, Dover,
+and South Coast Railway Station at London Bridge, and promised him a
+half-sovereign if he would catch the next train.</p>
+
+<p>Yes! after a few moments of rapid reflection, as to whither she would go,
+she resolved to leave London by that very same tidal-train on which she
+and her husband were to have commenced their bridal tour, for there, of
+all places, she felt that she would be safest from pursuit; that, of all
+directions, would be the last in which they would think of seeking her!</p>
+
+<p>And while they should be waiting and watching for her at Elmhurst House,
+she would be speeding towards the sea coast, and by the time they should
+discover her flight, she would be on the Channel, <i>en voyage</i> for
+Calais.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond this she had no settled plan of action. She did not know where she
+would go, or what she should do, on reaching France.</p>
+
+<p>She only longed, with breathless anxiety, to fly from England, from the
+Duke of Hereward, and all the horrors connected with him. She felt that
+she was not his wife, could never have been his wife, and that the
+mockery of a marriage ceremony, which had been performed for them by the
+Bishop of London that morning, at St. George's Hanover Square, had made
+the duke a felon and not a husband!</p>
+
+<p>If she should remain in England she might even be called upon, in the
+course of events, to take a part in his prosecution. And guilty as she
+believed him to be, she could not bring herself to do that!</p>
+
+<p>No! she must fly from England and conceal herself on the Continent!</p>
+
+<p>But where?</p>
+
+<p>She knew not as yet!</p>
+
+<p>Her mind was in a fever of excitement when she reached London Bridge.</p>
+
+<p>She paid and discharged her cab, giving the driver the promised half
+sovereign for catching the train.</p>
+
+<p>Then, with her thick vail folded twice over her pale face, and her little
+valise in her hand, she went into the station, made her way to the office
+and bought a first-class ticket.</p>
+
+<p>Then she went to the train, and stopping before one of the first
+carriages called a guard to unlock the door and let her enter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, you can't have a seat in this compartment, Miss,&quot; said a somewhat
+garrulous old guard, coming up to her. &quot;This whole carriage is reserved
+for a wedding party&mdash;the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, as were married
+this morning, and their graces' retinue, which they are expected to
+arrive every minute, Miss. But you can have a seat in <i>this</i> one,
+Miss. It is every bit as good as the other,&quot; concluded the old man,
+leading the way to a lady's carriage some yards in advance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Reserved for a wedding party&mdash;reserved for the Duke and Duchess of
+Hereward and their retinue!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>How her heart fainted, almost unto death, with a new sense of infinite
+disappointment and regret at what might have been and what was! Reserved
+for the Duke and Duchess of Hereward! Ah, Heaven!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here you are, Miss!&quot; said the guard, opening the door of an empty
+carriage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long will it be before the train starts?&quot; inquired the fugitive in
+a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>The guard looked at his big silver watch and answered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Time'll be up in three minutes, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But if the&mdash;the&mdash;wedding party should not arrive before that?&quot;
+hesitatingly inquired Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Train starts all the same, Miss! Can't even wait for dukes and
+duchesses. 'Gin the law!&quot; answered the old guard, as he touched his
+hat and closed and locked the door.</p>
+
+<p>Salome sank back in her deeply-cushioned seat, thankful, at least, that
+she was alone in the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>And in three minutes the tidal train started.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>SALOME'S REFUGE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Salome was scarcely sane. Married that morning, with the approval and
+congratulations of all her friends, by one of the most venerable fathers
+of the church, to one of the most distinguished young noblemen in the
+peerage, who was also the sole master of her heart, and&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Flying from her bridegroom this afternoon as from her worst and most
+hated enemy!</p>
+
+<p>She could not realize her situation at all.</p>
+
+<p>All seemed a horrible nightmare dream, from which she was powerless to
+arouse herself; in which she was compelled to act a painful part, until
+some merciful influence from without should awaken and deliver her!</p>
+
+<p>In this dream she was whirled onward toward the South Coast, on that
+clear, autumnal afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>In this dream she reached Dover, and got out at the station amid all the
+confusion attending the arrival of the tidal train, and the babel of
+voices from cabmen, porters, hotel runners, and such, shouting their
+offers of:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Carriage, sir!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Carriage, ma'am!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Steamboat!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Calais steamer!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lord Warden's!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Victoria!&quot; and so forth.</p>
+
+<p>Acting instinctively and mechanically, she made her way to the steamboat.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed to be an unusually large number of people going across.</p>
+
+<p>She saw no one among the passengers, whom she recognized; but still she
+kept her vail folded twice across her face, as she passed to a settee on
+deck.</p>
+
+<p>She was scarcely seated before the boat left the pier.</p>
+
+<p>Wind and tide was against her, and the passage promised to be a slow and
+rough one.</p>
+
+<p>And soon indeed the steamer began to roll and toss amid the short, crisp
+waves of Dover Straits, now whipped to a froth by wind against tide.</p>
+
+<p>Most of the passengers succumbed and went below.</p>
+
+<p>Now, whether intense mental pre-occupation be an antidote to
+sea-sickness, we cannot tell. But it is certain that Salome did not
+suffer from the violent motion of the boat. She was indeed scarcely
+conscious of it.</p>
+
+<p>She sat upon the deck, wrapped in a large shepherd's plaid shawl, with
+her gray vail thickly folded over her face, which was turned toward the
+west, where the setting sun was sinking below the ocean horizon, and
+drawing down after him a long train of glory from over the troubled
+waters.</p>
+
+<p>But it is doubtful if Salome even saw this, or knew what hour, what
+season it was!</p>
+
+<p>A rough night followed. Wrapped in her shawl, absorbed in her dream,
+Salome remained on deck, unaffected by the weather, and indifferent to
+its consequences, although more than once the captain approached and
+kindly advised her to go below.</p>
+
+<p>It was after midnight when the boat reached her pier at Calais.</p>
+
+<p>In the same dream Salome left her seat and landed among the sea-sick
+crowd.</p>
+
+<p>In the same dream she allowed the custom-house officers to tumble out the
+contents of her little valise, and satisfied, without cavil, all their
+demands, and answered without hesitation all the questions put to her by
+the officials.</p>
+
+<p>In the same dream she made her way to a carriage on the railway train
+just about to start for Paris.</p>
+
+<p>There were three other occupants of the carriage, which was but dimly
+lighted by two oil lamps. Salome did not look toward them, but doubled
+her vail still more closely over her face as she sat down in a corner and
+turned toward the window, on the left side of her seat.</p>
+
+<p>The night was so dark that she could see but little, as the train
+flashed past what seemed to be but the black shadows of trees, fields,
+farm-houses, groves, villages, and lonely chateaux.</p>
+
+<p>A weird midnight journey, through a strange land to an unknown bourne.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally she stole a glance through her thick vail toward her three
+fellow passengers, who sat opposite to her, on the back seat&mdash;three
+silent, black-shrouded figures who sat mute and motionless as watchers
+of the dead.</p>
+
+<p>Very terrifying, but very appropriate figures to take part in her
+nightmare dream.</p>
+
+<p>She turned her eyes away from those silent, shrouded, mysterious figures,
+and prayed to awake.</p>
+
+<p>She could not yet.</p>
+
+<p>But as she peered out through the darkness of the night, and saw the
+black shadows of the roadway flying behind her as the train sped
+southward, her physical powers gradually succumbed to fatigue, and her
+waking dream passed off in a dreamless sleep.</p>
+
+<p>She slept long and profoundly. She slept through many brief stoppages and
+startings at the little way stations. She slept until she was rudely
+awakened by the uproar incident upon the arrival of the train at a large
+town.</p>
+
+<p>She awoke in confusion. Day was dawning. Many passengers were leaving the
+train. Many others were getting on it.</p>
+
+<p>She rubbed her eyes and looked around in amazement and terror. She did
+not in the least know where she was, or how she had come there.</p>
+
+<p>For during her deep and dreamless sleep she had utterly forgotten the
+occurrences of the last twenty-four hours.</p>
+
+<p>Now she was rudely awakened, bewildered, and frightened to find herself
+in a strange scene, amid alarming circumstances, of which she knew or
+could remember nothing; connected with which she only felt the deep
+impression of some heavy preceding calamity. She saw before her the three
+silent, black, shrouded forms of her fellow-passengers, but their
+presence, instead of enlightening, only deepened and darkened the gloomy
+mystery.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her icy fingers to her hot and throbbing temples, and tried
+to understand the situation.</p>
+
+<p>Then memory flashed back like lightning, revealing all the desolation of
+her storm-blasted, wrecked and ruined life.</p>
+
+<p>With a deep and shuddering groan she threw her hands up to her head, and
+sank back in her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is Madame ill? Can we do anything to help her?&quot; inquired a kindly voice
+near her.</p>
+
+<p>In her surprise Salome dropped her hands, and at the same time her vail
+fell from before her face.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she then saw that the three mute, shrouded forms before her were
+Sisters of Mercy, in the black robes of their order, and knew that they
+had only maintained silence in accordance with their decorous rule of
+avoiding vain conversation.</p>
+
+<p>Even now the taller and elder of the three had spoken only to tender her
+services to a suffering fellow-creature.</p>
+
+<p>The fugitive bride and the Sister of Mercy looked at each other, and at
+the instant uttered exclamations of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>In the sister, Salome recognized a lay nun of the Convent of St. Rosalie,
+in which she had passed nearly all the years of her young life, and in
+which she had received her education, and to which it had once been her
+cherished desire to return and dedicate herself to a conventual service.</p>
+
+<p>In Salome the nun saw again a once beloved pupil, whom she, in common
+with all her sisterhood, had fondly expected to welcome back to her
+novitiate.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sister Josephine! You! Is it indeed you! Oh, how I thank Heaven!&quot;
+fervently exclaimed the fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mademoiselle Laiveesong! You here! My child! And alone! But how is that
+possible?&quot; cried the good sister in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>Before Salome could answer the guard opened the door with a party of
+passengers at his back. But seeing the compartment already well filled by
+the three Sisters of Mercy and another lady, he closed the door again and
+passed down the platform to find places for his party elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>The incident was little noticed by Salome at the time, although it was
+destined to have a serious effect upon her after fate.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the train started.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear child,&quot; recommenced Sister Josephine, as soon as the train was
+well under way&mdash;&quot;my dear child, how is it possible that I find you here,
+alone on the train at midnight! Were you going on to Paris, and alone?
+Was any one to meet you there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dear, good Sister Josephine, ask me no questions yet. I am ill&mdash;really
+and truly ill!&quot; sighed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! I see you are, my dear child. Ill and alone on the night train! Holy
+Virgin preserve us!&quot; said the sister, devoutly crossing herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ask me no questions yet, dear sister, because I cannot answer them. But
+take me with you wherever you go, for wherever that may be, there will be
+peace and rest and safety, I know! Say, will you take me with you, good
+Sister Josephine?&quot; pleaded Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! surely we will, my child. With much joy we will. We&mdash;(Sister
+Francoise and Sister Felecitie&mdash;Mademoiselle Laiveesong,)&quot; said Sister
+Josephine, stopping to introduce her companions to each other.</p>
+
+<p>The three young persons thus named bowed and smiled, and pressed palms,
+and then sat back in their seats, while the elder Sister, Josephine,
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have come up from Fontevrau, and are now going straight on to our
+convent. With joy we will take you with us, my dear child. Our holy
+mother will be transported to see you. Does she expect you, my dear
+child?&quot; inquired the sister, forgetting her tacit promise to ask no more
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no one expects me,&quot; sighed the fugitive, in so faint a voice that
+the good Sister forbore to make any more inquiries for the moment.</p>
+
+<p>The train rushed onward. Day was broadening. The horizon was growing red
+in the east.</p>
+
+<p>The party travelled on in silence for some ten or fifteen minutes, and
+then, Sister Josephine growing impatient to have her curiosity satisfied,
+made a few leading remarks.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And so you were coming to us unannounced by any previous communication
+to our holy mother? And coming alone on the night train! You possess a
+noble courage, my child, but the adventure was hazardous to a young and
+lovely unmarried woman. The Virgin be praised we met you when we did!&quot;
+said the Sister, devoutly crossing herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Amen, and amen, to that!&quot; sighed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Our holy mother will be overjoyed to see you. You are sure she does not
+expect you, my dear child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Sister, she does not expect me, unless she has the gift of second
+sight. For I did not expect myself to return to St. Rosalie, to-day, or
+ever. When I took my place in this carriage at midnight, I did not know
+how far I should go, or where I should stop. I took a through ticket to
+Paris; but I did not know whether I should stop at Paris, or go on to
+Marseilles, or Rome, or St. Petersburg, or New York, or where!&quot; moaned
+the fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The holy saints protect us, my child! What wild thing is this you are
+saying?&quot; exclaimed Sister Josephine, making the sign of the cross.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No matter what I say now, good Sister, I will tell our holy mother all.
+Is la Mere Genevieve now your lady superior?&quot; softly inquired the
+fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, surely, my child. And she will be transported to behold her best
+beloved pupil again. You are sure that she will be taken by surprise?&quot;
+said the good, simple minded Sister, still innocently angling for a
+farther explanation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I feel sure that I shall surprise our good mother if I do
+<i>not</i> delight her; for, as I told you before, I gave her no
+intimation of any intended visit. I repeat that when I set foot upon this
+train, I had no fixed plan in my mind. I did not know where I should go.
+My meeting with you is providential. It decides me, nay, rather let me
+say, it directs me to seek rest and peace and safety there where my happy
+childhood and early youth were passed, and where I once desired to spend
+my whole life in the service of Heaven. I, too, fervently praise the
+Virgin for this blessed meeting. I too thank the Mother of Sorrows for
+being near me in my sorrow and in my madness!&quot; murmured Salome, in a low,
+earnest tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy saints, my child! What can have happened to you to inspire such
+words as these?&quot; exclaimed Sister Josephine in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind what, good Sister. You shall hear all in time. I am forced by
+fate to keep a promise that I made and might have broken. That is all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my dear child, I comprehend sorrow and despair in your words; but I
+do not comprehend your words!&quot; sighed Sister Josephine.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;When I left your convent three years ago, I promised did I not, that
+after I should have become of age and be mistress of my fate, I would
+return, dedicate my life to the service of Heaven, and spend the
+remainder of it here? Did I not?&quot; inquired Salome, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You did, you did, my child. And for a long time we looked for you in
+vain. And when you did not come, or even write to us, we thought the
+world had won you, and made you forget your promise,&quot; sighed Sister
+Josephine crossing herself.</p>
+
+<p>The two youthful Sisters followed her example, sighed and crossed
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p>There was a grave pause of a few minutes, and then the voice of Salome
+was heard in solemn tones:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The world won me. The world broke me and flung me back upon the convent,
+and forced me to remember and keep my promise. I return now to dedicate
+myself to the service of Heaven, at the altar of your convent, if indeed
+Heaven will take a heart that earth has crushed!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She sighed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is the world-crushed, bleeding heart that is the sweetest offering
+to all-healing, all-merciful Heaven,&quot; said Sister Josephine, tenderly
+lifting the hand of Salome and pressing it to her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>Again a solemn silence fell upon the little party.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was the first to break it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It seems to me we have come a very long way, since we left the last
+station. Are we near ours?&quot; she inquired, in a voice sinking with
+fatigue.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We will be at our station in a very few minutes. A comfortable close
+carriage will meet us there to convey us to St. Rosalie,&quot; said Sister
+Josephine, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>Salome sank wearily back in her corner seat. The short-lived energy that
+enabled her to talk was dying out. Her hands and feet were cold as ice.
+Her head was hot as fire. Her frame was faint almost to swooning.</p>
+
+<p>The train sped on. The party in the carriage fell into silence that
+lasted until the train &quot;slowed,&quot; and stopped at a little way station.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here we are!&quot; said Sister Josephine, rising to leave the carriage with
+her companions.</p>
+
+<p>The guard opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Josephine led the way out, and then took the hand of the half
+fainting Salome, to help her on.</p>
+
+<p>The two other sisters followed. A close carriage, with an aged coachman
+on the box, awaited them. The old man did not leave his seat; but Sister
+Josephine opened the door and helped Salome into the carriage, and placed
+her comfortably on the cushions in a corner of the back seat, and then
+sat down beside her.</p>
+
+<p>The two younger sisters followed and placed themselves on the front seat.</p>
+
+<p>The aged coachman, who knew his duty, did not wait for orders, but turned
+immediately away from the station, and drove off just as the train
+started again on its way to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>They entered a country road running through a wood&mdash;a pleasant ride, if
+Salome could have enjoyed it&mdash;but she leaned back on her cushions, with
+closed eyes, fever-flushed cheeks, and fainting frame. The sisters,
+seeing her condition, refrained from disturbing her by any conversation.</p>
+
+<p>They rode on in perfect silence for about a mile, when they came to a
+high stone wall, which ran along on the left-hand side of their road,
+while the thick wood continued on their right-hand side. The road here
+ran between the wood and the wall of the convent grounds.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
+
+<h3>SALOME'S PROTECTRESS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;We have arrived. Welcome home, my dear child,&quot; said Sister Josephine, as
+the carriage drew up before the strong and solid, iron-bound, oaken gates
+of the convent.</p>
+
+<p>The aged coachman blew a shrill summons upon a little silver whistle that
+he carried in his pocket for the purpose.</p>
+
+<p>The gates were thrown wide open and the carriage rolled into an extensive
+court-yard, enclosed in a high stone wall, and having in its centre the
+massive building of the convent proper, with its chapel and offices.</p>
+
+<p>A straight, broad, hard, rolled, gravelled carriage-way led from the
+gates through the court-yard and up to the main entrance of the building.
+This road was bordered on each side by grass-plots, now sear in the late
+October frosts, and flower-beds, from which the flowers had been removed
+to their winter quarters in the conservatories. Groups of shade trees,
+statues of saints, and fountains of crystal-clear water adorned the
+grounds at regular intervals. In the rear of the convent building was a
+thicket of trees reaching quite down to the back wall.</p>
+
+<p>The carriage rolled along the gravelled road, crossing the court-yard,
+and drew up before the door of the convent.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Josephine got out and helped Salome to alight.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was just rising in cloudless glory.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See, my child,&quot; said Sister Josephine, cheerily pointing to the eastern
+horizon; &quot;see, a happy omen; the sun himself arises and smiles on your
+re-entrance into St. Rosalie.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome smiled faintly, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her companion
+as they went slowly up the steps, passed through the front doors, and
+found themselves in a little square entrance hall, surrounded on three
+sides by a bronze grating, and having immediately before them a grated
+door, with a little wicket near the centre.</p>
+
+<p>Behind this wicket sat the portress, a venerable nun, whom age and
+obesity had consigned to this sedentary occupation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Benedicite</i>, good Mother Veronique! How are all within the house?&quot;
+inquired Sister Josephine, going up to the wicket.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The saints be praised, all are well! They are just going in to matins.
+You come in good time, my sisters! But who is she whom you bring with
+you?&quot; inquired the old nun, nodding toward Salome, even while she
+detached a great key from her girdle, and unlocked the door, to admit the
+party.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, then, Mother Veronique, don't you see? An old, well-beloved pupil
+come back to see our holy mother? Don't you recognize her? Have you
+already forgotten Mademoiselle Laiveesong, who left us only three years
+ago?&quot; inquired Sister Josephine, as she led Salome into the portress'
+parlor, followed by the two younger sisters, Francoise and Felecitie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! ah! so it is! Mademoiselle Salome come back to us!&quot; joyfully
+exclaimed the old nun, seizing and fondling the hands of the visitor,
+and gazing wistfully into her flushed and feverish face. &quot;Yes, yes,
+I remember you! Mademoiselle Laiveesong! Mademoiselle, the rich banker's
+heiress! I am very happy to see you, my dear child! And our holy mother
+will be filled with joy! She has gone to matins now, but will soon return
+to give you her blessing. Ah! ah! Mademoiselle Salome! <i>Mais Helas!</i>
+How ill she looks! Her hands are ice! Her head is fire! Her limbs are
+withes! She is about to faint!&quot; added Mother Veronique, aside to Sister
+Josephine.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She is just off a long and fatiguing journey. She is tired and hungry,
+and needs rest and refreshment. That is all,&quot; answered the sister,
+drawing the arm of the fainting girl through her own, and supporting her
+as she led her from the portress' parlor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! ah! is this so? The dear child! Take her in and rest and feed her,
+my sisters! And when matins are over, bring her to our venerable mother,
+whose soul will be filled with rapture to see her,&quot; twaddled the old nun,
+until the party passed in from her sight.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Josephine led Salome to her own cell, and made her loosen her
+clothes and lie down on the cot-bed, while Sister Francoise and Sister
+Felecitie went to the refectory and brought her a plate of biscuit and
+a glass of wine and water.</p>
+
+<p>Wine was not the proper drink for Salome, in her flushed and feverish
+condition. But she was both faint and thirsty, and the wine, mixed with
+water, seemed cool and refreshing, and she quaffed it eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>But she refused the biscuits, declaring that she could not swallow. And
+so she thanked her kind friends for their attention, and sank back on her
+pillow and closed her eyes, as if she would go to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The sisters promised to bring the mother abbess to her bedside as soon as
+the matins should be over. And so they left her to repose, and went
+silently away to the chapel to take their accustomed places, and join,
+even at the &quot;eleventh hour,&quot; in the morning worship.</p>
+
+<p>But did Salome sleep?</p>
+
+<p>Ah! no. She lay upon that cot-bed with her hands covering her eyes, as if
+to shut out all the earth. She might shut out all the visible creation,
+but she could not exclude the haunting images that filled her mind. She
+could not banish the forms and faces that floated before her inner
+vision&mdash;the most venerable face of her dear, lost father, the noble face
+of her once beloved&mdash;ah! still too well beloved Arondelle!</p>
+
+<p>The music of the matin hymns softened by distance, floated into her room,
+but failed to soothe her to repose.</p>
+
+<p>At length the sweet sounds ceased.</p>
+
+<p>And then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess entered the cell so softly that Salome, lying with closed eyes
+on the cot, remained unconscious of the presence standing beside her,
+looking down upon her form.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was a tall, fair, blue-eyed woman, upon whose serene brow the
+seal of eternal peace seemed set. She was about fifty years of age, but
+her clear eyes and smooth skin showed how tranquilly these years had
+passed. She was clothed in the well-known garb of her order&mdash;in a black
+dress, with long, hanging sleeves, and a long, black vail. Her face was
+framed in with the usual white linen bands, her robe confined at the
+waist by a girdle, from which hung her rosary of agates; and her silver
+cross hung from her neck.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was a lady of the most noble birth, connected with the royal
+house of Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>In the revolution which had driven Louis Philippe from the throne, her
+father and her brother had perished. Her mother had passed away long
+before. She remained in the convent of St. Rosalie, where she was being
+educated.</p>
+
+<p>And when, early in the days of the Second Empire, her fortune was
+restored to her, instead of leaving the cloister, where she had found
+peace, for the world, where she had found only tribulation, she took the
+vail and the vows that bound her to the convent forever, and devoted her
+means to enriching and enlarging the house. The convent had always
+supported itself by its celebrated academy for young ladies. It had also
+maintained a free school for poor children. But now the heiress of the
+noble house of de Crespignie added a Home for Aged Women, an asylum for
+Orphan Girls and Nursery for Deserted Infants. And all these were placed
+under the charge of the Sisters of Mercy.</p>
+
+<p>Of the fifty years of this lady's life, forty had been spent in the
+convent where she had lived as pupil, novice, nun and abbess. Her
+cloistered life had been passed in active good works, if nurturing
+infancy, educating orphans, cheering age, and ordering and governing
+an excellent academy for young ladies, can be called so.</p>
+
+<p>And whatever such a life may have brought to others, it brought to this
+princess of the banished Orleans family perfect peace.</p>
+
+<p>She stood now looking down with infinite pity on the stricken form and
+face of her late pupil. She saw that some heavy blow from sorrow had
+crushed her. And she did not wonder at this.</p>
+
+<p>For to the apprehension of the abbess, the world from which her late
+pupil had returned was full of tribulation, as the convent was full of
+peace.</p>
+
+<p>She stood looking down on her a moment, and then murmured, in tones of
+ineffable tenderness:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My child!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother Genevieve! My dear mother!&quot; answered Salome, clasping her hands
+and looking up.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess drew a chair to the side of the cot, sat down, and took the
+hand of her pupil, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have come back to us, my child. I thought you would. You are most
+welcome.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother! mother! I am <i>driven</i> back to you for shelter from
+a storm of trouble!&quot; exclaimed Salome, in great excitement, her cheeks
+burning, and her eyes blazing with the fires of fever.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We will receive you with love and cherish you in our
+hearts&mdash;<i>unquestioned</i>&mdash;for, my child, you are too ill
+to give us any explanation now,&quot; said the abbess, gently, laying
+her soft, cool hand upon the burning brow of the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! mother, mother, let me talk now and unburden my heavy heart! You
+know not how it will relieve me to do so to <i>you</i>. I could not do so
+to any other. Let me tell you, dear mother, while I may, before it shall
+be too late. For I am going to be very ill, mother; and perhaps I may
+die! Oh Heaven grant I may be permitted to die!&quot; fervently prayed Salome,
+clasping her hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush, hush, my poor, unhappy child. I know not what your sorrow has
+been, but it cannot possibly justify you in your sinful petition. Life,
+my child, is the greatest of boons, since it contains within it the
+possibility of eternal bliss. We should be deeply thankful for simple
+<i>life</i>, whatever may be its present trials, since it holds the
+promise of future happiness,&quot; said the gentle abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother, my life is wrecked&mdash;is hopelessly wrecked!&quot; groaned Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay, nay, only storm-tossed on the treacherous seas of the world. Here
+is your harbor, my child. Come into port, little, weary one!&quot; said the
+abbess, with a tender, cheerful smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother, your wayward pupil has wandered far, far from your
+teachings! She has become a heathen&mdash;an idolator! Yes, she set up unto
+herself an idol, and she worshiped it as a god, until at last, <span class="smcaps">it
+fell!&mdash;it fell! and crushed her under its ruins</span>!&quot; said Salome,
+growing more and more excited and feverish.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is well for us, my child, when our earthly idols do fall and crush
+us, else we might go on to perdition in our fatal idolatry. Yes, my
+child, it is well that your idol has fallen, even though you lie buried
+and bleeding under its ruins; for our fraternity, like the good Samaritan
+of the parable, will raise you up and dress your wounds, and set you on
+your feet again, and lead you in the right path&mdash;the path of peace and
+safety.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, mother, will you now hear my story, my confession?&quot; said Salome,
+earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My child, I would rather you would defer it until you are better able to
+talk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, mother, I have the strength of fever on me now; but my mind is
+growing confused. Let me speak while I may!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Speak on, then, my dear child, but don't exhaust yourself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, though I have failed, through very shame of broken promises, to
+write to you lately, yet you must have heard from other sources of my
+father's tragic death?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I heard of it, my child. And I have daily remembered his soul in my
+prayers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you heard, good mother, of how I forgot all my promises to devote
+myself to a religious life, and how I betrothed myself to the Marquis of
+Arondelle, who is now the Duke of Hereward?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You yielded to the expressed wishes of your father, my child, as it was
+natural you should do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I yielded to the inordinate and sinful affections of my own heart, and I
+have been punished for it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My poor child!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen, mother! Yesterday morning, at St. George's church, Hanover
+Square, in London, I was married by the Bishop of London to the Duke of
+Hereward. Yesterday afternoon I received secret but unquestionable proof
+that the duke was an already married man when he met me first, and that
+his wife was living in London!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy saints, Mademoiselle! What is this that you are telling me?&quot;
+exclaimed the astonished abbess. &quot;Surely, surely she is growing delirious
+with fever,&quot; she muttered to herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am telling you a terrible truth, my mother! Listen, and I will tell
+you everything, even as I know it myself!&quot; said Salome, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess no longer opposed her speaking, although it was evident that
+her illness was hourly increasing.</p>
+
+<p>And Salome told the terrible story of her sorrows, commencing with the
+first appointed wedding-day at Castle Lone, and ending with the second
+wedding-day at Elmhurst House, and her own secret flight from her false
+bridegroom, just as it is known to our readers.</p>
+
+<p>The deeply shocked abbess heard and believed, and frequently crossed
+herself during the recital.</p>
+
+<p>As Salome proceeded with what she called her confession, her fever and
+excitement increased rapidly. Toward the end of her recital her thoughts
+grew confused and wandered into the ravings of a brain fever.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BRIDEGROOM.</h3>
+
+
+<p>According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Hereward
+returned to Elmthorpe House to make his report.</p>
+
+<p>He found the dowager waiting for him where he had left her, in the back
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>He greeted her only by a silent bow, and she questioned him only by a
+mute look.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have placed the case in the hands of Setter, confidentially, of
+course. He will commence secret investigations to-night,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This morning, you mean, Duke. It is now two o'clock,&quot; remarked the
+dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is it, indeed, so late?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So early you should say. Yes, it is. But what thinks the detective of
+this affair?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is inclined to think as we do, that our dear Salome has been decoyed
+away by some tale of extreme distress, and for purposes of robbery,&quot;
+answered the young duke, pressing his white lips firmly together in
+his effort to control all expression of the anguish that was secretly
+wringing his heart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And what does he think of the chances of finding her soon and finding
+her safe?&quot; inquired the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>The duke slowly shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, and what does that mean?&quot; asked the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It means that Detective Setter cannot form an opinion, or will not
+commit himself to the expression of one at present. And now, dear Lady
+Belgrade, as it is after two o'clock, I must bid you good-night&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, rather,&quot; interrupted the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And return to my lodgings,&quot; continued the duke, passing his hand across
+his forehead, like one &quot;dazed&quot; with trouble.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg you will do nothing of the sort, Duke,&quot; said Lady Belgrade,
+hastily interposing. &quot;You have left your lodgings for a wedding tour. You
+are not expected back there. Your people think that you are far from
+London with your bride. In the name of propriety, let them think so
+still. Do not go back there to-night, and wake them all up, and start
+a nine days' wonder of scandal. Stay where you are, Duke, quietly,
+until we recover our Salome. When we do, you can both leave for Paris.
+All the world will know nothing of this distressing affair, which, if it
+were to come to their knowledge, would be exaggerated, perverted, turned
+and twisted out of all its original shape, into some horrid story of
+scandal. Remember now, how few people know anything about it&mdash;only you,
+I, the detective necessarily taken into your confidence, and the
+servants, for whose discretion I can answer. Remain quietly here,
+therefore, that all gossip may be stopped.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke resumed his seat, but did not immediately answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you not think my counsel good?&quot; inquired the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very good. Thanks, Lady Belgrade. I will follow your advice. There is
+another reason why I should do so, but with which you are not acquainted.
+In the absorption of my thoughts with the subject of our Salome, I
+totally forgot to tell you that I have just been subpoenaed as a witness
+for the crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts and Rose Cameron
+for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison. The case will come on at the
+Assizes at Banff on Thursday next. I must leave for Scotland to-morrow,&quot;
+said the young duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why&mdash;you surprise me very much! When was the subpoena served upon you?&quot;
+inquired the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In a chance recounter at the police-office, where I went to find the
+detective, and where I also found a sheriff's officer holding a subpoena
+for me, which he was about to send across the channel by a special
+messenger&mdash;supposing me to be in Paris. So you see, my dear Lady
+Belgrade, my wedding tour would have been stopped at Paris, if not
+nearer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is well; for now, if the wedding tour is delayed, it will be known
+to be a legal necessity, which in no way reflects upon the wedding party.
+And now, my dear Duke, since you consent to stay all night, let me advise
+you to retire to rest. You will find your valet waiting your orders in
+the cedar suite of rooms, to which I had your dressing case and boxes
+taken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Lady Belgrade. Your ladyship anticipates everything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I certainly anticipated the necessity of your remaining here all night,
+as soon as I found that you could not leave London. And now, Duke, I must
+really send you to bed. I am exhausted. I must lie down, even if I do not
+sleep,&quot; said the dowager, as she arose and touched the bell.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and left the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade followed his example.</p>
+
+<p>And the weary groom of the chambers entered, in answer to the bell, to
+turn off the gas and fasten up the rooms.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke knew where to find the cedar suite&mdash;a sumptuous set of
+apartments finished and fitted up in the costly and fragrant wood which
+gave them their name.</p>
+
+<p>He found his servant waiting in the dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>His grace's valet was no fine gentleman from Paris, as full of
+accomplishments as of vices; but a simple and honest young man from the
+estate. The extra gravity which young James Kerr put into his manner of
+waiting, alone testified of the reverential sympathy he felt for his
+beloved master.</p>
+
+<p>The duke threw off the travelling coat that he had assumed for his
+journey and had worn up to this moment; and he took the wadded silk
+dressing gown, handed him by his valet, and having put it on, he dropped
+into an easy resting-chair, and ordered Kerr to lower the gas and then
+leave the room for the night.</p>
+
+<p>The young Duke of Hereward did not retire to bed that night. As soon as
+he found himself alone in the half-darkened rooms, he arose from his
+chair and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor, relieving the
+pent-up anguish of his bosom by such deep groans as had required all his
+self-control to suppress while he was in the presence of others.</p>
+
+<p>Thus walking and groaning in great agony of mind, he passed the few
+remaining dark hours of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>At daylight he sank exhausted into his easy-chair. But even then he
+neither &quot;slumbered nor slept,&quot; but passed the time in waiting and longing
+for the rising sun, that he might go out and renew his search for his
+lost bride.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had scarcely risen when he rang for his valet.</p>
+
+<p>The young man appeared promptly.</p>
+
+<p>The duke made a hasty toilet, and then called his servant to attend him
+down stairs.</p>
+
+<p>None of the household were yet astir.</p>
+
+<p>But, by the direction of the duke, Kerr unlocked, unbolted and unbarred
+the street door to let his master out.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Close and secure the house after me, James, for it will be hours yet
+before the household will be up,&quot; said the duke, as he passed out.</p>
+
+<p>It was a clear October day for London. The sun was not more than twenty
+minutes high, and it shone redly and dully through a morning fog. The
+streets were still deserted, except by milkmen, bakers, costermongers,
+and other &quot;early birds.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He walked rapidly to the Church Court police station.</p>
+
+<p>Detective Setter was not there. But the Duke left word for him to call at
+Elmthorpe as soon as he should return.</p>
+
+<p>He left the police station and went on toward Elmthrope. But he did not
+enter the house. He could not rest. He walked up and down the sidewalk in
+front of the iron railings until he thought Lady Belgrade might have
+risen.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went up the steps and rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>The hall porter opened the door and admitted him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Has Lady Belgrade come down yet?&quot; was his first question.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lady has, your grace. My lady is waiting breakfast for your grace,&quot;
+respectfully answered the footman.</p>
+
+<p>He longed to ask if any news had been heard of the missing one, but he
+forbore to do so, and hurried away up-stairs to the breakfast parlor.</p>
+
+<p>There he found Lady Belgrade, dressed in a purple cashmere robe, and
+wrapped in a rich India shawl, reclining in a rocking-chair beside a
+breakfast-table laid for two.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good morning, madam. I fear I have kept your ladyship waiting,&quot; said the
+duke, as he entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not a second, my dear duke. I have but just this instant come down,&quot;
+answered the dowager, politely, and unhesitatingly telling the
+conventional lie, as she put out her hand and touched the bell.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I fear that it is useless to ask you if there is any news of our missing
+girl,&quot; said the duke, in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have heard nothing. And you? Of course, you have not, or you would not
+have asked me the question. But, good Heaven, Duke, you are as pale as a
+ghost! You look as if you had just risen from a sick bed! You look full
+twenty years older than you did yesterday. What have you been doing with
+yourself? Where have you been?&quot; inquired the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>The duke answered her last question only.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have been to Church Court to look up Detective Setter. I left orders
+for him to report here this morning. I expect him here very soon. I must
+do all that I can do in London to-day, as it is absolutely necessary for
+me to leave town by the night express of the Great Northern Railroad, in
+order to attend the trial for which I am subpoenaed as a witness,
+to-morrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see! Of course, you must go. There is no resisting a subpoena. But who
+is to co-operate with Setter in the search for Salome?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>You</i> must do so, if you please, Lady Belgrade, until my return. Of
+course, I will hurry back with all dispatch.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No fear of that. The only fear is that you will hurry into your grave.
+But here is breakfast,&quot; said her ladyship, as a footman entered with a
+tray.</p>
+
+<p>Mocha coffee, orange pekoe tea, Westphalia ham, poached eggs, dry toast,
+muffins, rolls, and so forth, were arranged upon the table to tempt the
+appetite of the two who sat at meat.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Belgrade made a good meal. She was at the age of which physicians
+say, &quot;the constitution takes on a conservative tone,&quot; and which poets
+call &quot;the time of peace.&quot; In a word, she was middle-aged, fat, and
+comfort-loving; and so she was not disposed to lose her rest, or food,
+or peace of mind for any trouble not personally her own.</p>
+
+<p>She was vexed at the unconventionality of Salome's disappearance, fearful
+of what the world would say, and anxious to keep the matter as close as
+possible. That was all, and it did not take away her appetite.</p>
+
+<p>But the anxious young husband could not eat. A feverish and burning
+thirst, such as frequently attends excessive grief or anxiety, consumed
+him. He drank cup after cup of tea almost unconsciously, until at length
+Lady Belgrade said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This makes four! I am your hostess, duke; but I am also your aunt by
+marriage, and upon my word I cannot let you go on ruining your health in
+this way! You shall not have another cup of tea, unless you consent to
+eat something with it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young duke smiled wanly, and submitted so far as to take a piece of
+dry toast on his plate and crumble it into bits.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the dowager, having finished her breakfast, took up the
+<i>Times</i> to look over.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she startled the duke by exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank Heaven!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is it?&quot; hastily inquired the duke, setting down his cup and gazing
+at the silent reader. &quot;Any news of Salome?&quot; he added, and then nearly
+lost his breath while waiting for the answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, news of Salome! But scarcely authentic news. Listen! Here
+is a full account of the wedding&mdash;with a description of the bride
+and bridesmaids, and their dresses and attendants, and of the ceremony
+and the officiating clergy, and the attending crowd, and the
+wedding-breakfast, speeches, presents, and so on, all tolerably
+correct for a newspaper report. But now listen to this&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Her ladyship here read aloud:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Immediately after the wedding-breakfast, the happy pair left town, by
+the London and South Coast Railway, <i>en route</i> for Dover, Paris and
+the Continent.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There! what do you think of that?&quot; inquired Lady Belgrade, looking up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think it is not the first occasion upon which a paper has anticipated
+and described an expected event that some unforeseen accident prevented
+from coming off,&quot; answered the duke, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thank fortune for this! Now you have really started on your wedding
+tour in the belief of all London, and all outside of London who take the
+<i>Times</i>; and all <i>our</i> world <i>do</i> take it. And now, if any
+rumor of this most inopportune disappearance of our bride <i>should</i>
+get out, why, it will never be believed! That is all! For has not the
+departure of the 'happy pair' been published in the <i>Times</i>? Yes,
+I am very glad of the news reporter's indiscreet precipitancy on this
+occasion, at least,&quot; concluded Lady Belgrade, as she turned to other
+&quot;fashionable intelligence.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>At that moment a footman entered the breakfast parlor and handed a
+business-looking card to the duke, saying, with a bow:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, your grace, the person is waiting in the hall.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By your leave, Lady Belgrade?&mdash;Sims! show the man into the library, and
+tell him I will be with him in a few moments.&mdash;It is Detective Setter,&quot;
+said the duke, as he arose and left the breakfast parlor.</p>
+
+<p>He found that officer awaiting him in the library.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any news?&quot; inquired the duke, as he sank into a chair and signed to the
+visitor to follow his example.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None, your grace. I have made diligent and careful investigations, in
+the neighborhoods mentioned by the lady's maid, but have found no trace
+of any Mrs. White or Brown that answered the rather vague description
+given. I shall, however, resume my search there,&quot; answered the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There must be no cessation of the search until that woman is found.
+I need not caution you to use great discretion,&quot; said the duke,
+earnestly, but wearily, like a man breaking down under an intolerable
+burden of mental anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Discretion is the very spirit of my business, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is to be your next step?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If your grace will permit me, I should like to examine the rooms of the
+lost lady, and I should like to question, singly and privately, the
+servants of the house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A thorough search has been made of the premises, including the
+apartments of the duchess. And every domestic on the premises has been
+examined and cross-examined.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not doubt, your grace, that all this has been done as effectually
+as it could be done by any one, except a skillful and experienced
+detective; but if you will pardon me, I should like to make an
+examination and investigation in person.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, Mr. Setter. Every facility shall be afforded you,&quot; said the
+duke, touching the bell.</p>
+
+<p>A footman entered.</p>
+
+<p>The duke drew a card from his pocket and wrote upon it:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Detective Setter wishes to search the premises and cross-examine the
+servants. What does your ladyship say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke then placed the card in the hand of the footman, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be so good as to take this to Lady Belgrade, and wait an answer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The servant bowed and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are aware, Mr. Setter, that I am under the necessity of leaving
+London to-night, to attend the trial of Potts and Cameron to-morrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As a witness for the Crown. I am, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall get back to London as soon as possible. In the meantime, I wish
+you to pursue your investigations with the utmost diligence, sparing no
+expense. Report in person every morning and evening to Lady Belgrade
+in this house, and by telegraph to me at Lone, in Scotland. Use great
+discretion in wording your telegrams. Avoid the use of names, or titles,
+or, in fact, any terms, in referring to the duchess, that may identify
+her. I hope you understand me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perfectly, your grace. I also understand how to speak and write in
+enigmas. It is a part of my profession to do so,&quot; answered Mr. Setter.</p>
+
+<p>The duke then drew out his portmonaie, opened it, selected two notes of
+fifty pounds each and put them in the hands of Setter, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Here are one hundred pounds. Spare no expense in prosecuting this
+search. Draw on me if you have occasion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The detective bowed.</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment the footman re-entered the room, bringing a card on
+a silver waiter, which he handed to the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The duke took it and read:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace surely forgets that, as the husband of the heiress, you are
+the absolute master of the house, and your will is law here. Do as you
+think proper.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may go,&quot; said the duke to the messenger, who immediately retired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, Mr. Setter, do you wish to search the premises, or examine the
+servants first?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Examine the servants first, your grace; as I may thereby gain some clew
+to follow in my search.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well,&quot; said the duke, again touching the bell.</p>
+
+<p>The prompt footman re-appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whom do you wish called first?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The lady's maid,&quot; answered the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go and tell the duchess's maid that she is wanted here immediately,&quot;
+said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The footman bowed and went away on his errand.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes passed, and the lady's maid entered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is&mdash;I really forget your name, my good girl,&quot; said the duke,
+apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Margaret, sir; Margaret Watson,&quot; said the lady's maid, with a courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay. This is Margaret Watson, the confidential maid of her grace, Mr.
+Setter. Margaret, my good girl, Mr. Setter wishes to put some questions
+to you, relating to the disappearance of your mistress. I hope you will
+answer his inquiries as frankly and fearlessly as you have answered
+ours,&quot; said the duke, as he took up a paper for a pretext and walked to
+the other end of the library, leaving the detective officer at liberty to
+pursue his investigations alone.</p>
+
+<p>It is needless for us to go over the ground again. It is sufficient to
+say that Detective Setter questioned and cross-questioned the girl with
+all the skill of an old and experienced hand, and at the end of half an
+hour's sharp and close examination, he had obtained no new information.</p>
+
+<p>The girl was dismissed, with a warning not to talk of the affair. And she
+was followed by the housekeeper, with no better result.</p>
+
+<p>Thus all the domestics of the establishment were called and examined
+singly; but without success.</p>
+
+<p>When the last servant was done with, and sent out of the room, the
+detective walked up to the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mr. Setter?&quot; inquired the latter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace, I have learned nothing from the servants but what you have
+already told me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you still wish to search the premises?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If your grace pleases. And I wish to begin with the apartments of the
+duchess.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then follow me. I myself will be your guide,&quot; said the duke, leading the
+way from the library.</p>
+
+<p>It would be useless to accompany the detective in this third search.
+Let it be sufficient to say that this search was thorough, complete,
+exhaustive, and&mdash;unsuccessful.</p>
+
+<p>It was late in the day when it was finished, and the duke and the
+detective returned to the library.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You now perceive Mr. Setter, that a day has been lost in these repeated
+searchings and questionings, and no new information, no sign of a clew to
+the fate of the duchess has been gained. In an hour I must leave the
+house to catch the Great Northern Night Express. I leave&mdash;I am
+<i>forced</i> for the present, to leave the fate of my beloved wife in
+your hands. In saying that, I say that I leave more than my own life in
+your keeping. Use every means, employ every agency, spend money freely,
+the day you bring her safely to me, I will deposit ten thousand pounds in
+the Bank of England to your account.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace is munificent. If the duchess is on earth, I will find
+her;&mdash;not for the reward only, though it is certainly a very great
+inducement to a poor man with a large family; but for the love and honor
+I bear your grace and the late Sir Lemuel Levison,&quot; said the detective,
+earnestly, as he bowed and took leave.</p>
+
+<p>The first dinner-bell rang.</p>
+
+<p>The duke hastened to his own room, not to dress for dinner, but to
+prepare for his night journey to Scotland.</p>
+
+<p>He ordered his valet to pack a valise with all that would be necessary
+for a few days' absence, and then sent him to call a close cab.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the second dinner-bell rang, and the duke went down, not to
+dine, but to take leave of Lady Belgrade.</p>
+
+<p>He found her ladyship in the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give me your arm to dinner, if you please, Duke,&quot; she said, rising.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope you will excuse me; but I have only come to say good-by. I have
+but time to catch the train. Kerr has already put my luggage in the cab,
+which is waiting for me at the door. Good-by, dear Lady Belgrade. You
+will co-operate with Setter in all things necessary to a successful
+search, I know. Setter has my orders to report to you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You take my breath away!&quot; gasped the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Write to me by every mail. Keep me informed of events&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will kill yourself, Duke! flying off without your dinner, and
+looking fitter for going to bed than on a journey!&quot; panted the dowager.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now then, good-by in earnest, dear Lady Belgrade, and God bless you,&quot;
+concluded the duke, raising her hand to his lips and bowing.</p>
+
+<p>And before the dowager could say another word he was gone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, if he lives to be as old as I am, he will take things easier.
+Though, if he goes on at this rate, he won't live to be old,&quot; mused the
+old lady, as she slowly waddled into the dining-room, and took her seat
+at the table to enjoy her solitary green turtle soup.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
+
+<h3>AT LONE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward went out to the close cab that was waiting for him
+before the door.</p>
+
+<p>He found his valet standing by it, with a pair of railroad rugs over his
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>He directed the man to mount to a seat beside the cabman, and gave the
+latter orders where to drive.</p>
+
+<p>Then he entered the cab and closed all the doors and windows, that he
+might not be seen by any chance acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>He was supposed by all the world of London to be away on his wedding
+tour, and he was willing to let them continue to believe so, until they
+should be enlightened by a report of the great trial, when they would
+learn the fact and the explanation at once, and thus be prevented
+from making undesirable conjectures and speculations concerning his
+presence at such a time in England.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned back on his seat, and the cabman, having received directions
+from the valet, drove rapidly off toward the Great Northern Railway
+Station at Kings Cross.</p>
+
+<p>An hour's fast drive brought them to their destination.</p>
+
+<p>The duke dispatched his valet to the ticket office to engage a coupe on
+the express train, so that he might be entirely private.</p>
+
+<p>And he remained in the cab with closed doors and windows until the
+servant had secured the coupe, and conveyed all the light luggage into
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Then he left the cab, and passed at once into the coupe, leaving his
+servant to pay and discharge the cab, and to follow him on the train.</p>
+
+<p>James Kerr, after performing these duties, went to the door of his
+master's little compartment to ask if he had any further orders, before
+going to take his place in the second-class carriages.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Kerr, but come in here with me. I want you at hand during the
+journey,&quot; replied the duke, who, much as he confided in the young man's
+devotion and loyalty, could not quite trust his discretion, and therefore
+desired to keep him from talking.</p>
+
+<p>The valet bowed and entered the coupe, taking the seat that his master
+pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>The train moved slowly out of the station, but gaining speed as it left
+the town, soon began to fly swiftly on its northern course.</p>
+
+<p>The October sun was setting as the train flew along the margin
+of the &quot;New River,&quot; as Sir Hugh Myddellen's celebrated piece of
+water-engineering is called.</p>
+
+<p>The October evening was chill, and the swift flight of the train drawing
+a strong draught that could not be kept out, increased the chilliness.</p>
+
+<p>The duke leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The valet attentively tucked the railway rug around his master's knees.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had set. The long twilight of northern latitudes came on.</p>
+
+<p>At the first station where the express stopped, the guard opened the door
+and offered to light the lamps, but the duke forbade him, saying that he
+preferred the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>The guard closed the door and retired, and the train started again, and
+flew on northward through the deepening night.</p>
+
+<p>It stopped only at the largest towns and cities on its route&mdash;at
+Peterboro', at York, at Newcastle, and Edinboro'.</p>
+
+<p>It was sunrise when the train reached Lone, the only small station at
+which it stopped on the route.</p>
+
+<p>The guard opened the door of the coupe, and the young duke got out,
+attended by his valet.</p>
+
+<p>The train stopped but one minute, and then shot out of the station and
+flew on toward Aberdeen.</p>
+
+<p>The distance between the railway station and the &quot;Hereward Arms,&quot; was
+very short, so the duke preferred to walk it, followed by his valet and
+a railway porter carrying his light luggage.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had risen indeed, although it was nowhere visible.</p>
+
+<p>A Scotch mist had risen from the lake, and settled over the mountains,
+vailing all the grand features of the landscape.</p>
+
+<p>Early as the hour was, the hamlet, as they passed through it, seemed
+deserted by all its male inhabitants. None but women and children were
+to be seen, and even they, instead of being at work, were loitering about
+their own doors or gossiping with each other.</p>
+
+<p>Though the duke and his servant were the only passengers that got off
+the train at Lone, the whole force of the &quot;Hereward Arms,&quot;&mdash;landlord,
+head-waiter, hostler, boots and stable boys&mdash;turned out to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace is unco welcome to the 'Hereward Arms,'&quot; said Donald Duncan,
+the worthy host, bowing low before his distinguished guest.</p>
+
+<p>And all his underlings followed his example by pulling their red
+forelocks and scraping their right feet backwards.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your hamlet seems to be deserted to-day, landlord. What fair or what
+else is going on?&quot; inquired the young duke, as he followed the bowing
+host to the neat little parlor of the inn.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! wae's the day! Dinna your grace ken! It will be the trial at
+Banff&mdash;the trial of yon grand villain, Johnnie Potts, for the murder
+of his master.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, I know the trial will be commenced to-day; but I did not think
+that the people here would take so much interest in it as to leave their
+work and go such a distance to see it,&quot; remarked the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would they nae? They'd gae to the North Pole to see it, if necessary,
+and they'd gae farrer still to see the murtherer weel hanggit! Ay, your
+grace, and what will make it a' the mair exciting, is the rumor whilk
+goes round to the effect that the ne'er-do-well, hizzie, Rose Cameron,
+hae turnit Crown's evidence to save her ain life, and will gie up all her
+accomplices. Sae we are a' fain to hear the mystery of the murther
+cleared up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed! Is that so? The girl has turned Crown's witness? Then, we
+<i>shall</i> get at the truth!&quot; exclaimed the duke, with more interest
+than he had hitherto shown.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is a' true, your grace! And your grace may weel ken how the report
+drawed the heart of the hamlet out to gae to Banff, and hear a' aboot the
+murther.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, yes,&quot; murmured the duke to himself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now, will your grace please to have a room? And what will your grace
+please to have for breakfast?&quot; inquired the landlord, remembering his
+duty, and again bowing to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may show me to a bed-room, where I may get rid of this railway dust,
+and&mdash;for breakfast, anything you please, so that it is quickly prepared.
+Also, landlord, have a chaise at the door, with a good pair of horses. I
+must start for Banff within half an hour,&quot; said the traveller.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Save us and sain us! Your grace, also! A' the warld seem ganging to
+Banff!&quot; cried honest Donald Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am summoned there as a witness on the trial, landlord.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, to be sure. Sae your grace maun be. For it is weel kenned that your
+grace was amung the first to discover the dead body of the murthered man,
+Heaven rest him! And noo, your grace, I will show ye till your room,&quot;
+said the landlord, leading the way to a neat bedchamber on the same
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be good enough to send my servant here with my luggage,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord bowed and went out to deliver the message.</p>
+
+<p>And in another minute the valet entered the room with the valise,
+dressing-case, and so forth.</p>
+
+<p>The duke made a rapid morning toilet, and then returned to the parlor,
+where the little breakfast table was already laid&mdash;coffee, rolls,
+oat-meal cake, broiled haddock, broiled black cock, and Dundee marmalade,
+formed the bill of fare.</p>
+
+<p>The duke forced himself to partake of some solid food in addition to the
+two cups of coffee he hastily swallowed.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as the chaise was announced, he arose to depart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I desire to keep these rooms until further notice, landlord. I shall
+return here this evening, and stop here during my attendance upon the
+trial at Banff,&quot; said the duke, as he got into the chaise, followed by
+the valet.</p>
+
+<p>The driver cracked his whip and the horses started.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel,&quot; said the landlord to himself, as he watched the chaise winding
+its way up the mountain-pass. &quot;Aweel, I waur e'en just confounded to see
+the dook here away without the doochess; and I just after reading in the
+<i>Times</i> how they were married o' the day before yesterday, and gane
+for their wedding trip to Paris! Aweel, I suppose, it will be this
+witness business as hae broughten him back. But where's the young
+doochess? Ay, to be sure, he hae left her in her grand toon house in
+London. He wad na be bringing her here at siccan a painfu' time and
+occasion as the trial of her ain father's murtherer. Nae, indeed! that
+is nae likely,&quot; concluded honest Donald Duncan, as he returned into his
+house.</p>
+
+<p>Banff was but ten miles north-east of Lone. But the mountain road was
+difficult; and now that the morning mist lay heavy on the landscape, it
+was necessary for our travelers to drive slowly and carefully to avoid
+precipitating themselves over some rocky steep, into some deep pool or
+stony chasm.</p>
+
+<p>They were, thus, an hour in getting safely through the mountain-pass.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of that time, they came out upon a good road, through a forest
+of firs, covering a hilly country.</p>
+
+<p>Then the mist began to roll away before the bright beams of the advancing
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>And another hour of fast driving brought them into the town of Banff.</p>
+
+<p>The duke directed the driver to turn into the street where was situated
+the town-hall, where the court was being held.</p>
+
+<p>The very looks of the street must have informed any stranger that some
+event of unusual interest was then transpiring. The sidewalks were filled
+with pedestrians, whose steps were all bent in one direction&mdash;toward the
+town hall.</p>
+
+<p>As our travellers drew up before the front of the building, the duke
+alighted and beckoned to a bailiff to come and clear the way for his
+passage into the court-room.</p>
+
+<p>The officer hurried to the duke, and using his official authority, soon
+made a narrow path through the dense crowd that choked up every avenue
+into the edifice.</p>
+
+<p>So, elbowing, pushing and wedging his way, the bailiff led the duke into
+the court-room, which was even more closely packed than the ante-rooms.
+Pressing through this solid mass of human beings, the bailiff led him to
+a seat directly in front of the bench of judges, and there left him.</p>
+
+<p>The duke bowed to the Bench, sat down and looked around upon the strange
+and painful scene.</p>
+
+<p>The famous Scotch judge, Baron Stairs, presided. On his right and left
+sat Mr. Justice Kinloch and Mr. Justice Guthrie.</p>
+
+<p>Quite a large number of lawyers, law officers, and writers to the seal
+were present.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. James Stuart, Q.C., was the prosecutor on the part of the crown. He
+was assisted by Messrs. Roy and McIntosh.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Keir and Mr. Gordon, two rising young barristers from Aberdeen, were
+counsel for the prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>John Potts, alias Peters, the accused man, stood alone in the prisoner's
+dock.</p>
+
+<p>He was a tall, gaunt, dark man, whose pallid face looked ghastly in
+contrast with his damp, lank, black hair, that seemed pasted to his
+cheeks by the thick perspiration, and with his black coat and pantaloons
+that hung loosely on his emaciated form.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke thought he had never seen a man so much broken down in so
+short a time.</p>
+
+<p>While the duke was looking at him, the poor wretch turned caught his eye
+and bowed. And then he quickly grasped the front railing of the dock with
+both his hands, as if to keep himself from falling.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke turned away his eyes. The sight was too painful. He looked
+around him over the densely packed crowd, in which he recognized many of
+his old friends and neighbors, a great number of his clansmen and nearly
+all the old servants of his family.</p>
+
+<p>Although the month was October, and the weather cool in that northern
+climate, the atmosphere of such a packed crowd would have been unbearable
+but for the fact that the six tall windows that flanked the court-room
+on each side were let down from the top for ventilation.</p>
+
+<p>The duke turned his attention to the Bench.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed to be some pause in the proceedings. The judges were sitting
+in perfect silence. The prosecuting counsel were arranging papers and
+occasionally speaking to each other in low tones.</p>
+
+<p>The duke turned to a gentleman, a stranger, who was sitting on his left,
+and inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have heard that the girl Cameron is not to be arraigned. I have also
+heard that she is held as a witness for the crown. Can you inform me
+whether it is so?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, sir, it is so. You perceive that she is not in the dock with the
+other prisoner. She is in custody, however, in the sheriff's room. The
+prosecution cannot afford to arraign her, because they cannot do without
+her testimony,&quot; answered the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>A buzz of conversation passed like a breeze through the impatient crowd.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Silence in the court!&quot; called out the crier.</p>
+
+<p>And all became as still as death.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Roy, assistant counsel for the crown, arose and read the indictment,
+charging the prisoner at the bar with the willful murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at Castle Lone, on the twenty-first day of June, Anno Domini,
+so and so. Without making any comment, the prosecutor sat down.</p>
+
+<p>The Clerk of Arraigns then arose, and demanded of the accused&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty of the crimes with
+which you stand indicted?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Potts, who stood pale and trembling and clutching the rails in front of
+the dock, replied earnestly though informally:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not guilty, upon my soul, my lords and gentlemen, before Heaven, and as
+I hope for salvation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And overpowered by fear, he sank down on the narrow bench at the back of
+the dock.</p>
+
+<p>The trial proceeded.</p>
+
+<p>Queen's Counsel, Mr. James Stuart, took the indictment from the hands of
+his assistant, and proceeded to open it with a short, pithy address to
+the judges and the jury, and closed by requesting that Alexander McRath,
+house-steward of Castle Lone, in the service of the deceased, should be
+called.</p>
+
+<p>The venerable, gray-haired old Scot, being duly called, came forward and
+took the stand.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. McIntosh, assistant Queen's Counsel, conducted his examination.</p>
+
+<p>Being duly sworn, Alexander McRath testified as to the facts within his
+own knowledge relating to the case, and which have already been laid
+before our readers&mdash;briefly, they referred to the finding of the dead
+body of the late Sir Lemuel Levison in his bed-chamber, to which no one
+except his confidential valet, the prisoner at the bar, had a pass-key,
+or could have gained admittance during the night.</p>
+
+<p>The witness was cross-examined by Mr. Keir of the counsel for the
+prisoner, but without having his testimony weakened.</p>
+
+<p>Other domestic servants were called, who corroborated the evidence given
+by the last one as to the finding of the dead body, and the intimate and
+confidential relations which had subsisted between the deceased and the
+prisoner at the bar, who always carried a pass-key to his master's
+private apartments.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy, Ferguson, a saddler's apprentice from the village of Lone,
+was called to the stand; and being sworn and examined, testified to the
+meeting and the conspiracy at midnight before the murder, under the
+balcony, near Malcolm's Tower, at Castle Lone, to which he had been an
+eye and ear-witness.</p>
+
+<p>This witness was subjected to a very severe cross-examination, which
+rather developed and strengthened his testimony than otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>McNeil, the ticket agent of the railway station at Lone, was next called,
+sworn, and examined. He testified to having sold a ticket just after
+midnight on the night of the murder to a vailed woman, who carried a
+small but very heavy leathern bag, which she guarded with jealous care.
+His description corresponded with that given by young Ferguson of the
+vailed woman, and the bag he had seen given to her by the balcony at
+Castle Lone on the same night.</p>
+
+<p>This witness, also, was sharply cross-examined without effect.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, my lords and gentlemen of the jury,&quot; began Queen's Counsel Stuart,
+speaking more gravely than he had ever done before, &quot;I shall proceed to
+call a witness whose testimony will assuredly fix the deep guilt in the
+case we are trying where it justly belongs. Let Rose Cameron be placed
+upon the stand.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was a great sensation in the court-room. The dense crowd was
+stirred with emotion as thick forest leaves are stirred with the wind.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Silence in the court!&quot; called out the crier.</p>
+
+<p>And silence fell like a pall upon the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>A door was opened on the left of the Judge's Bench, and the handsome
+Highland girl was led in by a sheriff's officer. She was dressed in a
+dark-blue merino suit, with a black felt hat and blue feather to match,
+and dark-blue gloves. Her long light hair flowed down her shoulders, a
+cataract of gold. She stepped with an elastic and imperial step as
+natural to her as to the reindeer. A very Juno of stately beauty she
+seemed as she rolled her large, fearless eyes over the crowded
+court-room, until, at length, they fell on the form of the young Duke
+of Hereward, seated on a front seat.</p>
+
+<p>She started and flushed. Then recovered herself, caught his eyes, and
+fixed them with her bold, steady gaze, smiled a vindictive, deadly smile,
+and so passed with stately steps to her place on the witness stand.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>A STARTLING CHARGE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward was quite unable to account for the look of
+vindictive and deadly hatred and malice cast on him by Rose Cameron. He
+could only suppose that she mistook him for some one else, or that she
+unreasonably resented his active share in the prosecution of the search
+for the murderers of Sir Lemuel Levison.</p>
+
+<p>He sat back in his seat and watched her while she stepped upon the
+witness-stand and turned to face the jury.</p>
+
+<p>Every pair of eyes in the court-room were also fixed upon her. For it was
+believed that she had been an accomplice in the murder, as well as in the
+robbery, at Castle Lone, and that she had turned Queen's evidence in
+order to escape the extreme penalty of the law. And all there who looked
+upon her were as much dazzled by her wondrous beauty, as appalled by her
+awful guilt.</p>
+
+<p>The Clerk of the Court administered the oath. The assistant Queen's
+Counsel proceeded to examine her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your name is Rose Cameron?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na! I'm nae Rose Cameron. I'm Rose Scott, and an honest, married woman,&quot;
+said the witness, turning a baleful look upon the Duke of Hereward, and
+letting her large, bold, blue eyes rove defiantly, triumphantly over the
+sea of human faces turned toward her. She never blenched a bit under the
+fire of glances fixed upon her. These glances would have pierced like
+spears any finer and more sensitive spirit. They never seemed to touch
+hers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What a handsome quean it is!&quot; said some.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What a diabolical malignity there is in her looks. Eh, sirs! The vera
+cut of her 'ee wad convict her, handsome as she is!&quot; whispered another.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, she looks as if she could ha ta'en a hand in the murther as well as
+in the robbery,&quot; muttered a third. And so on.</p>
+
+<p>These comments were made in so low a tone that they did not in the least
+disturb the decorum of the court.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your name is Rose Scott, then?&quot; proceeded Counsellor Keir.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, it is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is your age?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Twenty-six come next Michael-mas.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your residence?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are ye meaning my hame?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I dinna just ken. It used to be Ben Lone on the Duk' o Harewood's
+estate, when I waur a lass. Sin I hae been a guid wife I hae bided in
+Westminster Road, Lunnun.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>At the mention of Westminster Road, the Duke of Hereward started
+slightly, and bent forward to give closer attention to the words of
+the witness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;With whom did you live in Westminster Road?&quot; proceeded the examiner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wi' my ain guid man, ye daft fule!&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron, in a rage.
+&quot;Wha else suld I bide wi'? And noo, ye'll speer nae mair questions anent
+my ain preevit life, for I'll nae answer any sic. A woman maunna gie
+testimony in open coort against her ain husband, I'm thinking.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sae I thocht!&quot; said Rose Cameron, cunningly. &quot;And sae ye'll speer nae
+mair questions anent my ain preevit affair; but just keep ye to the
+point, and it please ye! I am here to tell all I ken anent the murther
+and robbery at Castle Lone! Ay! and I will tell a' hang wha' it may!&quot; she
+added, with a most vindictive glare at the Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The witness is right so far. We have nothing whatever to do with her
+domestic status. Proceed with the examination, and keep to the point,&quot;
+interposed the judge.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We will, my lord. We only wished to prove the fact that the witness was
+living on the most intimate terms with one of the parties suspected of
+the murder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I waur living wi' my ain husband, as I telt ye before, ye born idiwat!
+An' I'm no ca'd upon to witness for or against him. Sae I'll tell ye a' I
+ked anent the murther and the robbery at Castle Lone; but de'il hae me
+gin I tell ye onything else!&quot; exclaimed Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The witness is quite right in her premises, though censurable in her
+manner of expressing them. Proceed with the examination,&quot; said the judge.</p>
+
+<p>The assistant Q.C. bowed to the Bench and turned to the witness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell us, then, where you were on the night of the murder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I waur in the grounds o' Castle Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At what time were you there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Frae ten till twal o' the clock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Were you alone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;For a guid part of the time I waur my lane i' the castle court.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What took you out on the castle grounds alone at so late an hour?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I went there to keep my tryste with the Markis of Arondelle,&quot; answered
+the witness, with a sly, malignant glance at the young nobleman whose
+name she thus publicly profaned!</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward started, and fixed his eyes sternly and inquiringly
+upon the bold, handsome face of the witness.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes did not for an instant quail before his gaze. On the contrary,
+they opened wide in a bold, derisive stare, until she was recalled by the
+questions of the examiner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Witness! Do you mean to say, upon your oath, that you went to Castle
+Lone at midnight to meet the Marquis of Arondelle?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aye, that I do. I went to the castle to keep tryste wi' his lairdship,
+the Marquis of Arondelle. He wha was troth-plighted to the heiress o'
+Lone. Ae wha is noo ca'd his grace the Duk' o' Harewood!&quot; said the
+witness, emphatically, triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>The statement fell like a thunderbolt on the whole assembly.</p>
+
+<p>When Rose Cameron first said that she went to the castle to keep tryste
+with the Marquis of Arondelle, those who heard her distrusted the
+evidence of their own ears, and turned to each other, inquiring in
+whispers:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What did she say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Or answering in like whispers:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But now that she had reiterated her statement with emphasis and with
+triumph, they asked no more questions, but gazed in each other's faces
+in awe-struck silence.</p>
+
+<p>And as for the Duke of Hereward! What on earth could a gentleman have
+to say to a charge as absurd as it was infamous, thus made upon him by
+a disreputable person in open court?</p>
+
+<p>Why, to notice it even by denial would seem to be an infringement of his
+dignity and self-respect.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward, after his first involuntary start and stare of
+amazement, controlled himself absolutely, and sat back in his chair,
+perfectly silent and self-possessed under this ordeal.</p>
+
+<p>Not so the senior counsel for the defence.</p>
+
+<p>Rising in his place, he addressed the bench:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord, we object to the question put to the witness, which, while it
+tends to compromise a lofty personage of this realm, can, in no manner,
+concern the case in hand. My lord, we are not trying his grace the Duke
+of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The bench has already instructed the counsel for the Crown to keep to
+the point at issue while examining the witness,&quot; said the presiding
+judge.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ou, ay! Ye are nae trying the Duk' o' Harewood, are ye nae? Aweel, then,
+I'm thinking ye'll be trying him before a's ower!&quot; put in Rose Cameron,
+spitefully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Witness, tell the jury what occurred, within your own knowledge, while
+you were in the grounds of Castle Lone,&quot; said Mr. Keir.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And how will I tell onything right gin I am forbid to name the name o'
+him wha wur maistly concernit?&quot; demanded Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are to give your own testimony in your own way, unless otherwise
+instructed by the bench,&quot; said Mr. Keir.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, then, first of a', I went to the castle by appointment to meet
+Laird Arondelle, as he was then ca'd. I walked about and waited fu' an
+hour before his lairdship cam' till me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At what hour was that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I heard the castle clock aboon Auld Malcom's Tower strike eleven when I
+cam' under the balcony o' the bride's chamber, whilk is nigh it. I waited
+fu' half an hour there before his lairdship cam' stealing through the
+shrubbery&mdash;De'il hae him, wha ha brocht a' this trouble on me!&quot; exclaimed
+the witness, vehemently, as her eyes, fairly blazing with blue fire,
+fixed themselves on the face of the young duke.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward bore the searching glare quite calmly. He simply
+leaned back in his chair, with folded arms and attentive face, on which
+curiosity was the only expression.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Keir,&quot; said the venerable Counsellor Guthrie, of the defence, &quot;is
+all this supposed to concern the case before the jury?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, does it!&quot; cried Rose Cameron, before the lawyer addressed could
+reply. &quot;Ay, does it, as ye will sune see, gin ye will gie me leave to
+speak.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward took out his note-book and wrote these
+lines:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;<i>Pray let the witness proceed without regard to her use of my name.
+I think the ends of justice require that she be suffered to give her
+testimony in her own way</i>. <span class="smcaps">Hereward</span>.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>He tore this leaf out and passed it on to Mr. Guthrie, who read it with
+some surprise, and then waved his hand to Mr. Keir, and sat down with the
+air of a man who had complied with an indiscreet request, and washed his
+hands of the consequences.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The time of the court is being unnecessarily wasted. Let the examination
+of the witness go on,&quot; said the presiding judge.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It shall, my lord,&quot; answered the Queen's Counsel, with an inclination of
+his white-wigged head. Then turning to the bold blonde on the stand, he
+proceeded:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Witness, tell the jury what occurred that night under the balcony of
+Miss Levison's apartments at Castle Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron threw another vindictive glance at the Duke of Hereward, and
+commenced her narrative.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as her story was substantially the same that has been already given
+to the reader, it is not necessary to recapitulate it here. Only in one
+respect it differed from the stories she had hitherto told to her
+landlady or housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, of Westminster Road; as on this
+occasion she reserved all allusion to any real or fancied marriage
+between herself and the nobleman she claimed as her lover, and then
+accused as the accomplice of thieves and assassins, in the murder and
+robbery at Castle Lone, on the night preceding the day appointed for his
+own marriage with its heiress!</p>
+
+<p>It would be impossible to describe the effect of this terrible testimony
+on the minds of all who heard it.</p>
+
+<p>The Bench, the Bar, and the Jury, whom, it would seem, nothing in this
+world had power to startle, astonish, or discompose, sat like statues.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely less immovable was the young Duke of Hereward, the subject
+of this awful charge, who sat back in his seat with an air of grave
+curiosity, and with the composure of a man who was master of the
+situation.</p>
+
+<p>But the crowd which filled the court-room seemed utterly confounded by
+what they heard. Upon the whole, they either disbelieved this witness, or
+distrusted their own ears. Their young laird, as she called the present
+duke, was their model of all wisdom, goodness, magnanimity. Truly, they
+had heard a rumor of some little love-making between the young laird and
+a handsome shepherdess at Ben Lone, probably this same Rose Cameron; even
+these rumors they did not fully credit; but that the noble young Duke of
+Hereward should be the accomplice of thieves and murderers in the robbery
+at Castle Lone, and the assassination of Sir Lemuel Levison, on the very
+night preceding the morning appointed for his marriage with Sir Lemuel's
+daughter!</p>
+
+<p>Oh! the charge was too preposterous, as well as too horrible, to be
+entertained for an instant.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the prevailing opinion settled into this: that the young laird
+had probably admired the handsome shepherdess a little, and had left her
+for the heiress; and that, from jealousy and for revenge, the girl was
+now perjuring herself to ruin her late lover.</p>
+
+<p>Would her testimony be believed? Would it have weight enough to cause the
+arrest of the young duke?</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eh, sirs! what an awfu' event the like o' that wad be!&quot; whispered one
+gray-haired clansman to another.</p>
+
+<p>And all bent eager ears to hear the remainder of the testimony which was
+still going on.</p>
+
+<p>After relating the history of her journey to London, with the stolen
+treasure in charge, she proceeded to tell of the abrupt flight of &quot;the
+duke,&quot; with the bulk of the treasure in his possession, and of her own
+subsequent arrest with the stolen jewels found in her apartments.</p>
+
+<p>She was cross-examined by the defence, but without effect.</p>
+
+<p>Her testimony, if it could be established, would ruin the Duke of
+Hereward, but could in no way affect the prisoner at the bar.</p>
+
+<p>When the prosecution perceived this, they realized that they had been, in
+common parlance, &quot;sold.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They were to be sold again.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may stand down,&quot; said Mr. Keir, sharply.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, I hanna dune yet. I hae mair to say,&quot; persisted the witness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Say it, then.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ken it is nae lawfu' for a wife to gie testimony against her ain
+husband,&quot; said Rose Cameron, with a cunning leer that marred the beauty
+of her fine blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not. What has that to do with this case?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It hae a' things to do with it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Explain yourself, witness; and remember that you are on your oath.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I weel ken the solemnity of an aith. And I hae telt the truth under
+aith; nathless, maybe my teestimony suld na be received.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why no'? Why, gin a wife maunna teestify agin her ain husband, I suld na
+hae teestified agin the Duk' o' Harewood, who is my ain lawfu' husband!&quot;
+said Rose Cameron, purposely raising her voice to a clear, ringing tone
+that was distinctly heard all over the court-room.</p>
+
+<p>Had a shell fallen and exploded in their midst, it could scarcely have
+caused greater consternation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What said the lass?&quot; questioned many.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I dinna just ken,&quot; answered many others.</p>
+
+<p>They certainly did not believe the report of their own ears on this
+occasion.</p>
+
+<p>As for the Duke of Hereward, who was then engaged in writing a few lines
+on the fly-leaf of his note-book, he just looked up for a moment and was
+surprised into the first smile that had lighted his grave face since the
+opening of the trial.</p>
+
+<p>The cool counsel who was conducting the examination of the witness,
+and whom nothing on earth could throw off his track, now proceeded to
+inquire:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Witness! Do we understand you to say that you are the wife of his grace
+the Duke of Hereward?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, just!&quot; replied Rose Cameron, pertly. &quot;Gin ye hae ony understanding
+at a', and gin ye are na the auld daft idiwat ye luke, ye'll understand
+me to say I am the lawfu' wedded wife o' the Duk' o' Harewood. Him as
+was marrit o' Tuesday last to the heiress o' Lone! Gin ye dinna believe
+me, I hae my marriage lines, gie me by the minister o' St. Margaret's
+Kirk, Weestminster, where he marrit me! Ou, ay! and I wad hae tell ye a'
+this in the beginning, only I kenned weel, if I <i>did</i>, ye wad na hae
+let me gae on gie' ony teestimony agin me ain husband. De'il hae him! But
+noo, as ye hae heerd the truth anent the grand villainy up in Castle
+Lone, I dinna mind telling ye wha I am. Ay, and ye may set aside my
+witness, gin ye like! But the whole coort hae noo heard it. Ay, and the
+whole warld s'all hear it, or a' be dune! And noo I am thinking ye'll een
+let the puir mon in the dock just gae free; and pit my laird, his greece,
+the nubble duk', intil the prisoner's place. Ye'll no hae to seek him
+far,&quot; added the woman, suddenly whisking around and facing the young Duke
+of Hereward, with a perfectly fiendish look of malice distorting her
+handsome face. &quot;There he sits noo! he wha marrit me and afterwards marrit
+the heiress o' Lone! he wha betrayed me intil a prison, and wad hae
+betrayed me to the gallows, gin I had na been to canny for him! There he
+is noo, and he can na face me and deny it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward did not deign to deny anything. He passed the fly
+leaf, upon which he had written some lines, on to the old lawyer,
+Guthrie, who looked over it, nodded, and then rising in his place,
+addressed the Bench:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord, we desire that the witness, who is now transcending the duties
+and privileges of the stand, be ordered to sit down.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! I'll sit down!&quot; pertly interrupted Rose Cameron. &quot;I hae had my ain
+way, and I hae said my ain say, and now I'll e'en gae&mdash;gin this auld fule
+be done wi' me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have done with you; you can stand down,&quot; replied Mr. Keir, in
+mortification and disgust.</p>
+
+<p>Rose Cameron stepped down from the stand with the air of a queen
+descending from her throne. In look and motion she was graceful and
+majestic as the antelope. You had to hear her speak to learn how really
+low and vulgar she was.</p>
+
+<p>She darted one baleful blast of hatred from her blue eyes, as she passed
+the Duke of Hereward, and was then conducted back to the sheriff's room,
+where she was to be detained in custody until the conclusion of the
+trial.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE VINDICATION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Guthrie now requested that the witness Ferguson might be recalled.</p>
+
+<p>The order was given. And the Lone saddler's red-headed apprentice took
+the stand.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Guthrie referred to the notes that had been passed to him by the Duke
+of Hereward, and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Witness, you told the jury that on the night before the murder of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, you were employed in your master's service up to a late
+hour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, your honor; but I waur fain to see the wedding decorations, for a'
+that,&quot; said the boy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Precisely. But now tell the jury what was the service upon which you
+were employed to so late an hour that night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It wad be a bit wedding offering to our laird, wha hae always favored
+his ain folks wi' his custom. It waur a Russia leather traveling
+dressing-bag for his lairdship, the whilk the master had ta'en unco guid
+care suld be as brawa bag as ony to be boughten in Lunnen town itsel',
+whilk mysel' was commissioned, and proud I waur, to tak', wi' my master's
+duty, to his lairdship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Doubtless. Now tell the jury at what hour you took this wedding offering
+to Lord Arondelle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aweel, it wad be about half-past nine o'clock. I went wi' the
+dressing-case to the Arondelle Arms, where his lairdship and his
+lairdship's feyther, the auld duk' were biding. The hostler telt me that
+his lairdship had gane for a walk o'er the brig to Castle Lone. Sae I
+were fain to wait there for him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long did you wait?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na lang. I was na mair than five minutes before I saw his lairdship
+coming o'er the brig toward the house. And sune his lairdship came into
+the inn, and I made my bow, and offered his lairdship the wedding-gift,
+wi' my maister's respectful guid wishes. His lairdship smiled pleasantly,
+and tauld me to fetch it after him up to his chamber. I followed my laird
+up-stairs to his ain room, where his lairdship's valet, Mr. Kerr, was
+waiting on him. His lairdship wrote a braw note of acknowledgements
+to my maister, and gie it me to take away. My laird also gie me a
+half-sovereign, for mysel'. I dinna tak' the note just then to my
+maister. I saw by the clock on the mantel that it only lacked a quarter
+to ten o'clock, sae I e'en made my duty to his lairdship and run down
+stairs, ran a' the way o'er to Castle Lone, for I war fain to see the
+decorations. I got to Malcolm's Tower just in time to hear the auld clock
+in the turret strike eleven, and to see the mon and the woman meet
+thegither in the shadows.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are you sure that you could not identify that man or woman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Anan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would you know either of them again?&quot; inquired Mr. Guthrie, changing the
+manner of his question.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na! I tauld ye sae before. They were half hidden i' the bushes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You say it was a quarter to ten when you left Lord Arondelle in his room
+at the inn?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, war it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And that it was eleven o'clock when you witnessed the meeting between
+the man and the woman at Castle Lone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, war it. And I had to run a' the way to do it in that time. It waur
+guid rinning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You left his lordship's valet with him, do you say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, I did. And the head waiter o' the Arondelle Arms, too, wha was just
+gaeing in wi' his lairdship's supper.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do. You may now stand down,&quot; said Mr. Guthrie.</p>
+
+<p>The shock-headed apprentice, who had done such good service to his Grace
+the Duke of Hereward, and such damage to the false witness against him,
+now left the stand and made his way through the crowd to his distant
+seat.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Guthrie once more got upon his feet to address the Bench, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;May it please the Court, I move that the testimony of the Crown's
+witness, Rose Cameron, alias Rose Scott, be set aside as totally
+unreliable; and, further, that she be indicted for perjury.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Upon this motion of Mr. Guthrie there followed some discussion among the
+lawyers.</p>
+
+<p>Finally it was decided to put the duke's valet, the hotel waiter, and
+other witnesses, on the stand, who would be able to corroborate or rebut
+the evidence given by the lad Ferguson, and thereby break down or
+establish the testimony offered by Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>James Kerr was, therefore, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.</p>
+
+<p>He said that he had been in the service of the duke's family ever since
+he was nine years of age, first as page to the late duchess, but for the
+last three years as valet to the present duke; that he was with his
+master at the &quot;Arondelle Arms&quot; on the night of the murder; that the duke,
+who was then the Marquis of Arondelle, left the inn at half-past eight
+o'clock, to walk over the bridge to Castle Lone; that he returned at
+half-past nine, accompanied to his room by the boy Ferguson, who brought
+a handsome Russia leather travelling-case; that the marquis sat down to
+his writing-table, wrote a note and gave it to the boy, who immediately
+left the house.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At what hour was this?&quot; inquired Mr. Guthrie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was a few minutes before ten. The clock struck very soon after the
+boy left. I remember it well, because his lordship's supper had been
+ordered for ten, and the waiter just entered to lay the cloth when the
+lad left, and his lordship sat down to supper at ten precisely. After the
+supper-service had been removed, his lordship went to his writing-desk
+and wrote for an hour, and then sealed and dispatched a packet directed
+to the <i>Liberal Statesman</i>. I took it myself to the Post-Office, to
+ensure its being in time for the midnight mail. It was then about
+half-past eleven o'clock. I was gone on my message for about five
+minutes. On my return I found my master where I had left him, sitting at
+his writing-desk, arranging his papers. But when I entered he locked his
+desk and said he would go to bed. I waited on him at his night toilet.
+And then, as the inn was very much crowded, I slept on a lounge in my
+master's bed-room. The house was full of noise; so many of the Scots
+were present, making merry over the approaching marriage of their
+chieftain's son. Neither my master nor myself rested well that night.
+I arose early to see my master's bath. The marquis arose at eight
+o'clock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Such was the substance of James Kerr's testimony, which perfectly
+corroborated that of the lad Ferguson, and greatly damaged that of Rose
+Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>The hotel waiter happened to be among those who had cast all their
+worldly interests to the winds, abandoned their callings of whatever
+sort, and come at all risk of consequences to be present at the trial.
+He was found in the court-room, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.</p>
+
+<p>His testimony corroborated that of the two last witnesses, and utterly
+broke down that of Rose Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>There was further consultation between the Bar and the Bench. Finally the
+testimony of the Crown's witness was set aside, and a warrant was made
+out for the arrest of Rose Cameron, otherwise Rose Scott, upon the
+charge of perjury.</p>
+
+<p>The warrant was sent out to the sheriff's room, to which, after leaving
+the witness-stand, Rose Cameron had been conducted.</p>
+
+<p>And now the crowd in the court-room, composed chiefly of neighbors,
+friends, kinsmen, and clansmen of the young Duke of Hereward, breathed
+freely.</p>
+
+<p>The thunder-cloud had passed.</p>
+
+<p>Their hero was vindicated. Truly they had never for an instant doubted
+his integrity, much less had they suspected him of a heinous, an
+atrocious crime. Still, it was an immense relief to have the black shadow
+of that bloody charge withdrawn.</p>
+
+<p>There was but one more witness for the prosecution to be examined; that
+witness was no less a person than the young Duke of Hereward himself.</p>
+
+<p>He was called to the stand, and sworn.</p>
+
+<p>Every pair of eyes in the court-room availed themselves of the
+opportunity afforded by the elevated position of the witness-stand,
+to gaze on the man who had so recently been the subject of such a
+terrible accusation; and all admired the calmness, self-possession,
+and forbearance of his conduct during the fearful ordeal through which
+he had just passed.</p>
+
+<p>He simply testified as to the finding of the dead body, the position of
+the corpse, the condition of the room, and so forth. He was not subjected
+to a cross-examination, but was courteously notified that he was at
+liberty to retire.</p>
+
+<p>He resumed his former seat.</p>
+
+<p>The case for the prosecution was closed.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kinlock, junior counsel for the prisoner, arose for the defence. He
+made a short address to the jury, in which he spoke of the slight grounds
+upon which his unhappy client had been charged with an atrocious crime,
+and brought to trial for his life. The law demanded a victim for that
+heinous crime, which had shocked the whole community from its centre to
+its circumference, and his unfortunate client had been selected as a sin
+offering. He reminded the jury how the very esteem and confidence of the
+master and the fidelity and obedience of the servant had been most
+ingeniously turned into strong circumstantial evidence, to fix the
+assassination of the master upon the servant. The deceased, had entirely
+trusted the prisoner; had given him a pass-key with which he might enter
+his chambers at any hour of the day or night; and hence it was argued
+that the prisoner, being the only one who had the entree to the
+deceased's apartments, must have been the person who admitted the
+murderer to his victim. The prisoner had faithfully obeyed his master's
+orders for the day, in declining to enter his rooms before his bell
+should ring; and thence it was argued that he only delayed to call his
+master because he knew that master lay murdered in his room, and he
+wished to give the murderers, with whom he was said to be confederated,
+time to make good their escape. He was sure, he said, that a just and
+intelligent jury must at once perceive the cruel injustice of such
+far-fetched inferences. In addition he would call witnesses who would
+testify to the good character of the accused, and prove that the great
+esteem and confidence in which he had been held by his late master was
+abundantly justified by the excellent character and blameless conduct of
+the servant.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kinlock then proceeded to call his witnesses.</p>
+
+<p>They were the fellow-servants of the accused. Some of them were the very
+same witnesses that had been called by the prosecution, and were now
+re-called for the defence. One and all, in turn, testified to the uniform
+good behavior of the valet while in the service of Sir Lemuel Levison,
+deceased.</p>
+
+<p>The presiding judge, Baron Stairs, summed up the evidence in a very few
+words.</p>
+
+<p>The evidence against the prisoner at the bar was circumstantial only. It
+had appeared in evidence that some servant of the family had admitted the
+assassin to the house. It did not appear who that servant was. The valet
+John Potts, was the only one who had the pass-key to the apartments of
+the deceased. That circumstance had fixed suspicion upon him; had brought
+him to trial; the trial had brought out no new facts; the witness
+principally relied on by the prosecution had not only failed to give any
+testimony to convict the prisoner, but had certainly perjured herself to
+shield the real criminal, whoever he was, and to accuse a noble
+personage, whose high character and lofty station alike placed him
+infinitely above suspicion. On the other hand, many witnesses had
+testified to the good character and conduct of the prisoner, and the
+estimation in which he had been held by his late master. Such was the
+evidence, pro and con.</p>
+
+<p>His lordship concluded by saying that the jury might now retire and
+deliberate upon their verdict, remembering that in all cases of
+uncertainty they should lean to the side of mercy.</p>
+
+<p>The jury arose from their seats, and, conducted by a bailiff, retired to
+the room provided for them.</p>
+
+<p>Many of the people now left the court-room to get refreshments.</p>
+
+<p>But as the judges remained upon the bench, the Duke of Hereward kept his
+seat. He felt sure that the jury would not long deliberate before
+bringing in their verdict.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile he turned to glance at the prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>John Potts looked like a man without a hope in the world. We have already
+seen that an awful change had come over him since the day of his arrest,
+three months before. Now, as he leaned forward where he sat, and rested
+his head upon his skeleton hands, that clasped the top of the railing of
+the dock, his face, or what could be seen of it, was ghastly pale with
+agony, while his emaciated frame trembled from head to foot. <i>He looked
+like a guilty man.</i> And his looks were now, as they had been from the
+moment in which the dead body of his master had been discovered, the
+strongest testimony against him.</p>
+
+<p>For all that, you know, they cannot hang a man merely because he looks as
+if he ought to be hung.</p>
+
+<p>After an absence of about fifteen minutes, the jury, led by a bailiff,
+returned to the court-room.</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner looked up, shivered, and dropped his head upon his clasped
+hands again.</p>
+
+<p>The dead silence of breathless expectation in the court-room was now
+broken by the solemn voice of the Clerk of Arraigns, inquiring, in
+measured tones:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have,&quot; answered the foreman, a jolly, red-headed, round bodied Banff
+baker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Prisoner at the bar, stand up and look upon the jury,&quot; ordered the
+clerk.</p>
+
+<p>The poor, abject, and terrified wretch tottered to his feet and stood,
+pallid, shaking, and grasping the front rails of the dock for support.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner. How say you, is the
+prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the felony herewith he stands
+charged?&quot; demanded the clerk.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We find the charge against the prisoner to be&mdash;<span class="smcaps">Not Proven</span>,&quot;
+answered the foreman, speaking for the whole in a strong, distinct voice,
+that was heard all over the court-room.
+<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p>
+
+<p>On hearing the verdict which saved him from death, even if it did not
+vindicate him, John Potts let go the rails of the dock and fell back in
+his chair in a half-fainting condition.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The prisoner is discharged from custody. The Court is adjourned,&quot; said
+the presiding baron, rising and leaving his seat.</p>
+
+<p>While one of the bailiffs was kindly supporting the faltering steps of
+the released prisoner, in taking him from the dock, and while the crowd
+in the court-room were pouring out of the front doors, the presiding
+judge, Baron Stairs, came down to the place where the young Duke of
+Hereward still sat. He had known the duke's father, and had also known
+the duke himself from boyhood. He now held out his hand cordially,
+saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very glad to see your grace, though the occasion is a painful one.
+Let me congratulate you on your marriage, I wish you every good thing in
+life. You have already got the <i>best</i> thing&mdash;a good wife. I knew
+Miss Levison. A finer young woman never lived. I congratulate you with
+all my heart, Duke!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thank you very much, Lord Stairs,&quot; said the bridegroom, warmly
+returning the greeting of the judge.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I fear I must condole with you also. It was really too bad to have
+your honeymoon eclipsed at its rising, by a summons to attend as a
+witness on a criminal trial!&mdash;too bad! However, fortunately, the trial
+was a short one. And you are now at liberty to fly to your bride! I hope
+the duchess is well,&quot; added his lordship.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She has never been quite well, I grieve to say, since the catastrophe at
+Lone,&quot; answered the duke, evasively.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, no! ah no! It cannot be expected that she should be so yet. It will
+take time! It will take time! By the way, where are you stopping, my dear
+Duke? I am at the 'Prince Consort!' Will you come home with me and dine?&quot;
+heartily inquired the baron.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Many thanks, my lord. But I am not staying in town. I must hurry back to
+Lone this evening in order to secure the midnight express to London. The
+most important business demands my immediate presence there,&quot; gravely
+replied the young duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, of course! of course! the bride! the duchess! Certainly, my dear
+duke. I will not press you further,&quot; said the baron, laughing cordially.</p>
+
+<p>Neither of the gentlemen made the slightest allusion to the testimony
+given by the crown's evidence which had cast so foul and false an
+aspersion on the character of the duke.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the court-room was nearly emptied.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and the baron walked out together.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd had dispersed from before the court-house.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and the baron shook hands and parted on the sidewalk.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give my warm respects to the duchess. Tell her grace that I shall hope
+to meet her and present my congratulations in person, on her return from
+the Continent. That will be in time for the meeting of Parliament, I
+presume,&quot; said his lordship, as he was about to step into his carriage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, my lord. Yes, I hope so,&quot; answered his grace, as he lifted his
+hat and turned away.</p>
+
+<p>The baron's carriage drove off to his hotel.</p>
+
+<p>The duke walked rapidly to the inn, where he had ordered his post-chaise
+to be put up.</p>
+
+<p>He partook of a light luncheon while his horses were being harnessed, and
+then entered the chaise, attended by his valet, and ordered the coachman
+to drive as fast as possible, without hurting the horses, to Lone.</p>
+
+<p>He was most anxious to reach the &quot;Arondelle Arms,&quot; to see if any telegram
+from Detective Setter had reached the office for him.</p>
+
+<p>So long as the road ran through the Firwood, and was comparatively smooth
+and level, the coachman kept his horses at their best speed; but when it
+entered the mountain pass of the chain running around Loch Lone, he was
+compelled to drive slowly and carefully.</p>
+
+<p>The sun set before they emerged from the pass, and it was nearly dark
+when the chaise drew up before the Arondelle Arms.</p>
+
+<p>The duke got out of the chaise, and passed through the little assemblage
+of villagers who were standing there discussing the verdict of the jury.
+He hurried at once to the bar-room to inquire if any letter or telegram
+had come for him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Na, naething o' the sort,&quot; replied the landlord, who, seeing the
+disappointment expressed upon the duke's face, added: &quot;But, under favor,
+your grace, there's time eneuch yet. Your grace hae na been twenty-four
+hours awa' fra Lunnun.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Without waiting to answer the host, the young duke hurried out, and
+walked rapidly off to the telegraph office, which was at the railway
+station.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ye see yon lad?&quot; said the landlord to his wife. &quot;He hanna been a day fra
+his bride, and yet he expects to hae a letter or a message frae her every
+minute. Aweel we hae a' been fules in our time!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>So saying the philosophical host of the Arondelle Arms gave his mind to
+the service of his numerous customers, who had come from the trial at
+Banff very hungry and thirsty, and now filled the bar-room with their
+persons, and all the air with their complaints.</p>
+
+<p>They were not at all satisfied with the verdict. They had had a murder,
+and they had a right to have a hanging. They had been defrauded of their
+prospect of this second entertainment, and they were not well pleased.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the duke hurried off to the telegraph office, to see if by any
+chance a telegram had been received there for him and detained.</p>
+
+<p>When he entered the little den, he found the operator at work. He
+forebore to interrupt the man until the clicking of the wires ceased.
+Then he asked:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can you tell if there is any message here for me?&mdash;the Duke of
+Hereward,&quot; added his grace, seeing the puzzled look of the operator,
+who was a stranger in the country.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your grace. It has only just now come,&quot; respectfully answered the
+young man, as he drew out a long, narrow strip of thick, white paper,
+upon which the message had been stamped by the instrument, and proceeded
+to select an official envelope in which to inclose it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind that. Give it to me at once,&quot; said the duke, taking the strip
+from the hand of the operator and hastily perusing it.</p>
+
+<p>The message ran thus:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Old Church Court, Kensington, London,</span>
+October 31st, 3 P.M.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To <span class="smcaps">His Grace the Duke of Hereward</span>, Arondelle Arms, Lone, N.B.
+She is found. Pray come to London immediately. It is important.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">J.A. Setter.</span>&quot;</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
+
+<h3>WHO WAS FOUND!</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;She is found.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is found? The lost bride, or that mysterious messenger who was with
+the fugitive an hour before her flight, who was suspected to have lured
+her away, and who might be able to give a clew to her whereabouts? Good
+Heaven! why could not the detective have sent a definite message?&quot;
+thought the duke, as he studied the telegram.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly his face lighted up as he said to himself. &quot;It is Salome who is
+found! Of course it must be Salome, since no one else was really lost. It
+is Salome, and that is the very reason why Setter spoke so indefinitely;
+for I remember now that I instructed him to avoid using the name of the
+duchess in any telegram. Salome is found! Ah! I thank Heaven! She is
+found! But&mdash;&quot; he reflected with a sudden re-action of feeling&mdash;&quot;how,
+where, when, by whom, under what circumstances was my bride found? Is she
+well or ill? Can she give any satisfactory explanation of her absence?&quot;
+were the next anxious, soul-racking questions that chased each other
+through his mind.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, for the strong pinions of the eagle, that I might fly to her at once
+and satisfy all these anxious doubts,&quot; he breathed.</p>
+
+<p>It was now but six o'clock in the afternoon. The first train for London
+would not stop at Lone until midnight, and would not reach London until
+eight o'clock the next morning&mdash;fourteen hours of suspense!</p>
+
+<p>He could not bear that.</p>
+
+<p>The telegraph operator was about to close the office.</p>
+
+<p>The duke stopped him by saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish to send a telegram to London.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is after hours, your grace,&quot; answered the operator, very
+deferentially.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will pay you whatever you may demand for your extra services, over and
+above your usual fee,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The operator hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is to say, if there is no rule in your office to forbid it,&quot; added
+the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is no rule to prevent it, your grace. My time is up, and I was
+about to go home to supper, that was all. I will send your grace's
+message, if you please,&quot; the operator explained, as he took his seat
+again.</p>
+
+<p>The duke hastily dashed off the following message:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Lone, N.B.</span>, October 31st, 6 P.M.</p>
+
+<p>To <span class="smcaps">J.A. Setter</span>, Police Station, Old Church Court, Kensington,
+London: Shall leave for London by this midnight express-train. Is she
+quite well? Answer immediately. <span class="smcaps">Hereward</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>The operator took the message with a bow. The click of the instrument was
+soon heard, as the message, with the speed of light, flew on its errand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you remain here until I can receive an answer?&quot; inquired the duke,
+as soon as the sound ceased.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should be happy to accommodate your grace; but if there should be no
+answer, say up to twelve o'clock?&quot; suggested the young man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In that case I should not ask you to remain; as you must know by my
+telegram that I am to take the train for London at that hour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, your grace; but I thought it possible that you might wish the
+message taken to some other person in the event of your absence.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not at all. I want it for myself alone. If it does not come before
+twelve I shall have no use for it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I will remain here until midnight, if necessary; but it may not be
+necessary.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you shall set your own price upon your time,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, your grace; I am happy to be able to accommodate you; and would
+prefer to leave all other considerations to yourself,&quot; said the young
+man, very politely and&mdash;politicly.</p>
+
+<p>Even while they spoke, a warning vibration of the wires was perceived,
+followed by the <i>click, click, click</i>, of the instrument.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is a message coming&mdash;most probably an answer to yours, though it
+is very soon to get one,&quot; said the operator, as he turned to give his
+whole attention to his work.</p>
+
+<p>The duke looked on with breathless eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the sound ceased, the operator drew off the message and handed
+it to the duke, who seized it and hastily read;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">London</span>, October, 31st, 7 P.M.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">To The Duke of Hereward, Lone, N.B.</span>: She is perfectly
+well. <span class="smcaps">J.A. Setter.</span>&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank Heaven! I breathe freely now!&quot; said the young duke to himself, as
+he arose from his seat.</p>
+
+<p>He liberally rewarded the telegraph operator, and then left the office
+and walked back to the inn.</p>
+
+<p>The Arondelle Arms was all alive with excitement. More travellers had
+come down from Banff, and the inn was crowded, principally by men of the
+Clan Scott. Every room was filled, every window lighted up. The bar
+and the tap room reeked.</p>
+
+<p>The duke was making his way through the crowd as best he might, when he
+was met by the landlord, who bowed, and apologized, and finally offered
+to conduct his grace by a private entrance to the parlor connected with
+the duke's own reserved suit of apartments.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' noo, what will your grace hae to your supper?&quot; hospitably inquired
+the host, as soon as his guest was comfortably seated in his arm-chair
+before the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Anything at all, so that it is cleanly served, for which I can, of
+course, trust the Arondelle Arms,&quot; said the duke, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord bowed and went out.</p>
+
+<p>The duke leaned back in his chair, and stretched his feet to the genial
+warmth of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>He was feeling very happy. An immense load of anxiety was lifted from his
+heart. She was found! She was perfectly well! In twelve hours he would
+see her, and hear her own explanation of her very strange conduct. Her
+explanation would be perfectly satisfactory. So great was his confidence
+in her that he felt sure of this.</p>
+
+<p>She was found. She was perfectly well. There was nothing to prevent them
+from starting on their wedding tour as soon as they might wish to do so.
+They would, therefore, leave London by the tidal train for Dover on the
+next afternoon. The world would take it for granted that the wedding tour
+had been interrupted and delayed only by the trial. The world would never
+suspect Salome's strange escapade.</p>
+
+<p>While these thoughts were passing through the mind of the duke, the
+waiter came in and laid the cloth for supper.</p>
+
+<p>And soon the landlord himself entered, bearing a tray on which was
+arranged a choice bill of fare, the principal item of which was a roasted
+pheasant.</p>
+
+<p>The duke who had scarcely tasted food during the twenty-four hours of his
+terrible anxiety, now that his anxiety was relieved, felt his appetite
+return, demanding refreshment at the rate of compound interest.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down to the table. The landlord waited on him.</p>
+
+<p>The honest host of the Arondelle Arms was &quot;dying,&quot; so to speak, for a
+confidential conversation with his noble guest. For some little time his
+respect for the Duke of Hereward held his curiosity in check; but at
+length curiosity conquered respect, and he burst forth with:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That wad be an unco impudent claim, the hizzie Rose Cameron tried to set
+up agin your grace, as I hear all the folk say out by&mdash;the jaud maunn be
+clear daft.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It would be charitable to suppose that she is 'daft,' as you call it,
+landlord. It would be well if a jury could be persuaded to think so, as,
+in that case, it would save her from the penalty of perjury. But we will
+speak no more of the poor girl. Take away the service, if you please,&quot;
+said the duke, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord, balked of his desire to gossip, bowed, and cleared the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>It was not yet nine o'clock. There were more than three hours to be
+passed before the express-train for London would reach Lone.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, refreshed by his supper, felt no sense of weariness, no
+disposition to lie down and sleep away the three remaining hours of his
+stay. His mind was in too excited a condition to think of sleep. Neither
+could he read.</p>
+
+<p>So, soon after he was left alone by the landlord, he arose and sauntered
+out through the private entrance into the night air.</p>
+
+<p>The streets of the village were very quiet, for the reason that on this
+night the men were all collected at the Arondelle Arms, discussing the
+events of the day; and at this hour the women were all sure to be in
+their houses, putting their children to bed, setting bread to rise, or
+&quot;garring th' auld claithes luke amaist as guid as the new.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The hamlet was very still under the starlit sky.</p>
+
+<p>The Arondelle Arms, lighted up and musical, was the only noisy spot about
+it.</p>
+
+<p>The mountains stood, grand and silent, like gigantic sentinels around it.</p>
+
+<p>The lake, the island, and the castle of Lone lay beneath it.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden impulse seized the duke to cross the bridge, and re-visit once
+more the home of his youth, the scene of his family's disaster, the stage
+of that frightful tragedy which had shocked the civilized world.</p>
+
+<p>He went down to the beach, and stepped upon the bridge. Now, no floral
+wedding decorations wreathed the arches. All was bare and bleak beneath
+the last October sky.</p>
+
+<p>He crossed the bridge and entered on the grounds of the castle. All here
+was sear under the late autumnal frosts. He did not approach the castle
+walls. He would not disturb the servants at this hour. He walked about
+the grounds until he heard the clock in Malcolm's Old Tower strike ten.
+Then he turned his steps toward the hamlet.</p>
+
+<p>Just before he reached the bridge, he overtook the tall, dark figure of a
+man, clothed in a long, close overcoat, in shape not unlike a priest's
+walking habit. The man tottered and stumbled as he walked, so that the
+duke was soon abreast to him. And then he discovered the wanderer to be
+John Potts, valet to the late Sir Lemuel Levison.</p>
+
+<p>The young Duke of Hereward shrunk from this man. He could not bring
+himself to speak with one whom he could not, in his own mind, clear from
+suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>He passed the valet, walking quickly, and gaining the bridge.</p>
+
+<p>Then he heard footsteps rapidly following him, and the voice of the
+ex-valet excitedly calling after him:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My Lord Arondelle! oh! I beg pardon! Your grace! Your grace! For the
+love of Heaven, let me speak to you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Thus adjured, the Duke of Hereward paused, and permitted the ex-valet to
+come up beside him.</p>
+
+<p>The wretched man was out of breath, pale, panting, trembling, ready to
+faint. He tottered toward the bulwarks of the bridge, grasped them, and
+leaned on them for support.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you want of me, Potts?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, your grace! only to speak to you!&quot; gasped the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What can you have to say to me?&quot; sternly demanded the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>This</i>, your grace!&quot; said the man, suddenly springing forward and
+falling on his knees at the feet of the duke. &quot;<i>This</i> I have to say,
+your grace! Although the Court has not cleared me, I am innocent of my
+master's blood! I am! I am! I am! as the Heaven above us hears and
+knows! Oh! say you believe me, my lord duke!&quot; cried the poor wretch,
+wringing his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your words and manner are very impressive; nevertheless, I cannot place
+confidence in them,&quot; said the duke, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my lord! my lord! Oh, my lord! my lord!&quot; groaned the valet, lifting
+both his hands to heaven, as if in appeal from a great injustice.</p>
+
+<p>The duke was moved.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you <i>are</i> guiltless, why should you care whether I, or any other
+fallible mortal, should consider you guilty?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh,&quot; cried the man, clasping his hands with the energy of
+despair&mdash;&quot;because <i>every</i> body thinks me guilty! <i>No</i> one
+believes me innocent, though I am guiltless of my master's blood, so help
+me Heaven!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The circumstances, though not enough to convict you in a court of law,
+where every doubt must go in favor of the accused, were still strong
+enough to lay you under suspicion, and open to a second arrest and trial
+for your life, should new evidence turn up,&quot; quietly replied the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know it! I know it, your grace. But no new evidence against me can
+turn up! Lord grant that evidence in my favor might do so! But that
+cannot happen either. The circumstances that accused, but could not
+convict, nor acquit me, leave me still under the ban! Yes! under the ban
+I must remain! But do not <i>you</i>, my lord duke, believe me guilty of
+my master's death! Guilty of much I am! Guilty of neglect of duty, but
+not of my master's death! The Heavens that hear me know it! Oh, pray,
+pray try to believe it, my lord duke!&quot; pleaded the wretch, still
+kneeling, still lifting his clasped hands in an agony of appeal.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Get upon your feet, Potts. Never kneel to any man. To do so is to
+degrade yourself and the man to whom you kneel. Get up, before I speak
+another word to you,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The miserable creature struggled to his feet and stood leaning against
+the bulwarks of the bridge, for support.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, then, if you are not guilty, if your conscience acquits you in the
+sight of Heaven of all complicity in your late master's death, why should
+you feel and show such extreme distress&mdash;distress that has worn your
+frame to a skeleton, and stricken your life with old age?&quot; gravely
+demanded the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why?&mdash;oh, your grace! I loved my master as a son his father! He was more
+like a father than a master to me. And he was cut off suddenly by a
+bloody death! In the midst of my grief for his loss I was arrested and
+accused of murdering him&mdash;my beloved master. I have seen the gallows
+looming before me for the last three months. I have been shut in prison,
+with no companions but my own awful thoughts. I have been put on trial
+for my life. And though the jury could not convict me, it would not
+acquit me! though I am set at large for the present, I am subject to
+re-arrest and trial for death, if new evidence, however false, should
+arise against me. Meanwhile, no one believes me innocent. All believe me
+guilty. No one will ever speak to me. They made the inn too hot to hold
+me. My life is ruined&mdash;my heart is broken! Is not all that enough, lord
+duke, to have worn my body to a skeleton and turned my hair gray, without
+remorse of conscience?&quot; impetuously demanded the man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Potts, it is not. Nothing but remorse, it seems to me, could so
+reduce a man,&quot; gravely replied the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, your grace! you still believe me guilty of my good master's murder!&quot;
+passionately exclaimed the man. &quot;Ah, Heaven! what will become of me? I
+shall die unless I can have the stay of <i>some</i> one's faith in me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Potts,&quot; said the duke, in a softened tone, &quot;I do not now think that you
+had any active or conscious share in the foul murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison. But not the less do I see that you are suffering from remorse.
+<i>You are still keeping something back from me!</i>&quot; he added, very
+solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>The valet groaned, but made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is the reason why I have no confidence in you,&quot; said his grace.</p>
+
+<p>The valet wrung his gaunt hands, but continued silent.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now I do not ask you to confide in me; but I will give you this
+warning&mdash;so long as you hold in your bosom a secret which, if revealed,
+would bring the real criminal to justice, so long you will yourself
+remain the object of suspicion from others and the victim of remorse
+in yourself. Now, Potts, I must leave you; for I must get to Lone in time
+to catch the London express. Good-night,&quot; said the duke, as he moved
+away.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;One moment more, oh, my lord duke! for the love of Heaven! One moment to
+do a piece of justice,&quot; pleaded the ex-valet, tottering after the young
+nobleman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, well, what is it now?&quot; inquired the latter, pausing and turning
+back.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That poor, misguided girl, Rose Cameron,&quot; said the valet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what of <i>her</i>, man?&quot; impatiently demanded the young nobleman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen, my lord duke! You saw her committed to prison on the charge of
+perjury.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A charge that she was self-convicted of.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord duke, she was not guilty of perjury!&quot; sighed the valet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What! What is that you say?&quot; quickly demanded the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I say, Rose Cameron, poor misguided girl that she was, did not, however,
+perjure herself&mdash;<i>intentionally</i> I mean,&quot; repeated John Potts.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is she <i>mad</i>, then? The victim of a monomania?&quot; gravely inquired
+the duke, fixing his eyes upon the troubled face of the valet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, your grace, she was never more in her right senses.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you mean? Do you <i>dare</i>&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord duke, I dare nothing. I never was a daring man; if I had been,
+the daring would have been taken out of me by the troubles of this last
+quarter of a year! But, my lord duke, I am right. Rose Cameron did not
+intentionally perjure herself, neither is she mad. Rose Cameron believes
+in her heart every word of the statement she made under oath in the open
+court this morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>While the man thus spoke, the duke looked fixedly at him in perfect
+silence, in the forlorn hope of hearing some solution to the enigma.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose Cameron was deceived, my lord duke&mdash;grossly, cruelly, basely
+deceived&mdash;not in one respect only, but in many. She was, first of all,
+deceived into the idea of being the wife of a gentleman of high rank,
+when, in fact she is nobody's wife at all. Next she was deceived into
+becoming an accomplice in a robbery and murder, of which she was as
+ignorant and as innocent as&mdash;as <i>myself</i>. She could not have been
+more so!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who was her deceiver?&quot; sternly demanded the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg pardon. I know no more than your grace! I only presumed to speak
+about it, so as to explain the strange conduct of that poor girl, and
+clear her of intentional penury in your sight,&quot; said the valet, meekly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Potts, you know much more than you are willing to divulge. You have,
+however, unwittingly given me a clew that I shall take care to follow up.
+Once more let me warn you to get rid of sinful secrets, and amend your
+life, if you wish to be at peace. Good-night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, the duke walked rapidly away to make up for the time lost in
+talking with the ex-valet.</p>
+
+<p>It was after eleven o'clock when he reached the Arondelle Arms, yet the
+little hostel gave no signs of closing. The windows were all still ablaze
+with light, and the bar and the tap-room were uproarious with fun.
+Evidently the Clan Scott had been drinking the health of the duke and
+duchess until they had become&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;Glorious!<br />
+O'er all the ills of life victorious!&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>The duke slipped in at the private entrance and gained his own apartment,
+where he found his valet engaged in packing his valise.</p>
+
+<p>He sent the man out to pay the tavern bill.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes Kerr returned, accompanied by the landlord, who brought
+the receipt, and inquired if his grace would have a carriage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; the duke said; as the distance was short, he preferred to walk to
+the station.</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments he left the inn, followed by his valet carrying his
+valise.</p>
+
+<p>They caught the train in good time, having just secured their tickets
+when the warning shriek of the engine was heard, and it thundered up to
+the station and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, followed by his servant, entered the coupe he had secured for
+the journey.</p>
+
+<p>Three nights of sleeplessness, anxiety and fatigue had prostrated the
+vital forces of the young nobleman, and so, no sooner had the train
+started, than he sat himself comfortably back among his cushions, and,
+being now in a great measure relieved from suspense, he fell into a
+deep and dreamless sleep. This sleep continued almost unbroken through
+the night, and was only slightly disturbed by the bustle of arrival when
+the train reached a large city on its route. He awoke when it arrived at
+Peterborough; but fell asleep again, and slept through the long twilight
+of that first day of November.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>OFF THE TRACK.</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was eight o'clock in the morning of a dark and cloudy day, when the
+duke was finally aroused by the noise and confusion attending the arrival
+of the Great Northern Express train at King's Cross Station, London.</p>
+
+<p>He shook himself wide awake, adjusted his wrap, and sprang out of his
+coupe, while yet his servant was but just bestirring himself.</p>
+
+<p>The first man he met in the station was Detective Setter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>How</i> is she?&quot; eagerly inquired the traveller, hastening to meet
+the officer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She is perfectly well, and expresses herself as not only willing, but
+anxious to see your grace,&quot; replied the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Not only willing!</i> that is a strange phrase, too! But I presume I
+shall understand it all when I see her. <i>Where</i> is she?&quot; demanded
+the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At the house on Westminster Road. The address <i>was</i> Westminster,
+and not Blackfriars Road.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At the house on Westminster Road! Did you find her there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But why, in the name of propriety, and good sense, does she not return
+home?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace, she is at home,&quot; said the perplexed detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just now you told me that she was at the house on Westminster Road!&quot;
+said the bewildered duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Beg pardon, your grace, but the house on Westminster Road <i>is</i> her
+home. She has no other that I know of.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke stared at the detective a moment, and then hastily demanded:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who <i>are</i> you talking of?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Beg pardon again, your grace, but I am afraid there is some
+misunderstanding.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Who</i> are you talking about?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am talking of the woman who came to the duchess just before she
+disappeared,&quot; answered the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good Heaven!&quot; exclaimed the duke, with such a look of deep
+disappointment that the detective hastened to deprecate his displeasure
+by saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry, your grace, that there should have been any
+misapprehension.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You idiot!&quot; were the words that arose spontaneously to the duke's lips;
+but they were not uttered. The &quot;princely Hereward&quot; habitually governed
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why did you not tell me in your telegram <i>who</i> was found?&quot; he
+demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I certainly thought that your grace would have understood. In the
+telegram dispatched at nine o'clock yesterday morning, I told your grace
+that I had a clew to the woman who had called at Elmthorpe House on
+Tuesday. In the telegram sent at three in the afternoon, I said&mdash;'She is
+found.' I certainly thought your grace would understand that the woman to
+whom I had gained the clew was found. I grieve to know how much mistaken
+I was,&quot; sighed Mr. Setter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! that accounts for everything. I never received that first telegram.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace never received it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then my messenger was false to his trust. I was so indiscreet as to send
+it to the office by a ticket porter, believing the fellow would do his
+duty faithfully, after having been paid in advance. The more fool I. I am
+certainly old enough to have known better!&quot; said the detective, with a
+mortified air.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well Mr. Setter, it is useless to regret that mistake now. Be so good as
+to call a cab. We will go at once to Westminster Road and see this Mrs.
+Brown. What information has she given you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;None whatever, except this, which we knew before&mdash;that she visited the
+bride on the afternoon of the wedding day. She declines to tell <i>me</i>
+the nature of her business with the duchess; but says that she will
+explain it to you; she further denies all knowledge of the present abode
+of the duchess.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then we must lose no time in going to the woman,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, the cab which had been signalled by the detective drove up,
+and the cabman jumped down and opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>The duke entered it and sat down on the back cushions.</p>
+
+<p>His grace's servant, Kerr, came up to the window for orders.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take my luggage home to Elmthorpe House. Give my respects to Lady
+Belgrade, and say that I will join her ladyship this afternoon,&quot; said the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>The servant touched his hat and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To Number &mdash;&mdash;, Westminster Road,&quot; ordered Mr. Setter, as he mounted to
+the box-seat beside the cabman.</p>
+
+<p>The latter started his horses at a good rate of speed, so that a drive of
+about forty minutes brought them to their destination.</p>
+
+<p>The detective jumped down and opened the door, saying,</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Excuse me, your grace; but, I think, perhaps I ought to go in first to
+ensure you an interview with the woman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By all means go in first, officer. I will remain here in the cab until
+you return to summon me,&quot; answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>Detective Setter went up to the door and knocked, and then waited a few
+seconds until the door was opened, and he was admitted by an unseen hand.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes elapsed, and then detective Setter reappeared, and came up
+to the cab and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She will see you at once, early as it is, your grace, I do not know what
+in the world possesses the old woman; but she is chuckling in the most
+insane manner in the anticipation of meeting you 'face to face,' as she
+calls it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, we shall soon see,&quot; said the duke, as, with a resigned air, he
+followed Mr. Setter into the house.</p>
+
+<p>The detective led him up stairs to the gaudy parlor which had once been
+Rose Cameron's sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>There was no one present; but the detective handed a chair to the duke,
+and begged him to sit down and wait for Mrs. Brown's appearance.</p>
+
+<p>The duke threw himself into the chair, and gazed around him upon the
+garish scene, until a chamber door opened, and Mrs. Brown, in her
+Sunday's best suit, sailed in. The duke arose.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Brown came on toward him, courtesying stiffly, and saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good morning to you, Mr. Scott! It is a many months since I have had the
+pleasure of seeing you in this house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke was not so much amazed at this greeting as he might have been,
+had he not heard the astounding testimony of Rose Cameron. So he answered
+quietly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not think, madam, that you ever 'had the pleasure' of seeing me 'in
+this house' or, in fact, anywhere else. I have never seen <i>you</i> in
+my life before.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! oh! oh! here to the man! He would brazen it out to my very face!&quot;
+exclaimed Mrs. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>The duke started and flushed crimson as he stared at the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I am not afeard of you! Deuce a bit am I afeard of you! You may
+glare till your eyes drop out, but you'll not scare me! And you may be
+the Markiss of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward, too, for aught
+I know, or care either! But you were just plain Mr. John Scott to me, and
+also to that poor, wronged lass whom you have betrayed into prison, if
+not unto death! And now, Mr. John Scott, as you wished to see me (and
+I can guess why you wished to see me,) and as I have no objection to see
+you, besides having something of importance to tell you, perhaps you will
+send that man off,&quot; said Mrs. Brown pointing to the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No. I prefer that Mr. Setter should stay here, and be a witness to all
+that passes between us,&quot; answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right. It is no business of mine, and no <i>shame</i> of mine. Only
+I thought as you mightn't like a stranger to hear all your secrets, and
+I wish to spare your feelings,&quot; said the woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg you will not consider my feelings in the least, madam,&quot; answered
+the duke, with a slight smile of amusement; &quot;and I hope you will allow
+Mr. Setter to remain,&quot; he added.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, in course! <i>I</i> have no objection, if <i>you</i> have none.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pray go on and say what you have to say,&quot; urged the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then, first of all, I have to tell you that I know why you have come
+here. You have come to inquire about Miss Salome Levison, the great
+banker's heiress.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are speaking of the Duchess of Hereward, madam,&quot; interrupted the
+duke, in a stern voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I'm not. I am speaking of Miss Salome Levison. She is not the
+Duchess of Hereward. I don't know but one Duchess of Hereward, and <i>her
+you are ashamed to own</i>,&quot; spitefully added Mrs. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are a woman, aged and insane, and therefore entitled to our utmost
+indulgence,&quot; said the duke, putting the strongest control upon himself.
+&quot;But tell me now, what was your business with the Lady of Lone, upon whom
+you called at Elmthorpe House on Tuesday afternoon?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I went from your true wife, whom you had betrayed into prison, to your
+false wife, to let her know what you were, and to tell her that there was
+but one step between herself and ruin!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good Heaven! you did that!&quot; exclaimed the duke, utterly thrown off his
+guard.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I did! And I showed the young lady your real wife's marriage lines,
+all regularly signed and witnessed by the rector of St. Margaret's and
+the sexton, and the pew-opener! I did! And there were letters in your own
+handwriting, and photographs, the very print of you, which I took along
+with the marriage lines, to prove my words when I told her that you had
+been married for over a year, and had lived in my house with your wife
+all that time!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven may forgive you for that great wrong, woman; but I never can!
+And&mdash;the lady believed you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course she did! How could she help it, when she saw all the proofs?
+It almost killed her. Indeed, and I think it <i>did</i> quite craze her!
+But she saw her duty, and she had the courage to do it! She knew as she
+ought to leave you, before the false marriage could go any further. So
+she left you. I do really respect her for it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the name of Heaven, <i>where</i> did she go? Tell me that! Tell me
+where to find her, and I may be able to pardon the great wrong you have
+done us under some insane error,&quot; said the husband of the lost wife,
+striving to control his indignation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, then,&quot; exclaimed Mrs. Brown, defiantly, &quot;I am not asking any
+pardon at all from you, Mr. Scott. It ain't likely as I'll want pardon
+from Heaven for doing my duty, much less from <i>you</i>, Mr. John Scott.
+Oh, yes! I know you are called the Duke of Hereward; and no doubt you are
+the Duke of Hereward; but I knew you as Mr. John Scott, and nobody else;
+and I knew a deal too much of you as <i>him</i>. But as to wanting your
+pardon&mdash;that's a good one!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you be good enough to tell me where my wife, the Duchess of
+Hereward, has gone?&quot; demanded the duke, putting a strong curb upon his
+anger.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>You</i> know where <i>she</i> is well enough. <i>She</i> is in the
+<i>trap</i> you set for her!&quot; spitefully answered the woman.</p>
+
+<p>In truth, the duke needed all his powers of self-control to enable him to
+reply calmly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ask you to tell me where is the Lady of Lone, to whom you went on
+Tuesday afternoon, with a story which has driven her from her home, and
+driven her, perhaps, to madness, or to death. I charge you to tell me,
+where is she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! where is Miss Salome Levison, the heiress of Lone, you ask! Exactly!
+That is what you would give a great deal to know, wouldn't you! You want
+to follow and join her, and live with her abroad, because you have got a
+wife living in England. You're a noble duke, so you are! Well, if
+<i>this</i> is what the nobility are a coming to, the sooner them
+Republicans have it all their own way the better, I say!&quot; exclaimed Mrs.
+Brown, throwing herself back in her chair and folding her arms.</p>
+
+<p>Detective Setter here joined the Duke of Hereward, and deferentially drew
+him away to the other end of the room, and whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg your grace not to remain here, subjected to the insolence of this
+mad woman, whose every second word is treason or blasphemy, or worse, if
+anything can be worse. Leave me to deal with her. A very little more, and
+I shall arrest her on the grave charge of conspiracy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Setter, do nothing of the sort. Use no violence; utter no threats.
+<i>Now</i>, if ever&mdash;here, if anywhere&mdash;is a crisis, at which we must be
+not only 'wise as serpents, but <i>harmless</i> as doves,' if we would
+gain any information from this woman,&quot; answered Salome's husband, as he
+walked back and rejoined Mrs. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you tell me, <i>on any terms</i>, where the Lady of Lone is to be
+found?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! I like that! Aren't you a sharp? You <i>can't</i> call her the
+duchess, and you <i>won't</i> call her Miss Levison, so you call her the
+Lady of Lone, anyway!&quot; exclaimed Mrs. Brown, with a chuckling laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, will you, <i>for any price</i>, tell me where she has gone?&quot;
+repeated the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As to where Miss Salome Levison has gone, I would not tell you to save
+your life, even if I could. I could not tell you, even if I would. I left
+her sitting in her bed-chamber at Elmthorpe House, on that Tuesday
+afternoon after her false marriage. She was sitting clothed in her deep
+mourning travelling suit, as she had put on again for her father directly
+the wedding breakfast was over. She looked the very image of sorrow and
+despair. She did not tell me where she was going. I don't believe she
+even knew herself. There, that's all that I have got to tell you, even if
+you had the power to put me on the rack, as you used to have in the bad
+old times!&quot; exclaimed Mrs. Brown, once more folding her arms and settling
+herself in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward walked toward the detective officer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is nothing more to be learned from the woman, at present, Setter.
+We have already gained much, however, in the knowledge of the base
+calumny that drove the duchess from her home. It is a relief to be
+assured that she has not fallen among London thieves. She has probably
+gone abroad. You must inquire, discreetly, at the London Bridge Railway
+Stations, for a young lady, in deep mourning, travelling alone, who
+bought a first-class ticket, on Tuesday evening. There, Setter! There
+is a mere outline of instructions. You will fill it up as your discretion
+and experience may suggest,&quot; concluded the duke, as he drew on his
+gloves.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I would suggest, your grace, that we go to St. Margaret's Old Church,
+where this strange marriage, in which they try to compromise you, is said
+to have taken place, and which is close by,&quot; said the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By all means, let us go there and look at the register,&quot; assented the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>They took leave of Mrs. Brown, and left the house.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes drive took them to Old St. Margaret's.</p>
+
+<p>They were fortunate as to the time. The daily morning service was just
+over, and the curate who had officiated was still in the chancel.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward went in, and requested the young clergyman to favor
+him with a sight of the parish register.</p>
+
+<p>The curate complied by inviting the two visitors to walk into the vestry.</p>
+
+<p>He then placed two chairs at the green table, requested them to be
+seated, and laid before them the brass-bound volume recording the births,
+marriages and deaths of this populous, old parish.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward turned over the ponderous leaves until he came to
+the page he sought.</p>
+
+<p>And there he found, duly registered, signed and witnessed, the marriage,
+by special license, of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott and Rose Cameron,
+both of Lone, Scotland.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The mystery deepens,&quot; said the duke as he pointed to the register.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is incomprehensible,&quot; answered the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is my name,&quot; added the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Some imposter must have assumed it,&quot; suggested the officer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then the imposter, in taking my name, must have also taken my face and
+form, voice and manner, for though, upon my soul, I never married Rose
+Cameron, there are two honest women who are ready to swear that I did!&quot;
+whispered the duke, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes; for there were
+moments when the absurdity of the situation overcame its gravity.</p>
+
+<p>The duke then thanked the curate for his courtesy and left the church,
+attended by the detective.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where shall I tell the cabman to drive?&quot; inquired Setter, as he held the
+door open after his employer had entered the cab.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To Elmthorpe House, Kensington. And then, get in here, with me, if you
+please, Mr. Setter. I have something to say to you,&quot; answered his grace.</p>
+
+<p>The detective gave the order and entered the cab.</p>
+
+<p>The duke then made many suggestions, drawn from his own intimate
+knowledge of the tastes and habits of the duchess, to assist the
+detective in his search.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You may safely leave the whole affair in my hands, sir. I will act with
+so much discretion that no one in London shall suspect that the Duchess
+of Hereward is missing. For the rest, I have no doubt that we shall soon
+find out the retreat of her grace. A young lady, dressed in elegant deep
+mourning, and travelling unattended, would be sure to have attracted
+attention and aroused curiosity, even in the confusion of a crowded
+railway station. We are safe to trace her, your grace,&quot; said Detective
+Setter, confidently.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE CONVENT.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Salome was tenderly nursed by the nuns during the nine days in which her
+fever raged with unabated violence.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of that time, having spent all its force, the fever went off,
+leaving her weak as a child, in mind as well as in body.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she was convalescent the abbess had her carefully removed from
+the infirmary in which she had lain ill, to a spacious chamber, with
+windows overlooking the convent garden&mdash;a gloomy outlook now, however,
+with its seared grass and withered foliage, shivering under the dreary
+November sky.</p>
+
+<p>The room was very clean and very scantily furnished; the walls were
+whitewashed and the floor was painted gray. The two windows were shaded
+with plain white linen; the cot bedstead, which stood against the wall
+opposite the windows, was covered with a coarse, white, dimity spread.</p>
+
+<p>Between the windows stood a small table, covered with a white cloth, and
+furnished with a white, earthen-ware basin and ewer. On each side of this
+table sat two wooden chairs, painted gray.</p>
+
+<p>In one corner of the room stood a little altar, draped with white linen,
+and adorned with a crucifix, surrounded with small pictures of saints and
+angels.</p>
+
+<p>In the opposite corner stood a small, porcelain stove, which barely
+served to temper the coldness of the air.</p>
+
+<p>There were few articles of comfort, and none of luxury, in the room&mdash;a
+strip of gray carpet, laid down beside the bed, an easy-chair with soft,
+padded back, arms, and seat, covered with white dimity, drawn up to
+the window nearest the stove, and a footstool of gray tapestry on the
+floor before it. These comforts were allowed to none but invalids.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess came in to see her every day.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Salome said to her visitor:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, I have left this affair with the Duke of Hereward incomplete.
+I must complete it, that I may have peace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not understand you, my child,&quot; said the abbess, in some uneasiness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have left him as in duty bound. I must write to him to let him know
+<i>why</i> I left him; but I must not let him know the place of my
+retreat. I think I heard you say that our father-director was going to
+Rome this week?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my child.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I will write to the Duke of Hereward for the last time, and bid him
+an eternal farewell. I will not date my letter from any place; but I will
+give it to the father-director that he may post it from Rome. You shall
+read my letter before I close it, dear mother. And now, on these terms,
+will you let me have writing materials?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, my child. I will send them to you; or rather I will bring
+them,&quot; answered the meek lady-superior, as she arose and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>In a very few minutes she returned with the required articles.</p>
+
+<p>Salome wrote her letter, and then submitted it to the perusal of the
+abbess, who accorded it her full approval.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, dear mother, if the father-director will take that with him and
+post it from Rome, all will be over between the Duke of Hereward and
+myself! We shall be dead to each other,&quot; said Salome, as the abbess took
+the letter and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Then the invalid sank back, exhausted, in her easy-chair.</p>
+
+<p>In this easy-chair by the window, with her feet upon the footstool,
+Salome sat day after day of her convalescence; sometimes for hours
+together, with her hands clasped upon her lap, and her eyes fixed upon
+the floor, in a sort of stupor; sometimes with her sad gaze turned upon
+the sear garden, as she murmured to herself:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Withered like my life!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Some one among the nuns was always with her; but she took no notice of
+her companion, seeming quite unconscious of the sister's presence.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess had taken care to have books of devotion laid upon her little
+table, but Salome never opened one of them.</p>
+
+<p>Apathy, lethargy, like a moral death, had fallen upon her.</p>
+
+<p>The story of her sorrows, known only to the abbess, to whom she had
+confided it on the eve of her illness, was never alluded to.</p>
+
+<p>Salome seemed to have buried it in silence. The abbess feared to raise it
+from the dead.</p>
+
+<p>Not one in the convent suspected the real circumstances of the case.</p>
+
+<p>All the sisterhood knew Miss Salome Levison, the young English heiress,
+who had been educated within their walls; all knew that in leaving the
+convent, three years before she had declared her intention to return at
+the end of three years and take the vail. She had returned, according to
+her word, and no one was surprised. Her sickness they considered purely
+accidental. They had no knowledge of her marriage. She was to them still
+Miss Salome Levison, who had once been their pupil, and was now soon to
+be their sister.</p>
+
+<p>No newspapers were taken in at the convent, or the nuns might have seen
+repeated notices of her approaching marriage before it took place, as
+well as a long account of the ceremony and the breakfast, after they had
+come off.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess tried many gentle expedients to arouse Salome from her moral
+torpor, but all her efforts were fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>Salome had once been an enthusiast in music, and a very accomplished
+performer on several instruments. Her favorite had always been the harp,
+and next to that the guitar.</p>
+
+<p>She was not yet strong enough to play on the former, but she might very
+well manage the latter.</p>
+
+<p>So the abbess caused a light and elegant little guitar to be placed in
+her room.</p>
+
+<p>Salome never even noticed it; but sat with her eyes fixed on her clasped
+hands that lay on her lap.</p>
+
+<p>So November and a good part of December passed, with very little change.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess, whose rule was absolute in her own house, had most solemnly
+warned the whole sisterhood that they were not to speak of &quot;Miss
+Levison's&quot; presence in the convent to any visitor, or pupil, or any other
+person whatever, or to write of it to any correspondent. The nuns had
+obeyed their abbess so well, that not a whisper of Salome's presence in
+the house had been heard outside its walls.</p>
+
+<p>At length Christmas drew near.</p>
+
+<p>The academy was closed for the season, and the pupils all went home to
+spend their holidays.</p>
+
+<p>After the departure of their young charges, the sisterhood were very busy
+in making preparations to celebrate the joyous anniversary of our Lord's
+birth.</p>
+
+<p>There were so many delightful little duties to be done; the chapel to be
+decorated with evergreens and exotics; the shrines of the saints to be
+decked; extra dainties to be made for the sick in the Infirmary; presents
+to be got up for the aged men and women of the &quot;Home&quot; attached to the
+convent; entertaining books to be selected and inscribed with the names
+of the boys and girls of their Orphan Asylum; doll-babies to be dressed
+and toys to be chosen for the infants of their Foundling; and, finally,
+a great Christmas-tree to be mounted and decorated for the delight of the
+whole community within their walls.</p>
+
+<p>The sisterhood took so much pleasure in all these preparations for
+Christmas, that it occurred to the abbess she might be able so far to
+interest her unhappy guest in the work as to arouse her from that fearful
+lethargy which seemed to be destroying both her mind and body.</p>
+
+<p>Salome Levison, while she had been a pupil in the convent, had never
+performed any services for the charities of the community except by
+giving liberally from her ample means.</p>
+
+<p>Gladly would she have ministered in person to the needs of old age,
+illness, or infancy; but for her to have done so would have been against
+the rules of the establishment. The pupils of the academy were not
+permitted to hold any intercourse whatever with the inmates of the
+charitable institutions of the convent. This was a concession to the
+prudence of parents, who feared all manner of contaminations from any
+communication between their children and such <i>miserables</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The convent was so planned as to effect a complete separation between the
+academy and the asylums.</p>
+
+<p>The buildings were erected around a hollow square. They measured a
+hundred feet on each side, and arose to a height of four stories.</p>
+
+<p>In the centre of the front, or northern, face, stood the chapel, a
+beautiful little Gothic temple, surmounted by a steeple and a gilded
+cross; on each hand, in a line with the chapel, stood the buildings
+containing the cloisters, dormitories, and refectories of the nuns and
+novices.</p>
+
+<p>On the east front stood the Foundling for abandoned infants; the Asylum
+for orphan boys and girls, and the Home for aged men and women.</p>
+
+<p>On the south end were the offices, kitchens, laundries, store-houses,
+gas-house, and so forth, for the whole establishment.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, on the west front, farthest removed from the asylums, were the
+academy buildings, containing school and class-rooms, dormitories and
+refectory for the accommodation of pupils.</p>
+
+<p>It was in these west buildings that Salome had lived and learned during
+the years she had spent at the Convent of St. Rosalie. She had never
+entered any other part of the establishment except the chapel, and on the
+north front, which was reached by a long passage running with an angle
+from the school-hall to the chapel aisle.</p>
+
+<p>The square courtyard within the enclosure of these buildings was paved
+with gray flag-stones, and adorned in the centre by a marble fountain.
+But no footstep ever crossed it except that of some lay sister
+occasionally sent from the cloisters to the office, on some household
+errand. So no opportunity was afforded of making the courtyard a place
+of meeting between the &quot;young ladies&quot; of the academy and the poor little
+children of the asylums.</p>
+
+<p>The academy opened from its front upon its own gardens, lawns,
+shrubberies, and other pleasure-grounds, the resort of its pupils during
+their hours of recreation.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Salome Levison, with all her school-mates, had been completely cut
+off from all intercourse with the objects of the convent's charity during
+the whole period of her residence at the academy, which, indeed, covered
+the greater portion of her young life.</p>
+
+<p>Now, however, since her return to the convent, she had been domiciliated
+in the nun's house on the right of the chapel, and possessed, if she
+pleased to exercise it, the freedom of the establishment.</p>
+
+<p>On the Saturday before Christmas (which would also come on Saturday that
+year) the abbess went into the room occupied by her invalid guest.</p>
+
+<p>Salome was seated in the white easy-chair beside the window, and near the
+porcelain stove. She was dressed in a deep mourning wrapper of black
+bombazine, and an inside handkerchief and undersleeves of white linen.
+Her pallid face and plain hair, and the severe, funereal black and white
+of her surroundings, made a very ghastly picture altogether.</p>
+
+<p>The Sister Francoise sat there in attendance on her.</p>
+
+<p>The mother-superior dismissed the nun, took her vacated seat, and looked
+in the face of her guest.</p>
+
+<p>Salome seemed utterly unconscious of the superior's presence. She sat
+with her hands clasped upon her lap and her eyes fixed upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, my daughter, how is it with you?&quot; softly inquired the abbess,
+taking one of the limp, thin hands within her own, and tenderly pressing
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am the queen of sorrow, crowned and frozen on my desert throne,&quot;
+murmured the girl, in a trance-like abstraction.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, my child!&quot; said the mother-superior, gazing anxiously into her
+stony face, whose eyes had never moved from their fixed stare; &quot;Salome,
+my dear daughter, look at me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'I am the star of sorrow, pale and lonely in the wintry sky.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My poor girl, what do you mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I read that somewhere, long ago,&mdash;oh, so long ago, when I was a happy
+child, and yet I wept then for that solitary mourner as I am not able to
+weep now for myself, though it suits me just as much,&quot; murmured Salome,
+in the same trance-like manner, still staring on the floor, as she
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, just as much, just as much, for&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;Never was lament begun<br /></span>
+<span>By any mourner under sun<br /></span>
+<span>That e'en it ended fit but one!&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, look at me, speak to me, my dear daughter,&quot; said the abbess,
+tenderly pressing her hand, and seeking to catch her fixed and staring
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Salome slowly raised those woeful eyes to the lady's face, and asked:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, good mother, did you ever know any one in all your life so
+heavily stricken as I am?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess put her arms around the young girl and drew her head down upon
+her own pitying bosom, as she replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have I ever known one so heavily stricken as you? My child, I cannot
+tell. 'The heart knoweth its <i>own</i> bitterness,' and one cannot weigh
+the grief of another. Salome, you have been heavily smitten; but so have
+many others. Daughter! I never do speak of my own sorrows. They are past,
+and 'they come not back again.' But I think it might do you good to hear
+of them now. Child! like <i>you</i>, I never knew a mother's love; but
+there were three beings in the world whom I loved, as <i>you</i> love,
+with inordinate and idolatrous affection. They were my noble father, my
+only brother, and my affianced husband. Salome, in the Revolution of '48,
+my father was assassinated in the streets of Paris, as yours was in his
+chamber at Lone. My brother, true as steel to his sovereign, was
+guillotined as a traitor to the Republican party. Last, and hardest to
+bear, my affianced lover&mdash;he on whom my soul was stayed in all my
+troubles, as if any one weak mortal could be a lasting stay to another
+in her utmost need&mdash;my affianced lover, false to me as yours to you, was
+shot and killed in a duel by the lover, or husband, of a woman, for whom
+he had left his promised bride! Daughter, did I ever know any one who was
+so heavily stricken as yourself?&quot; gravely inquired the abbess, laying her
+hand upon the bowed head of her guest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, good mother, you have,&quot; murmured the weeping girl, in a voice
+full of tears. &quot;Your fate has been very like my own&mdash;you, like me, were
+motherless from your infancy; you, like me, spent your childhood and
+youth in this very convent school. Your father, like mine, met his death
+at the hands of an assassin; your lover, false as mine, abandoned you for
+a guilty love. Ah! your sorrows have been very like mine, only much
+heavier and harder to bear.&quot; And Salome drew the caressing hands of the
+abbess to her lips and kissed them over and over again, as she repeated,
+&quot;Oh, yes, good mother, much heavier and harder to bear than mine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know that, my daughter; but I do know, if I had set myself down
+a grieving egotist, to brood over my own individual troubles, in a world
+full of troubles, needing ministrations, I should have lost my reason, if
+not my soul.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But you came back to your convent, as I have come, for refuge,&quot; said
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I came here to give my life to the Lord; not in idle, selfish
+prayers and meditations for my own soul's sake; no, but in an active,
+useful life of work. And I have found deep peace, deep joy. So will you,
+my beloved child, if you take the same way. But you must begin by
+shutting the doors of your soul against the thoughts of your sorrow, and
+especially by banishing the image of your false and guilty lover every
+time it presents itself to your mind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother! mother! I loved him so! I loved him so!&quot; cried Salome,
+bursting into a paroxysm of sobs and tears, the first tears she had been
+able to shed over her awful sorrows.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was glad to see them; they broke up the fatal apathy as a
+storm disperses malaria. She gathered the weeping girl to her bosom, and
+let her sob and cry there to her heart's content.</p>
+
+<p>When the gust of grief had spent itself, Salome lifted her head and dried
+her eyes, murmuring:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I loved him! I loved him! but it is past! it is past! I must forget
+him, henceforth and forever!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, daughter, you must forget him, for to remember him would be a
+grievous sin. And you must forgive him, though he meditated against you
+the deepest wrong,&quot; said the abbess, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will try to forgive the wrong-doer and forget the wrong, but oh!
+mother, mother, it will be very hard to overlive it! Oh, I hope, I hope,
+if it be Heaven's will, that I shall not have to live very long,&quot; said
+Salome, with a heavy sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is the way I felt in the first bitterness of my sorrow: but the
+feeling passed away in duty-doing. And now, although I know that in the
+next life every need and aspiration of the soul will be fulfilled, yet I
+find such peace and joy here, that I am willing, yes and glad, to live in
+this world as long as my Lord has any work for me to do in his vineyard.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell me what I ought to do, and I will try to do it,&quot; said Salome, with
+another deep sigh; for her very breathing was sighing now.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know that this is Saturday, the last Saturday before Christmas,&quot;
+said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is it? I did not know, I have taken no note of time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And to-morrow is Sunday, the last Sunday before Christmas.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Daughter, you have not been to chapel once since your arrival among us.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, no! I came from the infirmary here, and I have not left this room to
+go anywhere since!&quot; sighed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is not because you are not able to do so, but because you are not
+willing. You have allowed yourself to sink into a sinful and dangerous
+lethargy of mind and body in which you have brooded morbidly over your
+afflictions. You must do so no longer. You must rouse yourself from this
+moment. You must go with us to-night to vespers. To-morrow morning you
+will attend high mass. A fellow-countryman of yours, Father F&mdash;&mdash;,
+an Oratorian priest from Norwood, England, will preach. He will do you
+good. Since the days of St. John, the beloved disciple, no wiser, more
+loving, or more eloquent soul ever spoke to sinners,&quot; said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;coming from England!&mdash;If he should recognize me!&quot; exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, do you know him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, not at all; but then there are sometimes people with whom we
+have no sort of acquaintance, who yet know us by sight from seeing us in
+public places, or meeting us on public occasions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is very true, my child; but you need have no fear of being
+recognized by the officiating priest to-morrow, whoever he may be, for
+you will sit with us behind the screen.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, dear mother; I will go with you this very evening.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are a good and obedient child. Receive my benediction,&quot; said the
+mother-superior, rising.</p>
+
+<p>Salome bent her head, and the abbess solemnly blessed her, and then
+withdrew from the room.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SOUL'S STRUGGLE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>That same evening, while the vesper bells were ringing, Salome dressed
+herself, and, leaning on the arm of the mother-superior headed the
+procession of the sisterhood as they marched to the chapel and took their
+seats in the recess behind the screen, which was so cunningly devised,
+that, while it afforded the nuns a full view of the altar, the priests,
+the interior of the pews and the whole congregation, it effectually
+concealed the forms and faces of the sisterhood seated within it.</p>
+
+<p>Father Francois, the confessor of the convent, officiated at the altar.</p>
+
+<p>A rustic congregation of the faithful filled the pews in the body of
+the church. They came from farm-houses and villages in the immediate
+neighborhood of the convent.</p>
+
+<p>The vesper hymn was raised by the nuns.</p>
+
+<p>Salome joined in singing it. She had a rich, sweet, clear soprano voice.</p>
+
+<p>Many were the heads in the rustic assemblage that turned to listen to the
+new singer in the nuns' choir.</p>
+
+<p>Salome saw them, and shrank back as if she herself could have been seen,
+though she was quite invisible to them, for the screen, which was
+transparent to her eyes, was impenetrable to theirs. She remembered this,
+at length, and recovered her composure.</p>
+
+<p>The sweet vesper service soothed her soul, and when it was over, and the
+benediction was given, the &quot;peace that passeth all understanding&quot;
+descended upon her troubled spirit.</p>
+
+<p>She left the chapel, leaning on the mother-superior's arm.</p>
+
+<p>When she reached her room door she kissed the lady's hand in bidding her
+good-night.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This has done you good, my daughter,&quot; said the abbess, gently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It has done me good. Thanks for your wise counsel, holy mother. I will
+follow it still. I will go again tomorrow. Bless me, my mother,&quot; said
+Salome, bowing her head before the abbess, who blessed her again, and
+then softly withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>Salome entered her room and retired to rest, and slept more calmly than
+she had done for many days and nights.</p>
+
+<p>She arose on Sunday morning refreshed; but it seemed as if her stony
+apathy had passed off, only to leave her more keenly sensitive to her
+cause of grief; for as she dressed herself, a flood of tender memories
+overflowed her soul, and she threw herself, weeping freely, on her cot.</p>
+
+<p>In this condition she was found by the abbess, who was pleased to see her
+weep, knowing that the keenness of sorrow is much softened by tears.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down in silence by the cot, and waited until the paroxysm was
+past.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good mother, I could not help it,&quot; said Salome, with a last convulsive
+sob, as she wiped her eyes, and arose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nor did I wish you to do so. Thank the Lord for the gift of tears. Have
+you had breakfast, my daughter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, dear mother. Sister Francoise brought it to me before I was up.
+This is the last time I will allow myself such an indulgence. To-morrow
+morning, if you will permit me, I will join you in the refectory.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am rejoiced to hear you say so my child. Your recovery depends much
+upon yourself. Every exertion that you make helps it forward. And now I
+came to tell you that in ten minutes we shall go on to the chapel. Will
+you be ready to accompany us?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, dear mother, I will come on and join you almost immediately,&quot; said
+Salome standing up and shaking down her black robe into shape.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess softly slipped out of the room and left the guest to complete
+her toilet.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes Salome passed out and joined the procession of nuns to
+the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they were seated in the screened choir, Salome looked through
+the screen, to see if the English priest was at the altar. He was not
+there yet; but the body of the little chapel was filled with an expectant
+crowd of small country gentry, farmers and laborers with their families,
+all drawn together by the fame of the great Oratorian.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the procession entered&mdash;six boys, in white surplices, preceding
+a pale, thin, intellectual-looking young man in priestly robes.</p>
+
+<p>The priest took his place before the altar, the boys kneeling on his
+right and left, and the solemn celebration of the high mass was begun.</p>
+
+<p>The nuns sang well within their screened choir; but the new soprano voice
+that sang the solos, and rose elastic, sweet and clear, soaring to the
+heavens in the <i>Gloria in Excelsis</i>, seemed to carry all the
+worshipers with it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is she?&quot; inquired one of another, in hushed whispers, when the
+divine anthem had sunk into silence.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>No one in the congregation could tell; but many surmised that she must be
+some young postulant of St. Rosalie, just beginning, or about to begin,
+her novitiate.</p>
+
+<p>At length the pale priest passed into the pulpit, and, amid a breathless
+silence of expectancy, gave out his text:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">God is love</span>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A truth revealed to us by the Divine Saviour, and confirmed to our hearts
+by the teachings of His Holy Spirit.</p>
+
+<p>The preacher spoke of the divine love, &quot;never enough believed, or known,
+or asked,&quot; yet the source of all our life, light and joy; he spoke of
+human love, a derivative from the divine, in all its manifestations of
+family affection, social friendship, charity to the needy, forgiveness
+of enemies.</p>
+
+<p>And while he spoke of love, &quot;the greatest good in the world,&quot; his tones
+were full, sweet, deep and tender, his pale face radiant, his manner
+affectionate, persuasive, winning.</p>
+
+<p>He was listened to with rapt attention, and even when he had brought his
+sermon to a close, and his eloquent voice had ceased, his hearers still,
+for a few moments, sat motionless under the spell he had wrought upon
+them.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the benediction had been pronounced, the abbess arose from her
+seat in the choir, drew the arm of her still feeble guest within her own,
+and, followed by her nuns, walking slowly in pairs, left the choir.</p>
+
+<p>She took Salome to the door of her room in perfect silence, and would
+have left her there but that the girl stopped her by saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy mother, I wish to speak to you, if you can give me a few minutes,
+before we go to the refectory.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Surely, my daughter,&quot; answered the abbess, kindly, as she followed her
+guest into the chamber.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sit down in the easy-chair, good mother,&quot; said Salome, drawing the soft,
+white-cushioned seat toward her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, sit you there, poor child,&quot; answered the abbess, taking her guest
+kindly and seating her in the easy-chair. &quot;I shall be well enough here,&quot;
+she added, as she sat down on one of the painted, wooden seats. &quot;Now,
+tell me what you wish to say, daughter,&quot; she concluded.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dear mother, I have been very deeply interested in Father F. this
+morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You should be interested in the message only, not in the messenger, my
+child,&quot; gravely replied the elder lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the message alone I believe I was most concerned; but the message was
+most eloquently delivered by the messenger,&quot; said Salome, as her pale
+cheeks flushed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, my daughter, go on in what you were about to say.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy mother, that message, so earnestly spoken, has moved me to greater
+diligence in what I have purposed to do. You know that I have intended to
+take the vail in this convent, and devote my life and my fortune to
+good works.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my child, I know that such has been your pious purpose. What then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish to use all diligence in carrying out that purpose. I wish to
+enter upon my novitiate immediately.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My good daughter, far be it from me to throw any stumbling-block in the
+way of such praise-worthy intentions; but the strict rules of our order
+require that a postulant should remain in the convent twelve calendar
+months, to test her vocation, before she is suffered to bind herself by
+any vows,&quot; said the abbess, very gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As if <i>my</i> vocation had not been sufficiently tested,&quot; sighed
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It may have been so, my daughter. This probation may not be necessary in
+your case, yet we can make no exception to our rules even in your favor.
+You will, therefore, if you wish, remain with us for one year, unfettered
+by any vows. At the end of this year of probation, if you shall still
+desire to do so, you may be permitted to take the white vail and commence
+your novitiate. In the meantime you need not, and ought not, to be idle.
+You may be as zealous and diligent in good works while a postulant as you
+possibly could be as a white-vailed novice or a black-vailed nun.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Show me how I may be so, holy mother, and I will bless you,&quot; exclaimed
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will very gladly be your guide, my child. Listen, Salome. Hitherto,
+you have been very charitable in giving alms. You have given liberally of
+your means; but you have never yet given your personal services to the
+poor and needy. That was not our Lord's way, whose servants we are. He
+gave alms, indeed, and he performed miracles to supply them, as in the
+case of the loaves and fishes; but most of all, better than all, He gave
+His personal ministrations; He taught the ignorant; He anointed the eyes
+of the blind; <i>He laid His hands on the leper</i>; He shrank from no
+personal contact with disease, however loathsome; distress, however
+ignominious; nor must we, His children, do so. We must give our personal
+services to the poor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell me what to do, and how to do it, good mother, and I will gladly
+obey your instructions. Tell me, for I am so very ignorant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To-morrow, the Monday before Christmas, you may go with me the rounds
+of our asylums and schools, and see for yourself destitute old age,
+destitute childhood and abandoned infancy; and you may choose your work
+among these poor, needy, helpless ones,&quot; said the abbess, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And are laborers wanted in that vineyard, mother?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Always.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then here am I, for one, poor one. I am longing to go to work.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At first your work shall be a very bright and pleasant labor, dear
+child. This is the joyous week of preparation for the glad, Christmas
+festival. This week we are all, young and old, engaged in the delightful
+recreations of charity. Our Lord Himself, who, in His Divine benignity,
+blessed the marriage feast of Cana with a miracle, smiles on our
+recreations of charity, which with us just now consist in the preparation
+of Christmas gifts to gladden the hearts of our poor these Christmas
+times. To-morrow, if you please, I will take you to our work-rooms, where
+you may choose your own task.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, how willingly I will do that!&quot; said Salome, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>A bell had been ringing for a few moments; and so the abbess arose and
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is the dinner-bell. You promised to join us in the refectory, and
+I think it is best you should do so, my daughter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will follow your counsels in everything, holy mother,&quot; answered
+Salome, sweetly, as she arose and put her hand on the offered arm of her
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess led her protegee down a long passage and deep flights of
+stairs to the refectory, where, at each side of a very long table,
+running down the length of the room, stood about fifty nuns waiting for
+their mother-superior.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess gave her guest a seat next to her own, then crossed herself
+and sat down.</p>
+
+<p>The nuns all made the sign of the cross upon their breasts, and seated
+themselves at the table.</p>
+
+<p>This was the first occasion upon which Salome sat down at the nuns'
+table; but it was not the last, for from this day she regularly appeared
+there, and, though she was given to frequent and violent fits of weeping,
+her health and spirits steadily improved under the regimen of the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>On Monday morning the lady-superior took Salome through all the asylums
+on the east side of the convent.</p>
+
+<p>They went first into the aged men's home, where, in a large, clean,
+well-warmed and well-lighted hall, furnished with arm-chairs, tables, and
+many plain and cheap conveniences, were gathered about thirty gray-haired
+or bald-headed patriarchs, whose ages ranged from seventy to a hundred
+years. Yet not one of them was idle. They were all engaged in plaiting
+chip-mats, baskets, hampers and other useful articles that could be made
+out of reeds or cane. The oldest man among them, a centenarian, was
+employed in plaiting straw for hats.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They look very happy and busy,&quot; said Salome, after she had responded to
+their respectful nods and smiles of welcome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, and they nearly half pay expenses by their handicrafts. Even they,
+aged and infirm as they are, can half support themselves if they have
+only shelter, protection and guidance.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And there seems to be no sick among them,&quot; said Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, yes,&quot; answered the abbess, gravely, &quot;there are five in the infirmary
+connected with this home; but we will not go there now. Let us pass on to
+the aged women's home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They entered the next house, where, in a large, warm, light room, plainly
+furnished, about twenty old women, from sixty to ninety years of age,
+were collected. They were neatly dressed in gray stuff gowns, white
+aprons, white kerchiefs, and white Normandy caps. And all were busy&mdash;some
+knitting, some sewing, some tatting.</p>
+
+<p>They bowed and smiled a welcome to the visitor, who responded in the same
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;These, also, half support themselves by their work,&quot; said the abbess;
+&quot;but the proportion of sick among them is greater than among the men.
+There are ten in the infirmary.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They went next to the orphan boys' asylum, where fifty male children of
+ages from three to twelve years were lodged, fed, clothed, and educated.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What becomes of these when they leave here?&quot; inquired Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We send them out as apprentices to learn trades; and we find homes for
+them,&quot; answered the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can you always find good homes and masters for them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, always. We do it through the secular clergy. Now let us go into the
+girls' asylum,&quot; said the abbess, leading the way to the next institution.</p>
+
+<p>The orphan girls' asylum was, in many respects, similar to the boys'
+home.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you wish to know what becomes of these, when they leave here?&quot;
+inquired the abbess, anticipating the question of her companion. &quot;I will
+tell you. The greater number of them are sent out to service as cooks,
+chambermaids, seamstresses, or nursery governesses. Some few, who show
+unusual intelligence, are educated for teachers. If any one among their
+number evinces talent for any particular art, she is trained in that art.
+My child, we have sent out more than one artist from our orphan girls'
+asylum,&quot; said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How much good you do!&quot; exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let us go into the Foundling,&quot; said the mother-superior, leading the way
+to the last house of the eastern row of buildings.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! here was a sight sorrowful enough to make the &quot;angels weep!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess led her companion into a long room, clean, warm, light and
+airy, with about thirty narrow little cots, arranged in two rows against
+the walls, fifteen on each side, with a long passage between them.
+About half a dozen of these cots were empty. On the others lay about
+twenty-four of the most pitiable of all our Lord's poor&mdash;young infants
+abandoned by their unnatural parents. All these were under twelve months
+old, and were pale, thin, and famished-looking. Some were sleeping, and
+seemingly, ah! so aged and care-worn in their sleep; some were clasping
+nursery-bottles in their skeleton hands, and sucking away for dear life;
+one little miserable was wailing in restless pain, and sending its
+anguished eyes around in appealing looks for relief.</p>
+
+<p>Four women of the sisterhood were on duty here, and each one sat with a
+pining infant on her lap, while there was no one to attend to the wants
+of that wailing little sufferer on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, merciful Father in Heaven! what a sight!&quot; cried Salome, overcome
+with compassionate sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, it is piteous! most piteous!&quot; said the mother-superior, in a
+mournful tone. &quot;We do the very best we can for these poor, deserted
+babes; but young infants, bereft of their mother's milk, which is their
+life, and of their mother's tender love and intuitive care, suffer more
+than any of us can estimate, and are almost sure to perish, out of
+<i>this</i> life, at least. With all our care and pains, more than
+two-thirds of them die.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is there no help for this?&quot; sadly inquired the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No help within ourselves. But the peasant women in our neighborhood have
+Christian spirits and tender hearts. When any one among them loses her
+sucking child, she comes to us and asks for one of our motherless babes.
+We select the most needing of them and give it to her, and the nurse
+child has then a chance for its life; but even then, if it lives, it is
+because some other child has died and made room for it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, it is piteous! it is piteous, beyond all words to express! Destitute
+childhood, destitute old age, are both sorrowful enough, Heaven knows!
+But they have power to make their sufferings known, and to ask for help!
+<i>But destitute infancy!</i> Oh! look here! look here! Can anything on
+earth be so pathetic as this?</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They are so innocent; they have not brought their evils on themselves.
+They are so helpless! They have not even words to tell their pain, or ask
+for relief! Mother! You said that I might choose my work! I have chosen
+it. It is here. And I begin it from this moment,&quot; said Salome.</p>
+
+<p>And she threw off her hat and cloak, and drew her gloves and cast them
+all on a chair, and went and took up the wailing infant from the cot.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess sat down and watched her.</p>
+
+<p>She soothed the baby's plaints upon her bosom as she walked it, up and
+down the floor, singing a sweet, nursery song in a low and tender voice,
+until it fell asleep. Then she came and laid it sleeping on its cot.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear daughter,&quot; said the abbess, gravely, &quot;before you select this
+field of duty, I must warn you that it is, and it <i>must needs</i> be,
+of all charitable administrations, the most laborious and trying.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It may be so; but it is also the most divine,&quot; said Salome, with a
+grave, sweet smile. &quot;Listen, dear mother. I know not how it is, but&mdash;with
+all its pathos&mdash;the sphere of this room is heavenly. And while I held
+that baby to my bosom and soothed it to sleep, its little, soft form
+seemed to draw all the fever and soreness from my own aching heart as
+well. Here is my earthly work, dear mother! Nay, rather, here is my
+heavenly mission and consolation. Leave me here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The mother-superior took the votaress at her word, and left her then and
+there.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the same day a small closet, communicating with the
+infants' dormitory, was fitted up as a sleeping berth for Salome, and her
+few personal effects were conveyed from the convent and arranged within
+her new dwelling.</p>
+
+<p>Salome had not mistaken her vocation. To serve these forsaken and
+suffering children was to her a labor of love; to relieve them, a work
+of joy.</p>
+
+<p>She never left her charge, except to go to chapel, or to her meals, which
+she took at the nuns' table, in their refectory.</p>
+
+<p>On Christmas Eve, as she returned from dinner, Sister Francoise invited
+her to look into the work-room and see the Christmas presents in process
+of preparation.</p>
+
+<p>To please the kind sister, she followed her into a long hall, furnished
+with little tables, at each of which sat two or three of the nuns at
+work.</p>
+
+<p>As Salome, with her conductor, walked down the room, she saw that on one
+table was a pile of children's illustrated books of great variety to suit
+little ones, from three years old to thirteen. The two nuns seated at the
+table were busy writing in the books the names of those for whom they
+were intended.</p>
+
+<p>Another table was piled with woolen scarfs, socks, gloves, and night-caps
+for the aged men and women, which the two nuns seated there were employed
+in rolling up into separate little parcels, and labeling with the names
+of the intended recipients.</p>
+
+<p>Still another, and a longer table, was bright and gay with party-colored
+scraps of silk, satin, velvet, ribbon, muslin, lace and linen, with which
+half a dozen young nuns seated there were cheerfully engaged in making
+dresses for a basket full of dolls, for the Christmas gifts to the
+infants.</p>
+
+<p>The blooming young nun Felecitie presided at this table. Seeing Salome
+approach with Sister Francoise, she accosted her:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Our holy mother told us that you would come in and help us dress these
+dolls.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And so I would have done, only I found some living and suffering dolls
+to dress and feed,&quot; said Salome, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I know, the babies of the Foundling. Well, we are dressing these
+dolls for your babies,&quot; said the smiling sister.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But do you suppose my tiny little ones will care for dolls?&quot; inquired
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be sure they will; from six months old, up, boys or girls, sick or well,
+babies will love dolls. I have seen a sick baby hug her doll, just as I
+have seen a sick mother clasp her child,&quot; answered the sister.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;These are the recreations of charity the holy mother told me of,&quot; said
+Salome, as she passed out of the work-room and went back to her own
+sphere of duty.</p>
+
+<p>On Christmas morning after matins, the Christmas gifts were distributed
+in every one of the asylums, and every inmate was made happy by an
+appropriate present.</p>
+
+<p>At ten o'clock high mass was celebrated in the chapel of the convent, and
+all the sisterhood assembled in their screened choir.</p>
+
+<p>Three priests in their sacerdotal robes, and a dozen boys in white
+surplices, were expected to serve at the altar. The chapel was profusely
+decorated with holly, and the shrines were dressed with flowers. The pews
+were filled with a congregation of a rather better social position than
+usually assembled there in the convent chapel.</p>
+
+<p>The services had not yet commenced. Salome bent forward with all the
+interest and curiosity of a recluse, to look, for a moment, upon the
+strangers.</p>
+
+<p>She gave but one glance through the screen, and then suddenly, with a low
+cry, she sank back upon her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the matter, my daughter? Are you ill?&quot; inquired the
+mother-superior, in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>Salome lifted up a face ashen pale with dismay, and gasped:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have seen him! I have seen him! He is there&mdash;there in the congregation
+below!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who?&quot; inquired the abbess, in vague alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My husband?&mdash;yet, no; oh, Heaven! not my husband, but the Duke of
+Hereward!&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE STRANGER IN THE CHAPEL.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;The Duke of Hereward in the congregation?&quot; echoed the abbess, with a
+troubled look.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, there in the middle aisle, in the third pew from the altar,&quot;
+replied Salome, in trembling tones.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No matter. <i>You</i> have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be
+protected. <i>He</i> has everything to fear; he is a felon before the
+law, and he may be prosecuted. Compose yourself, my child, and give your
+mind to heavenly subjects. See, the priest is coming in,&quot; murmured the
+abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in
+devotion.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to
+falling, followed the mother-superior's example, and tried to concentrate
+her mind in worship.</p>
+
+<p>The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel&mdash;the priests
+in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes. The
+officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his assistants
+on each side. And the impressive celebration of the high mass commenced.</p>
+
+<p>But, ah! Salome could not confine her attention to the service! Her eyes,
+guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward
+the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew
+front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future,
+or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with
+that stranger.</p>
+
+<p>Father F&mdash;&mdash;, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the
+text: &quot;Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to
+men.&quot; He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by
+the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the
+cloistered nuns and all the common congregation&mdash;by all within the sound
+of his voice, perhaps, except one&mdash;the most sorrowful one on that glad
+day. Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.</p>
+
+<p>But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of
+relief she heaved when it was all over.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the benediction was pronounced, the nuns arose to leave their
+screened choir, and the congregation got up to go out from the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>Salome lingered behind the sisterhood, and watched the handsome stranger
+in the third pew front&mdash;a stranger to every one present except herself.</p>
+
+<p>He also lingered behind all his companions, and turned and looked
+intently up into the screened choir.</p>
+
+<p>Salome saw his full face for the first time since his appearance
+there&mdash;and she saw that it was deadly, ghastly pale, with white lips and
+glassy eyes. He gazed into the screened choir as into vacancy.</p>
+
+<p>Salome knew that he could see nothing there, yet she shrank back and
+stood in the deepest shadow, until she saw him pick up his hat and glide
+from the chapel, the last man that went out.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, what could have changed him so?&quot; she thought&mdash;&quot;love, fear,
+remorse&mdash;what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He had nothing to fear from her. If no one should take vengeance on him
+until she should do so, then would he go unpunished to his grave, and his
+sin would never have found him out in this world. Nay, sooner than to
+have hurt him in life, liberty, honor, or estate, she, herself, would
+have borne the penalty of all his crimes. Yet of those crimes what an
+unspeakable horror she had, though for the criminal what an unutterable
+pity&mdash;what an undying love.</p>
+
+<p>While she stood there, gazing through the choir-screen upon the spot
+whence the stranger had disappeared, her bosom, torn by these conflicting
+passions of horror, pity, love, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder,
+and turning, saw the mother-superior at her side.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, why do you loiter here?&quot; she tenderly inquired.</p>
+
+<p>Salome's pale face flushed, as she replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother, I was watching him until he left the church.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, it was a deadly sin to do so!&quot; gravely replied the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He could not see me, mother,&quot; sighed Salome, in a tremulous voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That was well. Come now to your own room, daughter, and do not tremble
+so. You have nothing to fear, except from your own weak and sinful
+nature,&quot; said the abbess, as she drew the girl's arm within her own
+and led her from the choir.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Am I so weak and sinful, mother?&quot; inquired Salome, after a silence which
+had lasted until the two had reached the door of the Infants' Asylum,
+where Salome now lodged.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As every human being is! and especially as every woman is in all affairs
+of the heart,&quot; gravely returned the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? Will you come in and let me
+talk to you a little while? Have you time? I want to talk to you. Oh!
+I wish we had mother-confessors for women&mdash;for girls, I mean, instead of
+father-confessors. Can you come in and let me talk to you, mother, for
+a little while?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Surely, daughter,&quot; said the abbess, gently as with her own hand she
+opened the door and led her votaress into the room.</p>
+
+<p>Salome offered the one chair to the lady-superior, and then took the
+foot-stool at her feet, and laid her head upon her knees.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now speak to me freely, child. Tell me what you wish and how I can help
+you,&quot; said the abbess, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother! mother! I wish to be rid of the sin of loving him, for I
+love him still. In spite of all, I love him still!&quot; exclaimed Salome,
+breaking down in a passion of tears and sobs.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess laid her hands upon the bowed young head, and kept them so in
+silence until the storm of grief had passed. Then she said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Child you must fast and pray, and so combat the 'inordinate and sinful
+affections of the flesh.' Bethink you what you do in suffering them. You
+make an idol of that monster of iniquity who was an accomplice in the
+murder of your father&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome uttered a low cry, and hid her face in her hands. The abbess went
+on steadily, almost pitilessly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A man who, having already a living wife, of whom he had grown tired and
+ashamed, married you, and so would have ruined you in soul and body.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome groaned deeply, and then suddenly broke forth in passionate
+exclamations:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know it! I know it? I know it from the evidence of my own senses, no
+less than from the testimony of others! I <i>know</i> it, but I cannot
+<i>feel it</i>, mother! I cannot feel it? My <i>mind</i> adjudges him
+<i>guilty</i>; my <i>mind condemns</i> him upon unquestionable proof; but
+my <i>heart</i> holds him <i>guiltless</i>; in the face of all the
+proofs, my <i>heart acquits</i> him! I <i>know</i> him to be a criminal;
+but I <i>feel</i> him to be one of the greatest, best and noblest of
+mankind! In spite of all I have heard and seen with my own ears and eyes,
+corroborated by the testimony of others&mdash;in spite of everything past, I
+<i>feel</i>, I <i>feel</i> that if he should now come and take my hand in
+his, and whisper to me, I should believe all that he might tell me, and
+go with him whithersoever he might choose to lead me! Mother, <i>save me
+from myself</i>!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess laid her hands again upon the throbbing head that lay on her
+lap, as she answered, mournfully:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Said I not that you have nothing to fear except from your weak and
+sinful self. Child, you have nothing else on earth to dread. You are to
+be protected from yourself alone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And from <i>him</i>! Oh, mother, keep the great temptation from me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He shall be kept from you, if, indeed, he should presume to seek you
+here,&quot; said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He will seek me, mother! He came to seek me, and for nothing else. He
+has by some means found out my retreat, and he has come to seek me! Be
+sure that he will present himself here to-morrow, if not to-day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In that case, we shall know how to deal with him, even though he is the
+Duke of Hereward; for he has, and can have, no lawful claim on you. So
+far from that, he is in deadly danger from you. He is liable to
+prosecution by you; for you are not his wife; you are only a lady whom he
+entrapped by a felonious marriage ceremony, and sought to ruin. It is
+amazing,&quot; added the abbess, reflectively, &quot;that a nobleman of his exalted
+rank and illustrious fame should have stooped <i>so</i> low as to stain
+his honor with so deep a crime, and to risk the infamy and destruction
+its discovery must have brought upon him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is amazing and incredible! That is why, in the face of the evidence
+of my own eyes and ears, the testimony of other eye and ear witnesses,
+and of my own certain knowledge, based upon proof as sure as ever formed
+the foundation of any knowledge, I still feel in my heart of heart that
+he is guiltless, stainless, noble, pure and true as the prince of
+noblemen should be,&quot; sighed Salome, adding word upon word of eulogy, as
+if she could not say enough.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the face of all positive proof, and of the convictions of your
+judgment, your <i>heart</i> tells you that this criminal is innocent,&quot;
+said the abbess, incisively.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In the face of all, my heart assures me that he is pure, true, and
+noble!&quot; exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you believe your heart?&quot; gravely inquired the elder lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; for is it not written: 'The heart is deceitful, and desperately
+wicked.' No, I do not believe my weak and sinful heart, which I know
+would betray me into the hands of my lover, if I should be so unfortunate
+as to meet him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You shall not meet him; you shall be saved from him,&quot; answered the
+abbess.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment a bell was heard to ring throughout the building.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That calls us to the refectory&mdash;to our happy Christmas festival. Come,
+my daughter,&quot; said the lady, rising.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot go! Oh, indeed I cannot go, mother. I am utterly unnerved by
+what has happened. I hope you will pardon and excuse me,&quot; pleaded Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What! Will you not join us at our Christmas feast?&quot; kindly persisted the
+abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed, it is impossible! I will rest on my cot for a few minutes, and
+then I will go and take my poor little Marie Perdue on my bosom and rock
+her to sleep. I hear her fretting now; and when I hush her cries, she
+also soothes my heartache.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will send you something; and I will come to you, before vespers,&quot; said
+the abbess, kindly, as she glided away from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Salome lay alone on the cot, with closed eyes and folded hands, praying
+for light to see her duty and strength to do it.</p>
+
+<p>She expected, in answer to her earnest prayers, that scales should fall
+from her eyes, and impressions pass from her heart, and that she should
+see her love in monstrous shape and colors, and be able to thrust him
+from her heart. Instead of which, she saw him purer, truer, nobler, than
+ever before. With this perception came a sweet, strange peace and trust
+which she could not comprehend, and did not wish to cast off.</p>
+
+<p>She arose and went into the infants' dormitory, and took up the youngest
+and feeblest of the babes&mdash;the one which, on her very first visit, had so
+appealed to her sympathies, and which she had adopted as her own.</p>
+
+<p>This child, like many others in the asylum, had no known story.</p>
+
+<p>A few days before Christmas, late in the evening, a bell had been rung at
+the main door of the Infants' Asylum.</p>
+
+<p>The portress who answered it found there a basket containing an infant a
+few weeks old. It was cleanly dressed and warmly wrapped up in flannel;
+but it had no scrap of writing, no name, nor mark upon its clothing by
+which it might ever be identified.</p>
+
+<p>The portress took it into the dormitory, where it was tenderly received
+and cared for by the sisters on duty there.</p>
+
+<p>The case was too common a one to excite more than a passing interest.</p>
+
+<p>On the next day after the arrival of the infant, it happened that the
+mother-superior brought Salome there on her first visit, when the misery
+of the motherless and forsaken infant so moved the sympathies of the
+young lady that she immediately took it to her own bosom.</p>
+
+<p>Subsequently, since she had devoted herself to the care of these deserted
+babies, she took an especial interest in this youngest and most helpless
+of their number.</p>
+
+<p>She named it Marie Perdue, and stood godmother at its baptism.</p>
+
+<p>It lay in her arms often during the day, and slept at her bosom during
+the night. It had grown to know its nurse, and to recognize her presence
+and caresses by those soft, low sounds, half cooing and half complaining,
+with which very young babes first try to utter their emotions or their
+wants.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as she took little Marie Perdue from the cot, the child greeted her
+with sweet smiles and soft coos, and nestled lovingly to her bosom. And
+peace deepened in Salome's heart.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down in a low nursing-chair, fed the child with warm milk and
+water until it was satisfied, and then rocked it and sang to it in a low,
+melodious voice, until it fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>She was still rocking and singing when the rosy-cheeked and cheery young
+Sister Felecitie came in.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Our holy mother was going to send your dinner in here, Miss Levison; but
+I think it must be so dismal to eat one's dinner alone on Christmas day,
+so I pleaded to be allowed to plead with <i>you</i> that you will come
+and dine with us young sisters at the second table, which is just as
+good as the first, I assure you, only it is served an hour later. Will
+you come? Say yes!&quot; urged the merry and kind-hearted girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will come, thank you; though I did too moodily decline the invitation
+of the abbess,&quot; said Salome, rising and placing her sleeping charge upon
+its little cot.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now! what did I tell you about the children and the dolls! Look there!&quot;
+gleefully exclaimed Sister Felecitie, pointing to a row of cots where
+about a dozen infants lay asleep, clasping their dolls tightly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, the tiny mimic mothers really do love their doll babies,&quot; Salome
+confessed with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>As they went out of the dormitory they passed into the children's
+day-room, where about twenty infants, from one to two years old, were at
+play&mdash;some sitting on mats or creeping on all fours, because they could
+not yet stand; some walking around chairs and holding on to support
+themselves; and some running here and there, in full possession of the
+use of their limbs.</p>
+
+<p>All rejoiced in the possession of little dolls.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look at them!&quot; exclaimed Sister Felecitie, gleefully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We tried the least little ones with other toys: but, bless you, nothing
+else pleases them so well as dolls. We once tried the little yearlings
+with rattles, which we thought, it being noisy nuisances, would please
+them better; but save us! If any one doubts the doctrine of original sin
+and total depravity, they should have seen the three year-old babies
+fling down their rattles in a passion and go for the other babies' dolls,
+to seize and take them by force and violence; and the corresponding rage
+and resistance of the latter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All that was very natural,&quot; said Salome, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, natural, and perhaps something else too, beginning with a 'd.'
+They call children 'little angels.' Yes. I know they are, when they are
+sound asleep,&quot; exclaimed the sister, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If they are not angels, they have angels with them. I feel they have,
+for when I am in their sphere, I possess my soul in peace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As the young lady said this, the children noticed her presence for the
+first time, and all who could walk ran to her, clustered around her and
+thrust their dolls upon her, for inspection and approval.</p>
+
+<p>All this Salome bestowed freely with many caresses and gentle, playful
+words.</p>
+
+<p>Then the children sitting on the mats reached out their dolls at
+arm's-length, and screamed to have them noticed.</p>
+
+<p>Salome made her way to these little sitters, while all the other
+children, clinging to her skirt, attended her, impeding her progress.</p>
+
+<p>It was a great confusion.</p>
+
+<p>The merry little sister laughed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now!&quot; she said, gayly. &quot;You are in their sphere, do you possess your
+soul in peace?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Something even better. My soul goes out to them, delighting in their
+innocent delight!&quot; answered Salome.</p>
+
+<p>And after she had patted their heads and praised their dolls, and pleased
+them all with loving notice, she followed her conductress from the
+children's play-room through the long rectangular passage that led to the
+nun's refectory.</p>
+
+<p>The sisterhood, abstemious nearly all the days of the year, feasted on
+certain high holidays.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas dinner, laid for the young nuns in the refectory, would
+have satisfied the most fastidious epicure. But I doubt if any epicure
+could have enjoyed it half as well as did these abstemious young women,
+whose appetites were only let loose on certain high days and holidays.</p>
+
+<p>Salome wondered at herself, who but two hours before had given way to a
+storm of passionate sobs and tears, yet now felt a strange peace of mind
+that enabled her to enter sincerely into the happiness of those around
+her.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, the convent was visited by a large number of benevolent
+people in the neighborhood, who brought their Christmas offerings to the
+poor and needy of the house.</p>
+
+<p>These visitors were shown through all the various departments of charity,
+and left their offerings in each before they went away.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do wish <i>one</i> thing,&quot; said little Sister Felecitie, as she
+lingered near Salome, after the departure of the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you wish, dear?&quot; inquired the latter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, then, that the good people who give to our poor, whatever else they
+give, would <i>always</i> give the children dolls and the old people
+tobacco. The children <i>never</i> can have <i>too many</i> dolls, nor
+the old people <i>enough</i> tobacco.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But is not the use of tobacco a vicious habit?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I <i>hope</i> not. It makes the poor old souls so happy.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HAUNTER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The vesper bell called them to the chapel, and the conversation ceased.</p>
+
+<p>Salome joined the procession and entered the choir.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she had taken her seat she looked through the screen upon the
+congregation assembled in the public part of the church. A great dread
+seized her that she should see again the man whose presence had so
+disturbed her in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Heaven! he was there!&mdash;not where he sat before, but in one of the end
+pews, facing the choir, so that she had a full view of his ghastly face
+and glassy eyes.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden superstitious fear fell upon her. She almost thought the figure
+was his ghost, or was some optical illusion conjured up by her own
+imagination.</p>
+
+<p>She wished to test its reality by the eyes of another. She wished to
+whisper to the abbess, and point him out, and ask her if she, too, saw
+him; but she dared not do this. The vesper hymn was pealing forth from
+the choir, and all the sisterhood, except herself, were singing.</p>
+
+<p>She was their soprano, and she had to join them. She began first in a
+tremulous voice, but soon the spell of the music took hold of her, and
+carried her away, far, far above all earthly thoughts and cares, and she
+sang, as her hearers afterward declared, &quot;like a seraph.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the service she whispered to the abbess, calling her
+attention to the pallid stranger in the end pew; but when both turned
+to look, the man had vanished!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, I do not know whether that ghostly figure was a real man, after
+all!&quot; whispered Salome, in an awe-stricken tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My good child, what do you mean?&quot; inquired the abbess, uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, I feel as if I were haunted!&quot; said Salome, with a shudder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come! your nerves have been overtasked. You must have a composing
+draught, and go to bed,&quot; said the superior, decisively.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It may be that I am nervous and excitable, and that I have conjured up
+this image in my brain&mdash;such a ghastly, ghostly image, mother! It could
+not have been real, though I thought nothing else this morning than that
+it was real. But this evening&mdash;oh! madam, if you had seen it, with its
+blanched face and glazed eyes, like a sceptre risen from the grave!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have not seen the man yet, either this morning or this evening,&quot; said
+the elder lady, as she drew the younger's arm within her own.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, you have never seen him. I have no one's eyes but my own to test the
+matter. You have never seen him, and that is another reason why I think
+of the man as ghostly or unreal,&quot; whispered Salome.</p>
+
+<p>They were now in the long passage leading from the chapel to the cells.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will take you again to your own little room in the Infants' Asylum,&quot;
+murmured the lady, as she turned with her protegee into the rectangular
+passage leading to the asylums.</p>
+
+<p>She took Salome to the door of the house, gave her a benediction, and
+left her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Out there I have trouble, here I shall have peace,&quot; muttered the young
+woman, as she entered the children's dormitory, where every tiny cot was
+now occupied by a little, sleeping child.</p>
+
+<p>Salome prepared to retire, and in a few moments she also was at rest,
+with her little Marie Perdue in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas had come on Saturday that year. The next day being Sunday,
+there was another high mass to be celebrated in the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, as usual, joined the nuns' procession to the choir, where the
+sisterhood, as was their custom, took their seats some few minutes before
+the entrance of the priest and his attendants.</p>
+
+<p>With a heart almost pausing in its pulsations, Salome bent forward to
+peer through the screen upon the congregation, to see if by any chance
+the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) sat among them.</p>
+
+<p>With a half-suppressed cry, she recognized his form, seated in the
+opposite corner of the church, from the spot he had last occupied.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He shifts his place every time he appears,&quot; she said to herself.</p>
+
+<p>And now, being determined that other eyes should see him as well as her
+own, she touched the abbess' arm and whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pray look before the priest enters. There is the Duke of Hereward (or
+his ghost) sitting quite alone in the corner pew, on the left hand side
+of the altar. Do you see him now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess followed the direction with her eyes, and answered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I do not see any one there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, he is sitting alone in the left hand corner pew. Surely, you must
+see him now?&quot; said Salome, bending forward to look again at the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>The next instant she sank back in her seat, nearly fainting.</p>
+
+<p>The pew was empty!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is really no one there, my child. Your eyes have deceived you,&quot;
+murmured the abbess, gently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was there a moment since, but he has vanished! Oh! mother, what is
+the meaning of this?&quot; gasped the girl, turning pale as death.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The meaning is that your nervous system is shattered, and you are the
+victim of optical illusions. Or else&mdash;if there was a man really in that
+pew&mdash;he may have passed out through that little corner door leading
+to the vestry. But hush! here comes the priest,&quot; said the abbess, as the
+procession entered the chancel, preceded by the solemn notes of the
+organ.</p>
+
+<p>Since &quot;Miss Levison&quot; was obliged to keep her place in the choir, it was
+well that she was an enthusiast in music, and thus able to lose all sense
+of care and trouble in the exercise of her divine art.</p>
+
+<p>But for the music she would scarcely have got through the morning
+service.</p>
+
+<p>And very much relieved she felt when the benediction was at length
+pronounced, and she was at liberty to leave the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, madam, this mystery is killing me! I have seen, or fancied I have
+seen, the Duke of Hereward in the church three times; yet no one else has
+been able to see him! If it was the duke, he has come here for some
+fixed purpose. He has, probably, by means of those expert London
+detectives, traced me out, and discovered my residence under this sacred
+roof. He has followed me here to give me trouble!&quot; said Salome, as soon
+she found herself alone with the superior.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My child,&quot; said the lady, &quot;I must reiterate that <i>you</i> have
+nothing&mdash;<i>he</i> has everything to fear! I do not know, of course, for
+even you are not sure that you have really seen him. If you have, he is
+in this immediate neighborhood. If he is, why, then, the fact must be
+known to nearly every one outside the convent walls. The Duke of Hereward
+is not a man whose presence could be ignored. To-morrow, therefore, I
+will cause inquiries to be made, and we shall be sure to find out whether
+he is really here or not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, good mother, thanks. It will be a great relief to have this
+question decided in any way,&quot; said Salome, gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>The mother-superior smiled, gave the benediction, and retired.</p>
+
+<p>At vespers that evening, Salome looked all over the church in anxious
+fear of seeing the form that haunted her imagination; but her &quot;ghost&quot; did
+not appear, and, after all, she scarcely knew whether she was relieved or
+disturbed by his absence.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, Monday, the abbess set diligent inquiries on foot to
+discover whether the Duke of Hereward, or any other stranger of any name
+or title whatever, had been seen in the neighborhood of St. Rosalie's
+for many days. Winter was not the season for strangers there.</p>
+
+<p>After this, the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) was seen no more in the
+chapel.</p>
+
+<p>Every time Salome accompanied the sisterhood to the chapel, she peered
+through the choir-screen, in much anxiety as to whether she should see
+the duke, or his apparition, among the congregation below; but she
+never saw him there again, nor could she decide, in the conflict between
+her love and her sense of duty, whether she most desired or deplored his
+absence.</p>
+
+<p>So the days passed into weeks, and nothing more was heard or seen of the
+Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas holidays came to an end after Twelth-Day; the pupils
+returned to the school, and the academy buildings grew gay with the
+exuberance of young life.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, who, during many years of her childhood and youth, had shared
+this bright and cheery school-life, now saw nothing of it.</p>
+
+<p>The academy buildings, as has been explained before this, were situated
+on the opposite side of the court-yard from the asylums and entirely cut
+off from communication with them.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, devoted to her duties in the Infants' Asylum, was more completely
+secluded from the world than even the cloistered nuns themselves; for the
+nuns were the teachers of the academy, and in daily communication with
+their pupils and frequent correspondence with their patrons, saw and
+heard much of the busy life without.</p>
+
+<p>So the weeks passed slowly into months, and the winter into spring, yet
+nothing more was seen or heard of the Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>Salome lost the habit of looking for him, and gradually recovered her
+tranquility. In the work to which she had consecrated herself&mdash;the care
+of helpless and destitute infancy&mdash;she grew almost happy.</p>
+
+<p>Already she seemed as dead to the world as though the &quot;black vail&quot; had
+fallen like a pall over her head. No newspapers ever drifted into the
+asylum, nor did any visitor come to bring intelligence of the good or
+evil of the life beyond the convent walls.</p>
+
+<p>Her year of probation was passing away. At its close she would take the
+white vail and enter upon the second stage of her chosen vocation&mdash;her
+year of novitiate&mdash;at the end of which she would assume the black vail
+of the cloistered nun, which would seal her fate.</p>
+
+<p>She knew that before taking that final step she must make some
+disposition of that vast inheritance which, in her flight from her home,
+she had left without one word of explanation or instruction. She was
+assured that her fortune was in the hands of honest men, and there she
+was content to leave it for the present. She had in her possession about
+a thousand pounds in money and several thousand pounds in diamonds&mdash;ample
+means for self-support and alms-giving.</p>
+
+<p>And so she was satisfied for the present to leave her financial affairs
+as they were, until the time should come when it would be absolutely
+necessary for her to give attention to them.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, had she forgotten him who had once been the idol of her
+worship?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no! however diligently her eyes, her hands, her feet were employed in
+the service of the little children she loved so tenderly, her thoughts
+were with him. She loved him still! It seemed to her at once the sin and
+the curse of her life that she loved him still. She prayed daily to be
+delivered from &quot;inordinate and sinful affections,&quot; but in this case
+prayer seemed of little use; for the more she prayed the more she loved
+and trusted him. It was a mystery she could not make out.</p>
+
+<p>So the spring bloomed into summer, and the world outside became so
+disturbed and turbulent with &quot;wars and rumors of wars,&quot; that its tumult
+was heard even within the peaceful convent sanctuary.</p>
+
+<p>The news of the abdication of Her Most Catholic Majesty, Isabella II of
+Spain, fell like a thunderbolt upon the little community of the faithful
+in the convent; and nowhere, in the political conclaves of Prussia or of
+France, was the Spanish succession discussed with more intensity of
+interest than among the simple sisterhood of St. Rosalie.</p>
+
+<p>Who would now fill the throne of the Western Caesars, left vacant by the
+abdication of their daughter, the Queen Isabella?</p>
+
+<p>These were the topics which filled the minds and employed the tongues of
+the quiet nuns, whenever and wherever their rules permitted them to
+indulge in conversation.</p>
+
+<p>No sound of this disturbance however penetrated the peaceful sphere of
+the Infants' Asylum, which, indeed, seemed to be the innermost retreat,
+or the holy of holies in the sanctuary.</p>
+
+<p>Salome lived within it, the chief ministering angel, dispensing blessings
+all around her, and growing daily into deeper peace, until one fatal
+morning, when a great shock fell upon her.</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful, bright morning near the end of June, and the day in
+regular rotation on which the mother-superior of the convent made her
+official rounds of inspection in the Infants' Asylum.</p>
+
+<p>She arrived early, and, accompanied by Salome, went over every department
+of the asylum, from attic to cellar, from dormitory to recreation
+grounds, and found all well, and approved and delighted in the
+well-being.</p>
+
+<p>After her long walk she sat down to rest in the children's play-room, and
+directed Salome to take a seat by her side.</p>
+
+<p>The room was full of little children. Not seated in orderly rows, as we
+have too often seen in Infant Asylums on exhibition days; but moving
+about everywhere as freely as their little limbs would carry them, and
+making quite as much noise as their health and well-being certainly
+required.</p>
+
+<p>Among them was little Marie Perdue, now a bright, fair, blue-eyed cherub
+of seven months old, seated on a mat, and tossing about with screams of
+delight a number of small, gay-hued India-rubber balls.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was watching the children with pleased attention, when one of
+the lay sisters entered and put a card in her hands, saying that the
+gentleman and lady were waiting at the porter's wicket, and desired
+permission to see the interior of the Infant Asylum.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, they are welcome,&quot; said the abbess. &quot;Go and tell Sister
+Francoise to be their guide.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The lay sister left the room, and the abbess gave her attention again
+to the children, making occasional remarks on their health, beauty,
+playfulness, and so forth, which were all sympathetically responded to
+by Salome, until they heard the sounds of approaching voices and
+footsteps, and the visiting party, escorted by Sister Francoise.</p>
+
+<p>Then the abbess and her companion ceased speaking, and lowered their eyes
+to the floor until the strangers should pass them.</p>
+
+<p>But the strangers lingered on their way, noticing individual children for
+beauty, or brightness, or some other trait which seemed to attract.</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman, speaking French with an English accent, asked questions in
+too low a tone to reach the ears of the abbess and her companion; but the
+lady kept silence.</p>
+
+<p>At length, as the visitors drew nearer, they came upon little Marie
+Perdue, sitting on her mat, engaged in tossing about her gay-colored
+balls, and laughing with delight.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whose child is that?&quot; asked the gentleman, in a voice that thrilled to
+the heart of Salome.</p>
+
+<p>She forgot herself, and looked up quickly, but the form of Sister
+Francoise, standing, concealed the figure of the speaker, who seemed
+to be stooping over the child.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay! wha's bairn is it?&quot; inquired another voice, that fell with ominous
+familiarity on her ear, as she turned her head a little and saw the
+female visitor, a tall, handsome blonde, with bold, blue eyes and a
+cataraet of golden hair falling on her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Francoise did not understand the language of the woman, and turned
+with a helpless and appealing look to the gentleman, who still speaking
+French with the slightly defective English accent, replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Madame asks whose child is that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, pardon! We do not know, Monsieur. It was left at our doors on the
+eighteenth of December last,&quot; replied Sister Francoise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A very fine child! Its name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Marie Perdue.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Marie Perdue?' What? 'Marie Perdue?' What's 'Perdue?'&quot; querulously
+inquired the tall, blonde beauty.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Thrown away,' 'lost,' 'abandoned,'&quot; answered the gentleman, in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke he stood up and turned around.</p>
+
+<p>Salome uttered a low, half-suppressed cry, and covered her face with both
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess impulsively looked up to see what was the matter, and&mdash;echoed
+the cry!</p>
+
+<p>There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then Salome lifted
+up her head and cautiously looked around.</p>
+
+<p>The visitors had gone, and the children, who with child-like curiosity
+had suspended their play to gaze upon the strangers, were now
+re-commencing their noise with renewed vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>Salome still trembling in every limb, turned toward her companion.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess sat with clasped hands, lowered eyelids, and face as pale as
+death.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, too much absorbed in her own emotion to notice the strange
+condition of the abbess, touched her on the shoulder and eagerly
+whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother, did you observe the visitors?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her
+eyelids.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did you notice&mdash;<i>the man</i>?&quot; Salome continued.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did,&quot; murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she
+devoutly made the sign of the cross.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you know who he was?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>I do.</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of
+Hereward!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay,&quot; said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. &quot;He was not the Duke of
+Hereward. He was one whom I had reckoned as numbered with the dead full
+twenty years ago!&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE ABBESS' STORY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;'Not the Duke of Hereward!'&quot; echoed Salome, astonishment now overcoming
+every other emotion in her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess bowed her head in grave assent.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'One whom you thought numbered with the dead, full twenty years ago?'&quot;
+continued Salome, quoting the lady's own words, and gazing on her face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still,&quot; murmured the
+abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood
+twenty-five years ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be;
+but he is not young.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And he is not the Duke of Hereward?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, <i>who</i> is he?&quot;
+demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who
+forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman,&quot; gravely
+replied the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?&quot;
+exclaimed Salome, in consternation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, sure of it,&quot; answered the abbess, slowly bending her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;pardon me&mdash;I thought that <i>he</i> had been killed in a duel by
+the lover of the woman whom he had won.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Even so thought I. The news of his falsehood and of his death at the
+hands of the wronged lover, came to me in my convent retreat at the same
+time, and I heard no more of him from that day to this, when I have again
+seen him in the flesh. The saints defend us!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you are absolutely certain that he was Count Waldemar?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am absolutely certain.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother Genevieve, did you know the woman who was with him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, not at all. I never saw or heard of her before. She seems to belong
+to the <i>demi-monde</i>, for she dresses like a princess, and talks like
+a peasant. Let us not speak of her,&quot; said the lady, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We <i>must</i> speak of her, for I think I know who she is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You recognize her, then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot say that I do; at least, not by her person. I never saw her
+face before; but I have heard her voice under circumstances that rendered
+it impossible for me ever to forget its tones; and from her voice I
+believe her to be Rose Cameron, a Highland peasant girl of Ben Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Stop!&quot; exclaimed the mother-superior, suddenly raising her hand. &quot;You do
+not mean to intimate that <i>she</i> is the girl whom you overheard
+talking with the young Duke of Hereward at midnight, under your balcony,
+on the night before the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She is the very same woman, as he is the very same man, who
+<i>planned</i>, if they did not perpetrate the robbery&mdash;who
+<i>caused</i>, if they did not commit, the murder; and their names
+are John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Rose Cameron.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, in regard to the girl you may be quite right; but in
+respect to the man you are utterly wrong.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Should I not know my own betrothed husband?&quot; demanded Salome,
+impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Should <i>I</i> not know <i>mine</i>?&quot; inquired the abbess, very
+patiently.</p>
+
+<p>Salome made a gesture of desperate perplexity, and then there was a
+silent pause, during which the two women sat gazing in each other's faces
+in silent wonder.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Salome started up in wild excitement and began pacing the narrow
+cell with rapid steps, exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There have been strange cases of counterparts in persons of this world
+so exact as to have deceived the eyes of their most intimate friends. If
+this should be a case in point! Great Heaven, if it should! If this
+Count Waldemar de Volaski should be such a perfect counterpart of the
+Duke of Hereward as to have deceived even my eyes and ears! Oh, what joy!
+Oh, what rapture! What ecstacy to find 'the princely Hereward' as
+stainless in honor as he is noble in name; and this most unprincipled
+Volaski the real guilty party! But&mdash;the marriage certificate in
+Hereward's own name! The letters to his so-called 'wife,' Rose Cameron,
+in Hereward's own handwriting! Ah, no! there is no hope! not the faintest
+beam of hope! And yet&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She suddenly paused in her wild walk, and looked toward the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>That lady was still sitting on the stool, at the foot of the cot, with
+her hands folded on her lap, and her eyes cast down upon them as in deep
+thought or prayer.</p>
+
+<p>Salome sat down beside her, and inquired in a low tone:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother Genevieve, was the Count Waldemar de Volaski ever in Scotland?
+Has he been there within the last twelve months?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The lady lifted her eyes to the face of the inquirer, and slowly replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, how should I know? Have I not said that, until this day,
+when I have seen him in the flesh standing in this room, I had believed
+him to have been in purgatory for twenty-five years or more?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;True! true!&quot; sighed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess folded her hands, cast down her eyes, and resumed her
+meditations or prayers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You heard that he was killed in a duel, you say?&quot; persevered Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes; the news of his treachery, and the news of his death at the hands
+of the Duke of Hereward reached me at the same moment in this convent,
+where I was then passing the first year of mourning for my parents. It
+was that news which decided me to take the vail and devote my life and
+fortune to the service of the Lord,&quot; said the lady, reverently bending
+her head.</p>
+
+<p>Salome sat staring stonily as one petrified. She was absolutely
+speechless and motionless from amazement for the space of a minute
+or more. Then suddenly recovering her powers, she exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother! Mother Genevieve! For Heaven's sake! Did I understand you? From
+<i>whose</i> hand did you hear Count Waldemar received his death in a
+duel?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;From the hand of the deeply injured husband, of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;who was he? Who? You mentioned a name!&quot; wildly exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did I mention a name? Ah! what inadvertence! I never intended to let
+that name slip out. I am very sorry to have done so. <i>Mea Culpa! Mea
+Culpa! Mea maxima culpa!</i>&quot; muttered the abbess, bending her head and
+smiting her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother Genevieve! Oh, do not trifle with me! <i>do</i> not torture me!
+I heard a name! Did I hear aright? Oh, I hope I did not! What name did
+you murmur? Tell me! tell me! <span class="smcaps">who</span> met Count Waldemar in a
+duel?&quot; demanded Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have no choice but to tell you now, though I would willingly have kept
+the fact from you. It <i>was</i> the Duke of Hereward, the late duke of
+course, the deeply-wronged lover of that fair woman, who met, and, as I
+heard, killed Count Waldemar de Volaski. But there were wrongs on both
+sides, deep, deadly wrongs on every side!&quot; moaned the lady, clasping her
+hands convulsively and lowering her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Duke of Hereward! Heaven of heavens! the Duke of Hereward! Yes!
+I heard aright the first time; but I could not believe my own ears! The
+father of my betrothed!&quot; murmured Salome, sinking back in her seat.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess gravely bent her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What of the frail woman? She was not&mdash;oh! no, she <i>could not</i> have
+been the mother of the present duke?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; murmured the abbess, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother Genevieve!&quot; exclaimed Salome, suddenly, &quot;will you tell me all you
+know of this terrible story?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter, my past is dead and buried these many years; so I would
+leave it until the last great day of the Resurrection. Nevertheless, as
+the story of my life is interwoven with that of the princely line in whom
+you feel so deep an interest, I will relate it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, good mother,&quot; said Salome, nestling to her side and preparing
+to listen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not here, and not now, my child, can I enter upon the long, sorrowful,
+shameful story&mdash;a story of pride, despotism and cruelty on one side; of
+passion, wilfulness and recklessness on the other; of selfishness, sin
+and ruin on all sides! Daughter, in almost every tale of sin and
+suffering you will find that there has always been sin on <i>one</i> side
+and suffering on the <i>other</i>; but in this story <i>all</i> sinned
+deeply, all suffered fearfully!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Except yourself, sweet mother. You never sinned,&quot; said Salome, taking
+the thin, pale hand of the lady and pressing it to her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Mea culpa!</i> I sin every hour of my life!&quot; cried the abbess,
+crossing herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We all do; but you did not sin <i>there</i>,&quot; said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I had no part&mdash;no active part, I mean&mdash;in that tale of guilt and woe.
+I was a pupil here in this convent then, waiting to be brought out and
+married to my betrothed. No, I had no part in that tragedy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Except the passive part of suffering.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ay, except the passive part of suffering; but hark, my child! the vesper
+bell is ringing; it calls us to our evening worship: let us go to the
+choir, and there forget all our earthly cares and seek the peace of
+Heaven,&quot; said the pale lady, slowly rising from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;When will you tell me the story, good mother?&quot; pleaded Salome, in a low
+and deprecating tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The vesper bell is ringing. The rules of the house must not be disturbed
+by your individual necessities. After the evening service comes the
+evening meal. Then, for me, my hour of rest in my cell; and for you, the
+duty of seeing your infant charge put to bed. When all these matters have
+been properly attended to, come to me in my cell. You will find me there.
+We shall be uninterrupted until the midnight mass; and in the interim I
+will tell you the story of a life that 'was lost, but is found, was dead,
+but is alive'&mdash;<i>Benedicite</i>, my daughter!&quot; said the abbess,
+spreading her hands upon the bowed head of the girl, and solemnly
+blessing her.</p>
+
+<p>Then she glided away.</p>
+
+<p>Salome soon followed her, and joined the procession of nuns to the
+chapel.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she took her seat in the choir, she looked through the screen
+over the congregation below, to see if the strangers were in the chapel;
+but she saw them not.</p>
+
+<p>When the vesper service was over, she took her tea with the nuns in their
+refectory; and then returned to the play-room in the Infants' Asylum.</p>
+
+<p>The nurses were engaged in giving the little ones their supper, and
+putting them to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Salome took up her own little Marie Perdue, to undress her.</p>
+
+<p>As she divested the child of her little slip, something rolled out of its
+bosom and dropped upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>One of the nurses picked it up and handed it to Salome.</p>
+
+<p>It was a small, hard substance, wrapped in tissue paper.</p>
+
+<p>Salome unrolled it and found a ring, set with a large solitaire diamond.
+With a cry of surprise and pain, she recognized the jewel. It was her
+late father's ring! While she gazed upon it in a trance of wonder, the
+paper in which it had been wrapped, caught by a breeze from the open
+window, fluttered under her eyes. She saw that there was writing on the
+paper, and she took it up and read it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The ring must be sold for the benefit of the child and of the house that
+has protected her. She must be educated to become a nun.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was no signature to this paper.</p>
+
+<p>Salome rolled it around the ring again, and put it in her bosom, then she
+sent one of the nurses to call Sister Francoise.</p>
+
+<p>When the old nun came into her presence, she inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sister Francoise, you showed a lady and gentleman through the asylum,
+this afternoon; they came into this room; they stopped and noticed little
+Marie Perdue particularly. Did they ask any questions or make any remarks
+concerning her? I have an especial reason for asking.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, sister! they did ask many questions&mdash;when she came, how long
+she had been, who took care of her, what was her name, and many more; and
+as I answered them to the best of my knowledge, I could not help seeing
+that they knew more about the child than I did,&quot; answered the nun,
+nodding her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did the gentleman or lady give anything to the child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not that <i>I</i> saw, which I thought unkind of them, considering all
+the interest they showed in <i>words</i>; for, as I say of all the fine
+ladies who come here and fondle the infants, what's the use of all the
+fondling if they never put a sou out, or a stitch in?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do, sister; I only wanted to know,&quot; answered the young lady,
+as she determined to keep her own counsel, and confide the news of the
+surreptitiously offered ring to the abbess only.</p>
+
+<p>When she had rocked her child to sleep, laid it on its little cot, and
+placed two novices on duty to watch over the slumbers of the children,
+she left the dormitory by the rectangular passage that led to the nuns'
+house, and repaired at once to the cell occupied by the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>It was a plain little den, in no respect better than those tenanted by
+her humble nuns, twelve feet long, by nine broad, with bare walls, and
+bare floor, and a small grated window at the farther end, opposite the
+narrow, grated door by which the cell was entered. It was furnished
+poorly with a narrow cot bed, a wooden stool, and a small stand, upon
+which lay the office-book of the abbess, and above which hung the
+crucifix.</p>
+
+<p>As Salome entered the cell, the abbess arose from her knees and signed
+for her visitor to be seated.</p>
+
+<p>Salome sat down on the foot of the cot, and the abbess drew the stool and
+placed herself near.</p>
+
+<p>Then Salome saw the lady-superior was even paler and graver than usual;
+and anxious as the young lady felt to hear the abbess' story, she thought
+she would give her more time to recover, and even assist her in doing
+so, by diverting her thoughts to the new incident of the ring, which she
+produced and laid upon the mother's lap, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That was found by me in the bosom of little Marie Perdue's dress. It was
+donated to the house, for the benefit of the child. Here is the scrap of
+writing in which it was rolled.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess silently took up the ring and the paper, and examined the
+first and read the last, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Such mysterious donations to the children are not uncommon, and are
+generally supposed to be offered by the unknown parents. This, however,
+is by far the most valuable present that has ever been made by any one to
+the institution, and must be worth at least a thousand Napoleons. It was
+made by the visitors of this morning, I suppose?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, madam, it was.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see, I understand. Take charge of it, my daughter, until we can
+deliver it to the sister-treasurer,&quot; directed the lady-superior, as she
+replaced the ring in its wrapper and returned both to Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, mother, I wish myself to become the purchaser of this ring. I have
+a thousand pounds with me. I will give them for the ring.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter!&quot; exclaimed the abbess in surprise. &quot;Why should you wish to
+possess this bauble? It can be of no use to you in the life you are about
+to enter, even if the rules of our order would permit you to retain it,
+which you know they would not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mother! it was my father's ring! It was a part of the property stolen
+from him on the night of his murder,&quot; solemnly answered Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy saints! can that be true?&quot; exclaimed the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As true as truth. I know the ring well. He always wore it on his finger.
+Inside the setting is his monogram, 'L.L.,' and his crest, a falcon,&quot;
+answered Salome, once more unwrapping the ring and offering it to the
+inspection of the lady-superior.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see! I see! It is so. Ah, Holy Virgin! that it should have been
+offered by Count Waldemar, or by him whom you overheard conspiring with
+his female companion under the windows on the night of your father's
+murder!&quot; cried the abbess, covering her face with a fold of her black
+vail.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Count Waldemar, or the duke of Hereward, I know not which, I know not
+whom. Oh! mother, this mystery grows deeper, this confusion more
+confounded.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take back your ring, my child, and keep it without price. It was your
+father's, and it is yours. We cannot receive stolen goods even as alms
+offered to our orphans,&quot; said the abbess, dropping her vail and returning
+the jewel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will take it and keep it because it was my dear father's; but I will
+give a full equivalent for its value. No one could object to that,&quot; said
+Salome, as she replaced the ring in her bosom. &quot;And now, Mother
+Genevieve, will you tell me the promised story? It may possibly throw
+some light even upon this dark mystery.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The pale abbess bowed assent, and immediately began the narrative, which,
+for the Sake of convenience, we prefer to render in our own words.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DUKE'S DOUBLE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>First it is necessary to revert to the history of the Scotts of Lone,
+Dukes of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>He who married Salome Levison was the eighth of his princely line. Any
+one turning to Burke's Peerage of the preceding year, might have read
+this record of the late duke:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;Hereward, Duke of, (Archibald-Alexander-John Scott) Marquis of Arondelle
+and Avondale in the Peerage of England, Earl of Lone and Baron Scott in
+the Peerage of Scotland; born, 1st of Jan., 1800; succeeded his father as
+seventh duke, 1st Feb., 1840; married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie,
+only daughter of Constantine, Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov, 1st,
+1844; married, secondly, July 15th, 1845, Lady Katherine-Augusta, eldest
+daughter of the Earl of Banff, and has a son&mdash;Archibald-Alexander-John,
+Marquis of Arondelle, born 1st of May, 1846.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>A whole domestic tragedy is comprised in one line of this record:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie, only daughter of Constantine,
+Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov. 1st, 1844.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Now as to this poor, unhappy first wife:</p>
+
+<p>Some few years before this first fatal marriage, the Baron de la Motte,
+one of the most illustrious French statesmen, was dispatched by his
+sovereign as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the
+Court of France to the Court of Russia.</p>
+
+<p>The baron, with his suite, proceeding to St. Petersburg, accompanied by
+the baroness, a handsome Italian woman, and by their only child, Valerie,
+a beautiful brunette of only seventeen summers.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie de la Motte was first introduced to the world of fashion at a
+great court ball, given by the Czar, in honor of the French Ambassador,
+in the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff.</p>
+
+<p>On this occasion the dark, brilliant beauty of Mademoiselle de la Motte,
+inherited from her Italian mother, was the more admired from its rarity
+and its perfect contrast to the radiant fairness of the Russian blondes.
+Here Valerie de la Motte met, for the first time, Waldemar de Volaski,
+the second son of the Polish Count de Volaski, and a captain of the Royal
+Guards, stationed at the palace. He was but twenty years of age, yet a
+model of fair, manly beauty. He was even then called &quot;the handsomest man
+in all the Russias.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was a Romeo and Juliet case of love at first sight between the
+young Russian officer and the youthful French heiress.</p>
+
+<p>During the first season, the beauty's hand was sought by some among the
+most princely of the nobles that surrounded the throne of the Czar; but,
+to the disappointment of her ambitious parents, she refused them every
+one.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly the French father might have followed the custom of his class
+and country, and coerced his young daughter into the acceptance of any
+husband he might have chosen for her; but he did not feel disposed to
+use harsh measures with his only and idolized child; he rather preferred
+to exercise patience and forbearance toward her, until she should have
+outlived what he called her childish caprices.</p>
+
+<p>It was, however, no childish caprice that governed the conduct of Valerie
+de la Motte, but the unfortunate and fatal passion, inspired by the
+handsome young captain of the Royal Guards, whom she had waltzed with
+about a half a dozen times at the court balls.</p>
+
+<p>Waldemar de Volaski was indeed as beautiful as the youthful god, Apollo
+Belvidere, and in his radiant blonde complexion a perfect contrast to the
+dark, splendid style of the lovely brunette, Valerie de la Motte; but he
+was only a younger son, with no hope or prospect of succession to his
+father's title or estates.</p>
+
+<p>He did not dare openly to seek the hand of Mademoiselle de la Motte, for
+he knew that to do so would only be to have himself banished forever from
+her presence, by her ambitious father; but, loving her with all the
+passion of his heart, he sought secretly to win her love, and he
+succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>It would seem strange that the carefully shielded daughter of the French
+minister should have been exposed to courtship by the young captain of
+the Royal Guards; but love is fertile in devices, and full of expedients,
+and &quot;laughs,&quot; not only &quot;at locksmiths,&quot; but at all other obstacles to its
+success.</p>
+
+<p>The willful young pair loved each other ardently from the first evening
+of their meeting, and they could not endure to think of such a
+possibility as their separation. They found many opportunities, even in
+public, of carrying on their secret courtship. In the swimming turn of
+the waltz, hands clasped hands with more impassioned earnestness than the
+formula of the round dance required: in the casual meetings in the
+fashionable promenades of the beautiful summer gardens in Aptekarskoi
+Island&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+&quot;Eyes looked love to eyes that spake again.<br />
+And all went merry as a marriage bell,&quot;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>so long as they could see each other every day.</p>
+
+<p>As the summer passed, the young captain, grown more confident, wrote
+ardent love letters to his lady, which were surreptitiously slipped into
+her hands at casual meetings, or conveyed to her by means of bribed
+domestics; and these the willful beauty answered in the same spirit,
+as opportunity was offered her by the same means. But&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+&quot;A change came o'er the spirit of their dream.&quot;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>The French minister was recalled home by his sovereign, and only awaited
+the arrival of his successor to take an official leave of the Czar.</p>
+
+<p>About this time a letter from Volaski to Valerie was sent by the
+captain's faithful valet, and put in the hands of the lady's confidential
+maid, who secretly conveyed it to her mistress. This letter, which was
+fiery enough to have set any ordinary post-bag in a blaze, declared,
+among other matters, that the lady's answer would decide the writer's
+fate, for life or for death.</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle de la Motte sat down and wrote a reply which she sent by her
+confidential maid, who placed it in the hands of the captain's faithful
+valet, to be secretly carried to his master.</p>
+
+<p>Whether the answer decided the fate of the lover for life or for death,
+it certainly controlled his action in an important matter. Immediately on
+its receipt he hastened to the Hotel de l'Etat Major, the headquarters of
+the army department, and solicited a month's leave of absence to visit
+his father's family.</p>
+
+<p>As it was the very first occasion upon which the young officer had asked
+such a favor, it was promptly granted him.</p>
+
+<p>Of course no one suspected that the cause of the young captain's action
+had been the announcement that the French minister had been recalled by
+his government, and was about to return to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Waldemar de Volaski left St. Petersburg, ostensibly to visit
+his father's estates in Poland.</p>
+
+<p>And the next week the French minister, having presented his successor to
+the Czar, and received his own conge, left the court and the city, and
+set out for France.</p>
+
+<p>The ministerial party travelled by the new railway from St. Petersburg to
+Warsaw, a distance of nearly seven hundred miles.</p>
+
+<p>At the capital of Poland they designed to stop a few days to rest the
+baroness, whose health was suffering.</p>
+
+<p>One day while in that city the baroness, her daughter, and the lady's
+maid, went out together, shopping for curiosities in the Marieville
+Bazaar, a square in the midst of the city, surrounded by many gay
+arcades.</p>
+
+<p>The square was full of visitors, and every arcade was crowded with
+customers.</p>
+
+<p>The baroness became somewhat interested in her purchases, and from moment
+to moment turned to consult her daughter, who seemed ever ready so assist
+her choice.</p>
+
+<p>At length, however, in speaking to Mademoiselle de la Motte, her mother
+failed to receive an answer.</p>
+
+<p>Turning to rebuke the inattention of her daughter, the baroness
+discovered that Valerie was missing.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking only that she had got mixed up with the crowd, yet feeling very
+much annoyed thereat, Madam de la Motte called her maid and instituted a
+search, only to find, with dismay, that Mademoiselle was nowhere in the
+square.</p>
+
+<p>Believing then that the young girl must have taken the extraordinary
+and very reprehensible proceeding of returning to the hotel alone and
+resolving to give her daughter a severe reprimand for her imprudence,
+the baroness returned to their temporary home, only to learn that
+Mademoiselle de la Motte had not been seen there by any one since she
+had left the house in company with her mother, attended by her maid.</p>
+
+<p>Fearing then that her daughter, in rashly attempting to return home
+alone, had lost herself in the streets of Warsaw, the baroness sent
+messengers in every direction to seek for her and guide her back.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Baron de la Motte, who had been to inspect the fine gallery
+of paintings preserved in the old villa of Stanislaus Augustus, returned
+to his hotel, and was informed by the now half distracted baroness of the
+disappearance of their daughter.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron, struck with dismay, inquired into the circumstances of the
+case, and was told of the shopping expedition to the Marieville Bazaar,
+where Valerie was first missed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was at her own earnest solicitation that I took her there, to pick up
+some of the curiously carved jewelry and trinkets. First, she wished, in
+consideration of my health, to go there attended only by her maid; but I
+would not allow any such indiscretion. I took her there myself, and even
+while I was talking with her before one of the arcades, she vanished like
+a spirit! One moment she was there, the next moment she was gone! We
+looked for her immediately, but found no trace of her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The baron replied not one word to this explanation, but took his hat and
+walked out to join the search for the missing girl, while the baroness
+remained in her rooms, a prey to the most poignant anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>It was near midnight when the baron returned, looking full ten years
+older than he did when he went forth.</p>
+
+<p>No trace of the missing girl had been found, and whether her
+disappearance was a flight or an abduction no one could even conjecture.</p>
+
+<p>The condition of the agonized mother became critical; she could not be
+persuaded to lie down, or to cease from her restless walking to and fro
+in her chamber.</p>
+
+<p>At length, a physician was summoned, who administered a potent sedative,
+which conquered her nervous excitement, and laid her in a blessed sleep
+upon her bed.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning the search, which had not been quite abandoned even
+during the night, was renewed with great vigor, stimulated by the large
+rewards offered by the afflicted father for the recovery of his lost
+child; but still no trace of Valerie de la Motte could be found, no news
+of her be heard.</p>
+
+<p>And so, without any change a week passed away, and then, while the
+baroness lay in extreme nervous prostration, hovering between life and
+death, and the baron crept about her bed like a man bowed down by the
+infirmities of age, and all hope seemed gone, a letter arrived from
+Mademoiselle de la Motte to her parents.</p>
+
+<p>It was written from San Vito, a small mountain hamlet in the northern
+part of Italy. By this letter she informed them that she was safe and
+happy as the wife of Captain Waldemar de Volaski, who had long possessed
+her heart, and to whom she had just given her hand. She begged her
+father and mother to pardon her for having sought her happiness in her
+own way, and assured them, notwithstanding her seemingly unfilial
+conduct, she still cherished the strongest sentiments of love and honor
+toward them both, and ever remained their dutiful and affectionate
+daughter&mdash;<span class="smcaps">Valerie de la Motte de Volaski</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The mother, who under any other circumstances, would have been
+overwhelmed with mortification and sorrow at this <i>mesalliance</i> of
+her daughter, was now so glad to know that Valerie was alive in health,
+even though as the bride of a poor young captain of the Guards, that she
+thanked Heaven earnestly, and rejoiced exceedingly.</p>
+
+<p>But the baron who would as willingly have never heard of his lost
+daughter, as that she had so degraded herself, left his wife's
+bed-chamber abruptly, and went off to his smoking-room, where he could
+vent his feelings by cursing and swearing to his heart's content.</p>
+
+<p>The next day the Baron de la Motte, breathing maledictions, set out for
+Italy, accompanied by the baroness, who had wonderfully rallied in health
+and strength since she had received news of her missing daughter.</p>
+
+<p>The proud baroness was, in one respect, like the poor Hebrew mother of
+the Bible story. She preferred to give up her child to another claimant
+rather than lose that beloved child by death.</p>
+
+<p>The baron's party traveled day and night, without pause or rest, until
+they crossed the northern frontier of Italy, and halted at the little
+hamlet of San Vito, at the foot of the Apennines.</p>
+
+<p>Here they found the fugitive pair living a sort of Arcadian life: and
+here they learned the facts which they had not hitherto even suspected.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Waldemar de Volaski and Mademoiselle Valerie de la Motte had
+loved each other from the first moment of their meeting at the ball given
+in honor of the French minister, at the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff,
+and had betrothed themselves to each other during the first month of
+their acquaintance. They had kept their betrothal a secret, only because
+they felt assured it would meet with the most violent opposition from the
+young lady's haughty parents; but they had carried on a constant
+epistolary correspondence through the instrumentality of the lover's
+valet and the lady's maid; but they had not intended to take any decisive
+step, until, at length, they were both startled by the recall home of
+the French minister.</p>
+
+<p>When the announcement of this event reached the ears of Waldemar de
+Volaski, he was filled with despair at the prospect of parting from his
+betrothed.</p>
+
+<p>He instantly dashed off a hasty letter to Valerie de la Motte, earnestly
+entreating her to save his life, and his reason, and secure their
+happiness, by consenting to an immediate marriage.</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle de la Motte, closing her ears to the voice of conscience and
+discretion, and listening only to the pleadings of a reckless and fatal
+passion, wrote a favorable answer.</p>
+
+<p>They knew that their plan would be exceedingly difficult of execution;
+but this did not deter them.</p>
+
+<p>They made their arrangements with more tact than could have been expected
+of so youthful a pair of lovers.</p>
+
+<p>He obtained leave of absence and left St. Petersburg, as has been stated,
+upon the pretext of visiting his father's estate in Poland; but really
+with the intention of preceding the minister's party to Warsaw, where, he
+had learned, they would break their journey and remain for a few days to
+recruit the strength of the baroness.</p>
+
+<p>There, disguised as a peasant, and concealed in the suburban cottage
+of a faithful retainer of his family, Waldemar de Volaski waited for
+the arrival of the baron's party.</p>
+
+<p>Then, through the instrumentality of the lover's valet and the lady's
+maid, a meeting was arranged between the imprudent young pair, at the
+Marieville Bazaar.</p>
+
+<p>There Mademoiselle de la Motte found her lover watching for her.</p>
+
+<p>Taking advantage of a few minutes during which her mother was engaged in
+the examination of some curious malachite ornaments, Valerie de la Motte
+slipped into the thickest of the crowd, joined her lover, and escaped
+with him to the suburban hut of the old retainer, where she changed her
+clothes, and from whence, in the disguise of a page, and carrying her
+female apparel in a small valise, she finally fled with him to Italy.</p>
+
+<p>They stopped at the little mountain hamlet of San Vito, where she resumed
+her proper dress, and where, by a lavish expenditure of money, and a
+liberal disbursement of fair words, Waldemar de Volaski prevailed on
+a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between himself and Valerie de
+la Motte.</p>
+
+<p>When this was done, the reckless pair took lodgings at a vine-dresser's
+cottage in the neighborhood of the hamlet, to spend their honeymoon, and
+wait for &quot;coming events.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The coming events came. The parents arrived, and found the lovers living
+carelessly and happily in their Arcadian home. Here the outraged and
+infuriated father thundered into the ears of the newly-married pair
+the terrible truth that their marriage was no marriage at all without
+his consent, but was utterly null and void in the law.</p>
+
+<p>At this astounding revelation, Valerie, overwhelmed with humiliation,
+fainted and fell, and was tenderly cared for by her mother; but the
+gallant captain very coolly replied that he knew the fact perfectly well,
+and had always known it, although Mademoiselle de la Motte had not even
+suspected it; and he ventured to represent to the haughty baron, that
+their illegal marriage only required the sanction of his silent
+recognition to render it perfectly legal, and that for his daughter's
+own sake he was bound to give it such recognition.</p>
+
+<p>This aroused the baron to a perfect frenzy of rage. He charged Volaski
+with having traded in Mademoiselle de la Motte's affections and honor,
+from selfish and mercenary motives alone, and swore that such deep,
+calculating villainy should avail the villain nothing. He would not
+ratify his daughter's marriage with such a caitiff, but would use his
+parental power to tear her from her unlawful husband's arms, and immure
+her in the living tomb of an Italian convent.</p>
+
+<p>He finished by dashing his open hand with all his strength full into the
+mouth of the bridegroom, inflicting a severe blow, and covering the
+handsome face with blood.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie de la Motte, in a fainting condition, was placed in the cart
+of a vine-dresser, the only conveyance to be found, and carried to a
+neighboring nunnery, where she lay ill for several weeks, tenderly nursed
+by her sorrowful mother and by the compassionate nuns.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron de la Motte remained in the village, awaiting a challenge from
+Waldemar de Volaski; but when a week had passed away without such an
+event, the furious old Frenchman, bent upon his enemy's destruction,
+dispatched a defiance to Captain Volaski, couched in such insulting and
+exasperating language as compelled the young officer, much against his
+will, to accept it.</p>
+
+<p>They met to fight their duel in a secluded glade of the forest, lying
+between the hamlet and the foot of the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>At the first fire, Volaski, who was resolved not to wound the father of
+his beloved Valerie, discharged his pistol in the air, but instantly
+fell, shot through the lungs by the Baron de la Motte!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Baron de la Motte, leaving Captain de Volaski stretched on the
+ground, to be cared for by the seconds and the surgeon in attendance,
+went back to the hotel and made preparations to leave San Vito.</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle de la Motte, still very weak from recent illness, was placed
+in a carriage at the risk of her life, and compelled to commence the
+journey back to France.</p>
+
+<p>Madame de la Motte, grieved with the grief and anxious for the health of
+her daughter, dared not show the sufferer any pity or kindness.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur de la Motte was no longer the tender and affectionate father he
+had hitherto shown himself: for, in his bitter mortification and fierce
+resentment, his love seemed turned to hatred, his sympathy to antipathy.</p>
+
+<p>The attenuated form, the pale face, and the sunken eyes of his once
+beautiful child, failed to move his compassion for her. He told her with
+brutal cruelty that he had slain her lover in the duel, and left him dead
+upon the ground; and that she must think no more of the villain who had
+dishonored her family.</p>
+
+<p>On arriving in Paris, the baron established his household in the
+magnificent Hotel de la Motte, in the most aristocratic quarter of the
+city; and here began for Valerie a life that was a very purgatory on
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>At home, if her purgatory could be called her home, she was studiously
+and habitually treated with scorn and contempt, as a creature unworthy to
+bear the family name, or share the family honors; until at length the
+child herself began to look upon her fault in the light her father wished
+her to see it, and with such exaggerating eyes, withal, that she came to
+think of herself as a dishonored criminal, unworthy even to live. Her
+grief sank to horror, and her depression to despair.</p>
+
+<p>She was treated as an outcast in all respects but one, and this exception
+was an additional cruelty; for she was introduced into the gay world of
+fashion, and compelled to mix in all its festivities, at the same time
+being sternly warned that if this same world should suspect her fault,
+she would not be received in any drawing-room in Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie was too broken-spirited to answer by telling the truth, that the
+world and the world's favor had lost all attraction for her, who would
+willingly have retired from it forever.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie was presented to society as Mademoiselle de la Motte, and nothing
+was said of her stolen marriage with the young Russian officer.</p>
+
+<p>That season was perhaps the gayest Paris had ever known during the
+quiet reign of the citizen king and queen. Brilliant festivities in
+honor of the Spanish marriages were the order of the days and nights.
+Representatives from every court in Europe were present, as special
+messengers of congratulation&mdash;or expostulation; for it will be remembered
+the Spanish marriages were not universally popular with the sovereigns of
+Europe.</p>
+
+<p>Among the representatives of the English Court, present at the Tuileries,
+was the seventh Duke of Hereward, recently come into his titles and
+estates.</p>
+
+<p>It was at a ball at the Tuileries that Valerie de la Motte first met the
+Duke of Hereward, then a very handsome man of middle age, of accomplished
+mind and courtly address. The beautiful, pale, grave brunette at once
+interested the English duke more than all the blooming and vivacious
+beauties at the French capital could do. At every ball, dinner, concert,
+play, or other place of amusement where Mademoiselle de la Motte appeared
+with her parents, the Duke of Hereward sought her out; and the more he
+saw of her, the more interested he became in her; and it must be
+confessed that the conversation of this handsome and accomplished man of
+middle age pleased the grave, sedate girl more than that of younger and
+gayer men could have done.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, on his part, was not slow to perceive his advantage, and he
+would willingly have paid his addresses to Mademoiselle de la Motte in
+person, and won her heart and hand for himself, before speaking to her
+father on the subject; but as such a proceeding would not have been in
+accordance with the customs of the country, no opportunity was allowed
+him to do so; for whereas in England, or America, a suitor must win the
+favor of his lady before he asks that of her parents, in France the
+process is precisely the reverse of all this, and the lover must have the
+sanction of the father or mother, or both, before he may dare to woo the
+daughter; and this rule of etiquette holds good in all cases except in
+those of stolen marriages, which are illegal and disreputable.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long, therefore, before the Duke or Hereward called at the
+Hotel de la Motte, and requested a private interview with the baron,
+which was promptly and politely accorded.</p>
+
+<p>The duke then and there made known to the baron the state of his
+affections, and formally solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Valerie
+de la Motte in marriage.</p>
+
+<p>The &quot;mad duke&quot; was not then mad; he had not squandered his princely
+fortune; his dukedom was one of the wealthiest as well as one of the
+oldest in the United Kingdom; the marriage he offered the baron's
+daughter was one of the most brilliant (under royalty) in Europe.</p>
+
+<p>The baron did not hesitate a moment, but promptly accepted the proposals
+of the duke in behalf of his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward hurried away, the happiest man in Europe.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron de la Motte went and informed his daughter that she must
+prepare to receive the middle-aged suitor as her future husband.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Valerie, in a languid way, liked the Duke of Hereward better than
+any one else in the whole world except her mother, but she did not like
+him in the character of a husband. The idea of marriage even with him was
+abhorrent to her. In her first surprise and dismay at the announcement of
+the duke's proposal for her hand, and her father's acceptance of that
+proposal, she betrayed all the unconquerable antipathy she felt to the
+contemplated marriage; but in vain she wept and pleaded to be left in
+peace; to be left to die; to be sent to a convent; to be disposed of in
+any way rather than in marriage!</p>
+
+<p>The baron was no longer a tender and compassionate father, but a ruthless
+and implacable tyrant.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie's life had been a purgatory before, it was a hell now. She was
+covered with reproach, contumely and threats by her father; she was
+lectured and mourned over by her mother; and when her mother at length
+took sides with her father, in urging her to this marriage, the very
+ground seemed to have slidden from beneath her feet; she had not a friend
+in the world to whom to turn in her distress.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward was impatiently awaiting the promised
+summons to the Hotel de la Motte to meet Mademoiselle Valerie as his
+future wife.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie believed that her young lover-husband had been slain in the duel
+with her father; and that she was free to bestow her hand, if she could
+not give her broken heart; she was worn out with the ignominious
+reproaches heaped upon her by her father; by the tears and sighs lavished
+upon her by her mother; by all the humiliation and degradations of her
+daily life, and by the dreariness and desolation of her home. She longed
+for peace and rest; she would gladly have sought them in a convent had
+she been permitted to do so, or in the grave, had she dared.</p>
+
+<p>I repeat that she did not dislike the Duke of Hereward; but on the
+contrary, she liked him better than any one else in the world except her
+mother, and so it followed that at length she began to look upon a
+marriage with him as the only possible refuge from the horrors of her
+home.</p>
+
+<p>What wonder, then, that, goaded and taunted by her father, implored by
+her mother, solicited by the handsome duke, believing her young lover to
+be dead, slain by the hands of her father, longing to escape from the
+persecutions of her family, prostrated in body and mind, broken in heart
+and in spirit, Valerie at last succumbed to the pressure brought to bear
+upon her, and accepted the refuge of the Duke of Hereward's love,
+although the very next moment, in honor of herself and him, she
+would willingly have recalled her decision, if she could have done so.</p>
+
+<p>From the moment that her acceptance of the duke's proposal was announced
+to her parents, the domestic sky cleared; her ruthless tyrant became
+again her tender father; her weeping mother brightened into smiles;
+she herself was once more the petted daughter of the house, and her lover
+showed himself the proudest and happiest of men; and Valerie de la Motte
+would have been at peace but for her consciousness of the secret that
+they were all keeping from the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mamma, he ought to be told, he is so good, so noble, so confiding. I
+feel like a wretch in deceiving him; he ought to be told of my fault
+before he commits himself by marrying me,&quot; she pleaded with her mother.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie, you frighten me half to death! Do not dream of such a folly as
+telling the duke anything about your mad imprudence in running away with
+the young Russian! It would make a great and terrible scandal! Your
+father would kill you, I do believe! Besides, for that fault, committed
+while you were in our keeping and under our authority, you are
+accountable only to me and to your father. Your betrothed husband has
+nothing to do with it. No good would come of your telling it; no harm can
+come of your keeping it. The wild partner of your imprudence is dead and
+buried, the saints be praised! and so he can never rise up to trouble
+your peace. While you are here with us, and under our authority, you must
+obey us, and hold your peace, and keep your secret,&quot; said the baroness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come weal, come woe, my honor requires that this secret should be told
+to the noble and confiding gentleman who is about to make me his wife,&quot;
+murmured Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your honor, Mademoiselle, is in the keeping of your father, until, by
+giving you in marriage, he passes it into the keeping of your husband.
+You are not to concern yourself about it. If your father should deem that
+your 'honor' demands your secret to be confided to your betrothed
+husband, he will divulge it to him: if he does not divulge it, then rest
+assured honor does not require him to do so. Now let us hear no more
+about it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Valerie sighed and yielded, but she was not satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>The betrothal was immediately announced to the world, and the marriage,
+which soon followed, was celebrated in the church of Notre Dame with the
+greatest <i>eclat</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Directly after the wedding the duke took his bride on a long tour,
+extending over Europe and into Asia; and after an absence of several
+months, carried her to England, and settled down for the autumn on his
+English patrimonial estate, Hereward Hold, (for Castle Lone was then a
+ruin and Inch Lone a wilderness, which no one had yet dreamed of
+rebuilding and restoring.)</p>
+
+<p>The youthful duchess, in her quiet English home, was like Louise la
+Valliere in the Convent of St. Cyr, &quot;not joyous, but content.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She tried to make her noble husband happy, by fulfilling all the duties
+of a wife&mdash;<i>except one</i>. She knew a wife should have no secrets from
+her husband, yet, in her fear of disturbing the sweet domestic peace, in
+which her wearied spirit rested, she kept from him the secret of her
+first wild marriage.</p>
+
+<p>At the meeting of Parliament in February, the Duke of Hereward took his
+beautiful young wife to London, and established her in their magnificent
+town-house&mdash;Hereward House, Kensington.</p>
+
+<p>At the first Royal drawing-room at Buckingham Palace, the young duchess
+was presented to the queen, and soon after she commenced her career as a
+woman of fashion by giving a grand ball at Hereward House.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward was very fond and very proud of his lovely young
+bride, whose beauty soon became the theme of London clubs&mdash;though
+invidious critics insisted that she was much too pale and grave ever to
+become a reigning belle.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, she was very pale and grave; peaceful, not happy.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely twelve months had passed since she had been cruelly torn from
+the idolized young husband of her youth and thrown into a convent, where
+the only news that she heard of him was, that he had been killed in a
+duel with her ruthless father. She had mourned for him in secret, without
+hope and without sympathy, and before the first year of her widowhood had
+passed&mdash;a widowhood she had been sternly forbidden by her father either
+to bewail or even to acknowledge&mdash;she had been driven by a series of
+unprecedented persecutions to give her hand where she could not give her
+broken heart, and to go to the altar with a deadly secret on her
+conscience, if not with a lie on her lips!</p>
+
+<p>Now her persecutions had ceased, indeed; but not her sorrows. Her home
+was quiet and honored, her middle-aged husband was kind and considerate,
+and she loved him with filial affection and reverence; but she could not
+forget the husband of her youth, slain by her father; his memory was a
+tender sorrow cherished in the depths of her heart, the only living
+sentiment there, for it seemed dead to all else.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If he were a living lover,&quot; she whispered to herself, &quot;I should be bound
+by every consideration of honor and duty to cast him out of my heart&mdash;if
+I could! But for my dead boy, my husband, slain in the flower of his
+youth for my sake, I may cherish remembrance and sorrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Thus, it is no wonder that she moved through the splendor of her first
+London season, a beautiful, pale, grave Melpomene.</p>
+
+<p>But the splendor of that season was soon to be dimmed.</p>
+
+<p>News came by telegraph to the Duke of Hereward, announcing the sudden
+death of the Baron de la Motte, of apoplexy, in Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Now much has been said and written about the ingratitude of children; but
+quite as much might be said of their indestructible affection. The Baron
+de la Motte had shown himself a very cruel father to his only child; he
+had shot down her young husband in a duel; yet, notwithstanding all that,
+Valerie was wild with grief at the news of his sudden death. She
+wondered, poor child, if she herself had not had some hand in bringing
+it on by all the trouble she had given him, although that trouble had
+passed away now more than twelve months since; and the late baron was
+known to have been a man of full habit and excitable temperament, and,
+withal, a heavy feeder and hard drinker&mdash;a very fit subject for apoplexy
+to strike down at any moment.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke and Duchess of Hereward hastened to Paris, where they found the
+remains of the baron laid in state in the great saloon of the Hotel de la
+Motte, and the widowed baroness prostrated by grief, and confined to her
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and duchess remained until after the funeral, when the will of
+the late baron was read. It was then discovered for the first time that
+his daughter, Valerie, was not nearly the wealthy heiress she was
+supposed to be.</p>
+
+<p>All the late baron's landed estates went to the male heir-at-law, a young
+officer in the Chasseurs d' Afrique, then in Algiers. All his personal
+property, consisting of bank and railroad stocks, after a deduction as a
+provision for his widow, was bequeathed to his only daughter Valerie,
+Duchess of Hereward. But this property was so inconsiderable, that,
+without other means, it would scarcely have sufficed for the respectable
+support of the mother and daughter.</p>
+
+<p>After the settlement of the late baron's affairs, the duke and duchess
+would have returned immediately to London but for the condition of the
+widowed baroness' health.</p>
+
+<p>Madame de la Motte had for years been a delicate invalid, and she had
+experienced, in the sudden death of her husband, a severe shock, from
+which she could not rally; so that, within a few weeks after the baron's
+remains had been laid in the family vault, she passed away, and hers were
+laid by his side.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie was even more prostrated with sorrow by the loss of her mother
+than she had been by that of her father.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, to distract her grief, telegraphed to New Haven, where his
+yacht, the <i>Sea-Bird</i>, was lying to have her brought over to meet
+him at Dieppe, took his duchess down to that little seaport and embarked
+with her for a voyage to Norway.</p>
+
+<p>The season was most favorable for such a northerly voyage. They sailed on
+the first of July, and spent three months cruising about the coasts of
+Norway, Iceland, and down to the Western Isles. They returned about the
+first of October.</p>
+
+<p>The duke left his yacht at Dieppe, and, accompanied by the duchess, went
+up to Paris, to attend to some business connected with the estate of the
+late baron.</p>
+
+<p>As but a third of a year had passed since the death of her parents, and
+the duchess had scarcely passed out of her first deep crape mourning, she
+went very little into society. Nevertheless, she was constrained, at the
+duke's request, to accept one invitation.</p>
+
+<p>There was to be a diplomatic dinner given at the British Legation, at
+which the Prussian, Austrian and Russian ministers, with the higher
+officers of their suites, were to be present.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie, living her recluse life in the city, did not know the names of
+one of these ministers, nor, in the apathy of her grief, did she care to
+inquire.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening appointed for the entertainment, she went to the hotel of
+the British Legation, escorted by her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Dressed in her rich and elegant mourning of jet on crape, glimmering
+light on blackest darkness, and looking herself paler and fairer by its
+contrast, she entered the grand drawing-room, leaning on the arm of her
+husband. She heard their names announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Duke and Duchess of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then she found herself in a room sparsely occupied by a very brilliant
+company, and stood&mdash;not, as she had expected to stand, among
+strangers&mdash;but in the midst of her own familiar friends, whom she had
+known in her girlhood at the court of St. Petersburg, or met, in her
+womanhood, in the drawing-rooms of London.</p>
+
+<p>It was while she was still leaning on her husband's arm and receiving the
+courteous salutations of her old friends, that their host, Lord C&mdash;n,
+approached with a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie looked up and saw standing before her the young husband of her
+girlish love!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>RISEN FROM THE GRAVE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Waldemar de Volaski, left as dead upon the duelling ground by his
+antagonist, the Baron de la Motte, was tenderly lifted by his second and
+the surgeon in attendance, laid upon a stretcher, and conveyed to the
+infirmary of a neighboring monastery, where he was charitably received by
+the brethren.</p>
+
+<p>When he was laid upon a bed, undressed, and examined, it was discovered
+that he was not dead, but only swooning from the loss of blood.</p>
+
+<p>When his wound was probed, it was found that the bullet had passed the
+right lobe of the lungs, and lodged in the flesh below the right shoulder
+blade. To extract it, under the circumstances, or to leave it there,
+seemed equally dangerous, threatening, on the one hand, inflammation
+and mortification, and, on the other, fatal hemorrhage. Therefore, the
+surgeon in charge of the case sent off to the nearest town to summon
+other medical aid, and meanwhile kept up the strength of the patient
+by stimulants. In the consultation that ensued on the arrival of the
+other surgeons, it was decided that the extraction of the bullet would be
+difficult and dangerous; but that in it lay the only chance of the
+patient's life.</p>
+
+<p>On the next morning, therefore, Waldemar de Volaski was put under the
+influence of chloroform, and the operation was performed. His youth and
+vigorous constitution bore him safely through the trying ordeal, but
+could not save him from the terrible irritative fever that set in and
+held him in its fiery grasp for many days there after.</p>
+
+<p>He was well tended by the holy brotherhood, who sent to the
+vine-dresser's cottage for information concerning him, that they might
+find out who and where were his friends, and write and apprise them of
+his condition.</p>
+
+<p>But the vine-dresser could tell the monks no more than this&mdash;that the
+young man and young woman had come as strangers to the village, were
+married by the good Father Pietro in the church of San Vito, and had
+come to lodge in his cottage. The young pair had lived as merrily as two
+birds in a bush until the sudden arrival of an illustrious and furious
+signore, who tore the bride from the arms of her husband, and carried her
+off to the convent of Santa Madelena. That was all the vine-dresser knew.</p>
+
+<p>The surgeon supplemented the vine-dresser's story with an account of the
+duel between the enraged baron and the young captain.</p>
+
+<p>The good Father Pietro was next interviewed, and gave the names of the
+imprudent young pair whom he had tied together, as Waldemar Peter de
+Volaski and Valerie Aimee de la Motte; but besides this, who they
+were, or whence they came, he could not tell.</p>
+
+<p>Inquiries were made in the village of San Vito, which only resulted in
+the information that the &quot;illustrious&quot; strangers had departed with their
+daughter no one knew whither.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of the duel tossed and tumbled, fumed
+and raved in fever and delirium, that raged like fire for nine days, and
+then left him utterly prostrated in mind and body. Many more days passed
+before he was able to answer questions, and weeks crept by before he
+could give any coherent account of himself.</p>
+
+<p>His first sensible inquiry related to his bride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is she? What have they done with her?&quot; he demanded to know.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The illustrious signore has taken the signorita away with him, no one
+knows whither,&quot; answered the monk who was minding him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know&mdash;so he has taken her away?&mdash;I know where he has taken her,&mdash;to
+Paris,&quot; faltered the victim, and immediately fainted dead away, exhausted
+by the effort of speaking these words.</p>
+
+<p>His next question, asked after the interval of a week, related to the
+length of time he had been ill.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long have I lain stretched upon this bed?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Signore Captain has been here four weeks,&quot; answered his nurse.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Great Heaven! then I have exceeded my month's leave by two weeks! I
+shall be court-martialed and degraded!&quot; cried the patient, starting up
+in great excitement, and instantly swooning away from the reaction.</p>
+
+<p>In this manner the recovery of the wounded man became a matter of
+difficulty and delay; for as often as he rallied sufficiently to look
+into his affairs, their threatening aspect threw him back prostrated.</p>
+
+<p>He recovered, however, by slow degrees.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he was able to sustain the continued exertion of talking, he
+requested one of the brothers on duty in the infirmary to write two
+letters at his dictation. The first was addressed to the colonel of his
+regiment, informing that officer of the long and severe illness of
+Captain de Volaski, and petitioning for the invalid an extended leave of
+absence. The other was to the Count de Volaski, apprising that nobleman
+of the condition of his son, and imploring him to hasten at once to the
+bedside of the patient.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Waldemar de Volaski sat up in bed and asked for
+stationery, and wrote with his own weak and trembling hand a short letter
+to his youthful bride&mdash;telling her that he had been very ill, but was now
+convalescent, and that as soon as he should be able to travel he would
+hasten to Paris and claim his wife in the face of all the fathers,
+priests and judges in Paris, or in the world. He addressed her as his
+well beloved wife, signed himself her ever-devoted husband, and had the
+temerity to direct his letter to Madame Waldemar de Volaski, Hotel de la
+Motte, Rue Faubourg St. Honore, Paris.</p>
+
+<p>The mail left St. Vito only twice a week, so that the three letters left
+the post office on the same day to their respective destinations; one
+went to St. Petersburg, to the Colonel of the Royal Guards; one to
+Warsaw, to the Count de Volaski; and one to Paris, to Madame de Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the next week the writer received answers from all three
+letters. The first came from the colonel of his regiment, enclosing an
+extension of his leave of absence to three months; the second was
+answered in person by the Count de Volaski; the third was only an
+envelope, enclosing his letter to Valerie, crossed with this line:</p>
+
+<p><i>&quot;No such person to be found.&quot;</i></p>
+
+<p>The meeting between the Count de Volaski and his reckless son was not in
+all respects a pleasant one. There was an explanation to be demanded by
+the father a confession to be made by the son. The count was divided
+between his anxiety for his son and indignation at that son's conduct.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You exposed more than your own life by the escapade, sir!&quot; said the
+elder Volaski, &quot;You abducted a minor, sir; for doing which you might have
+been prosecuted for felony, and sent to the gaol!&mdash;a fate so much worse
+than your death in the duel would have been for the honor of your family,
+that, had you been consigned to it, I should have cursed the hour you
+were born and blown my own brains out, in expiation of my share in your
+existence!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The yet nervous invalid shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But even that was not the greatest calamity your rashness provoked! You
+presumed to carry off the French minister's daughter while they were yet
+in the dominions of the Czar! by doing which you might have caused a war
+between two great nations, and the sacrifice of a million of lives!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sir, forbear! I have not yet recovered from the severe illness
+consequent upon my wound. Surely, I have suffered enough at the hands
+of the ruthless Baron de la Motte!&quot; said Waldemar de Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Baron de la Motte, being your enemy, is mine also; yet I cannot but
+admit that he has dealt very leniently with the abductor of his daughter
+by merely shooting him through the lungs, and laying him on a bed of
+repentance, when he might have prosecuted him as a felon, and sent him to
+penal servitude!&quot; said the count, severely. &quot;But there,&quot; he exclaimed, &quot;I
+will say no more on that subject. As you say, you have suffered enough
+already to expiate your fault. You have nearly lost your life, and you
+have quite lost your love; for, of course, you know that your fooling
+marriage with a minor was no marriage at all, unless her father had
+chosen to make it so by his recognition. And if you ever had a chance of
+winning the girl, you have lost it by your imprudence. You must try to
+get up your strength now, so as to go with me back to Warsaw.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, the count left the bedside of his son, and went into the
+refectory of the monastery, where a substantial repast had been prepared
+to regale the traveler.</p>
+
+<p>The young man wrote yet another letter to his love, enclosing it on this
+occasion in an envelope directed to the lady's maid, who had once
+assisted the lovers in carrying on their correspondence; but as the maid
+had been long discharged from the service of her mistress, it was
+impossible that the letter should have reached her. The lover wrote again
+and again without receiving an answer to letters which it is certain his
+lost bride never received.</p>
+
+<p>Captain de Volaski's three months' extended leave of absence had nearly
+expired before he was in a condition to travel; and even then he had to
+go by slow stages, riding only during the day and resting at night, until
+they reached Warsaw.</p>
+
+<p>He spent a week at his father's castle, watched and wept over by his
+mother, who had not a reproach for her son, nor anything to offer him but
+her sympathy and her services. Six months had now passed away since his
+parting with his stolen bride; and it was the day before his expected
+return to his regiment that a packet of newspapers arrived for him,
+forwarded from St. Petersburg.</p>
+
+<p>He tore the envelopes off them. They were English, French and German
+papers. He threw all away except the French papers. He eagerly examined
+them, in the hope of seeing the name of the Baron de la Motte, and
+forming thereby some idea of the movements of the family, and the
+whereabouts of Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>The first paper he took up was <i>Le Courier de Paris</i>, and the first
+item that caught his eye was this&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>MARRIED.&mdash;At the Church of Notre Dame, on Tuesday, March 1st, by the Most
+Venerable, the Archbishop of Paris, the Duke of Hereward, to Valerie,
+only daughter of the Baron de la Motte.</p></div>
+
+<p>With the cry and spring of a panther robbed of its young, Volaski bounded
+to his feet. His rage and anguish were equal, and beyond all power of
+articulate or rational utterance. He strode up and down the floor like
+a maniac; he raved; he beat his breast, and tore his hair and beard; and
+finally, he rushed into the parlor where his father and mother were
+seated together over a quiet game of chess, and he dashed the paper down
+on the table before them, smote his hand upon the fatal marriage notice,
+and exclaimed in a voice of indescribable anguish:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See! see! see! see!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is just as I thought it would be,&quot; said the count, as he calmly
+read over the item, and passed it to his amazed wife. &quot;The baron has
+wisely taken the first opportunity of marrying off his wilful girl&mdash;the
+best thing he could have done for her. I am sure I am glad she is no
+daughter-in-law of mine! She who could so lightly elope from her father
+might as lightly elope from her husband also.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Waldemar made no reply, but stood looking the image of desolation, until
+his mother having read through the notice, and grasped the situation,
+arose and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming in a burst of
+sympathy:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my son! my son! my son! my son! forget her! forget the heartless
+jilt! she was unworthy of you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A burst of wild and bitter laughter answered this appeal and frightened
+the good lady half out of her wits.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let him go back to his regiment and be a man among men, and not lose his
+time whimpering after a silly girl, who has not sense enough even to take
+care of herself. The man to be most pitied is that husband of hers! Upon
+my word and honor, I am sorry for that English duke! Yes, <i>that</i> I
+am!&quot; said the count, heartily.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Waldemar de Volaski returned to his regiment at St.
+Petersburg.</p>
+
+<p>As his brother officers happily knew nothing of his elopement with the
+minister's daughter, and the duel that followed it; but supposed that his
+long absence had been occasioned by a long illness, he escaped all that
+exasperating chaff that might, under the circumstances, have half
+maddened him.</p>
+
+<p>He threw himself, for distraction, into all the wildest gayeties of the
+Russian capital, and led the life of a reckless young sinner, until he
+was suddenly brought to his senses by a domestic calamity. He received a
+telegram announcing the sudden death of his father and his elder brother,
+both of whom were instantly killed by an accident on the St. Petersburg
+and Warsaw Railroad, while on their way to the Russian capital.</p>
+
+<p>Stricken with grief, and with the remorse which grief is sure to awaken
+in the heart of a wrong-doer not altogether hardened, Waldemar de Volaski
+hastened down to Warsaw to support his almost inconsolable mother through
+the horrors of that sudden bereavement and that double funeral.</p>
+
+<p>By the death of his father and elder brother, he became the Count
+Volaski, and the heir of all the family estates; and there were left
+dependent on him his widowed mother and several younger brothers and
+sisters.</p>
+
+<p>At the earnest request of his mother he resigned his commission in the
+Royal Guards, and went down to reside with the family on the estate,
+during their retirement for the year of mourning.</p>
+
+<p>Before that year was half over, however, the young Count de Volaski
+received a summons to the court of his sovereign.</p>
+
+<p>He obeyed it immediately by hurrying up to St. Petersburg.</p>
+
+<p>On his arrival, he presented himself at the Annitchkoff Palace to receive
+the commands of the Czar, and he was appointed Secretary of Legation to
+the new Russian Embassy about to proceed to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>To Paris! to the home of Valerie de la Motte! The order agitated him to
+the profoundest depths of his being. He would have declined the honor
+about to be thrust upon him, could he have done so with propriety; but he
+could not, so there was no alternative but to kiss his sovereign's hand,
+express his sense of gratitude, and obey.</p>
+
+<p>The embassy left St. Petersburg for the French capital almost
+immediately.</p>
+
+<p>On the arrival at Paris they were established in the splendid Maison
+Francoise in the Champs Elysees.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he was at leisure, the Count de Volaski drove to the Rue
+Faubourg St. Honore, and to the Hotel de la Motte. He found the house
+shut up, and upon inquiry of a gend'arme, learned, with more surprise
+than regret, that the Baron and Baroness de la Motte had both been dead
+for some months; the baron, who was a free liver, had been suddenly
+stricken down by apoplexy, and the baroness, whose health had long been
+feeble, could not rally from the shock, but soon followed her husband.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And,&mdash;where is their daughter, Madame la Duchesse d'Hereward?&quot;
+hesitatingly inquired the Count de Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>The gend'arme could not tell; he did not know; but supposed that she was
+living with her husband, Monsieur le Duc, on his estates in England.</p>
+
+<p>No, clearly the gend'arme did not know; for, in fact, the Duke and
+the Duchess of Hereward were at that time living very quietly in the
+closed-up house at which the count and the gend'arme stood gazing while
+they talked.</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski re-entered his carriage and returned to the Maison
+Francoise in time to attend the official reception of the embassy by the
+citizen-king at the Tuileries.</p>
+
+<p>After the act of national and official etiquette, the embassy were free
+to enter into the social festivities of the gayest capital in the world.</p>
+
+<p>Among other entertainments, a great diplomatic dinner was given at the
+English Legation, then the magnificent Hotel Borghese, once the residence
+of the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, but now the seat of the
+British Embassy. Among the invited guests were the Russian minister and
+his Secretary of Legation, Count de Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>The count came late and found the splendid drawing-room honored with a
+small, but brilliant, company of ladies and gentlemen, the former among
+the most celebrated beauties, the latter the most distinguished statesmen
+of Europe.</p>
+
+<p>Nearly every one in the room were strangers to the Russian count; but his
+English host, with sincere kindness and courtesy, took care to present
+him to all the most agreeable persons present.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now,&quot; whispered Lord C&mdash;n, in conclusion, &quot;I have reserved the best
+for the last. Come and let me introduce you to the most interesting woman
+in Paris.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski suffered himself to be conducted to the upper end of the
+room, where a tall and elegant-looking woman, dressed in rich mourning,
+stood, leaning on the arm of a stately, middle-aged man.</p>
+
+<p>Her face was averted as they approached; but she turned her head and he
+recognized the beautiful, pale face and lovely dark eyes of his lost
+bride.</p>
+
+<p>And while the floor of the drawing-room seemed rocking with him, like the
+deck of a tempest-tossed ship, he heard the words of his host whirling
+through his brain:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski of St. Petersburg;
+Count, the Duchess of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2>
+
+<h3>FACE TO FACE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski, of St.
+Petersburg&mdash;Count, the Duchess of Hereward,&quot; said Lord C., with old-time
+courtesy and formality.</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman bowed low; the lady courtesied; nothing but the close
+compression of his lips beneath the golden mustache, and the paler shade
+on her pale cheeks, betrayed the &quot;whirlwind of emotion&quot; which swept
+through both their hearts; and these indications of disturbance were too
+slight to attract any attention.</p>
+
+<p>Neither spoke, neither dared to speak. It was as much as each could do to
+maintain a conventional calmness through the terrible ordeal of such an
+introduction.</p>
+
+<p>Lord C., happily unconscious of anything wrong, did the very best thing
+he could have done under the circumstances. Scarcely allowing the count
+and the duchess time to exchange their bow and courtesy, he turned to her
+companion and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Duke, the Count de Volaski. Count, the Duke of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Both gentlemen bowed; but <i>one</i>, the count, quivered from head to
+foot in the presence of his unconscious but successful rival.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By the way, Count,&quot; said the duke, pleasantly, &quot;the duchess, when
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, passed a year at the court of St. Petersburg
+with her parents. It is a wonder that you have not met before. Although,
+indeed, you may have done so,&quot; he added, as with an after-thought.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have met before,&quot; replied the Count de Volaski, in a low and measured
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course! Of course! You are quite old friends,&quot; said the duke, gayly.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, then a diversion was made. The heavy, purple satin curtains
+vailing the arch between the drawing-rooms and dining saloon were drawn
+aside by invisible hands, and a very dignified and officer-looking
+personage, in a powdered wig, clerical black suit, and gold chain,
+appeared, and with a low bow and with low tones, said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My lord and lady are served.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Count, will you take the duchess in to dinner?&mdash;Duke, Lady C. will thank
+you for your arm,&quot; said the host, as, with a nod and a smile, he moved
+off in search of that particular ambassadress whom custom, or etiquette,
+or policy, required him to escort to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward with a polite wave of the hand, left his duchess in
+the charge of her appointed attendant, and went to meet Lady C., who was
+advancing toward him.</p>
+
+<p>Count Volaski bowed, and silently offered his arm to the young duchess.</p>
+
+<p>She did not take it; she could not; she stood as one paralyzed.</p>
+
+<p>He was stronger, firmer, calmer; perhaps because he really felt less than
+she did. He took her hand and drew it within his own, and led her to her
+place in the little procession that was going to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>He placed her in her chair at the table, and took his seat at her side.</p>
+
+<p>Then the self-control of their order, the self-control instilled as a
+virtue by their education, and standing now in the place of all virtues,
+enabled them to maintain a superficial calmness that conducted them
+safely through the trying ordeal of this dinner-table.</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski entered freely into the conversation of the guests. The
+Duchess of Hereward spoke but little; hers was a passive self-control,
+not an active one; she could force herself to be, or seem, composed;
+she could not force herself to talk; but her deep mourning dress was a
+good excuse for her extreme quietness, which was naturally ascribed to
+her recent and double bereavement.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner was a long, long agony to her; the courses seemed almost
+endless in duration and numberless in succession; but at length the
+hostess arose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire and leave
+the gentlemen to their wine and politics.</p>
+
+<p>The gentlemen all stood up while the ladies passed out to the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie would willingly have gone off to hide herself in some bay-window
+or other nook or corner of the vast drawing-room, and taken up a book or
+a piece of music as an excuse for her reserve; but as they passed through
+the curtained archway leading from the dining-saloon to the drawing-room,
+Lady C., with the kindest intentions toward the supposed mourner, and
+with the motherly grace for which her ladyship was noted, drew Valerie's
+arm within her own and began a conversation, to draw her mind from the
+contemplation of her bereavements.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you think of the young Russian count who brought you in to
+dinner, my dear?&quot; inquired Lady C.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I&mdash;he is a Pole,&quot; answered Valerie, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I am aware that he is a Pole by birth; but he is a thorough Russian
+in politics and principles; has been in the service of the Czar since the
+age of fifteen.&mdash;Here, my love, sit beside me,&quot; added her ladyship, as
+she sank gracefully down upon a sofa and drew her young guest to her
+side.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie submitted in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, by the way, however, I think I heard some one say that you had met
+the count at the court of St. Petersburg?&quot; pursued Lady C.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I&mdash;have met him,&quot; answered Valerie, in the same level tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am boring you, I fear, with this young Russian, my dear, but&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh no,&quot; softly interrupted Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I was about to explain that I feel some interest in him from the fact
+that he is betrothed to my niece&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Betrothed! Your niece!&quot; exclaimed Valerie, surprised out of the apathy
+of her despair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my love. Is there anything wonderful in that? It is a way these
+continental people have of doing things, you see. The Count Waldemar and
+my niece were betrothed to each other in their childhood. There is a very
+great attachment between them&mdash;at least on her part. The child seems to
+think that there is but one man in the world and his name is Waldemar de
+Volaski.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;I did not know&mdash;I thought&mdash;I did not think&mdash;the count had ever been
+in England,&quot; incoherently murmured Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nor has he; but what has that to do with it?&quot; smiled her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your niece&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I see! Because I am an Englishwoman my niece must be one, you
+think. You are mistaken, dear; she is French. My sister Anne married
+a Frenchman, the Marquis de St. Cyr. They had two children&mdash;Alphouse,
+a colonel in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, now in Algiers; and Aimee, now in
+the Convent of St. Rosalie. It was when the late Count de Volaski was
+here as the minister from Russia, that the acquaintance between the two
+families commenced and ripened into intimacy and the intimacy into
+friendship. Then Waldemar and Aimee were betrothed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How many years ago was that?&quot; faintly inquired Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, about six&mdash;the young man was then about fifteen; the girl not more
+than twelve.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They could not have known their own minds at that age,&quot; murmured
+Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, that was not at all necessary in a French betrothal,&quot; laughed the
+lady; &quot;but, however, Aimee, child as she was, certainly knew her mind.
+The love of her betrothed husband was, and is, the religion of her life.
+I presume that Count Waldemar is equally constant; and that he will now
+press for a speedy marriage. My brother-in-law is down on his estates in
+Provence, just now; but I shall write and ask his permission to withdraw
+Aimee from her convent, in anticipation of her marriage, for of course
+she will be married from this house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;her mother?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! I should have told you; her mother, my dear sister Anne, passed
+away about a year after the betrothal of her daughter. The marquis took
+her loss very much to heart, and has never married again. The motherless
+girl has passed her life in a convent; but I hope to have her out soon.
+Here, my love, is an album containing portraits of my sister and
+brother-in-law and their children, taken at various times. You cannot
+mistake them, and they may interest you,&quot; said Lady C., taking a
+photographic volume from a gilded stand near, and laying it upon her
+guest's lap.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie received it with a nod of thanks, and the lady glided away to
+give some of her attention to her other guests.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The young English duchess is lovely, but too sad,&quot; said an embassadress,
+as the hostess joined her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! yes, poor child! lost her father and mother within a few weeks of
+each other,&quot; answered Lady C.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But that was six months ago; she ought to have recovered some
+cheerfulness by this time,&quot; remarked old Madame Bamboullet, who was a
+walking register of all the births, deaths and marriages of high life
+in Paris for the last half century.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you see she has not done so; but here come the gentlemen,&quot;
+observed Lady C., as a rather straggling procession from the dining-room
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>The host, Lord C., went up to the embassadress to whom it was his cue to
+be most attentive.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward sought out his hostess, and entered into a bantering
+conversation with her.</p>
+
+<p>Count Waldemar de Volaski came directly up to Valerie where she sat alone
+on the sofa in a distant corner of the room. The little gilded stand
+stood before her, and the photographic album lay open upon it. Her eyes
+were fixed upon the album, and were not raised to see the new-comer; but
+the sudden accession of pallor on her pale face betrayed her recognition
+of him.</p>
+
+<p>He drew a chair so close to her sofa that only the little gilded stand
+stood between them. His back was toward the company; his face toward her;
+his elbows, with unpardonable rudeness, were placed upon the stand, and
+his hands supported his chin, as he stared into her pale face with its
+downcast eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p>She did not look up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie de Volaski!&quot; he muttered.</p>
+
+<p><i>&quot;My wife!&quot;</i></p>
+
+<p>She shuddered, but did not lift her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She shrank into herself, as it were, and her eyes fell lower than before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is it thus we two meet at last?&quot; he demanded, in low, stern, measured
+tones, pitched to meet her ear alone. &quot;Is it thus I find you, after all
+that has passed between us, bearing the name and title of another man
+who calls himself your husband, oh! shame of womanhood!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They told me our marriage was not legal, was not binding!&quot; she panted
+under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It should have been religiously, sacredly binding up on you as it was
+upon me, until we could have made it legal. It is amazing that you could
+have dreamed of marriage with another man!&quot; muttered Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But they told me you were dead. They told me you were dead!&quot; she gasped,
+as if she were in her own death throes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Even if they had told you truly&mdash;even if I had been dead&mdash;dead by the
+hand of your father&mdash;could that circumstance have excused you for rushing
+with such indecent haste to the altar with another man? It was but a poor
+tribute to the memory of the husband of your choice (if he had been dead)
+to marry again within six months.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mercy! Oh, my heart! my heart! They forced me into that marriage,
+Waldemar! They forced me into that marriage! I was as helpless as an
+infant in the hands of my father and my mother!&quot; she panted, in a voice
+that was the more heart-rending from half suppression.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie! love! wife!&quot; murmured Volaski, in low and tender tones, as he
+essayed to take her hand.</p>
+
+<p>But she snatched it from him hastily, gasping:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do not speak to me in that way! Do not call me love or wife!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No man on earth has a better right to speak to you in this way than I
+have. No <i>other</i> man in the world has the right to call you love or
+wife but me! You <i>are</i> my wife!&quot; grimly answered the young count.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am the wife of the Duke of Hereward. Oh, Heaven, that I were a corpse
+instead!&quot; gasped Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'The wife of the Duke of Hereward!' Have you then forgotten our
+betrothal at St. Petersburg? Our flight from Warsaw to St. Vito? Our
+marriage at the little chapel of Santa Maria? Our short, blissful
+honeymoon in the vine-dresser's cottage under the Apennines?&quot; he
+inquired, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have forgotten nothing! Oh, Heaven! Oh, earth! Oh, Waldemar! that
+I could die! that I could die!&quot; she wailed in low, heartbroken tones.</p>
+
+<p>It was well for her that the corner sofa stood in the shade, far removed
+from the seats of the other guests in that long drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie! love! wife!&quot; he murmured again.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Waldemar, if I were your wife, as I truly believed myself then to
+have been, oh, why did you not defend and protect me from all the world,
+even from my father&mdash;even from myself? Oh, why did you suffer me to be
+torn from your protection, to be deceived with a false story of your
+death, and forced into this marriage? Oh, Waldemar! if I were indeed and
+in truth your lawful wife, as I believed myself to be, why, oh why did
+you permit all these evils to happen to me? Ah, what a position is mine!
+What a position! I cannot bear it! I will not bear it! I will not live!
+I will kill myself! I <i>ought</i> to kill myself! It is the only way out
+of this!&quot; she wailed, wringing her hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will kill that Duke of Hereward!&quot; hissed Volaski, through his clenched
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush! For mercy's sake, hush! Put away such thoughts from your heart!
+I, the only wrong-doer, should be the only victim! Whatever wrong has
+been done, the Duke of Hereward has been blameless. He knew nothing of
+my former marriage; if he had, I do not believe he would have married me,
+even if I had been a princess.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was deceived, then?&quot; coldly inquired the count.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was; but not willingly by me. I was forced to be silent about my
+marriage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You were 'forced' from my protection! 'forced' to conceal the fact of
+your marriage with me! and 'forced' to marry the Duke of Hereward under
+false colors. Could force on one side, and feebleness on the other, be
+carried any further than this?&quot; muttered Volaski, between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I knew how helpless, in the hands of my parents, I was,&quot; wailed Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you are a duchess! Do you love the Duke of Hereward?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mercy! what shall I say? He deserves all my love, honor, and duty!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Does he <i>get</i> his deserts?&quot; mockingly inquired Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! wretch that I am, why do I live?&mdash;I give him honor and duty; but
+love! <i>love is not mine to give!</i>&quot; she murmured, in almost inaudible
+tones.</p>
+
+<p>Their conversation&mdash;if an interview so emotional, so full of &quot;starts and
+flaws&quot; could be called so&mdash;had been carried on in a very low tone, while
+the count turned over the leaves of the photographic album, as if
+examining the portraits, but really without seeing one.</p>
+
+<p>They were, however, so absorbed that neither perceived the approach of a
+footman until the man actually set down a small golden tray with two
+little porcelain cups of tea on the stand between them, and retired.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie looked up with a sudden shudder of terror. Had the company, or
+any one of their number, overheard any part of the fatal interview? No,
+the company were drinking tea, at the other end of the room.</p>
+
+<p>And now the Duke of Hereward, with a tea-cup in his hand, sauntered
+toward them, saying, as he reached the stand:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lady C. has just been telling me that you are showing the duchess some
+interesting family pictures there&mdash;among the rest, those of your <i>belle
+fiancee</i>. When shall I congratulate you, Count?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not yet; I will advise your grace of my marriage,&quot; answered the count,
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Something gone wrong in that direction,&quot; thought the duke, but his good
+humor was invincible.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you have no engagement for to-morrow evening, I hope you will come
+and dine with us <i>en famille</i>, for we do not see much company, the
+duchess and myself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Valerie cast an imploring look on the count, silently praying him to
+decline the invitation; but Volaski did not understand the meaning of
+the look, or did not care to do so, for he immediately accepted the
+invitation in the following unequivocal terms:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have no engagement for to-morrow; and I shall be very happy to come
+and dine with you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So be it then,&quot; said the duke, frankly. &quot;Now, Valerie, my love, bid the
+count good-evening. It is time to go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young duchess arose wearily from the sofa, and slightly courtesied
+her adieux.</p>
+
+<p>The count stood up and bowed with a profound reverence that seemed
+ironical to her sensitive mind.</p>
+
+<p>The guests were now all taking leave of their host and hostess.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were among the last to go.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry that I brought you out this evening, love. I
+saw&mdash;indeed, every one saw, and could not help seeing&mdash;that this
+dinner-party has been a great trial to you. It will not bear an encore.
+You must have time to recover your cheerfulness, dearest, before you are
+again brought into a large company,&quot; said the duke, kindly, as soon as
+they were seated together in their carriage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did people attribute my dullness to&mdash;to&mdash;to&mdash;,&quot; began Valerie, by way of
+saying something, but her voice faltered and broke down.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To your recent double bereavement?&mdash;certainly they did, my love. They
+knew</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">'No crowds<br /></span>
+<span>Make up for parents in their shrouds,'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and were not cruel enough to criticise your filial grief, my Valerie.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am glad of that; but I am very sorry you have invited the Count de
+Volaski to dinner to-morrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, why?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because I do not like company.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is only one guest and will dine with us quietly. He will amuse you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, he will not; he will bore me. I wish you would write and put him
+off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Impossible, my dear Valerie! What earthly excuse could I make for such
+an unpardonable piece of rudeness?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell him that I am ill, out of spirits, anything you like so that you
+tell him not to come.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dearest one, you certainly are ill and out of spirits, and very
+morbid besides. So much the more reason why you should be gently aroused
+and amused. Dinner parties weary and distress you; but the count's visit
+will relieve and amuse you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! I <i>do</i> think I <i>ought</i> to know what is good for me and
+what I want better than any one else,&quot; exclaimed Valerie, speaking
+impatiently to the duke for the first time during their married life.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But you don't, love; that is all. The count is coming to dine with us
+to-morrow. That is settled. Now, here we are at home,&quot; said the duke,
+as the carriage rolled through the massive archway and entered the
+court-yard of the magnificent Hotel de la Motte.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>A GATHERING STORM.</h3>
+
+
+<p>After a night of sleeplessness and anguish, Valerie arose to a day of
+duplicity and terror.</p>
+
+<p>The anticipation of the evening was intolerable to her; the prospect of
+sitting down at her own table between the Duke of Hereward and the Count
+de Volaski overwhelmed her with a sense of horror and loathing.</p>
+
+<p>Faint, pale, and trembling, she descended to the breakfast-room, where
+she found the duke already awaiting her.</p>
+
+<p>Shocked at her aspect, he hastened to meet her and lead her to an
+easy-chair on the right of the breakfast-table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are not able to be out of your bed, Valerie. You should not have
+attempted to rise,&quot; he said, as he carefully seated her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I told you last night that I was very ill,&quot; she answered coldly, as she
+sank wearily back on the cushion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That infernal dinner party! It has prostrated you quite. I am so
+grieved; I will not suffer you to be so severely tried again!&quot; said the
+duke, vehemently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you will write this morning and put off the count's visit,&quot; pleaded
+Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, my dear, I cannot,&quot; answered the duke, regretfully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I cannot come down to dinner. That is all,&quot; she said, sullenly
+closing her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall be sorry for that; but we must do the best we can without you
+for the count, having been invited, must be permitted to come.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She languidly drew up to the table, and touched the bell that summoned
+the footman with the breakfast-tray.</p>
+
+<p>When it was placed upon the table, she poured out two cups of coffee,
+handed one to the duke, and took the other herself.</p>
+
+<p>When she had drained it, she arose, excused herself, and went back to her
+own room.</p>
+
+<p>She closed and locked the door, and threw herself upon the bed, groaning:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! how could Waldemar accept that invitation? How can he bear to sit
+down with me at the Duke of Hereward's table? Has he no delicacy? No
+pity? Ah, mercy, what a state is mine! And yet I was not to blame for
+<i>this</i>! I have not deserved it! I have not deserved it! One of us
+three must die; I, or Waldemar, or the Duke of Hereward; and I am the
+one; for, <i>I hate myself</i> for the position I am in! I <i>hate,</i>
+<span class="smcaps">loathe</span> and utterly <span class="smcaps">abhor</span> myself! I do. I do. I wish the
+lightning would strike me dead! dead, before I have to meet one of them
+again!&quot; she moaned, rolling and grovelling on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>There came a soft rap at the door, followed by the kind voice of the
+duke, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie, Valerie, my love! How are you? Do you want anything? May I come
+in?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No! I want rest! I do not want you!&quot; she answered, so sharply as to
+astonish the duke, who spoke again however, deprecatingly and soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is there anything that I can do for you outside, then, my dear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You can go away and let me alone, or you can stand there chattering
+until you drive me crazy!&quot; she answered, ungratefully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good morning, my love; I will not trouble you again soon,&quot; muttered the
+duke, as he walked away from the duchess' door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I never knew such a change as this that has come over her. She is as
+cross as a catamount! There may be a cause for it. There may&mdash;I will send
+for a physician,&quot; he added, as he went down stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie kept her room all day.</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski came to dinner at eight o'clock and was received by the
+duke alone.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled grimly when his host apologized for the absence of the duchess,
+by explaining the delicate condition of her health since the death of her
+parents, and the injury she had received from the fatigue and excitement
+of the dinner-party on the preceding evening.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and the count dined <i>tete-a-tete</i>, and sat long over their
+wine, although they drank but little. After dinner they played chess
+together all the evening, and then parted, apparently the best of friends
+on both sides, really good friends on the duke's.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning a letter was handed Valerie, while she sat at breakfast
+with the duke.</p>
+
+<p>She recognized the handwriting of Count de Volaski, and put it in her
+pocket to read when she was alone.</p>
+
+<p>The duke was not suspicious or inquisitive. He asked no questions.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the duchess found herself alone in her chamber, she locked the
+door to keep out intruders, and sat down and opened the letter.</p>
+
+<p>Its contents were sufficiently startling. They were as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Russian Legation, Rue St. Honore.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Valerie</span>: You avoid me in vain! You cannot shake me off. I
+accepted the duke's invitation to dinner last evening for the sake of
+seeing you again, and for the chance of having a final explanation with
+you; but you kept away from the dinner. Such expedients will not avail
+you.</p>
+
+<p>I write now to assure you that I must and will see you, to make an
+arrangement with you. I write openly, at the risk of having this letter
+fall into the hands of the duke; for I do not care if it does so fall.
+I would just as willingly say to him what I now say to you. I am quite
+willing to provoke a crisis. The present state of things maddens me. I
+wonder it does not <i>kill</i> you! When you married the Duke of Hereward
+within six months after my supposed death by the hands of your father,
+you acted cruelly, but not criminally; now that you know I am living, you
+must also know that every hour you continue to live under the roof of the
+Duke of Hereward you are a criminal. I do not require you to come to
+<i>me</i>. I do not wish to live with you again, although I love you;
+but I <i>do</i> require you to leave the Duke of Hereward and go away by
+yourself. I know you now, Valerie. You are as weak as water. You cannot
+go to the noble gentleman who has been so deeply deceived by you and your
+parents and tell him the secret that you have kept from him so long. You
+have not the moral courage to do so. But you can leave him. It is to
+arrange for your flight and for your future safety that I now demand and
+<i>insist</i> upon a private interview with you.</p>
+
+<p>Write to me at the <i>poste-restante</i>, and tell me when and where I
+can see you alone. Should you refuse to grant me this interview, I will
+myself go to the Duke of Hereward and tell him the whole story. He may
+not resent your former marriage; but he will never forgive you, living,
+or your parents in their graves, for the deception that has been
+practiced upon him. I will wait twenty-four hours for your answer, and
+then if I fail to receive it, or fail to get a favorable one, I shall
+come immediately to the Hotel de la Motte and seek an explanation with
+the duke. I shall direct this letter by the name and title you now bear,
+so as to prevent mistakes; but it is the last time I shall so address
+you. And I sign myself, for all eternity,</p>
+
+<p>Your true husband, <span class="smcaps">Waldemar de Volaski.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Valerie read the cruel letter to its close, then dropped it on her lap,
+and sank back in her chair, helpless, breathless, almost lifeless.
+Minutes crept into hours, and still she sat there in the same position,
+without motion, thought, or feeling&mdash;stricken, spell-bound, entranced.</p>
+
+<p>She was aroused at length by a rap at her chamber-door.</p>
+
+<p>She started, shuddering, to her feet, and spasm after spasm shook her
+galvanized frame, as she picked up her letter, found a match, drew it,
+set fire to the paper, threw it, blazing, down upon the marble hearth,
+and watched it until it was consumed to a little heap of light ashes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There! That can never fall into the Duke of Hereward's hands
+<i>now</i>!&quot; she said with a bitter laugh.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the rapping continued.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well! well! well! well! Can't you be patient!&quot; she exclaimed, very
+<i>im</i>patiently, as she tottered tremblingly across the room and
+opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>Her dressing-maid, Mademoiselle Desiree, was there.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Pardonnez moi, madame</i>; but you ordered me to come to dress you
+for a drive at twelve. The clock has just struck, madame,&quot; said the girl
+deprecatingly.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie put her hand to her head in a bewildered way, and stared at the
+speaker a full minute before she could recollect herself sufficiently to
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I believe so. You can come in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The girl entered and stood waiting for orders. Receiving none, she
+ventured to inquire:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What dress shall madame wear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My&mdash;my writing desk! Bring it here to me,&quot; answered the lady, as she
+sank into a chair, and drew a little ivory stand before her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wonder if madame indulges in absinthe in the morning?&quot; was the secret
+thought of the discreet Mademoiselle Desiree, as she brought the elegant
+little malachite writing-desk, and placed it before her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie opened it, took out a piece of note-paper and wrote:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;I cannot write much. I am stricken. I am dying. I hope you are right
+in what you say. Come here tomorrow at twelve, noon. I will give you the
+interview you seek.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>This note was without date, address or signature, or any word to guide a
+strange reader to its true meaning. She put it into a sealed envelope,
+and directed it to <i>Count de Volaski, Poste Restante</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Then she sat back in her chair, exhausted from the slight exertion.</p>
+
+<p>The maid watched her mistress for a little while, and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pardon, madame; but it is half-past twelve.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! I must dress,&quot; said Valerie rising.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What costume will madame wear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any. It does not signify.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The maid indulged in an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, and laid
+out an elegant black rep silk, heavily trimmed with black crape and jet,
+with mantle, bonnet and vail to match.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;White or black gloves, madame?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Black, of course. It is not a wedding reception.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pardon, madame,&quot; said the girl; and she added the black gloves to the
+costume.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie was soon dressed, and then the maid said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The carriage waits, madame.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Valerie took the note she had prepared and went down stairs, entered her
+barouche, and ordered the coachman to drive to the British Legation,
+Hotel Borghese, Rue Faubourg St. Honore.</p>
+
+<p>When the carriage rolled through the archway into the courtyard, and drew
+up before the magnificent palace, interesting from having been built for
+and occupied by the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, Valerie
+alighted and handed her letter to the footman, with directions to go
+and post it while she was making her call.</p>
+
+<p>The man knocked at the door for his mistress, and then hurried away to do
+her errand.</p>
+
+<p>It was the conventional &quot;dinner call&quot; that brought Valerie to the Hotel
+Borghese.</p>
+
+<p>An English footman admitted the visitor, conducted her to the private
+drawing-room of Lady C., and announced her.</p>
+
+<p>Several other ladies, whom Valerie had met at the dinner party, were
+there on the same duty as herself.</p>
+
+<p>Lady C. advanced from among them to receive the new comer, kissed her on
+both cheeks, inquired affectionately after her health and then made her
+sit down in the most comfortable of the easy-chairs at hand.</p>
+
+<p>After courteously saluting the ladies present, Valerie subsided into a
+dull silence, from which she could not arouse herself; but her voice was
+not missed, since every visitor seemed anxious to talk rather than
+listen, and therefore kept up a chattering that would have carried off
+the palm in a contest with a village sewing-circle or aviary full of
+excited magpies.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie, the last to enter, was also the first to rise, but Lady C.
+detained her by a slight signal, and she sat down again, and relapsed
+into dullness and silence.</p>
+
+<p>One by one the visitors arose and took leave, chattering to the very
+last.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the two ladies were left alone together, Lady C. took
+Valerie's hand, and gazing earnestly in her face, said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the matter with you, my child? You look pale and ill. Although
+I am so glad to see you, under any circumstances, I am half inclined to
+scold you for coming out at all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Valerie felt inclined to open her oppressed and suffering
+heart to this sweet, matronly friend, and tell her the whole, bitter
+truth, and seek her wise counsel; but again the want of moral courage,
+which had always been so fatal to her welfare, sealed her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&quot; said Lady C., after a short pause for that answer that never
+came, &quot;I will not press the question. 'The heart knoweth its own
+bitterness.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; murmured Valerie, in a very low voice. Then, not to seem
+indifferent or unsocial, and also, if the truth must be told of her,
+to gratify a gnawing curiosity, she inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How goes the expected marriage of your niece, madame?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot tell you dear. I have been daily expecting some communication
+on the subject from de Volaski: but as yet he has made none. After coming
+to Paris for the purpose, (for of course his office in the embassy is a
+mere sinecure and a plausible excuse,) he betrays the bashfulness of a
+girl in pressing his suit; but some men, some of the best and purest of
+men, are just that way&mdash;in love affairs as shy women,&quot; said her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie smiled bitterly. She thought she understood the reason why the
+Count de Volaski was in no hurry to press the suit for marriage with a
+dreaming girl, to whom he had been arbitrarily contracted when he was a
+boy of fifteen, and she a child of twelve.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall, however, write again to her father. I will not have my sister's
+daughter wasting her youth in a convent, while waiting for a tardy
+suitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Valerie smiled again, and then arose to take her leave.</p>
+
+<p>Lady C. kissed her affectionately, and promised soon to visit her at the
+Hotel de la Motte.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;how long will you remain there?&quot; inquired her ladyship.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know. Until some business connected with my father's will shall
+be arranged, I think. We are there on sufferance only. My cousin, Louis,
+the present baron, wrote from Algiers, very kindly asking us to occupy
+the Hotel de la Motte at any time when business or pleasure should call
+us to Paris. The house was the home of my childhood, and I prefer to live
+in it as long as I may. The duke, though he would rather live at the
+'<i>Trois Freres</i>,' yields to my whim, and so we occupy the Hotel de
+la Motte, but I do not know for how long a time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Until you leave Paris, I presume?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, probably,&quot; answered Valerie, as with another kiss, she took leave
+of her kind friend.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shall I ever see her sweet face, hear her sweet voice again?&quot; murmured
+the young duchess, as she passed out to her carriage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You posted my letter?&quot; she inquired of the footman who opened the
+carriage-door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do. Home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The footman repeated the order to the coachman, who drove back to the
+Hotel de la Motte.</p>
+
+<p>As Valerie entered her morning-room after laying off her bonnet and
+wrappings, she found the Duke of Hereward there, reading the papers.</p>
+
+<p>He arose and placed a chair for her, saying kindly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope your drive has done you good, dear; if it has not been so long as
+to fatigue you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have only been to the Hotel Borghese to call on Lady C.,&quot; replied
+Valerie, sinking into the chair and leaning back.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now that I look well at you, I see that you are tired. A very little
+exertion seems to fatigue you now, Valerie. I do not understand your
+condition. It makes me anxious. I have asked Velpeau to call and see you.
+He will look in this afternoon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, you are very kind&mdash;too kind to me, as fretful and miserable as
+I am,&quot; replied Valerie, with a momentary compunction&mdash;only a momentary
+one, for the deep fear, horror and despair which had seized her soul
+left her little sensibility to comparative trifles.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My poor child,&quot; said the duke, looking compassionately on her pale, worn
+face, &quot;do you not know that I can make all allowance for you? You are
+suffering very much. I hope Velpeau will be able to do something for you.
+You know he stands at the head of the medical profession in Paris, which
+is as much as to say, in the world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I know,&quot; said Valerie, indifferently. Then, with sudden
+earnestness, she exclaimed: &quot;I wish <i>you</i> would do something for
+me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, my poor girl, I would do anything in the world for you. Tell me
+what you want me to do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know you cannot leave Paris now, and so you cannot, yourself, take
+me to England; but I wish to go there; I wish you to send me there to
+Hereward Hold, where we passed so many peaceful months.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To send you there <i>alone</i>, Valerie?&quot; inquired the duke, in
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, but with my personal attendants, and with any discreet old lady you
+may choose to appoint as my companion, if, like an old Spanish husband,
+you think your young wife may require watching when she is out of your
+sight,&quot; she added, with a relapse into her irritable mood.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie! you wrong me and yourself by such a thought,&quot; said the duke,
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know I do, and I know I am a wretch! but I want to go to England.
+I want to get away from everybody, and be by myself. You promised to do
+what I wanted done. That is what I want done.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you wish 'to get away' from <i>me</i>, Valerie?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, from you and from <i>everybody</i>, except from my servants, who
+are not my companions, and therefore don't bore me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It must be as I thought,&quot; said the duke to himself; &quot;all this
+eccentricity, this nervous irritability has a natural cause, and not
+an alarming one, and it must be humored.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you keep your promise?&quot; she testily inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, my dear child. Anything to please you. You will see Velpeau
+this afternoon. If after consulting him you still think it necessary to
+leave Paris for Hereward Hold, I will send you there under proper
+protection. By the by, you succeed very well in getting away from your
+friends I think. The Count de Volaski called here while you were away
+this forenoon. He seemed disappointed in not seeing you. He looks ill.
+I never saw a man change so within the last few days. I should not wonder
+if he were on the very verge of a bad fever. I wish you had seen him. He
+was quite a friend of yours in St. Petersburg, I believe.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I used to see him every day in the public assemblies to which we were
+always going. I wish you wouldn't talk about him,&quot; gasped Valerie, with
+a nervous shudder, as she arose and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What a little misanthrope she has grown to be; but it is only a
+temporary affliction. She will get over it in a few weeks,&quot; said the
+duke to himself, as he resumed the reading of his newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Valerie arose at her usual hour, and breakfasted
+<i>tete-a-tete</i> with the duke. She knew that this day must decide her
+fate, and she tried to nerve herself to bear all that it might bring her,
+even as the frailest women sometimes brace themselves to bear torture and
+death.</p>
+
+<p>At eleven in the forenoon, the duke left the house to go to the Hotel de
+Ville to keep an appointment that would detain him until three in the
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie knew all about this appointment, and had therefore fixed the hour
+of noon as the safest time for her interview with the count.</p>
+
+<p>Twelve o'clock, therefore, found her dressed in her deepest mourning, and
+seated in her private drawing-room, awaiting the advent of her most
+dreaded visitor, Waldemar de Volaski.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2>
+
+<h3>A SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Valerie, in an agony of terror, waited for her expected visitor.</p>
+
+<p>Did she love him, then?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no! Horror at the position in which she found herself so filled her
+soul as to leave no room for any softer emotion. She loved no one in the
+world, not even herself; she wished for nothing on earth but death, and
+only her religious faith, or her superstitious fears, restrained her from
+laying sacrilegious hands upon her own life.</p>
+
+<p>While watching for her dreaded guest she bitterly communed with herself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No one ever really loved me,&quot; she moaned. &quot;Every one connected with me
+loved only himself, or herself, and sacrificed me. My father and my
+mother cared only for themselves and their own ambitions, and so they
+immolated me, their only child, to their gratification; my suitors loved
+only themselves and their passions, and immolated me! And I&mdash;I love no
+one and hate myself! hate the creature they have all combined to make me!
+If it were not for that which comes after death I would not exist an hour
+longer&mdash;I would die!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As she muttered this the little ormolu clock on the mantlepiece struck
+twelve.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The hour has come. He will be here in another moment! Oh, why could
+he not leave me in peace? Oh, what shall I do?&quot; she exclaimed, in her
+excitement rising from her seat and beginning to pace up and down the
+room with wild, disordered steps.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes she stopped to listen, but without hearing any sound that might
+herald the approach of a visitor; then resumed her wild and purposeless
+walk, until the clock struck the quarter, when she suddenly threw herself
+down in the chair, muttering:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Fifteen minutes late! I do not want to see him! But since he is to come,
+I wish he had come, and this was all over.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Another quarter of an hour passed, and her visitor had not arrived.</p>
+
+<p>Again in her anxiety she arose and began to walk the floor and to look
+out occasionally at a window which commanded the approach to the house.</p>
+
+<p>No one, however, was in sight.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down again, muttering:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This seems an intentional affront, an insult. He treats me with no
+consideration. Well, perhaps I deserve none. Oh! I wish I knew to whom my
+duty is due! I wish I had some one of whom I dared to ask counsel! I
+certainly did wed Waldemar. I certainly did believe him to be my lawful
+husband, and <i>then</i> my duty was clearly due to him. But my parents
+came and tore me away from him, and told me that my marriage was not
+lawful, and that Waldemar de Volaski was not my husband. Then they took
+me to Paris, and told me that I must forget the very existence of my
+lover. Still, I should never have dreamed of another marriage while
+I thought Waldemar lived; for I loved him with all my heart, and only
+wished to live until I should be of an age to contract a legal marriage
+with him, with whom I had already made a sacramental one. But they told
+me that Waldemar was <i>dead</i>, slain by the hand of my father! and
+they bade me keep the secret of my first marriage, and to contract a
+second one with the Duke of Hereward! Oh, if I had but known that
+Waldemar still lived, the tortures of the Inquisition should not have
+forced me into this second marriage! But believing Waldemar to be dead,
+I suffered myself to be persecuted, worried and <i>weakened</i> into this
+marriage! Oh! that I had been strong enough to bear the miseries of my
+home; to resist the forces brought to bear against me! Oh, that I had
+been brave enough to tell the whole truth of my marriage with Waldemar de
+Volaski to the Duke of Hereward before he had committed his honor to my
+keeping by making me his wife! That course would have saved me then with
+less of suffering than I have to bear now. But I weakly permitted myself
+to be forced, with this secret on my conscience, into a marriage with
+the Duke of Hereward. And now I dare not tell him the truth! And now my
+first husband has come back and hates me for my inconstancy, and my
+second husband knows nothing about it! Now to whom do I rightly belong!
+To whom do I owe duty? To Waldemar? To the duke? Who knows? Not I! One
+thing only is clear to me, that I must not live with either of them as
+a wife, henceforth! Heaven forgive those who forced me into this
+position, for I fear that I never can do so!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>While these wild and bitter thoughts were passing through her tortured
+mind the clock struck one and startled her from her reverie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! something has prevented his coming,&quot; she said to herself, as she
+once more looked out of the window. Then she relapsed into her sad
+reverie.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can never, never be happy in this world again&mdash;never! But if I only
+knew my duty I would do it. I don't know it. I only know that I must go
+clear away from both these&mdash;&quot; She shuddered and left the sentence
+incomplete even in her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>Just then a footman entered with a note upon a little silver tray.</p>
+
+<p>She took it languidly, but all her languor vanished as she recognized the
+handwriting of Waldemar de Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who brought this?&quot; she inquired of the servant.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Un garcon from the Hotel de Russe, madame.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is he waiting for an answer?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oui, madame.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She had asked these questions partly to procrastinate the opening of the
+note she dreaded to read. Now slowly and sadly she drew it from its
+envelope, unfolded and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Hotel de Russe</span>, Tuesday Morning.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Unfaithful Wife</span>&mdash;An engagement at the Tuileries, for the very
+hour you named, prevents me from meeting you at your appointed time.
+Write by the messenger who brings this, and tell me when you can see me.</p>
+
+<p>Your wronged husband, <span class="smcaps">Volaski.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>While reading this, she shivered as with an ague. When she had finished
+she crushed it up in her hand and put it in her pocket with the intention
+of destroying it on the first opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>Then she went to a little ornamental writing-desk that stood in the
+corner of the room, and took a pencil and a sheet of note paper and wrote
+these words, without date or signature:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;I was ready to see you this noon. I cannot at this instant tell at what
+hour I can be certain to be alone; but will find out and let you know in
+the course of this day.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>She placed this note in an envelope, sealed it with a plain seal, and
+sent it down by the footman to Count Waldemar's messenger.</p>
+
+<p>Then she hurried up to her own bedchamber, rang for her maid, changed her
+dress for a white wrapper, and threw herself down, exhausted, upon a
+lounge.</p>
+
+<p>She was almost fainting.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This must be something like death! Oh, if it were only death!&quot; she
+sighed, as she closed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later she was found here by the Duke of Hereward, who showed no
+surprise at finding her reclining there, but only said that Doctor
+Velpeau was below stairs and would like to see her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let him come up, then,&quot; coldly answered Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>And the duke himself went to conduct the physician to his patient.</p>
+
+<p>He left them together for an hour, at the end of which Doctor Velpeau
+came down and reported to the anxious husband that his wife was not
+seriously out of health that her malady was more of the mind than the
+body, and that amusement and society would be her best medicines.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just what I cannot prevail on her to take,&quot; said the duke, with an
+impatient shrug. &quot;She will go nowhere, will see nobody; but shuts herself
+up and mopes. Now, to-day, I have received intelligence concerning the
+rather intricately embarrassed affairs of the late Baron de la Motte,
+which will oblige me to start for Algiers, for a personal interview with
+his heir-at-law, an officer in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, who cannot get
+leave of absence to come to me. Now the question is, Doctor, shall I take
+the duchess with me, or leave her here? Is she well enough to be left, or
+strong enough to travel?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Both! She is both. I assure you she is not at all ill in body. Put the
+question to herself. If she should be willing to go, take her. The trip
+will do her good. If she prefers to stay, leave her. She is in no danger
+of illness or death.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I should be gone, probably, a fortnight. Could I, with safety to
+herself, take her so far away, for so long a time, from the best medical
+advice? or could I, on the other hand, leave her here for so distant a
+bourne and so long an absence?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;With perfect safety; barring, of course, the human possibilities to
+which even the most fortunate, the most healthful and the best-guarded
+among us are more or less subject. But again I counsel you to leave it to
+the duchess, whether she shall remain here or accompany you to Algiers.
+She is equally fit for either plan,&quot; said the great physician, as he drew
+on his gloves.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will take the duchess with me, if she will go. If not, I will leave
+here under your charge, Doctor,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Much honored, I am sure, in attending her grace,&quot; replied the French
+physician, with the extravagant politeness of his countrymen.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Doctor Velpeau had gone, the Duke of Hereward went up stairs
+to see his wife, and, sitting by the lounge on which she still reclined,
+he told her of the urgent business that required his immediate departure
+for Algiers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Algiers! Why, that is in Africa! another quarter of the globe! a long,
+long way off!&quot; she exclaimed, starting up with an eagerness that the duke
+mistook for alarm and distress.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, dear, it is not. It only <i>sounds</i> so. It is about eight
+hundred miles nearly due south of Paris. We go by train to Marseilles in
+a few hours, and by steamer to Algiers in a couple of days. You will go
+with me, dear. The change will do you good,&quot; said the duke, gayly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I! Oh, no, I could not think of such a thing! Pray, pray, do not ask me
+to do so!&quot; exclaimed Valerie, in a tone of such genuine terror that the
+duke hastened to say:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not, if you do not wish it, my love. I should be happier to
+have you with me, and I think the trip would benefit your health, but&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did that horrid doctor advise you to take me to Algiers?&quot; testily
+interrupted the young duchess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He said the change would do you good if you should like to go; but not
+otherwise. He said that you should be left to decide for yourself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then he has quite as much judgment as the world gives him credit for,
+and that is not the case with every one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now you are left to your own choice, to go or not to go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I choose not to go, most decidedly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well,&quot; said the duke, with a disappointed air; &quot;then there is no
+need that I should delay my departure for another day. I shall leave for
+Marseilles by the night's express, Valerie.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As you please,&quot; she wearily replied.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I may be gone a fortnight, Valerie, and I may not be gone more than ten
+days; the length of my absence will depend upon contingencies; but I
+shall hurry back with all possible dispatch.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I am sure you will,&quot; she answered, because she did not know what
+else to say.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And I will write to you every day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you write to me every day?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, if you wish me to do so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course I wish you to do so, my love,&quot; said the duke, as he stooped
+and pressed his lips on the pale cheek of his &quot;wayward child,&quot; as he
+sometimes called her.</p>
+
+<p>He then left the room to give orders to his valet and groom to pack up
+and be ready to attend him on his journey.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she found herself alone, Valerie arose, slipped on a
+dressing-gown, sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote the following
+note, as usual, without name, date, or signature:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;Come to me at noon to-morrow; or, if you cannot do so, write and
+fix your own hour, any time will suit me equally well, or rather,
+<i>ill</i>.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>She put this note in an envelope, sealed it, and directed it to Monsieur
+Le Count de Volaski, Russian Embassy.</p>
+
+<p>Then she rang for her maid, and sent her out to post the letter.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie made an effort to dress for dinner that evening, and dined with
+the duke for the last time&mdash;yes, for the very last time in this world.</p>
+
+<p>After the Duke had risen from the table and pressed a parting kiss upon
+her lips before leaving her to enter the carriage that was to take him to
+the railway station, she never saw his face again&mdash;nay more&mdash;though she
+honored and revered him, she never even wished or intended to see him
+again.</p>
+
+<p>She witnessed his departure with tearful eyes, yet with a sense of
+infinite relief. <i>One of them was gone!</i> Oh, how she wished that
+the other would go also!</p>
+
+<p>She loved neither of them. She had lost the power of loving. Her love, by
+her awful position, was frightened into its death-throes. All she desired
+to do, was to get away from them both, and like a haunted hare, or
+wounded bird, creep into some safe hiding-place to die in peace.</p>
+
+<p>She retired early that evening, and, for the first time for several days,
+slept in peace.</p>
+
+<p>The next day she arose, and, contrary to her custom in the morning,
+dressed herself to receive company.</p>
+
+<p>She waited all the forenoon in expectation of receiving a note from the
+Count de Volaski, either accepting her appointment or arranging another
+one; but when the clock struck the hour of noon without her having heard
+from him, she naturally concluded that he meant to answer her note in
+person, by coming at the hour named. So she went down into the small
+drawing-room to be ready to receive him.</p>
+
+<p>She was right in her conclusions; for she had scarcely been seated five
+minutes when a footman entered and presented the count's card.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Show the gentleman up,&quot; she said in a voice that she vainly tried to
+render steady.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes passed, the door opened, and Count de Volaski entered the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>She arose to receive him, but did not advance a single step to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>He came on, and bowed low&mdash;much lower than any ceremony required.</p>
+
+<p>She bent her head, and silently pointed to a chair at a short distance.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Up to this time not a word had passed between them.</p>
+
+<p>A monk and a nun, who keep their vows, could not have met more coldly
+than this pair who had once plighted their hands and hearts in marriage
+before the altar of the Church of St. Marie.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you insisted upon this interview. Now you have it. What do you
+want of me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I want you to leave the Duke of Hereward,&quot; he answered, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are right, so far. But the Duke of Hereward has saved me the trouble
+of taking the initiative step. He has left me. I shall never see him,
+more.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How! What!&quot; exclaimed de Volaski, starting up.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Duke of Hereward left for Algiers last night. I shall not remain
+here to receive him when he returns.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You told him, then, and he has left you? Good!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I have not told him; he knows nothing&mdash;not even that he has left me
+forever. Business of a financial nature connected with his duties as
+executor of my father's estates, takes him to Algiers for a few weeks.
+During his absence I shall make arrangements for leaving this house
+forever.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie, where will you go?&quot; he inquired, in a more softened tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know&mdash;<i>not with you that is certain</i>. You were quite right
+when you said that I could not live with either&mdash;that a single life was
+the only possible one for me. I feel that it is so, and I hope that it
+will be a short one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Valerie, do not say so. You are very young yet. The duke is an elderly
+man; he will die and leave you free.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall not be free <i>while</i> <span class="smcaps">either</span> of <i>you live</i>! nor
+can I build any hope in life <i>on death</i>! Oh! I have been cruelly
+wronged, and I am very miserable, but I am not selfish or wicked,
+Waldemar.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How soon do you propose to leave this house?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know. I only know that I must go before the duke's return.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What should hinder your going at once?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I must make some provision for the miserable remnant of life left me.
+I must collect and sell my jewels and my shawls and laces, and invest the
+money in some safe place, where it will bring me interest enough to live
+cheaply in some remote country neighborhood. Wretched as I am, soon as I
+hope to die, I do not wish to be dependant on <i>you</i>, Waldemar.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, nor do I wish anything but independence and honor for <i>you</i>,
+Valerie. But you must let me assist you in realizing capital from your
+personal property, and in making other necessary arrangements for your
+removal. You cannot do this for yourself. You are more ignorant of the
+world than a child. So you must let me see you safely through this trial.
+You have no alternative, Valerie. You have no one else to consult with
+but me, and you may confide in me, for I will endeavor to forget that I
+ever called you wife, and will treat you with the reverential tenderness
+due to a dear sister. When I once have seen you safely lodged in a secure
+retreat, I will leave you there, never to intrude upon you again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks! thanks! that is the kindest course you could pursue toward me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You accept all my service then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, on the condition that I shall seem to you only as a sister. But,
+oh! Waldemar! you, who are so kind and considerate <i>now</i>, how could
+you have <i>ever</i> written to me so cruelly&mdash;calling me an unfaithful
+wife&mdash;calling yourself a wronged husband? I never was consciously
+unfaithful to any one in my life. I never voluntarily wronged any
+creature since I was born. How could you have written so cruelly,
+Waldemar?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Forgive me, Valerie! I was crazed with the contemplation of
+you,&mdash;<i>you</i> whom I considered as my own wife, living here as
+the Duchess of Hereward. Only since I have learned that the duke is
+gone&mdash;and gone forever from you, have I come to my senses. Do you
+understand me, and do you forgive me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, both; but now, do not think me rude or unkind; but you must go. It
+is not well that you should stay too long.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, Valerie,&quot; he said immediately preparing to obey her.</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand. He took it, pressed it lightly, dropped it, turned
+and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>After this day the Count de Volaski came daily to the Hotel de la Motte
+on some errand connected with the duchess' financial business. These
+interviews were as coldly formal as the most severe etiquette would have
+required.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie received frequent letters from the Duke of Hereward, in which
+he spoke of the protracted business that still kept him an unwilling
+absentee from her side; promised as speedy a return as possible;
+expressed great anxiety concerning her health, and besought her to
+write often.</p>
+
+<p>She complied with his request: she wrote daily as she had promised to do,
+but she could not write deceitfully; she told him of her health, which
+she described as no better and no worse than it had been when he left
+Paris; she told him any little political news or rumor that happened
+to be stirring, and any social gossip that she thought might interest
+or amuse him; but she deluded him by no expressions of affection or
+devotion.</p>
+
+<p>The duke's absence, that was expected to last but two weeks, was
+prolonged to six.</p>
+
+<p>Still Valerie delayed leaving the Hotel de la Motte. She shrank from
+taking the final step, until it should seem absolutely necessary.</p>
+
+<p>At length, after an absence of nearly seven weeks, the Duke of Hereward
+wrote to his young wife that he was about to return home, and would
+follow his letter in twenty-four hours.</p>
+
+<p>This letter threw her into a state of excessive nervous excitement, and
+when her daily visitor entered her room a few hours after its reception,
+he found her in this condition.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, what is the matter, Valerie? What on earth has happened?&quot; he
+inquired, in much anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The hour has come! I must go!&quot; she answered, trembling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, so much the better. You are ready to go. You have been ready for
+weeks past! Do not falter now that the time is at hand.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not falter in resolution, only in strength.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The sooner it is over the better. I will take you away this afternoon,
+if you wish.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, yes, take me away as soon as possible!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have you thought of where you would like to go first?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! I have thought and decided! I want you to take me to Italy&mdash;to St.
+Vito, where we were married, and to the vine-dresser's cottage, in the
+Apennines, where we passed the first days of our marriage, and the
+happiest days of our lives.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It will be very sad for you there,&quot; said Waldemar, compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! I know it will be so without you! for of course I must live without
+you! and though I do not love you as I used to do, because love has
+perished out of my soul, still, I know, there in that place where we
+were so happy in our honeymoon, I shall be always comparing the happy
+days that <i>were</i> with the sorrowful days that <i>are</i>!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But still, if that is so, why do you go there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Waldemar, it is the only place for me! I cannot go among entire
+strangers. I am such a coward. I am afraid in my loneliness: I should be
+driven to despair or to insanity, or worse than all, to the unpardonable
+sin of suicide! I dare not go among strangers, nor dare I go among people
+who know me as the Duchess of Hereward, or knew me as Valerie de la
+Motte, for they would scorn and abhor me, and their company would be far
+worse than the very worst solitude. No! I must go to the vine-dresser's
+cottage in the Apennines. Good Beppo and Lena knew me only as your wife
+and loved me dearly, and wept bitter tears when my father tore me away
+from you. They will be glad to see poor Valerie again! And the good
+Father Antonio, who married us! He loved us both! He will comfort and
+counsel me. Yes, Waldemar! St. Vito is my City of Refuge, and the
+vinedresser's cottage my only possible home. Take me there and leave
+me in peace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I believe you are right, Valerie. By what train would you like to leave
+Paris? There is an express that starts at seven. Could you be ready for
+that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! yes! thanks! I can be ready for that!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shall you take your maid with you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No. I shall pay her and discharge her with a present.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then I shall have to secure only two seats. I will get a coupe, if it be
+possible.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Anything you like! Go now, Waldemar!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski pressed her hand and withdrew; but before leaving the
+room he turned back and inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shall I come here for you, or shall I meet you at the station?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Meet me at the station, of course! Spare my poor name as long as it can
+be spared! In twenty-four hours it will be in everybody's mouth, and the
+worst that can be said of it will seem too good! And yet they will all
+be wrong, and I shall not deserve their condemnation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Count de Volaski waved his hand, and hurried from the room and the house,
+for he had many hasty preparations to make for the sudden journey.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he had gone Valerie set about making her final arrangements.
+She paid off her maid and discharged her with a handsome present, but
+without a word of explanation. She sent off her luggage to the
+railway-station, and ordered the carriage to take her to the same point.
+She took in her hand a small bag containing her money, jewels, and other
+small valuables, when she seated herself in her carriage and gave the
+order to her coachman. And so she left her own magnificent home forever.</p>
+
+<p>The wondering servants, who had been too well trained even to look any
+comment in their mistress' hearing, let loose their tongues as they
+watched the carriage roll away.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE STORM BURSTS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward arrived at home the next morning. When the
+fiacre that brought him from the railway station rolled through the
+porte-cochere into the court yard and drew up before the main entrance
+of the Hotel de la Motte, he sprang out with almost boyish eagerness, and
+ran up the stairs, and rang and knocked with vehemence and impatience.</p>
+
+<p>The gray-haired porter opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How is the duchess, Leblanc? Has she risen? Send some one to let her
+know that I have arrived,&quot; he exclaimed, hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p><i>&quot;Helas!</i> Monseigneur!&quot; answered the venerable old servant, in
+a distressed tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you mean? Is the duchess ill? I got a letter from her yesterday,
+in which she said she was quite well. It met me at Marseilles. She
+continues well. I hope? Why don't you speak?&quot; impatiently demanded
+the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Mille pardons</i>. Monseigneur; but madame has gone,&quot; sadly replied
+Leblanc.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you say?&quot; exclaimed the duke, discrediting the evidence of his
+own ears.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Mille pardons</i>, Monsieur le Duc, Madame la Duchesse has gone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gone! the duchess gone!&quot; exclaimed the duke, in amazement, not unmixed
+with incredulity.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oui; Monseigneur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gone! the duchess gone! Where?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Miserable</i> that I am, Monseigneur, I do not know. I cannot tell.
+Will Monsieur le Duc deign to consult the coachman who drove Madame la
+Duchesse in the carriage when she left the house last night, not to
+return. He can probably give Monseigneur some information,&quot; respectfully
+suggested the old porter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Send Dubourg to me in the library, then,&quot; said the duke, as he strode
+down the hall, full of vague alarm, but far from suspecting the fatal
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the coachman came to him in the library, and in answer to his
+questions told how he had driven the duchess alone to the railway station
+to catch the night express for Marseilles.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The night express for Marseilles! Then the foolish child was going to
+meet me, and must have passed me on the road!&quot; said the duke to himself,
+with a strange blending of flattered affection and anxious fears.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do, Dubourg. The duchess went down to the seaport to meet me
+on the steamer, and we have missed each other on the road. It is a pity,
+but it cannot be helped!&quot; said the duke dismissing his coachman by a wave
+of his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed and retired.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Silly child, to go and do such an absurd and indiscreet thing as that!
+I would go down after her by the next train only I should be sure to pass
+her on the road again; for she will hasten immediately back when she
+finds that I have arrived at Marseilles and left for Paris,&quot; said the
+duke to himself, as he rang for his valet and retired to his own room to
+dress for breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>But there, on the bureau, he found a letter addressed to him in the
+handwriting of Valerie.</p>
+
+<p>At the moment he picked it up his valet entered the room in answer to his
+ring.</p>
+
+<p>Some intuition warned the duke to send the man away while he should read
+his letter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have a warm bath ready for me at nine o'clock, Dubois, and order
+breakfast at half-past,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The duke dropped into a chair, and with a strange, vague foreboding of
+evil, opened the letter.</p>
+
+<p>Well might he shrink from the dread perusal of the story&mdash;the story of
+her cowardice and folly, and of his own humiliation and despair.</p>
+
+<p>It was Valerie's full confession, the revelation of her woeful history as
+it is known to the reader, with one single reservation&mdash;the name of her
+lover.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward had wonderful powers of self-control. He read the
+fatal letter through to the bitter end. Then he folded it up carefully,
+and locked it up in a cabinet for safe-keeping.</p>
+
+<p>And when, fifteen minutes later, his valet came to tell him that it was
+nine o'clock, and his bath was ready, no one could have guessed from his
+looks that a storm had passed through his soul.</p>
+
+<p>He was rather pale, certainly; but that might well be explained by the
+fatigue of a long night's journey, and his gray mustache and beard
+concealed the close compression of his lips. He went through his morning
+toilet and his breakfast with apparently his usual composure.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, however, he instituted a cautious but close
+investigation of the circumstances attending the flight of the duchess.</p>
+
+<p>The servants, having nothing to gain from concealment and nothing to fear
+from communication, spoke freely of the daily visits of the Count de
+Volaski, continued through the seven weeks of the duke's absence.</p>
+
+<p>Then the dreadful light of conviction burst full upon his startled
+intelligence. Count Waldemar de Volaski had been her acquaintance at the
+Court of St. Petersburg! He it was, then, who had been the hero of her
+foolish love story and mad marriage, before the duke had ever seen her.
+He it was who had been her constant visitor during the duke's absence.
+He it was who was the companion of her flight!</p>
+
+<p>The duke did not believe Valerie's solemn declaration, that she left
+Paris only to isolate herself from every one and live a single, lonely
+life. Valerie had deceived him once, by keeping a fatal secret from him,
+and he would not trust her now. He believed that she had gone away with
+the Russian count to remain with him. The duke's rage and jealousy were
+roused and burning against them both.</p>
+
+<p>He was determined to find out the place of their retreat, and to take
+immediate and signal vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>He put the case in the hands of the most expert detectives, with
+instructions to use the utmost caution and secrecy in their
+investigations.</p>
+
+<p>He permitted his first theory of the duchess' absence, made in good faith
+at the time it was first stated&mdash;that she had gone down to Marseilles to
+meet him, and had missed him on the way&mdash;to prevail in the household,
+and penetrate through that medium to the world of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>He left the Hotel de la Motte, which he had only occupied in right of his
+wife's family, and saying that he should not return until the arrival of
+the duchess, he took up his residence at &quot;<i>Meurice's</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He shut himself up in his apartments, and never left them. He refused to
+see all visitors except the detectives in his employment. Thus he escaped
+the annoyance of having to answer questions and to make explanations.</p>
+
+<p>He had remained at &quot;<i>Meurice's</i>&quot; about five days, when Villeponte,
+the chief detective, came to him and told him that they had succeeded in
+making out the facts connected with the flight of the duchess.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, controlling all manifestations of excitement, directed the
+officer to proceed with the story at once.</p>
+
+<p>Villeponte then related that on the Wednesday of the preceding week,
+madame, the Duchess of Hereward, had left Paris in company with Monsieur
+the Count de Volaski; that they took a coupe on the evening express for
+Marseilles, traveling alone together without servants or attendants; that
+they were now domiciliated at a vine-dresser's cottage in the little
+village of San Vito, at the foot of the Appenines.</p>
+
+<p>Having concluded his information, Monsieur Villeponte asked for further
+instructions.</p>
+
+<p>The duke told the detective that he had no further orders to give; but
+thanked him for his zeal, congratulated him on his success, paid him
+liberally, and bowed him out.</p>
+
+<p>That evening the Duke of Hereward, unattended by groom or valet, took a
+coupe on the night express train for the south of France, and started for
+Marseilles, en route for Italy.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening of the third day after leaving Paris he reached his
+destination&mdash;the little hamlet of San Vito at the foot of the Appenines.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped at the small hotel.</p>
+
+<p>Coming alone and unattended, carrying a small valise in his hand, and
+looking weary, dusty, and travel-stained, the Duke of Hereward was not
+intuitively recognized as a person of distinction, and therefore escaped
+the overwhelming amount of attention usually lavished upon English
+tourists of rank and wealth by continental hosts.</p>
+
+<p>He was shown to a little room blinded by clustering vines, and there left
+to his own devices.</p>
+
+<p>He ordered a bottle of the native wine, and sent for the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>The latter came promptly&mdash;a thin, little, old man, with a skin like
+parchment, hair and beard like a black horse's mane, and eyes like
+glowworms.</p>
+
+<p>He saluted the shabby stranger with courtesy, but without obsequiousness;
+for how should he know that the traveler was a duke?</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pray sit down. I wish to ask you some questions,&quot; said the Duke of
+Hereward, with a natural, courteous dignity that immediately modified the
+landlord's estimate of his value.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Non, signor; but I will answer questions,&quot; he declared, as he bowed
+deferentially, and remained standing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Did a gentleman and lady arrive here about ten days ago!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signor&mdash;a grand milord, and a beautiful miladi. But they have been
+here before, signor, about two years ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! Where are they now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At their old lodgings, signor&mdash;at the cottage of Beppo, the
+vine-dresser. The signor is a good friend of the young milord and
+miladi?&quot; questioned the landlord, deferentially, but very anxiously; for
+just then it flashed upon his memory that two years previous another
+grand &quot;signor,&quot; of reverend age like this one, had come inquiring about
+the young pair, and had ended in breaking up their union for the time.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have known the lady for about a year, or a little longer; the
+gentleman only a few months; but I can scarcely lay claim to so an
+intimate a relation to them as 'friendship' would imply,&quot; answered the
+duke, evasively, and putting a severe constraint upon himself.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord was completely deceived and thrown off his guard.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How far from the village does this vine-dresser live?&quot; inquired the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just on the outside, signor&mdash;just at the foot of the mountain&mdash;about
+three miles from this house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can I have a carriage to take me there this evening.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signor, assuredly; but will not the signor refresh himself before he
+leaves?&quot; inquired the host.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; I will refresh myself after I come back. Let me have the carriage as
+soon as possible.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signor,&quot; said the landlord, bowing himself out.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, unable to rest, even after a long and fatiguing journey, walked
+up and down the floor of his little room, until the landlord re-appeared
+and announced the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>The duke caught up his rough traveling-cap, clapped it on his head,
+hurried out and entered the rustic vehicle, dignified with the name
+of a carriage.</p>
+
+<p>And in another moment he was rolling off in the direction of the
+Vine-dresser's cottage at the foot of the mountain.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE RIVALS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The sun was setting behind the western ridge, and throwing a deep shadow
+over the valley, as the rustic vehicle conveying the Duke of Hereward
+drew up before the vinedresser's cottage, nestled almost out of sight
+amid thick foliage and deep shade.</p>
+
+<p>It was the hour of rest, and Beppo, the vine-dresser, sat at the gate,
+strumming an old, dilapidated lute; his red jacket and white shirt making
+the only bits of bright color in the sombre picture.</p>
+
+<p>As the rude carriage stopped before the gate, Beppo arose and put aside
+his lute, and stood with a look of expectancy on his dark face.</p>
+
+<p>The duke did not alight, but put his head out of the carriage window and
+beckoned the man to approach him.</p>
+
+<p>Beppo came up, curiosity expressing itself in every feature of his
+speaking countenance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have a young gentleman and lady&mdash;a young married couple&mdash;staying
+with you?&quot; said the duke, but speaking in the Italian language.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Excellenzo. The signora is here. The signor went away on the same
+day on which he brought the signora,&quot; deferentially answered the peasant,
+with a profound bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The man has gone!&quot; exclaimed the duke, losing his caution and his
+politeness in the phrenzy of baffled vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signer, the man has gone!&quot; with another deep bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where, then, has he gone?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To Paris, signor; but the signora is still here. Will the signor deign
+to come into my poor house and see the signora, then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See <i>her</i>! No!&quot; vehemently exclaimed the duke. Then recollecting
+himself, he inquired:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are you sure the man has gone to Paris?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signor; I drove him myself, in my little cart, to San Stephano,
+where he took the train.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You say that he left on the same day in which he brought the lady here?&quot;
+inquired the duke, with more interest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si, signor. They arrived in the afternoon, and he went away again in the
+evening.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hum. Why did he go so soon?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Affairs, signor. It is not to be thought he would have left the signora
+so sick if it had not been for affairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The lady is sick, then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very sick, signor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the matter with her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We do not know, signor. She will not have a doctor, but sits and pines.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! no doubt,&quot; said the duke to himself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will the signor condescend to honor our poor shed by coming under its
+roof, where he may for himself see the signora?&quot; said the vine-dresser,
+with much courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, no. Back to the hotel!&quot; he added, to the driver, who immediately
+turned his horse's head to the village.</p>
+
+<p>With a parting nod to the courteous vine-dresser, the duke sank back on
+his seat, closed his eyes, and gave his mind up to thought.</p>
+
+<p>Volaski had gone back to Paris. Why had he left Valerie and gone there?
+To resign his position in the embassy? To settle up business previous to
+taking up his permanent abode in Italy? Or had he returned so quickly to
+Paris only to conceal his crime and deceive the world into the opinion
+that he had not been out of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>The duke did not know what his motive for so sudden a return could be;
+but judged the last-mentioned theory of causes to be the most probable.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know what <i>else</i> the caitiff has gone back for; but I know
+one thing&mdash;he has gone there to give me satisfaction,&quot; said the duke,
+grimly, to himself.</p>
+
+<p>The horse, with the prospect of stall and fodder before him, made much
+better time in going home than in coming away, and so, in less than half
+an hour, the rumbling vehicle drew up before the little hotel.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord himself came out to meet the returning traveler.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope the illustrious signor found the excellent signor and the
+beautiful signora in good health,&quot; said the polite host, as he opened
+the carriage-door for his guest.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The beautiful signora is sick and the excellent signor is gone,&quot; said
+the duke, grimly, as he got out.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Misericordia!</i>&quot; cried the host, with a look of unutterable
+woe.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do. Now let me have some supper as soon as you can get it, and
+when it is ready to be served, come yourself and tell me why I was not
+informed of the young man's departure before taking that useless drive
+to the vine-dresser's,&quot; said the duke, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pardon, illustrissimo, if I tell you now. We did not know the young
+signor had gone. He did not come this way. He must have taken another
+route and got his train at San Stephano,&quot; humbly replied the host.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! yes! the vine-dresser did tell me he had driven the man over to San
+Stephano. Well, then, hurry up my supper,&quot; said the duke, passing on to
+his room.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord looked after him, muttering to himself:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! so not finding the excellent young signor, he has turned his back on
+the beautiful young signora. I know it! The <i>other</i> ancient and
+illustrious signor, who raised the devil in Beppo's cottage last year,
+and carried off the bride, was her father; but this illustrissimo is
+<i>his</i> father, wherefore he cares not to bring away the lovely
+signora.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The host then gave the necessary orders for the duke's supper to be
+prepared, and when it was ready he took it up to his guest.</p>
+
+<p>The duke had no more questions to ask, and only two orders to
+give&mdash;breakfast at seven o'clock on the next morning, and a conveyance
+to take him to the railway station at half-past seven.</p>
+
+<p>The next day the duke set out on his return to Paris, and on the fourth
+evening thereafter found himself re-established at his comfortable
+quarters at Meurice's.</p>
+
+<p>He changed his dress, dined, and ordered the files of English and French
+newspapers for the past week to be brought to him.</p>
+
+<p>He was interested only in political affairs when asking for the papers,
+and so he was quite as much astonished as grieved when his eyes fell upon
+this paragraph in the <i>Times</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;A painful rumor reaches us from Paris. It is to the effect that a
+certain young and lovely duchess, who made her <i>debut</i> in English
+society as a bride only twelve months since, has left her home under the
+protection of a certain Polish count, attached to the Russian Embassy.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>Stricken to the soul with shame, the unhappy duke sank back in his chair
+and remained as one paralyzed for several minutes; then slowly recovering
+himself he took up other papers, one by one, to see if they too recorded
+his dishonor.</p>
+
+<p>Yes! each paper had its paragraph devoted to the one grand sensation of
+the day&mdash;the flight of the beautiful Duchess of Hereward with the young
+Russian count; and very few dealt with the deplorable case as delicately
+as the <i>Times</i> had done.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So my dishonor is the talk of all Paris and London!&quot; groaned the duke,
+dropping his head upon his chest. &quot;If all the civilization of the
+nineteenth century had power to stay my arm in its vengeance, it has lost
+it now! And nothing is left for me to do but to kill the man and divorce
+the woman.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was a certain Colonel Morris, of the Tenth Hussars, staying at
+Paris on leave.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sat down at his writing-table and dashed off a hasty note to
+this compatriot, asking him to come to him immediately.</p>
+
+<p>Then he rang the bell and gave the note to his own groom, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take this to Colonel Morris, at the <i>Trois Freres</i>, and wait an
+answer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man took the message, bowed and hurried away.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sank back in his chair with a deep sigh, and covered his face
+with his hands, and so awaited the return of his messenger.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour crept slowly by, and then the groom came back, opened the
+door, and announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Colonel Morris.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The gallant colonel entered the room, looking as little like the dead
+shot and notorious duellist he was reported to be, as any fine gentleman
+could.</p>
+
+<p>He was a tall, slight, fair and refined looking young man, exquisite in
+dress, soft in speech, and suave in manners.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have guessed the reason why I have sent for you, Morris?&quot; said the
+duke, advancing to meet him, and plunging into the middle of his subject.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; murmured the colonel, sinking into the seat his host silently
+offered him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You can go, Tompkins. I will ring when I want you,&quot; said the duke,
+throwing himself into his own chair.</p>
+
+<p>When the man had bowed himself out, and the duke and his visitor were
+left alone, the former said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know why I have sent for you here. Now what do you advise?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You must blow out the man's brains and break the woman's heart,&quot; softly
+and sweetly replied the dandy duellist.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The question arises whether the man has any brains to blow out, or the
+woman any heart to break,&quot; grimly commented the duke. &quot;However,&quot; he
+added, &quot;you are right, Morris, I must kill the man&mdash;divorce the woman.
+You are with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To the death,&quot; answered the <i>elegant</i>, in the same easy tone in
+which he ever uttered even the most ferocious words.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will take my challenge?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;With much pleasure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wonder where the fellow is to be found. At the Russian Embassy,
+I suppose,&quot; observed the duke, as he turned to his writing-table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, not there. The Count de Volaski has withdrawn or been dismissed from
+the Embassy. It is not certainly known which. He is, meanwhile, at the
+Trois Freres. He has the honor of being my fellow-lodger,&quot; suavely
+observed the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There,&quot; said the duke, as he folded and directed his note, &quot;no time
+should be lost in an affair of this sort. It is not yet ten o'clock. You
+may even deliver this challenge to-night, if you will be so kind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly,&quot; murmured the graceful colonel rising.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I leave everything absolutely in your hands. Make every arrangement you
+may think proper; I will agree to it all; and many thanks,&quot; said the
+duke, striving to maintain a calm exterior, while his spirit was troubled
+within him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Expect me back to-night. I may be late, but I shall certainly report
+myself here,&quot; were the parting words of Colonel Morris as he left the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>The duke walked slowly up and down the floor for nearly half an hour, and
+then he sat down to his desk and employed some hours in writing letters
+to his family, friends and men of business in England.</p>
+
+<p>When he had completed his task he sealed and directed all these letters
+and locked them in his desk.</p>
+
+<p>At a quarter past twelve the colonel returned to the hotel, and
+immediately presented himself at the duke's apartments.</p>
+
+<p>He entered with a soft smile, and gently sank into a seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&quot; cheerfully responded the second; &quot;everything is pleasantly
+arranged. I had the good fortune of finding the count 'with himself,'
+as they say here. I explained my errand and delivered your missive. He
+read it and expressed his gratification at its reception, declaring that
+you had anticipated him by but a few hours, as he should certainly have
+called you out immediately upon hearing of your arrival in Paris.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The diabolical villain!&quot; hotly exclaimed the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He claimed the first right to the lady in question, and affirmed that it
+was your grace who had appropriated his wife&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>O-h-h-h!</i> when shall I have the opportunity of shooting him!&quot;
+cried the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By and by,&quot; soothingly responded the colonel. &quot;He referred me to his
+friend, Baron Blowmonozoff, then staying at the same house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Blowmonozoff! Yes, I know him. A very good fellow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A gentleman, I think. Of course I went directly from the presence of the
+count to that of the baron, who received me with much politeness, and was
+so kind as to express the pleasure he should feel in negotiating with me
+the terms of so interesting a meeting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And the terms, Colonel! What are they?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am coming to them. The meeting is to take place at sunrise in the wood
+of Vincennes. We are to leave here an hour before dawn, in order to be on
+the spot in time. The weapons are to be pistols; the distance ten paces.
+Other minor details will be arranged on the spot. We shall each take a
+surgeon. I have engaged Doctor Legare. We will call and pick him up on
+our way to the ground. And now all we have got to do is to ring for the
+English waiter here, and get him to send us some coffee before we go out.
+I will see to that also, as I have taken a room in the house, and intend
+to stay here to-night, so as to be up in time in the morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks very much. You are really very good to take so much trouble,&quot;
+said the duke, with some emotion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No trouble, I assure you, duke; quite a pleasure,&quot; serenely answered the
+colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My friend, I have left half a dozen letters locked up in my
+writing-desk. I shall hand the key of that desk to you as we go out.
+If I should fall, I hope you will take charge of the desk and see to
+the delivery of the letters at their proper addresses,&quot; said the duke,
+more gravely than he had spoken before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, with much pleasure. Have you also made your will?&quot; cheerfully
+inquired the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; shortly replied the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then permit me to say that I think you should do so, by all means.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is no need. My estates are all entailed. My personal property is
+not worth winning. The&mdash;duchess is provided by her own dower, which came
+out of her own property, I am thankful to say. No, there is no need of a
+will.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then allow me to suggest that we ought to go to bed. It is now two
+o'clock. We must be up at five. We have just three hours to sleep,
+and&mdash;if you have no other commissions for me&mdash;I will retire,&quot; said the
+colonel, smoothly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Many thanks. I believe there is nothing more to be said or done
+to-night,&quot; responded the duke, in a desponding tone&mdash;for it <i>cannot</i>
+be an exhilarating anticipation to have to get up in the morning and
+stand up to murder, or be murdered, even where the duellist is the
+bravest of men, backed by the serenest of seconds.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then, since there is no further use for me this evening, I will say
+good-night and pleasant dreams,&quot; said the colonel, suavely, as he slid
+from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Good-night and pleasant dreams to a duellist on the eve of a duel!
+Was it a sarcasm on the colonel's part? By no means; it was only the
+manifestation of his habitual smooth politeness.</p>
+
+<p>The duke, left to himself, walked up and down the floor for a few
+minutes, and then rang for his valet to attend him, and retired to bed,
+leaving orders to be called at five o'clock in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Though left in quietness, he could not compose himself to sleep, but
+tossed and tumbled from side to side, spending the most wakeful and the
+most miserable night he had ever known in the whole course of his life.
+The time seemed stretched out upon a rack of torture, until the four
+hours extended to forty; for from the moment he had lain down he had not
+slept an instant, until he was startled by a rap at his bedroom door, and
+the voice of his valet calling:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you please, your grace, the clock has struck five; the coffee is
+ready, and the cab is at the door.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then come in and dress me quickly,&quot; answered the duke, rising, as the
+prompt servant entered and handed a dressing-gown.</p>
+
+<p>The toilet of the duke was quickly made.</p>
+
+<p>When he passed into the next room, he found the breakfast table laid and
+the colonel waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, Duke. I hope you slept well. The day promises to be
+delightful. We have no time to lose, however, if we are to be on the
+ground at sunrise. Shall we have our coffee?&quot; serenely inquired the
+second.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly&mdash;Tompkins, touch the bell,&quot; replied the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The obedient valet rang, and a waiter entered with the breakfast-tray,
+which he set upon the table and proceeded to arrange.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Take this case of pistols down very carefully, and place it in the cab,
+and put in a railway rug also,&quot; quietly directed the colonel, after the
+waiter had completed the arrangement of the breakfast table.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What possible use can we make of a railway rug on such a mild morning as
+this?&quot; gloomily inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel looked calmly at the questioner, and quietly replied:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To cover the body of the fallen man, whoever he may happen to be. I am
+so used to these affairs that I know what will be wanted beforehand.
+Shall we sit down to breakfast?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Now the duke was a courageous man, but he shuddered at the coolness of
+his second, as he assented.</p>
+
+<p>They sat down to the table and drank their coffee in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Then with the assistance of the obsequious Mr. Tompkins, they drew on
+light overcoats suitable to the autumnal morning, and went down stairs,
+caps and gloves in hand, and entered the carriage that was to take them
+to the appointed place.</p>
+
+<p>On their way they stopped at the Rue du Bains and took the surgeon who
+had been engaged to attend them.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Legare was a young graduate who had just commenced practice, and was
+eager for the fray.</p>
+
+<p>He came into the carriage, bringing a rather ostentatious looking case of
+instruments and roll of bandages.</p>
+
+<p>On being introduced by the second, he bowed to the duke and took his
+seat.</p>
+
+<p>The carriage started again.</p>
+
+<p>It was yet dark.</p>
+
+<p>After an hour's ride they reached a quiet, solitary glade in the wood of
+Vincennes.</p>
+
+<p>The carriage drove up under some trees on one side.</p>
+
+<p>It was yet earliest morning, and the glade lay in the darksome, dewy
+freshness of the dawn. There was no living creature to be seen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We are the first on the ground, as I always like to be,&quot; remarked
+Colonel Morris, as he alighted from the carriage, bearing the pistol-case
+in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>He was followed by the duke, who slowly came out, stood by his side and
+looked around.</p>
+
+<p>The young surgeon remained in the carriage in charge of his very
+suggestive and alarming instruments and appliances.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The sun is just rising,&quot; said the duke, as the first rays sparkled up
+above the rosy line of the eastern horizon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And look, with dramatic precision, there are our men,&quot; cheerfully
+remarked the colonel, as a second carriage rolled into the glade and
+drew up under the trees at a short distance from the first.</p>
+
+<p>The carriage door was thrown open and the Russian Baron Blomonozoff came
+out&mdash;a thin, ferocious-looking little man, with a red face, encircled by
+a red beard and red hair, of all of which it would be difficult to say
+which was reddest.</p>
+
+<p>He was followed by the beautiful Adonis, the Count de Volaski, looking
+very fair and dainty, very languid and melancholy.</p>
+
+<p>The four gentlemen simultaneously raised their hats in courteous
+greeting; but no words passed between them then.</p>
+
+<p>The seconds advanced toward each other, and went apart to settle the
+final details of the meeting. They divided their duties equally.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel gave the pistol-case to the baron, who opened it and examined
+the weapons. The colonel stepped off the ten paces of ground, and the
+baron marked the positions to be taken by the antagonists.</p>
+
+<p>Then each went after his man and placed him in position. Then the Colonel
+took the case of pistols and placed it in the hands of the baron, who
+carried it to his principal, that the latter might take his choice of the
+pair of revolvers, in accordance with the terms of the meeting.</p>
+
+<p>The count took the first that came to hand. The baron carried back the
+case to the colonel, who placed the remaining weapon in the hands of the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>The antagonists stood opposite each other in a line of ten paces running
+north and south, so that the sun was equally divided between them. The
+seconds stood opposite each other, in a line of six paces running east
+and west, across the line of their principals; so that the positions of
+the four men, as they stood, formed the four points of a diamond.</p>
+
+<p>They stood prepared for the mortal issue.</p>
+
+<p>A fatal catastrophe is always sudden and soon over.</p>
+
+<p>The final question was asked by the duke's second:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gentlemen, are you ready?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We are,&quot; responded both principals.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;<span class="smcaps">fire</span>!&quot; intoned the Russian baron.</p>
+
+<p>Two flashes, a simultaneous report, and the Count de Volaski leaped into
+the air and fell down, with a heavy thud, upon his face!</p>
+
+<p>The seconds hastened to raise the fallen man. The duke stood
+panic-stricken for an instant, and then followed them.</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate count lay in a tumbled, huddled, shapeless heap, with his
+head bent under him. Not a drop of blood was to be seen on his person or
+clothing. The Russian baron raised him up. There was a gasp, a momentary
+flutter of the lips and eyelids, and all was still.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel hurried off to the carriage to call the surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>The duke stood gazing on his murdered foe, aghast at his own deed and
+feeling the brand of Cain upon his brow, notwithstanding that he had
+acted in accordance with the &quot;code of honor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The surgeon came in haste with his box of instruments in his hands, and
+the roll of linen under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>He put these articles on the ground, and knelt down to examine his
+subject; for the body of the count was only a subject now, and not a
+patient.</p>
+
+<p>After a careful investigation, the surgeon arose and pronounced his
+verdict.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Shot through the heart: quite dead.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward groaned aloud. None of his wrongs could have been
+such a calamity as this! None of his sufferings could have equalled in
+intensity of agony this appalling sense of blood-guiltiness!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can <i>nothing</i> be done?&quot; he inquired, not with the slightest hope
+that anything could, but rather in the idiocy of utter despair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing. No medical skill can raise the dead,&quot; solemnly answered the
+surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;One of you fellows can bring the railway rug out of our carriage. I knew
+it would be needed,&quot; said the serenely practical colonel.</p>
+
+<p>The count's servant started to obey.</p>
+
+<p>The duke groaned and turned away from the body of his fallen foe, upon
+which he could not endure longer to gaze.</p>
+
+<p>The Russian baron came up to him, and with the knightly courtesy of his
+caste and country, said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Monseigneur may rest tranquil. Everything has been conducted in
+accordance with the most rigid rules of honor. The result has been
+unfortunate for my distinguished principal, but Monseigneur has nothing
+with which to reproach himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, Baron. You are kind to say so. Yet I would that I had never
+lived to see this day; or the worthless woman who has caused this
+catastrophe!&quot; exclaimed the duke, as he walked hurriedly away and
+hid himself and his remorse in the inclosure of his own carriage.</p>
+
+<p>There he was soon joined by his serene second, who entered the carriage
+and gave the order to the coachman;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Drive to the Depot St. Lazare.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why to the depot?&quot; gloomily inquired the duke, as the coachman closed
+the door and remounted to his box.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because we must get out of Paris&mdash;yes, and out of France also,&quot; calmly
+replied the colonel, sinking back in his seat as the cab drove off.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who is looking after&mdash;after&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The body? I left Legare to help Blomonozoff and his servant to remove
+it. We must get away. An arrest would not be pleasant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, certainly not; yet not on that account, but for the peace of my
+own spirit, I would to Heaven this had not happened!&quot; exclaimed the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why? Everything went off most agreeably. Indeed, this was one of the
+most satisfactory meetings at which I ever assisted,&quot; said the colonel,
+comfortably.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish to Heaven it had never taken place! I would give my right hand to
+undo its own deed to-day&mdash;if that were possible!&quot; groaned the homicide.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why should you disturb yourself?&mdash;but perhaps this is your first affair
+of the kind?&quot; calmly inquired the colonel.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My first and last! I do not know how any one can engage in a second one
+after feeling what it is to kill a man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You feel so because it <i>is</i> your first affair. You would not mind
+your second, and you would rather enjoy your third,&quot; suavely observed the
+colonel, who then drew a railway card from his pocket, examined it,
+looked at his watch, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We shall be in time to catch the morning's express to Calais, and we may
+actually eat our dinners in London. When we arrive you can get some of
+your people to send a telegram to Tompkins, to order him to pay your
+hotel bill and bring your effects to London, or wherever else you may
+think of stopping.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks for your counsel. I leave myself entirely in your hands,&quot; said
+the duke, with a half-suppressed sigh.</p>
+
+<p>They caught the express to Calais, connected with the Dover boat, and
+crossed the channel the same day. They ran up to London by the afternoon
+train, and arrived in good time for a dinner at &quot;Morley's.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Two telegrams were dispatched to Paris&mdash;one to the respectable Mr.
+Tompkins, with orders to pay bills and return with his master's effects;
+the other to the estimable Mr. Joyce, the groom of the colonel, with
+orders to perform the same services in behalf of his own employer.</p>
+
+<p>Then the principal and his second separated&mdash;the duke to go to his
+town-house in Piccadilly and the colonel to join his regiment, then
+stationed at Brighton.</p>
+
+<p>And as the extradition treaty had not at that day been thought of, both
+were perfectly safe.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2>
+
+<h3>AFTER THE STORM.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward only remained in town until the arrival of his
+servants with his effects from Paris.</p>
+
+<p>He avoided looking at the newspapers, which, he knew, must contain
+exaggerated statements of the duel and its causes, if, indeed, any
+statement of such horrors could be exaggerated.</p>
+
+<p>On the third day after his arrival in London, he went down to Greencombe,
+a small family estate in a secluded part of Sussex, near the sea.</p>
+
+<p>Here he hid himself and his humiliations from the world.</p>
+
+<p>The primitive population around Greencombe had never seen the duke,
+or any of his family, who preferred to reside at Hereward Hold, in
+Devonshire, or their town-house in Piccadilly, leaving their small
+Sussex place in charge of a land-steward and a few old servants.</p>
+
+<p>They had never even heard of the marriage of the duke in Paris, much less
+the flight of the duchess, or the duel with Volaski.</p>
+
+<p>This neglect of his poor people at Greencombe had hitherto been a matter
+of compunction to the conscientious soul of the duke, but he now was
+satisfied with the course of conduct which had left them in total
+ignorance of himself and his unhappy domestic history.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and his fine servants were received with mingled deference,
+gladness and embarrassment by the aged and rustic couple who acted as
+land-steward and housekeeper at Greencombe, and who now bestirred
+themselves to make their unexpected master and his attendants
+comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>The duke gave orders that he should be denied to all visitors, though
+there was little likelihood of any calling upon him, except perhaps the
+vicar of Greencombe church.</p>
+
+<p>Here the duke vegetated until the meeting of Parliament, when he went up
+to London to institute proceedings for a divorce.</p>
+
+<p>At that time there was no divorce court, and little necessity for one.
+Divorces were to be obtained by act of Parliament only.</p>
+
+<p>The duke commenced proceedings immediately on his arrival in London. His
+case was a clear and simple one; there was no opposition; consequently he
+was soon, matrimonially considered a free man.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward was now nearly fifty years of age. Life was
+uncertain, and the laws of succession very certain.</p>
+
+<p>If the present bearer of the coronet of Hereward should die childless,
+the title would not descend to the son of his only and beloved sister,
+but would go to a distant relative whom the duke hated.</p>
+
+<p>A speedy marriage seemed necessary.</p>
+
+<p>The duke looked around the upper circle of London society, and fixed upon
+the Lady Augusta Victoria McDugald, the eldest daughter of the Earl of
+Banff, and a woman as little like his unhappy first wife as it was
+Possible for her to be.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The daughter of an hundred earls&quot; was tall and stately, cold and proud,
+embodying the child's or the peasant's very ideal of &quot;a duchess.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dukes,&quot; like monarchs, &quot;seldom woo in vain.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>After a short courtship the duke proposed for the lady, and after a
+shorter engagement, married her.</p>
+
+<p>The newly-wedded pair went on a very unusually extended tour over Europe,
+into Asia and Africa, and then across the ocean and over North and South
+America.</p>
+
+<p>After twelve months spent in travel, they returned to England only that
+the anticipated heir of the dukedom might be born on the patrimonial
+estate of Hereward Hold.</p>
+
+<p>There was the utmost fulfillment of hope. The expected child proved to be
+a fine boy, who was christened for his father, Archibald-Alexander-John,
+by courtesy styled Marquis of Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>Had the duke's mind been as free from remorse for his homicide as
+his heart was free from regret for his first love, he would have
+been as happy a man as he was a proud father; but ah! the sense of
+blood-guiltiness, although incurred in the duel, under the so-called
+&quot;code of honor,&quot; weighed heavily upon his conscience, and over-shadowed
+all his joys.</p>
+
+<p>His duchess was a prolific mother, and brought him other sons and
+daughters as the years went by; but, as if some spell of fatality hung
+over the family, these children all passed away in childhood, leaving
+only the young Marquis of Arondelle as the sole hope of the great ducal
+house of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>So the time passed in varied joys and sorrows, without bringing any
+tidings, good or bad, of the poor, lost girl who had once shared the
+duke's title and possessed his heart.</p>
+
+<p>He believed her to be as dead to the world as she was to him. And so he
+gradually forgot even that she had ever lived! She had long been &quot;out of
+mind&quot; as &quot;out of sight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Fifteen years of married life had passed over the heads of the Duke and
+Duchess of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>The duchess at thirty-five was still a very beautiful woman, a reigning
+belle, a leader of fashion, a queen of society.</p>
+
+<p>The duke at sixty-five was still a very handsome, stately and commanding
+old gentleman, with hair and beard as white as snow. He was a great
+political power in the House of Lords. Their son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle, was a fine boy of fourteen.</p>
+
+<p>It was very early summer in London. Parliament was in session, and the
+season was at its height.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were established in their magnificent
+town-house in Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<p>The Marquis of Arondelle was pursuing his studies at Eton.</p>
+
+<p>A memorable day was at hand for the duke.</p>
+
+<p>It was the morning of the first of June&mdash;a rarely brilliant and beautiful
+day for London.</p>
+
+<p>The duchess had gone down to a garden party at Buckingham Palace.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sat alone in his sumptuous library, whose windows overlooked the
+luxuriant garden, then in its fullest bloom and fragrance.</p>
+
+<p>The windows were open, admitting the fine, fresh air of summer, perfumed
+with the aroma of numberless flowers, and musical with the songs of many
+birds.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sat in a comfortable reading-chair, with an open book on its
+rotary ledge. He was not reading. The charm of external nature, appealing
+equally to sense and sentiment, won him from his mental task, and
+soothed him into a delicious reverie, during which he sat simply resting,
+breathing, gazing, luxuriating in the lovely life around him.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of this clear sky a thunderbolt fell.</p>
+
+<p>A discreet footman rapped softly, and being told to enter, glided into
+the room, bearing a card upon a tiny silver tray, which he brought to his
+master.</p>
+
+<p>The duke took it, languidly glanced at it, knit his brows, and took up
+his reading-glass and examined it closely. No! his eyes had not deceived
+him. The card bore the name: <span class="smcaps">Archbald A. J. Scott.</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who brought this?&quot; inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A young gentleman, sir,&quot; respectfully answered the footman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where is he?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I showed him into the blue reception room, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke paused a moment, gazing at the card, and then abruptly demanded:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is the young man like?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Most genteel, your grace; most like our young lord, and about his age,
+and dressed in the deepest mourning, your grace; and most particular
+anxious to see your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know the boy at all; do not know where he came from, nor what
+he wants; but he bears the family name, and looks like Arondelle,&quot; mused
+the duke, gazing at the card and knitting his brow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will see the young man. Show him up here,&quot; at length he said,
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>The footman bowed and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>A few moments passed and the footman re-entered and announced:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Scott,&quot; and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>The duke wheeled his chair around and looked at the visitor, who stood
+just within the door, bowing profoundly.</p>
+
+<p>The newcomer was a youth of about fifteen years of age, tall, slight and
+elegant in form; fair, blue-eyed and light-haired in complexion; refined,
+graceful and self possessed in manner; and faultlessly dressed in deep
+mourning; but! how amazingly like the duke's own son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>The duke's short survey of his visitor seemed so satisfactory that he
+arose and advanced to meet him, saying kindly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You wished particularly to see me, I understand, young gentleman. In
+what manner can I serve you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The youth bowed again with the deepest deference, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, your grace. I bring you a letter of introduction.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sit down, young sir, sit down, and give me your letter,&quot; said the duke,
+pointing to a chair, and resuming his own seat. &quot;Good Heaven, how like
+this boy's voice was to the voice of the young Marquis of Arondelle! Who
+could he be?&quot; mused the duke, as he sat and waited the issue.</p>
+
+<p>The youth seated himself as directed, and seemed to hesitate, as if
+respectfully referring to his host's convenience.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your letter of introduction, now, if you please, young sir,&quot; said the
+duke, at length.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks; your grace. It's from my mother. She&mdash;&quot; Here the boy's voice
+faltered and broke down; but he soon, recovered it and resumed: &quot;She
+wrote it on her death-bed&mdash;on the very day she died. Here it is, your
+grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke took the letter and held it gravely in his fingers while he
+gazed upon the orphaned boy with sympathy and compassion in every
+lineament of his fine face, saying, slowly and seriously:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! that is very, very sad. You have lost your mother, my boy; and if I
+judge correctly from the circumstance of your coming to me, you have lost
+your father also. I hope, however, I am wrong.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace is right. I have lost my father also. I lost him first, so
+long ago that I have no memory of him. I have no relatives at all. That
+is the reason why my dear mother, on her death-bed, gave me that letter
+of introduction to your grace, who used to know her, so that I might not
+be without friends as well as without relatives,&quot; modestly replied the
+youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! I see! I see! And she wrote this letter on her death-bed, which
+gives it a grave importance. I must therefore pay the more respect to it.
+The wishes of the dying should be considered sacred,&quot; said the duke, as
+he adjusted his glass and looked at the letter, wondering who the writer
+could be and what claims she could possibly have on him; but feeling too
+kindly toward the orphan-boy to let such thought betray itself.</p>
+
+<p>He scrutinized the handwriting of the letter. He could not recognize the
+faint, scratchy, uncertain characters as anything he had ever seen
+before. After all, the whole thing might be an imposture, and he himself
+an exceedingly great dupe, to suffer his feelings to be enlisted by a
+perfect stranger, merely because that stranger happened to be a
+counterpart of his own idolized boy Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>Still dallying with the note, he looked again at the youth, and as he
+looked, his confidence in him revived. No boy of such a noble countenance
+could possibly be an impostor. He might have satisfied himself at once,
+by opening the note and reading the signature; but from some occult
+reason that even he could not have given, he held it in his hands for
+a few moments longer, as if it contained some oracle he dreaded to
+discover. At length he broke the seal and looked at the signature.
+It was a faint maze of scratches, so difficult to decipher that he gave
+it up in despair, and turning to the boy, said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your name is Scott, young sir?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your grace&mdash;a very common name,&quot; modestly replied the youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is ours also&quot; added the duke with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg your grace's pardon,&quot; said the boy, with some embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No offence, young sir. Your mother's name was also Scott, I presume?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, your grace; my mother never re-married.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah,&quot; said the duke, and he turned the letter for the first page, and
+commenced its perusal.</p>
+
+<p>And then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Reader! If the Duke of Hereward's hair had not already been white with
+age, it must have turned as white as snow with amazement and horror as he
+read the astounding disclosures of that dying woman's letter!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2>
+
+<h3>FATHER AND SON.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The first part of the letter was written in a much clearer chirography
+than the latter, where it grew fainter and more irregular as it
+proceeded, until at last, in the signature, it was so nearly illegible
+as to baffle the ingenuity of the reader to decipher it; as if, in the
+course of her task, the strength of the dying writer had grown weaker and
+weaker, until at the end the pen must have fallen from her failing hand.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward, who could not make out the name at the bottom of
+the letter, at once recognized the handwriting at the top, and knew that
+his correspondent from the dead was his lost wife, Valerie de la Motte.</p>
+
+<p>He grew cold with the chill of an anticipated horror; but with that
+supreme power of self-control which was as much a matter of constitution
+as of education with him, he suppressed all signs of emotion, and
+courteously apologized to his visitor, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Excuse me, young sir; my eyes are not so good as they were some twenty
+years ago, and I must turn to the light,&quot; and he deliberately wheeled his
+chair around so as to bring his face entirely out of range of his
+visitor's sharp vision, while he should read the fatal letter, which
+was as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">San Vito, Italy, March</span> 1st, 18&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">Duke of Hereward:</span> This paper will be handed you by
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, my son and yours.</p>
+
+<p>This news will startle you, if you have not already been sufficiently
+startled by the living likeness of the boy to yourself, and by the
+electric chain of memory which will bring before you the weeks
+immediately preceding our separation, when you yourself had suspicions
+of my condition, and hopes of becoming a father. Those fond hopes were
+destined to be fulfilled by me, but doomed to be ruined by you.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Duke of Hereward, your son stands before you, strong, healthy,
+beautiful, perfect as ever wife bore to her husband; yet denied,
+delegalized, and defrauded by you, his father!</p>
+
+<p>If you are inclined still to deny him, turn and look upon him, as he
+stands, and you can no longer do so. If you want further proof, find it
+in these circumstances: That this letter is written, and these statements
+are made by a dying woman, with the immediate prospect of eternity and
+its retribution before her.</p>
+
+<p>But on one point be at ease before you read farther; the boy does not
+know who his father is, and therefore does not know how grievously, how
+irretrievably you wronged him by divorcing his mother and delegalizing
+him before his birth. I would not put enmity between father and son by
+telling him anything about it. <i>He</i> thinks that his father is dead,
+and I have never undeceived him. He has heard of you only as one who was
+a friend of his mother, and who, for her sake, may become the friend of
+her son. It must be for you to decide whether to leave him in this
+ignorance or to tell him the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps you will ask why I have concealed your son's existence from you
+up to this time. I will tell you; but in order to do so clearly, I must
+refer to those last few weeks spent with you in Paris before our
+separation.</p>
+
+<p>Remember the ball at the British Embassy, to which you persuaded me to
+go, and where I met, unexpectedly the Count de Volaski, my secretly
+married husband, supposed to be dead; remember my illness that followed!
+and how earnestly I tried to avoid him, an effort that was totally
+useless, because he, considering that he possessed the only rightful
+claim to my society, constantly sought me, and you, ignorant of all his
+antecedents, constantly helped him to see me.</p>
+
+<p>My position was degrading, agonizing, intolerable. I found myself, though
+guiltless of any intentional wrong-doing, in the horrible dilemma of a
+wife with two living husbands.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, by the laws of love and nature, justice and the church, I was the
+wife of Waldemar de Volaski; by the laws of France and England, I was the
+wife of the Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>The discovery shocked, confused, and, perhaps, unsettled my reason. At
+first I knew not what to do. I prayed for death. I contemplated suicide.
+At length, I thought I saw a way out of my dreadful dilemma. It was to
+escape and to live apart from both forever.</p>
+
+<p>So also thought the Count de Volaski. I consulted with him. I dared not
+confess to you the secret that my parents had compelled me to conceal so
+long. Volaski would have told you, but I would not consent that he should
+do so, until I should be safe out of the house; for I could not have
+borne, after such confession, to have met you again; and again, under any
+circumstances, I preferred that I myself should be your informant. I
+determined to leave yon, and to live apart from both, as the only life of
+peace and honor possible for me, and to write you a letter confessing the
+whole truth, as an explanation of my course of conduct. I thought that
+you would understand and pity me, and leave me to my fate.</p>
+
+<p>I did <i>not</i> think that you would disbelieve my statement, publish my
+flight, and blast my reputation by a divorce.</p>
+
+<p>I was never false to you in thought, word or deed.</p>
+
+<p>Volaski was not my lover; he was my sternest mentor. He came to the house
+during your absence; not for the pleasure of seeing me, for he took no
+pleasure in my society; he came to arrange with me the programme of my
+departure; an angel of purity or a demon of malice might have been
+present at our interviews, and seen nothing to grieve the first or please
+the last.</p>
+
+<p>I was ill and nervous and fearful; I could not travel alone, and
+therefore Volaski went with me, and took care of me; but it was the
+care a pitiless gend'arme would have taken of a convicted criminal. It
+was a care that only hurried me to my destination, my chosen place of
+exile&mdash;San Vito&mdash;and which left me on the day of my arrival there. I have
+never seen him since. And now let me say and swear on the Christian faith
+and hope of a dying woman&mdash;that&mdash;from the moment I met Count Waldemar de
+Volaski at the British embassy, to the moment I parted with him at San
+Vito, he never once came so near me as even to kiss my hand&mdash;a courtesy
+that any gentleman might have shown without blame. You may not believe me
+now; that you did not believe me before was your great misfortune, and
+mine, and our son's.</p>
+
+<p>A week after Volaski had left me you followed us and traced us to San
+Vito. I heard of your visit and trembled; for, though really guiltless,
+I felt that to meet your eye would seem worse than death. Fortunately
+for us both, perhaps, you declined to see me and went away.</p>
+
+<p>The next news that I heard was of the duel in which you had killed
+Volaski. I should scarcely have believed in his death this time, had not
+a packet been forwarded to me, through his second. This packet contained
+a letter that he had written to me on the eve of the duel, and with a
+presentiment of death overshadowing him. In this letter he said that in
+death he claimed me again as his wife, and bequeathed to me, as to his
+widow, all that he had the power to leave, his personal property, and he
+took a last solemn farewell of me.</p>
+
+<p>In the packet, besides, was his will and other documents necessary to put
+me in possession of his bequest, and also a great number of valuable
+jewels.</p>
+
+<p>These, together with my own small dower, have made me independent for
+life.</p>
+
+<p>It will show how perfectly palsied was my heart when I tell you that
+I could not feel either horror of crime, grief for Volaski's death, or
+gratitude for his bequest.</p>
+
+<p>I could feel nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Days and weeks passed in this apathy of despair, from which I was at
+length painfully aroused by a most shocking discovery.</p>
+
+<p>Madelena, my hostess, who tenderly watched over my health had her
+suspicions aroused, and put some motherly questions to me, and when I had
+answered them she startled me with the announcement that in a very few
+months I should become a mother.</p>
+
+<p>This news, so joyful to most good women, only filled my soul with
+sorrow and dismay. It seemed to complicate my difficulties beyond all
+possibility of extrication.</p>
+
+<p>Lena, poor woman, who had never heard of my marriage with the Duke of
+Hereward, but had known me as the wife of the Count de Volaski, believed
+that all my distress was caused by the prospect of becoming the mother of
+a fatherless child, and bent all her energies to try to comfort me with
+the assurance that this motherhood would be the greatest blessing of my
+lonely life.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! how willing would I have confided the whole truth to this good woman
+if I had dared to do so! It will show how timid I had grown when I assure
+you that I, a faithful daughter of the church, had not even ventured to
+go to confession once since my arrival in Italy.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Duke of Hereward, attend to my words! Had you been less bitterly
+incredulous of my statements, less cruel in your judgment of me, less
+murderous in your vengeance upon one much more sinned against than
+sinning, I should have ventured to write to you of my condition and my
+prospect of giving you an heir to your dukedom, in time to prevent your
+rash and fatal act by which you unconsciously delegalized your own
+lawful son!</p>
+
+<p>But your murderous cruelty had left me in a state of stupor from which
+I could not rally.</p>
+
+<p>Night after night I resolved to write to you. Day after day I tried to
+carry my resolution into effect. Time after time I failed through fear
+of you!</p>
+
+<p>At length I persuaded myself that there was no immediate necessity for
+action on my part. I might defer writing to you until the arrival of my
+child. That child might prove to be a girl, who could not be your heir,
+and, therefore, could not be an object of momentous importance to you; or
+it might die. Either of which circumstance would relieve me from the
+painful duty of opening a correspondence with you; or I myself might
+perish in the coming trial, when the duty of communicating the facts to
+you would devolve upon some one whom I would appoint with my dying
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>These were the causes of my fatal delay in writing to you.</p>
+
+<p>At length the time arrived. On the fifth of April, just five months after
+our separation. I became the mother of a fine, healthy, beautiful boy. He
+brought with him the mother-love that is Heaven's first gift to the
+child. I loved my son as I never loved a human being before. I <i>had</i>
+prayed for death; but as I clasped my first-born to my bosom, I asked
+pardon for that sinful prayer, thanked the Lord that I had lived through
+my trial, and besought him still to spare my life for my boy's sake. From
+that day forth I was able to pray and to give thanks. I resolved that my
+first act of recovery should be to go to the church and make my
+confession to the good father there, gain my absolution, and then write
+and inform you of the birth of your heir, the infant Earl of Arondelle,
+for such I knew was even then the baby boy's title! With these fond hopes
+I rapidly recovered. &quot;Perfect love casteth out fear.&quot; Mother-love had
+cast out from my soul all fear of you. I thought that you would feel so
+rejoiced at the news of the birth of your son, your heir, and so fine a
+boy, that even for his sake you would forgive his mother, supposing that
+you should still think you had anything to forgive.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of my vain dreaming a thunderbolt fell upon me!</p>
+
+<p>My boy was six weeks old. I had not yet left the house to carry out any
+of my happy resolutions, when my good Madelena entered my room and
+brought two large parcels of English papers, such as were sent me monthly
+by my London correspondent. She told me that the first parcel had arrived
+during my confinement to my bed, and that she had laid it away and
+forgotten all about it until this day, when the arrival of the second
+parcel had reminded her of it, and now she had brought them both, and
+hoped I would excuse her negligence in not having remembered to bring the
+first parcel sooner. I readily and even hastily excused her, for I was
+anxious to get rid of my good hostess and read my files of papers.</p>
+
+<p>As any one else would have done under the like circumstances, I opened
+the last parcel first, and selected the latest paper to begin with. It
+was the London <i>Times</i> of April 7th. As I opened it, a short, marked
+paragraph caught my eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Judge of my consternation when I read the notice of your marriage with
+the Lady Augusta McDugald!</p>
+
+<p>The letters ran together on my vision, the room whirled around with me,
+all grew dark, and I lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses I
+found myself in bed, with Madelena and several of her kind neighbors in
+attendance upon me. Many days passed before I was able to look again at
+the file of English newspapers.</p>
+
+<p>You had married again! you had married just one week before the birth of
+my son! But under what circumstances had you married? Did you suppose me
+to be dead, and that my death had set you free? Or&mdash;oh, horror! had you
+dragged my name before a public tribunal, and by lying <i>facts</i>&mdash;for
+facts do often lie&mdash;had you branded me with infidelity, and repudiated me
+by divorce?</p>
+
+<p>Such were the questions that tormented me, until I was able to examine
+the file of English newspapers, and find out from them; for, as before,
+I would not have taken any one into my confidence by getting another to
+read the papers for me, even if I could have found any one in that rural
+Italian neighborhood capable of reading English.</p>
+
+<p>At length, one morning, I sent for the papers, and began to look them
+over, and I found&mdash;merciful Heaven! what I feared to find&mdash;the full
+report of our divorce trial! found myself held up to public scorn and
+execration, the reproach of my own sex&mdash;the contempt of yours! Found
+myself, in short, convicted and divorced from you, upon the foulest
+charge that can be brought upon a woman! Guiltless as I was! wronged as
+I had been! wishing only to live a pure and blameless life, as I did!</p>
+
+<p>Oh! the intolerable anguish of the days that followed! But for my baby
+boy, I think I should have died, or maddened!</p>
+
+<p>In my worst paroxysms, good Madelena would come and take up my baby and
+lay him on my bosom, and whisper, that no doubt, though his handsome
+young father had gone to Heaven, it was all for the best; and we too,
+if we were good, would one day meet him there, or words to that effect.</p>
+
+<p>Surely angels are with children, and their presence makes itself felt
+in the comfort children bring to wounded hearts.</p>
+
+<p>One day, in a state bordering on idiocy, I think, I examined and compared
+dates, in the sickening hope that my darling boy might have been born
+before the decree of divorce had been pronounced, and thus be the heir of
+his father's dukedom, notwithstanding all that followed.</p>
+
+<p>But, ah! that faint hope also was destined to die! The dates, compared,
+stood thus:</p>
+
+<p>The decree of divorce was pronounced February 13th, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>The marriage between yourself and Lady Augusta McDugald was solemnized
+April 1st, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>My boy was born April 15th, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, you divorced the guiltless mother two months, and married another
+woman two weeks, before the birth of your innocent boy.</p>
+
+<p>You cruelly and unjustly disowned, disinherited, and even delegalized,
+and degraded your son before he was born! So that your son was not born
+in wedlock, could not bear your name, or inherit your title! And this
+misfortune came upon him by no fault of his, or of his most unhappy
+mother's but by the jealousy, vengeance, and fatal rashness of his
+father! And now there was no help, either in law or equity, for the
+dishonored boy.</p>
+
+<p>This, Duke of Hereward, is the ruin you have wrought in his life, in
+mine, and in yours.</p>
+
+<p>Do you wonder that when I realized it all I fell into a state of despair
+deeper than any I had ever yet known?&mdash;a despair that was characterized
+by all who saw it as melancholy madness.</p>
+
+<p>My dear boy, who was at first such a comfort to me, was now only a
+beloved sorrow! When I held him to my bosom, I thought of nothing but
+his bitter, irreparable wrongs.</p>
+
+<p>I do not know how long I had continued to live in this despairing and
+heathenish condition, when one day, in harvest time, Madelena brought
+good Father Antonio to see me. This Father Antonio was the priest of the
+chapel of Santa Maria, who had performed the marriage ceremony between
+Waldemar de Volaski and myself.</p>
+
+<p>The father also naturally supposed that all my grief was for the death of
+my child's father. He began in a gentle, admonitory way to rebuke me for
+inordinate affection and sinful repining, and to remind me of the comfort
+and strength to be found in the spirit of religion and the ordinances of
+the Church.</p>
+
+<p>My heart opened to the good old priest as it had never opened to a living
+man or even woman before.</p>
+
+<p>Then and there I told him the whole secret history of my life, including
+every detail of my two unhappy marriages, and the fatal divorce preceding
+the birth of my son. I concealed nothing from him. I told him all, and
+felt infinitely relieved when I had done so.</p>
+
+<p>The gentle old man dropped tears of pity over me, and sat in silent
+sympathy some time before he ventured to give me any words.</p>
+
+<p>At length he arose and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Child, I must go home and pray for wisdom before I can venture to
+counsel you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Bless me, then, holy father.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He laid his venerable hands upon my bowed head, raised his eyes to
+Heaven, and invoked upon me the divine benediction, of which I stood so
+much in need.</p>
+
+<p>Then he silently passed from the room.</p>
+
+<p>That night I slept in peace.</p>
+
+<p>The next day the good old man came to me again.</p>
+
+<p>He told me that my first marriage with Waldemar de Volaski was my only
+true marriage, indissoluble by anything but death, however invalid in law
+it might be pronounced by those who were interested in breaking it.</p>
+
+<p>That my second marriage contracted with the Duke of Hereward during the
+life of my first husband, was sacrilegious in the eyes of religion and
+the church, however legal it might be considered by the laws of England
+or of France, and pardonable in me only on account of my ignorance at the
+time of the continued existence of my first husband.</p>
+
+<p>That the desperate step I had taken of leaving the Duke of Hereward, upon
+the discovery of the existence of Waldemar de Volaski, was the right and
+proper course for me to pursue; but that he regretted I had not possessed
+the moral courage to tell the duke the whole story, for he had that much
+right to my confidence.</p>
+
+<p>As for the divorce I so much lamented, it was to be regretted only for
+the sake of the son whom it had outlawed, for he was the son of a lawful
+marriage in the eyes of the world, if not a sacred one in the eyes of the
+church.</p>
+
+<p>For the boy thus cruelly wronged there seemed no opening on earth. He was
+disowned, disinherited, delegalized, deprived even of a name in this
+world. All earth was closed against him.</p>
+
+<p>But all Heaven was open to him. The church, Heaven's servant, would open
+her arms to receive the child the world had cast out. The church in
+baptism would give him a name and a surname; would give him an education
+and a mission. I must, like Hannah of old, devote my son, even from his
+childhood up, to the service of the altar, and the church would do the
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>How comforted I was! I had something still to live for! My outcast son
+would be saved. He could not inherit his father's titles and estates; he
+could not be a duke, but he would be a holy minister of the Lord; he
+might live to be a prince of the church, an archbishop or a cardinal.</p>
+
+<p>Foolish ambition of a still worldly mother you may think. Yes! but he was
+her only son, and she was worse than widowed.</p>
+
+<p>I agreed to all the good priest said. I promised to dedicate my son to
+the service of the altar.</p>
+
+<p>The next Sunday I went to the chapel of Santa Maria and had my child
+christened. I gave him in baptism the full name of his father. Beppo and
+Madelena stood as his sponsors. They told me St. John would be his patron
+saint.</p>
+
+<p>I rallied from my torpor. I built a roomy cottage in a mountain dell near
+the chapel of Santa Maria, furnished it comfortably, and moved into it,
+and engaged an Italian nurse and housekeeper, for I had resolved to pass
+my life among the simple, kindly people who were the only friends
+misfortune had left me.</p>
+
+<p>Another trial awaited me&mdash;a light one, however, in comparison to those
+I had suffered and outlived.</p>
+
+<p>This trial came when my son was but little over a year old, and I had
+been about six months in the &quot;Hermitage,&quot; as I called my new home.</p>
+
+<p>One morning I received a file of English papers for the month of May just
+preceding. In the papers of the first week in May I saw announced the
+birth of your son, called the infant Marquis of Arondelle, and the heir.
+I read of the great rejoicings in all your various seats throughout the
+United Kingdom, and the congratulations of royalty itself, upon this
+auspicious event. I clasped my disinherited son to my bosom and wept the
+very bitterest tears I had ever shed in my life.</p>
+
+<p>Later on I read in the papers for the last of May a graphic account of
+the grand pageantry of the christening, which took place at St. Peter's,
+Euston Square, where an archbishop performed the sacred rites and a royal
+duke stood sponsor, and of the great feastings and rejoicings in hall and
+hut on every estate of yours throughout the kingdom. I thought of my
+disowned boy's humble baptism in the village church by the country
+priest, where two kind-hearted peasants stood sponsors for him, and I
+wept myself nearly blind that night.</p>
+
+<p>The next day I went to the little church and told the good father there
+all about it. He understood and sympathized with me, counselled and
+comforted me as usual.</p>
+
+<p>He admonished me that to escape from the wounds of the world, I must not
+only forsake the world, as I had done, but forget the world as I had not
+done; to forget the world I must cease to search and inquire into its
+sayings and doings; and he advised me to write and stop all my
+newspapers, which only brought me news to disturb my peace of mind.</p>
+
+<p>I followed the direction of my wise guide. I wrote immediately and
+stopped all my newspapers.</p>
+
+<p>After that I devoted myself to the nurture of my child, to the care
+of my little household, to the relief of my poorer neighbors, and to the
+performance of my religious duties; and time brought me resignation and
+cheerfullness.</p>
+
+<p>From that day to this, Duke of Hereward, I have never once seen your name
+printed or written, and never once heard it breathed. You may have passed
+away from earth, for aught I know to the contrary; though I hope and
+believe that you have not.</p>
+
+<p>My boy throve finely. The good priest of Santa Maria took charge of his
+education for the first twelve years of the pupil's life, made of him,
+even at that early age, a good Latin and Greek scholar, and a fair
+mathematician; and would have prepared him to enter one of the German
+Universities, had not the summons come that cut short the good father's
+work on earth, and carried him to his eternal home.</p>
+
+<p>It was soon after the loss of this kind friend, who had been the strong
+prop of my weakness, the wise counsellor of my ignorance, that my own
+health began to fail. The seeds of pulmonary consumption, inherited from
+my mother, began to develop, and nothing could arrest their progress. For
+the last three years I have been an invalid, growing worse and worse
+every year. Perhaps in no other climate, under no other treatment, could
+I have lived so long as I have been permitted to live here by the help of
+the pure air and the grape cure.</p>
+
+<p>My boy, now fifteen years of age, is everything that I could wish him to
+be, except in one respect. He will not consent to enter the church. He
+wants to be a soldier, poor lad! Well, we cannot coerce him into a life
+of sanctity and self-denial. Such a life must always be a voluntary
+sacrifice. Neither do I wish to cross him, now that I am on my death-bed
+and doomed so soon to leave him.</p>
+
+<p>In these last days on earth, lying on my dying bed, travailing for his
+good, it has come to me like an inspiration that I must send him to his
+father. I must not leave him friendless in the world. And now that the
+priest Antonio has long passed away, and I am so soon to follow, he will
+have no friends except these poor, helpless Italian peasants among whom
+he has been reared. Therefore I must send him, in the hope that you will
+recognize him by his exact likeness to yourself, and prove his identity
+as your son, by all the testimony you can be sure to gather in Paris and
+at San Vito. I have written this long letter, in the intervals between
+pain and fever, during the last few weeks.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday, my faithful physician warned me that my days on earth had
+dwindled down to hours; that I might pass away at any moment now, and
+had therefore best attend to any necessary business that I might wish
+to settle.</p>
+
+<p>This warning admonishes me to finish and close my letter. I end as I
+began, by swearing to you, by all the hopes of salvation in a dying
+woman, that Archibald Scott is your own son. You can prove this to your
+own satisfaction by coming to San Vito and examining the church register
+as to the dates of his birth, baptism, and so forth; by which you will
+find that he was born just five months after I left your roof, and just
+six months after our return from our long yachting cruise, and the
+renewal of my acquaintance with Count de Volaski, at the British
+minister's dinner. You see, by these circumstances, there cannot be
+even the shadow of a doubt as to his true parentage.</p>
+
+<p>I repeat, that I have not told the boy the secret of his birth; to have
+done so might have been to have embittered his mind against you, and I
+would not on my death-bed do anything to sow enmity between father and
+son.</p>
+
+<p>I leave to yourself to tell him, if you should ever think proper to do
+so, and with what explanations you may please to add.</p>
+
+<p>I have constituted you his sole guardian, and trustee of the moderate
+property I bequeath him. He wishes to enter the army, and he will have
+money sufficient to purchase a commission and support himself respectably
+in some good regiment. I hope that when the proper time comes you will
+forward his ambition in this direction.</p>
+
+<p>And so I leave him in your hands, for my feeble strength fails, and I can
+only add my name.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.</h2>
+
+<h3>HER SON.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The last lines of this sad letter were almost illegible in their
+faintness and irregularity; and the tangled skein of light scratches that
+stood proxy for a signature could never have been deciphered by the skill
+of man.</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward had grown ten years older in the half hour he
+had spent in the perusal of this fatal letter. He was no longer only
+sixty-five years of age, and a &quot;fine old English gentleman;&quot; he seemed
+fully seventy-five years old, and a broken, decrepit, ruined man. In
+fact, the first blow had fallen upon that fine intellect whose subsequent
+eccentricities gained for him the sobriquet of the mad duke.</p>
+
+<p>The hand that held the fatal letter fell heavily by his side; his head
+drooped upon his chest; he did not move or speak for many minutes.</p>
+
+<p>His young visitor watched him with curiosity and interest that gradually
+grew into anxiety. At length he made a motion to attract the duke's
+attention&mdash;dropped a book upon the floor, picked it up, and arose to
+apologize.</p>
+
+<p>The duke started as from a profound reverie, sighed heavily, passed his
+handkerchief across his brow, and finally wheeled his chair around, and
+looked at his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>No! there could be no question about it; the boy was the living image of
+what he himself had been at that age, as all his portraits could prove!
+and his eldest son, his rightful heir, stood before him, but forever and
+irrecoverably disinherited and delegalized by his own rash and cruel act.</p>
+
+<p>The young man stood up as if naturally waiting to hear what the duke
+might have to say about his mother's letter.</p>
+
+<p>But the duke did not immediately allude to the letter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Where are you stopping, my young friend?&quot; he asked, in as calm a voice
+as he could command.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;At 'Langhams,' your grace,&quot; respectfully answered the youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well. I will call and see you at your rooms to-morrow at eleven,
+and we will talk over your mother's plans and see what can be done for
+you,&quot; said the duke, as he touched the bell, and sank back heavily in his
+chair.</p>
+
+<p>The young man understood that the interview was closed, and he was about
+to take his leave, when the door opened and a footman appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Truman, attend this young gentleman to the breakfast-room, and place
+refreshments before him. I hope that you will take something before you
+go, sir,&quot; said the duke, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks. I trust your grace will permit me to decline. It is scarce two
+hours since I breakfasted,&quot; said the boy, with a bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As you please, young sir,&quot; answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The youth then bowed and withdrew, attended by the footman.</p>
+
+<p>The duke watched them through the door, listened to their retreating
+steps down the hall, and then threw his clasped hands to his head,
+groaning:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Great Heaven! What have I done? What foul injustice to her, what cruel
+wrong to him. I thank her that she has never told him! I can never do so!
+Nay, Heaven forbid that he should ever even suspect the truth! Nor must I
+ever permit him to come here again; or to any house of mine, where the
+duchess, where <i>his brother</i>, where every servant even must see the
+likeness he bears to the family, and&mdash;discover, or, at least, suspect
+the secret!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the youth, respectfully attended by the footman, left the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>As he entered his cab that was waiting at the door, a bitter, bitter
+change passed over his fine face; the fair brow darkened, the blue eyes
+contracted and glittered, the lips were firmly compressed for an instant,
+and then he murmured to himself:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That they should think a secret like this could be buried, concealed
+from me, the most interested of all to find it out! Was ever son so
+accursed as I am? Other sons have been disinherited, outlawed&mdash;but I!
+I have been delegalized and degraded from my birth!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The fine mouth closed with a spasmodic jerk, the brow grew darker, the
+eyes glittered with intenser fire. He resumed:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It will be difficult, if not impossible, but I will be restored to my
+rights, or I will ruin and exterminate the ducal house of Hereward! I am
+the eldest son of my father; the only son of his first marriage. I am the
+heir not only of my father, but of the seven dukes and twenty barons that
+preceded him, to whom their patent of nobility was granted, to them and
+<i>their heirs forever</i>! 'Their heirs forever!' It was granted,
+therefore, to <i>me</i> and to all of <i>my</i> direct line! Each baron
+and duke had but his life-interest in his barony or dukedom, and could
+not alienate it from his heirs by will. It was an infamous, a fraudulent
+subterfuge to divorce my poor mother, and so delegalize me a few months
+before my birth. But&mdash;I will bide my time! This false heir may die. Such
+things do happen. And then, as there is no other heir to his title and
+estates, <i>my father</i> may acknowledge his eldest son, and try to undo
+the evil he has done. But if this should not happen, or if my father, who
+is old, should die, and this false heir inherit, <i>then</i> I will spend
+every shilling I have inherited from my mother to gain my own. I will
+have my rights, though I convict my father of a fraudulent conspiracy,
+and it requires an act of Parliament to effect my restoration! And if,
+after all, this wrong cannot be righted&mdash;although it can be abundantly
+proved that I am the only son of my father's first marriage, and the
+rightful heir of his dukedom, if, after all, I cannot be restored to my
+position, I will prove the mortal enemy of the race of Scott, and the
+destruction of the ducal house of Hereward. Meanwhile I must watch and
+wait; use this old man as my friend, who will not acknowledge himself as
+my father!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>These bitter musings lasted until the cab drew up before Langham's Hotel,
+and the youth got out and went into the house.</p>
+
+<p>The boy, wrong in many instances, was right in this, that the secret of
+his birth could not be concealed from him.</p>
+
+<p>His poor mother had never divulged it to him, never meant him to know
+that, the knowledge of which, she thought, would only make him unhappy;
+but she had told no falsehoods, put forth no false showing to hide it
+irrecoverably from him.</p>
+
+<p>She was known among her poor Italian neighbors as Signora Valeria, and
+supposed by them to be the widow of that handsome young Pole to whom they
+had seen her married, and from whom they had seen her torn by her father,
+some years before. Of the Duke of Hereward, her second husband, and of
+her divorce from him, they knew nothing. But she was known to her
+father-confessor, to her news-agent, and later to her son, as Valerie de
+la Motte Scott, for though no longer entitled to bear the latter name,
+she had tacitly allowed it to cling to her.</p>
+
+<p>Now as to how the boy discovered the secret that was designed to be
+concealed from him.</p>
+
+<p>When with childish curiosity he had inquired, his mother had told him
+that he had lost his father in infancy; and the boy understood that the
+loss was by death: but as time passed, and the lad questioned more
+particularly concerning his parentage, his mother, in repeating that he
+had lost his father in infancy, added that the loss had been attended
+with distressing circumstances, and begged him to desist in his
+inquiries. This only stimulated the interest and curiosity of the
+youth, and kept him on the <i>qui vive</i> for any word, or look, or
+circumstance that might give him a clew to the mystery. And thus it
+followed that with a mother so simple and unguarded as Valerie, and a
+son so cunning and watchful as Archibald, the secret she wished to keep
+be soon discovered. But he kept his own counsel for the sake of gaining
+still more information. And, at length, the full revelation and
+confirmation of all that he had suspected came to him in a manner and
+by means his mother had never foreseen or provided against.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie had made a will leaving all her property to her son, and
+appointing the Duke of Hereward as his guardian. After her death, all her
+papers and other effects had to be overhauled and examined and her son
+took care to read every paper that he was free to handle. Among these was
+a copy of the will of the late Waldemar de Volaski, by which he
+bequeathed to Valerie de la Motte Scott, Duchess of Hereward, all his
+personal property.</p>
+
+<p>Here was both a revelation and a mystery! Valerie de la Motte Scott, his
+most unhappy mother, Duchess of Hereward! and his guardian, appointed by
+her&mdash;the Duke of Hereward!</p>
+
+<p>Who was the Duke of Hereward? That he was a great English nobleman was
+evident! But aside from that, who and what was he?</p>
+
+<p>The boy was in a fever of excitement. It was of no use to ask any of his
+poor Italian neighbors, for they knew less than he did. He had heard of a
+mammoth London annual, called <i>Burke's Peerage</i>, which would tell
+all about the living and dead nobility; but there was no copy of it
+anywhere in reach.</p>
+
+<p>However, his mother's dying directions had been that he should proceed at
+once to England, and report himself to his guardian, that very Duke of
+Hereward so mysteriously connected with his destiny.</p>
+
+<p>Intense curiosity stimulating him, he hurried his departure, and after
+traveling day and night arrived in London on the evening of the last day
+of May.</p>
+
+<p>He waited only to engage a room at Langham's and change his dress, and
+partake of a slight luncheon, before he ordered a cab, drove to the
+nearest bookstore, and purchased a copy of <i>Burke's Peerage</i> for
+that current year.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he found himself alone in his cab again, he tore the paper off
+the book and eagerly turned to the article Hereward, and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;Hereward, Duke of&mdash;Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis and Earl of
+Arondelle in the peerage of England, Viscount Lone and Baron Scott in the
+peerage of Scotland, and a baronet; born Jan. 1st, 1795; succeeded his
+father as seventh duke, Feb. 1st, 1840; married, March 15th 1845,
+Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la Motte; divorced from her grace
+Feb. 13, 1846; married secondly, April 1st, 1846, Lady Augusta-Victoria,
+eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff, by whom he has:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Archibald-Alexander-John, Marquis of Arondelle.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>Then followed a long list of other children, girls and boys, of whom the
+only record was birth and death. Not one of them, except the young
+Marquis of Arondelle, had lived to be seven years old.</p>
+
+<p>Then followed the long lineage of the family, going over a glorious
+history of eight centuries.</p>
+
+<p>The youth glanced over the lineage, but soon recurred to the opening
+paragraphs.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Married, March 15th, 1845, Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la
+Motte.' That was my poor, dear mother!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Divorced from her grace, Feb, 13th, 1846,' He divorced her, and what
+for! She was a saint on earth, I know! Perhaps it was for being
+<i>that</i> she was divorced! Let us see. 'Married secondly, April 1st,
+1846, Lady Augusta Victoria, eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff.'
+Ah, ha! that was it! He divorced my beloved mother for the same season
+that the tryant Henry VIII. divorced Queen Catherine, because he was in
+love with another woman whom he wished to marry!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>(The study of history teaches as much knowledge of the world as does
+personal experience.)</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But here again,&quot; continued the youth. &quot;He divorced my dear mother
+on the 13th of February, married his Anne Boylen on the 1st of
+April&mdash;appropriate day&mdash;and I was born on the 15th of the same month!
+Yes! my angel mother and my infant self branded with infamy two months
+before my birth, and by the very man whom nature and law should have
+constrained to be our protector! Will I ever forgive it? No! When I do,
+may Heaven never forgive me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As the boy made this vow he laid down the &quot;Royal and Noble Stud-Book,&quot;
+and took up the bulky letter that his mother had entrusted to him to be
+delivered to the Duke of Hereward. He studied it a moment, then had a
+little struggle with his sense of right, and finally murmuring:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Forgive me, gentle mother; but having discovered so much of your secret,
+I must know it all, even for <i>your</i> sake, and for the love and
+respect I bear you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He broke the seal and read the whole of the historical letter from
+beginning to end.</p>
+
+<p>Then he carefully re-folded and re-sealed the letter, so as to leave no
+trace of the violence that has been done in opening it.</p>
+
+<p>Then he sat for a long time with his elbows on the table before him, and
+his head bowed upon his hands while tear after tear rolled slowly down
+his cheeks for the sad fate of that young, broken hearted mother who had
+perished in her early prime.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, as we have seen, he went to Hereward House and presented
+his mother's letter to the duke. He had watched his grace while the
+latter was reading the letter. He had foolishly expected to see some
+sign of remorse, some demonstration of affection. But he had been
+disappointed. He had been received only as the son of some humble
+deceased friend, consigned to the great duke's care. His tender mood
+had changed to a vindictive one, and he had sworn to be restored to his
+rights, or to devote his life to effect the ruin and extermination of the
+house of Hereward.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DUKE'S WARD.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The next morning, at the appointed hour, the Duke of Hereward drove to
+Langham's, and sent up his card to Mr. John Scott.</p>
+
+<p>The youth himself, to show the greater respect, came down to the public
+parlor where the duke waited, and after most deferentially welcoming his
+visitor, conducted him to his own private apartment.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see by your mother's letter, as well as by her will, that she has done
+me the honor to appoint me your guardian,&quot; said the elder man, as soon as
+they were seated alone together, and cautiously eyeing the younger, so as
+to detect, if possible, how much or how little he knew or suspected of
+the true relationship between them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My mother did <i>me</i> the honor to consign me to your grace's
+guardianship, if you will be so condescending as to accept the charge,&quot;
+replied the youth, with grave courtesy and in his turn eyeing the duke
+to see, if possible, what might be his feelings and intentions toward
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>The duke bowed and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I would like to carry out your mother's views and your own wishes, if
+possible. She mentioned in her letter the army as a career for you. Do
+you wish some years hence to take a commission in the army?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I <i>did</i>, your grace: but now I prefer to leave myself entirely in
+your grace's hands,&quot; cautiously replied the youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But in the matter of choosing a profession you must be left free. No one
+but yourself can decide upon your own calling with any hope of ultimate
+success. Much mischief is done by the officiousness of parents and
+guardians in directing their sons or wards into professions or callings
+for which they have neither taste nor talent,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>The youth smiled slightly; he could but see that the duke was utterly
+perplexed as to his own course of conduct, and to cover his confusion he
+was only talking for talk's sake.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will let me know your own wishes on this subject, I hope, young
+sir,&quot; continued the elder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My only wish on the subject is to leave myself in your grace's hands.
+I feel confident that whatever your grace may think right to do with me,
+will be the best possible thing for me,&quot; replied the boy, with more
+meaning in his manner, as well as in his words, than he had intended
+to betray.</p>
+
+<p>The duke looked keenly at him; but his fair impassive face was
+unreadable.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, at all events, it is, perhaps, time enough for two or three years
+to come to talk of a profession for you. Would you like to enter one of
+the universities? Are you prepared to do so?&quot; suddenly inquired the
+guardian.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I <i>would</i> like to go to Oxford. But whether I am prepared to do so,
+I do not know. I do not know what is required. I have a fair knowledge of
+Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and of the higher mathematics. I was in course
+of preparation to enter one of the German universities, when my good
+tutor, Father Antonio, died,&quot; replied the youth.</p>
+
+<p>The duke dropped his gray head upon his chest and mused awhile, and then
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think that you had better read with a private tutor for a while; you
+will then soon recover what you may have lost since the death of your
+good teacher, and make such further progress as may fit you to go to
+Oxford at the next term. What do you think? Let me know your views, young
+sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, your grace; I will read with any tutor you may be pleased to
+recommend,&quot; respectfully answered the youth.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are certainly a most manageable ward,&quot; said the guardian, dryly, and
+with, perhaps, a shade of distrust in his manner.</p>
+
+<p>The boy bowed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, since you place yourself so implicitly in my hands, I must justify
+your faith as well as your mother's by doing the very best I can for you.
+There is a very worthy man, the Vicar of Greencombe, on one of my
+estates, down in Sussex, near the sea. He is a ripe scholar, a graduate
+of Trinity College, Oxford, and occasionally augments his moderate salary
+by preparing youth for college. I will direct my secretary to write to
+him this morning to know if he can receive you, and I will let you know
+the result in a day or two.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now how are you going to employ your time while waiting here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;By taking a good guide-book, your grace, and going through London. Your
+grace will remember that I am a perfect stranger here, and even one of
+your great historical monuments, such as Westminster Abbey or the Tower,
+has interest enough in it to occupy a student for a week.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I commend your taste in the occupation you have sketched out for your
+time. I must request you, however, to take great care of yourself, and to
+be <i>here</i> every day at this hour, as I shall make it a point to look
+in upon you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, your grace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now good-day,&quot; said the visitor, offering his hand, and then
+abruptly leaving the room.</p>
+
+<p>The youth, however, with the most deferential manner, attended him down
+stairs and to his carriage, and only took his leave, with a bow, when the
+footman closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>Again as soon as his back was turned upon his father, the youth's face
+changed and darkened, and&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I bide my time&mdash;I bide my time,&quot; he muttered to himself as he
+re-ascended the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>He had not deceived his guardian, however, as to the manner in which he
+meant to spend his time while in London. At this time of his unfortunate
+position he had not yet contracted any evil habits, and he had a genuine
+liking for interesting antiquities. So, after partaking of a light
+luncheon, he went out, guide-book in hand and spent the whole day in
+studying the architectural glories and the antique monuments in
+Westminster Abbey.</p>
+
+<p>The second day he passed among the gloomy dungeons and bloody records of
+the Tower of London.</p>
+
+<p>On the third day he received another visit from the Duke of Hereward, who
+came to tell him the Reverend Mr. Simpson, the Vicar of Greencombe, had
+returned a favorable answer to his letter, and would be happy to receive
+Mr. Scott in his family.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now I do not wish to hurry you my dear boy; but I think the sooner you
+resume your long-neglected studies, the better it will be for you,&quot; said
+the duke, speaking kindly, but watching cautiously, as was his constant
+habit when conversing with this unacknowledged son.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am ready to go the moment your grace commands,&quot; answered the young
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I issue no commands to you, my boy. I will give you a letter of
+introduction to Dr. Simpson, which you may go down and deliver at your
+own leisure. If you choose to spend a week longer in London to see what
+is to be seen, why do so, of course. If not, you can run down to
+Greencombe to-day or to-morrow. It is about two hours' journey by
+the London and South Coast Railroad from the London Bridge Station.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will go down this afternoon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is prompt. That is right. All you do my boy, all I see of you,
+commends you more and more to my approval and esteem. Go this afternoon,
+by all means. I will myself meet you at the station, to see you off and
+leave with you my letter of introduction. Stay; by what train shall you
+go? Ah! you do not know anything about the trains. Ring the bell.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The youth complied.</p>
+
+<p>A waiter appeared, a Bradshaw was ordered and consulted, and the five
+<span class="smcaps">P. M.</span> express fixed upon as the train by which the youth should
+leave London.</p>
+
+<p>The duke then took leave of the boy, with an admonition of punctuality.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&quot; said John Scott to himself, as soon as he was left alone, &quot;if my
+father gives me nothing else, he is certainly disposed to give me my own
+way. Perhaps in time he may give me all my rights. If so, well. If not&mdash;I
+<i>bide my time</i>,&quot; he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>At the appointed hour the guardian and ward met at the depot.</p>
+
+<p>The duke placed the promised letter in the youth's hand, saw him into
+a first-class carriage, and there bade him good-by.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott sped down into Sussex as fast as the express train could carry
+him, and the Duke of Hereward went back to Hereward House, much relieved
+by the departure of the youth, whose presence in London had seemed like
+an incubus upon him.</p>
+
+<p>The deeply injured boy had departed; but&mdash;so also had the father's peace
+of mind, forever! Certainly he was now relieved of all fear of an
+unpleasant ecclaircissement; but he was not freed from remorse for the
+past, or from dread for the future.</p>
+
+<p>He told the duchess that day at dinner that a ward had been left to his
+guardianship, that this ward was, in fact, the son of a near relation,
+and bore the family name, which made it the more incumbent upon him to
+accept the charge; and, finally, that he had sent the boy down to Dr.
+Simpson, at the Greencombe Vicarage, to read for the university.</p>
+
+<p>The duchess was not in the least degree interested in the duke's ward,
+and rather wondered that he should have taken the trouble to tell her
+anything about him; but the duke did so to provide for the future
+contingency of an accidental meeting between the duchess and the boy, so
+that she might suppose him to be a blood relation, and thus understand
+the family likeness without the danger of suspecting a truth that could
+not be explained to her.</p>
+
+<p>But the duke could not silence the voice of conscience and affection. The
+deeply-wronged boy whom he had sent away was his own first-born son&mdash;the
+son of his first marriage and of his only love; and he had wronged him
+beyond the power of man to help! He was the rightful heir of his title
+and estates, yet he could never inherit them; he had been delegalized by
+his father's own hasty, reckless and cruel act; and for no fault of the
+boy's own&mdash;before he was capable of committing any fault&mdash;before his
+birth&mdash;he was disinherited.</p>
+
+<p>All this so worked upon the duke's conscience that he could not give his
+mind to his ordinary vocations.</p>
+
+<p>But about this time, the duchess, through the death of a near relative,
+inherited a very large fortune, principally in money.</p>
+
+<p>With this she wished to purchase an estate in Scotland. And so, when
+Parliament rose, the duke and duchess went to Scotland, personally to
+inspect certain estates that were for sale there; for the duchess said
+that, in the matter of choosing a home to live in, she would trust no
+eyes but her own.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed, however, that neither of the seats in the market pleased the
+lady, and she had given up her quest in despair, when the duke suggested
+that, before leaving Scotland, they should make a visit to the famous
+historical ruins of Lone Castle, in Lone, on Lone Lake, which had been in
+the Scott-Hereward family for eight centuries.</p>
+
+<p>It was while they were tarrying at the little hotel of the &quot;Hereward
+Arms,&quot; and making daily excursions in a boat across the lake to the isle
+and to the ruins, that the stupendous idea of restoring the castle
+occurred to the duke's mind&mdash;and not only restoring it as it had stood
+centuries before, a great, impregnable Highland fortress, but by bringing
+all the architectural and engineering art and skill of the nineteenth
+century to bear upon the subject, transforming the ruined castle and
+rocky isle and mountain-bound lake into the earthly paradise and
+century's wonder it afterwards became.</p>
+
+<p>What vast means were used, what fortunes were sacrificed, what treasures
+were drawn into the maelstrom of this mad enterprise, has already been
+shown.</p>
+
+<p>It is probable, however, that the duke would not have thrown himself so
+insanely into this work had it not seemed a means of escaping the torture
+of his own thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>He could restore the old Highland stronghold, and transform the barren,
+water-girt rock into a garden of Eden; but he could not restore the
+rights of his own disinherited son.</p>
+
+<p>He had consulted some among the most eminent lawyers in England, putting
+the case suppositiously, or as the case of another father and son, and
+the unanimous opinion given was that there could be no help for such a
+case as theirs; and even though the father had had no other heir, he
+could not reclaim this disinherited one.</p>
+
+<p>It was not with unmingled regret that the duke heard this opinion given.
+It certainly relieved him from the fearful duty of having to oppose the
+duchess and all her family, as he would have been obliged to do, had it
+been possible to restore his eldest son to his rights; for the duchess
+would not have stood by quietly and seen her son set aside in favor of
+the elder brother.</p>
+
+<p>The duke spoke of his ward from time to time, so that in case the duchess
+should ever meet him, or hear of him from others, she could not regard
+him as a mystery that had been concealed from her, or look upon his
+likeness to the family with suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>But the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent to the duke's ward, or if
+she did interest herself, it was only slightly or good-naturedly, as when
+she answered the duke's remarks, one day, by saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If the dear boy is a relative of the family, however distant, and your
+ward besides, why don't you have him home for the holidays?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, schoolboys at home for the holidays are always a nuisance. He will
+go to Wales with Simpson and his lads, when they go for their short
+vacation,&quot; answered the duke, not unpleased that his wife took kindly
+to the notion of his ward.</p>
+
+<p>In due time the youth entered Oxford. The duke spoke of the fact to the
+duchess. Then she answered not so good-humoredly as before; indeed, there
+was a shade of annoyance and anxiety in her tones, as she said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oxford is very expensive, and a young man may make it quite ruinous.
+I hope the youth's friends have left him means enough of his own. I
+would not speak of such a matter,&quot; she added apologetically, &quot;only the
+restoration of Lone seems so to swallow up all our resources as to leave
+us nothing for charitable objects.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The youth has ample means for educational purposes, and to establish him
+in some profession. Of course, he cannot indulge in any of those
+university extravagances and dissipations that are the destruction of
+so many fine young men; but, then, he is not that kind of lad; a steady,
+studious boy, brought up by&mdash;a widowed mother and a priest,&quot; answered the
+duke, with just a slight faltering in his voice, in the latter clause of
+his speech.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Such boys are more apt than others to develop into the wildest young
+men,&quot; replied the lady; and circumstances proved that she was right.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott, at Trinity College, Oxford, passed as the grand-nephew of the
+Duke of Hereward, and the next in succession, after the young Earl of
+Arondelle to the dukedom.</p>
+
+<p>The young Earl of Arondelle was still at Eton. And the duke determined to
+send him from Eton to Cambridge, instead of Oxford, where John Scott was
+at college; for the father of these two boys wished them never to meet!</p>
+
+<p>At Oxford, John Scott, as the grand-nephew of the Duke of Hereward,
+bearing an unmistakable likeness to the family, and being, besides, a
+young man of pleasing address, soon won his way among the most exclusive
+of the aristocrats there; and pride and vanity tempted him to vie with
+them in extravagant and riotous living!</p>
+
+<p>His income <i>only</i> was limited, his credit was <i>un</i>limited.
+When his money fell short, he ran into debt; and at the end of the first
+term his liabilities were alarming, or would have been so to a more
+sensitive mind.</p>
+
+<p>It is true, the amount was much greater than his inexperience had led him
+to expect; but he only smiled grimly when he had all his bills before
+him, and had estimated the sum total, and he said to himself:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If my allowance will not support me here like a gentleman, my father
+must make up the deficiency, that is all!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward was indeed confounded when his ward wrote to him and
+told him boldly that he wanted fifteen hundred pounds for immediate
+necessities&mdash;namely, twelve hundred for the liquidation of debts, and
+three hundred for traveling expenses.</p>
+
+<p>But could he scold the poor, disinherited boy, who, kept to himself at
+Oxford, had doubtless fallen among thieves and been mercilessly fleeced.</p>
+
+<p>No; he would pay these debts out of his own pocket, and write the young
+man a kind letter of warning against the university sharks.</p>
+
+<p>The duke carried out this resolution, and John Scott, freed from debt,
+and with three hundred pounds in his possession, went on a holiday tour
+through the country.</p>
+
+<p>He had heard at Oxford of the rising glories of Lone, and determined to
+take his holiday in that neighborhood.</p>
+
+<p>It happened that the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, with the Marquis of
+Arondelle, and their attendants, went that summer to Baden-Baden; so when
+the Oxonion arrived at the &quot;Hereward Arms,&quot; in the hamlet of Lone, and,
+from his age and his exact likeness to the family, was mistaken for the
+heir, there was no one to set the people right on the subject.</p>
+
+<p>The obsequious host of the Hereward Arms called him &quot;my lord,&quot; and
+inquired after his gracious parents, the duke and the duchess.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott did not actually deceive the people as to his identity, but he
+tacitly allowed them to deceive themselves. He did not tell them that he
+was the Marquis of Arondelle; neither did he contradict them when they
+called him so. Nor did his conscience reproach him for his silent
+duplicity. He said to himself:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I <i>am</i> the rightful Marquis of Arondelle. They do but give me my
+own just title! If this comes to the ears of the duke and brings on a
+crisis, I will tell him so!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>While he was in the neighborhood, he went up to Ben Lone on a fishing
+excursion, and there, as elsewhere, on the Scottish estate, he was
+everywhere received as the Marquis of Arondelle. There John Scott first
+met by accident the handsome shepherdess, Rose Cameron, and fell in love
+for the first time in his young life.</p>
+
+<p>We have already seen how the Highland maiden, flattered by the notice
+of the supposed young nobleman, encouraged those attentions without
+returning that love.</p>
+
+<p>After this, John Scott spent all his holidays at Lone, and much of them
+in the society of the handsome shepherdess. His attentions in that
+direction were regarded with strong disapproval by his father's tenantry,
+but it was not their place to censure their supposed &quot;young lord,&quot; and so
+they only expressed their sentiments with grave shaking of their heads.</p>
+
+<p>During the progress of the work, the ducal family never came to Lone, so
+that the tenantry there were never set right as to the identity of John
+Scott.</p>
+
+<p>Only once the duke made a visit, to inspect the progress of the workmen.
+He stopped at the Hereward Arms, and there heard nothing of the pranks of
+John Scott, although, upon one occasion, he came very near doing so.</p>
+
+<p>The landlord respectfully inquired if they should have the young marquis
+up there as usual.</p>
+
+<p>The duke stared for a moment, and then answered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are mistaken. Arondelle does not come up here. Whatever are you
+thinking of, my man?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The host said he was mistaken, that was all, and so got himself out of
+his dilemma the best way he could, and took the first opportunity to warn
+all his dependents and followers that they were not to &quot;blow&quot; on the
+young marquis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was an unco wild lad, nae doobt, but his feyther kenned naething
+about his pranks, and sae the least said, sunest mended,&quot; said the
+landlord.</p>
+
+<p>And thus, by the pranks of his &quot;double,&quot; the reputation of the excellent
+young Marquis of Arondelle suffered among his own people.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>RETRIBUTION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>But a crisis was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>The debts of John Scott increased every year, while the ready means of
+the Duke of Hereward diminished&mdash;everything being engulfed by the Lone
+restoration maelstrom.</p>
+
+<p>The guardian determined to expostulate with his ward.</p>
+
+<p>He went down to Oxford just before the close of the term. He found his
+ward established in elegant and luxurious apartments, quite fit for a
+royal prince, and very much more ostentatious than the unpretending
+chambers occupied by the young Marquis of Arondelle at Cambridge, and
+ridiculously extravagant for a young man of limited income and no
+expectations like John Scott.</p>
+
+<p>The duke was excessively provoked; the forbearance of years gave way; the
+bottled-up indignation burst forth, and the guardian gave his ward what
+in boyish parlance is called, &quot;an awful rowing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You live, sir, at twenty times the rate, your debts are twenty times as
+large, you cost me twenty times as much as does Lord Arondelle, my own
+son and heir!&quot; concluded the duke, in a final burst of anger.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott had listened grimly enough to the opening exordium, but when
+the last sentence broke from the duke's lips, the young man grew pale as
+death, while his compressed lips, contracted brow, and gleaming blue eyes
+alone expressed the fury that raged in his bosom.</p>
+
+<p>He answered very quietly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your grace means that I cost you twenty times as much as does your
+younger son, Lord Archibald Scott, as it is natural that I should being
+the elder son and the heir of the dukedom.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>To portray the duke's thoughts, feelings or looks during his deliberate
+speech would be simply impossible. He sat staring at the speaker, with
+gradually paling cheeks and widening eyes, until the quiet voice ceased,
+when he faltered forth:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What in Heaven's name do you mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should think your grace should know right well what I have known for
+years, and can never for a moment forget, though your grace may effect to
+do so&mdash;that I am your eldest son, the son of your first marriage, with
+the daughter of the Baron de la Motte, and therefore that I, and not my
+younger half brother, by your second marriage, am the right Marquis of
+Arondelle, and the heir of the Dukedom of Hereward,&quot; calmly replied the
+young man, with all the confidence an assured conviction gave.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sank back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
+However John Scott had made the discovery, it was absolutely certain that
+he knew the whole secret of his parentage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What authority have you for making so strange an assertion?&quot; at length
+inquired the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The authority of recorded truth,&quot; replied the young man, emphatically.
+&quot;But does your grace really suppose that such a secret could be kept
+from me? My dear, lost mother never revealed it to me by her words, but
+she unconsciously revealed enough to me by her actions to excite my
+suspicions, and set me on the right track. The records did the rest,
+and put me in possession of the whole truth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What records have you examined?&quot; inquired the duke, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;First and last, in Italy and France, I have examined the registers of
+your marriage with my mother, and of my own birth and baptism; and in
+England, Burke's Peerage. All these as well as other well-known facts,
+As easily proved as if they were recorded, establish my rights as your
+son&mdash;your eldest son and <i>heir</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As my son, but not as my heir, for your most unhappy mother&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<span class="smcaps">Stop!!</span>&quot; suddenly exclaimed the young man, while his blue eyes
+blazed with a dangerous fire. &quot;I warn you, Duke of Hereward, that you
+must not breathe one word reflecting in the least degree on my dear,
+injured mother's name. You have wronged her enough, Heaven knows! and I,
+her son, tell you so. Yes! from the beginning to end, you have wronged
+her grievously, unpardonably. First of all, in marrying her at all, when
+you must have seen&mdash;you could not have failed to see&mdash;that she, gentle
+and helpless creature that she was, was <i>forced</i> by her parents to
+give you her hand, when her broken heart was not hers to give! And,
+secondly, when she discovered that the lover (to whom she had been
+sacredly married by the church, though it seems not lawfully married
+by the state,) and whom she had supposed to be dead, was really living;
+and when she took the only course a pure and sensitive woman could take,
+and withdrew herself from you both, <i>writing to you her reasons for
+doing so</i>, and expressing her wish to live apart a quiet, single,
+blameless life, you did not wait, you did not investigate, but, with
+indecent haste, you so hurried through with your divorce, and hurried
+into your second marriage, as to brand my mother with undeserved infamy,
+and delegalized her son and yours before his birth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven help me,&quot; moaned the Duke of Hereward, covering his face with his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have done us both this infinite wrong, and you cannot undo it now.
+I know that you cannot, for I have taken the pains to seek legal advice,
+and I have been assured that you cannot rectify this wrong. But&mdash;use my
+injured mother's sacred name with reverence, Duke of Hereward, I warn
+you!&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven knows I would use it in no other way! I loved your mother. She
+and you were not the only sufferers in my domestic tragedy. Her loss
+nearly killed me with grief even when I thought her unworthy. The
+discovery of the great wrong I did her has nearly crazed me with
+remorse since that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then do not grudge her son the small share you allow him of that vast
+inheritance which should have been his, had you not unjustly deprived him
+of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will not. Your debts shall be paid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And do not upbraid me by drawing any more invidious comparisons between
+me and one who holds my rightful place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will not&mdash;I will not. John we understand each other now. Your manner
+has not been the most filial toward me, but I will not reproach you for
+that. You say that I have wronged you; and you know that wrong can never
+be righted in this world. 'If I were to give my body to be burned,' it
+could not benefit you in the least toward recovering your position; but
+I will do all I can. I will sell Greencombe, which is my own entailed
+property, and I will place the money with my banker, Levison, to your
+account. I have a pleasant little shooting-box at the foot of Ben Lone.
+We never go to it. You must have the run of it during the vacations. When
+you are ready for your commission I will find you one in a good regiment.
+In return I have one request to make you. For Heaven's sake avoid meeting
+the duchess or her family. Do this for the sake of peace. I hope now that
+we <i>do</i> understand each other?&quot; said the duke with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We do,&quot; said the young man, his better spirit getting the ascendency for
+a few moments. &quot;We do; and I beg your pardon, my father, for the hasty,
+unfilial words I have spoken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can make every allowance, for you, John. I can comprehend how you must
+often feel that you are only your mother's son,&quot; answered the duke,
+grasping the hand that his son had offered.</p>
+
+<p>So the interview that had threatened to end in a rupture between guardian
+and ward terminated amicably.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott's debts were once more paid, his pockets were once more
+filled, and he left for Scotland to spend his vacation at the hunting-box
+under Ben Lone, in the neighborhood made attractive to him, not by black
+cock or red deer, but by the presence of his handsome shepherdess.</p>
+
+<p>The duke sold Greencombe, and placed the purchase-money in the hands of
+Sir Lemuel Levison and Co., Bankers, Lombard Street, London, to be
+invested for the benefit of his ward, John Scott.</p>
+
+<p>The unhappy duke did this at the very time when he was so pressed for
+money to carry on the great work at Lone, as to be compelled to borrow
+from the Jews at an enormous interest, mortgaging his estate, Hereward
+Hold, in security.</p>
+
+<p>And John Scott, with an ample income, and without any restraint, took
+leave of his good angel and started on the road to ruin.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the great works at Lone were completed and the ducal family
+took possession, and commenced their short and glorious reign there by
+a series of splendid entertainments given in honor of the coming of age
+of the heir.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott was not an invited guest, either to the castle or the grounds;
+but he presented himself there, nevertheless, and caused some confusion
+by his close resemblance to his brother, and much scandal by his improper
+conduct among the village girls. And many an honest peasant went home
+from the feast lamenting the behavior of the young heir, and trying to
+excuse or palliate his viciousness by the vulgar proverb:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Boys will be boys.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And so the reputation of the young Marquis of Arondelle suffered and
+continued to suffer from the evil doings of his double.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott kept one part of his compact with the duke; he avoided the
+family; even when he could not keep away from Lone, he contrived to keep
+out of sight of the duke, the duchess, and the marquis.</p>
+
+<p>The young Marquis of Arondelle, indeed, was very little seen at Lone. He
+was at Cambridge, or on his grand tour, nearly all the time of the
+family's residence in the Highlands.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott left the university without honors. This was a disappointment
+to the duke, who did not, however, reproach his wayward son, but only
+wrote and asked him if he would now take a commission in the army. But
+the young man, who had lost all his youthful military ardor, and
+contracted a roving habit that made him averse to all fixed rules and
+all restraints, replied by saying that his income was sufficient for
+his wants, and that he preferred the free life of a scholar.</p>
+
+<p>The duke wrote again, and implored him to choose one of the learned
+professions, saying that it was not yet too late for him to enter upon
+the study of one.</p>
+
+<p>The hopeful son replied that he was not good enough for divinity, bad
+enough for law, or wise enough for medicine; that, therefore, he was
+unsuited to honor either of the learned professions; and begged his
+guardian to disturb himself no longer on the subject of his ward's
+future.</p>
+
+<p>Then the duke let him alone, having, in fact, troubles enough of his own
+to occupy him&mdash;a life of superficial splendor, backed by a condition of
+hopeless indebtedness.</p>
+
+<p>We have already, in the earlier portions of this story, described the
+short, glorious, delusive reign of the Herewards at Lone, and the
+culminating glory and ruin of the royal visit, so immediately to be
+followed by the great crash, when the magnificent estate, with all its
+splendid appointments, was sold under the hammer, and purchased by the
+wealthy banker and city knight, Sir Lemuel Levison. We have told how
+the noble son&mdash;the young Marquis of Arondelle&mdash;sacrificed all his
+life-interest in the entailed estate, to save his father, and how
+vain that sacrifice proved. We have told how the duchess died of
+humiliation and grief, and how the duke and his son went into social
+exile, until recalled by the romantic love of Salome Levison, who wished
+to bestow her hand and her magnificent inheritance upon the disinherited
+heir of Lone.</p>
+
+<p>We have now brought the story of John Scott up to the night of the
+banker's murder, and his own unintentional share in the tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>At the time of the projected marriage between the Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone, John Scott was deeply sunk in debt, and badly in
+want of money.</p>
+
+<p>The capital given him by his father had been so tied up by the donor that
+nothing but the interest could be touched by the improvident recipient.
+It had, in fact, been given to Sir Lemuel Levison in trust for John
+Scott, with directions to invest it to the best advantage for his
+benefit.</p>
+
+<p>This duty the banker had most conscientiously performed by investing the
+money in a mining enterprise, supposed to be perfectly secure and to pay
+a high interest. This investment continued good for years, affording
+John Scott a very liberal income; but as John Scott would probably have
+exceeded any income, however large, that he might have possessed, so of
+course he exceeded this one and got into debt, which accumulated year
+after year, until at length he felt himself forced to ask his trustee to
+sell out a part of his stock in the mining company to liquidate his
+liabilities.</p>
+
+<p>This the banker politely but firmly refused to do, representing to the
+young spendthrift that his duties as a trustee forbade him to squander
+the capital of his client, and that he had been made trustee for the very
+purpose of preserving it.</p>
+
+<p>The obstinacy of the banker enraged the young man, who protested that
+it was unbearable to a man of twenty-five years of age to be in
+leading-strings to a trustee, as if he were an infant of five years old.</p>
+
+<p>The time came, however, when the trustee was compelled by circumstances
+to sell out.</p>
+
+<p>The rare foresight which had made him the millionaire that he was, warned
+Sir Lemuel Levison that the mining company in which he had invested his
+ward's fortune was on the eve of an explosion. As no one else perceived
+the impending catastrophe, Sir Lemuel Levison was enabled to sell out his
+ward's stock at a good premium some days before the crash came&mdash;not an
+honest measure by any means, <i>we</i> think, but&mdash;a perfectly
+business-like one.</p>
+
+<p>He informed John Scott of the transaction, telling him at the same time
+that he had the capital of thirty thousand pounds in his possession,
+ready to be re-invested, and the premium of three hundred pounds, which
+last was at the orders of Mr. Scott.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Scott was not contented with the three hundred pounds premium. He
+wanted a few thousands out of the capital, and he wrote and told his
+trustee as much.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Lemuel Levison was firm in refusing to diminish the capital that had
+been placed in his hands for the benefit of the spendthrift.</p>
+
+<p>Then John Scott in a rage, went up to London and called at the banking
+house of Levison Brothers.</p>
+
+<p>Being admitted to the private office of Sir Lemuel Levison, the young man
+used some very intemperate language, accusing the great banker of
+appropriating his own contemptible little fortune for private and
+unhallowed purposes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are the most unmitigated scamp alive, and I wish I had never had
+anything to do with you; however, I will convince you that you have
+wronged me, and then I will wash my hands of you!&quot; exclaimed the banker.</p>
+
+<p>And so saying, he unlocked a great patent safe that stood in his private
+office, took from it a small iron box, and set it on his desk before him,
+in full sight of his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See here,&quot; he continued; &quot;here is this box, read the inscription on it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The visitor stooped over and read&mdash;in brass letters&mdash;the following
+sentence: &quot;John Scott&mdash;&pound;30,000.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, sir,&quot; continued the banker, opening the box and displaying the
+treasure, all in crisp, new, Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds
+each&mdash;&quot;here is your money. I cannot betray my trust by giving it into
+your hands. But I intend, nevertheless, to resign my trust into the hands
+that gave it me. I am going down to Lone to celebrate the marriage of my
+daughter with the Marquis of Arondelle, and I shall take this box and its
+contents down with me. I shall, of course, meet the Duke of Hereward
+there. As soon as the marriage is over, and the pair gone on their tour,
+I shall deliver this box with its contents over to the duke, who can then
+hand over any part or the whole of this money to you, if he pleases
+to do so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>If any circumstance could have increased the uneasiness of the
+spendthrift, it would have been this resolution of the banker and
+trustee.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott begged Sir Lemuel Levison to reconsider his resolution, and
+not return his capital to the donor, who, in his impoverished condition,
+might, for all he knew, choose to resume his gift entirely, and
+appropriate it to his own uses.</p>
+
+<p>But the banker was inflexible, and the next day set out for Lone,
+carrying John Scott's fortune locked up in the iron box, besides other
+treasures in money and jewels, secured in other receptacles.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott was in despair.</p>
+
+<p>At length, a daring plan occurred to his mind. His evil life had brought
+him into communication with some outlaws of society of both sexes, with
+whom, however, he would not willingly have been seen in daylight, or in
+public. One of these&mdash;a brutal ruffian and thief, with whose haunts and
+habits he was well acquainted&mdash;he sought out. He gave him an outline of
+his scheme, telling him of the great treasures in jewels and other bridal
+presents that would be laid out in the drawing-room at Lone on the night
+of the sixth of June, in readiness for the wedding display on the morning
+of the seventh.</p>
+
+<p>The man Murdockson listened with greedy ears.</p>
+
+<p>The tempter then told him of the iron box, inscribed with his own name,
+and containing <i>important papers</i> which it was necessary he should
+recover, and proposed that if Murdockson would promise to purloin the
+iron box from the chamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, and bring it safely
+to him, John Scott, <i>he</i> would engage to leave the secret passage
+to the castle open for the free entrance of the adventurers.</p>
+
+<p>Murdockson hesitated a long time before consenting to engage in an
+enterprise which, if it promised great profit, also threatened great
+dangers.</p>
+
+<p>At length, however, fired by the prospect of the fabulous wealth said to
+lie exposed in the form of bridal presents displayed in Castle Lone, Mr.
+Murdockson promised to form a party and go down to Lone to reconnoitre,
+and if he should see his way clear, to undertake the job.</p>
+
+<p>The plan was carried out to its full and fatal completion.</p>
+
+<p>Disguised as Highland peasants, Murdockson and two of his pals went down
+to Lone to inspect the lay.</p>
+
+<p>They mingled with the great crowd of peasantry and tenantry that had
+collected from far and near to view the grand pageantry prepared for the
+celebration of the wedding, and their presence in so large an assemblage
+was scarcely noticed.</p>
+
+<p>They met their principal in the course of the day, and with him arranged
+the details of the robbery.</p>
+
+<p>One thing John Scott insisted upon&mdash;that there was to be no violence,
+no bloodshed; that if the robbery could not be effected quietly and
+peaceably, without bodily harm to any inmate, it was not to be done at
+all, it was to be given up at once.</p>
+
+<p>The men promised all that their principal asked, on condition that he
+would act his part, and let them into the castle.</p>
+
+<p>That night John Scott did his work, and attained the climax of his evil
+life.</p>
+
+<p>He tampered with the valet, treated him with drugged whiskey, and while
+the wretched man was in a stupid sleep, stole from him the pass-key to
+Sir Lemuel Levison's private apartment.</p>
+
+<p>We know how that terrible night ended. John Scott could not control the
+devils he had raised.</p>
+
+<p>Only robbery had been intended; but murder was perpetrated.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott, with the curse of Cain upon his soul, and without the spoil
+for which he had incurred it, fled to London and afterwards to the
+Continent, where he became a homeless wanderer for years, and where he
+was subsequently joined by his female companion, Rose.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV.</h2>
+
+<h3>AFTER THE REVELATION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>During the latter portion of the mother-superior's story&mdash;the portion
+that related to the delegalized elder son of the Duke of Hereward&mdash;a
+light had dawned upon the mind of Salome, but so slowly that no sudden
+shock of joy had been felt, no wild exclamation of astonishment uttered:
+yet that light had revealed to the amazed and overjoyed young wife,
+beyond all possibility of further doubt, the blessed truth of the perfect
+freedom of her worshiped husband from all participation in the awful
+crimes of which over-whelming circumstantial evidence had convicted him
+in her own mind, but of which it was now certain that his miserable
+brother, his &quot;double&quot; in appearance, was alone guilty.</p>
+
+<p>The dark story had been told in the darkness of the abbess' den, so that
+not even the varying color that must otherwise have betrayed the deep
+emotion of the hearer, could be seen by the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>At the conclusion of the story, one irrepressible reproach escaped the
+lips of the young wife.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother! mother! If you knew all this, why did you not tell me
+before? For you must also have known, what is now so clear to me, that
+not the Duke of Hereward, who, after all, is my husband, I thank
+Heaven&mdash;not the noble Duke of Hereward, but his most ignoble brother,
+his counterpart in person and in name, has married that terrible Scotch
+woman, and mixed himself up in murder and robbery. Oh, mother! you should
+have told me before!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My daughter be patient! Only this week have I been able to fit in all
+the links in the chain of evidence to make the story complete. Your
+mention of the Duke of Hereward as your false husband, my memory of the
+Duke of Hereward as the wronged husband who had slain my betrothed in a
+duel, all set me to thinking deeply, very deeply thinking. I did not
+express my thoughts unnecessarily. Silence is, with our order, a
+duty&mdash;the handmaid of devotion; but I set secret inquiries on foot,
+through agencies that our orders possess for finding out facts, and means
+that we can use, superior to those of the most accomplished detectives
+living. Through such agencies, and by such means, I learned not only
+external facts&mdash;which are often lies, paradoxical as that may seem&mdash;but I
+learned, also, the internal truths without which no history can be really
+known, no subject really understood.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But oh! you should not have kept silence. You should not have left me to
+misjudge my noble husband a day longer than necessary!&quot; burst forth
+Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Calm yourself, daughter, and listen to me. I have kept nothing from you
+a day longer than necessary. The facts that exonerate the Duke of
+Hereward came to me last of all. Hear me. From Father Garbennetti, the
+new cure of San Vito, I learned the truth of that miscalled elopement of
+the late Duchess of Hereward. I learned that&mdash;in the words of your own
+charming poet&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">'My rival fair<br /></span>
+<span>A saint in heaven should be.'</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>For a most innocent and most deeply wronged and long-suffering martyr on
+earth she had been. From him I also learned the existence of her boy, and
+the adoption of the boy, after the mother's death, by the Duke of
+Hereward. That was all I could learn from the Italian priest, who had
+lost sight of the lad after the mother's death. Next I pushed inquiries
+through our agents in England, and through the investigations of Father
+Fairfield, the eloquent English oratorian, I learned the truth of John
+Scott's life in England and Scotland, as I have given it to you. I
+received Father Fairfield's letter only this day; only this day I have
+learned, Salome, that you are really the Duchess of Hereward; that the
+Duke of Hereward was, and is, really your husband, and was never the
+husband of any other woman.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, how bitterly! how bitterly! how unpardonably I have wronged him! He
+will pardon me! Yes, he will! for he is all magnanimity, and he loves me!
+But I can never, never pardon myself!&quot; exclaimed the young wife, her
+first joy at discovering the absolute integrity of her husband now giving
+place to the severest self-condemnation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You need not reproach yourself so cruelly, so sternly, under
+circumstances in which you would not reproach another at all. Remember
+what you told me, you had the evidence of your own eyes and ears, and the
+testimony of documents, and of individuals against him!&quot; said the abbess,
+soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! the evidence of my own eyes and ears, which mistook the counterfeit
+for the real! the testimony of documents that were forgeries, and of
+individuals that were false! And upon these I believed my noble husband
+guilty of a felony, and without even giving him an opportunity to
+explain the circumstances, or to defend himself, I left him even on our
+wedding-day! and have concealed myself from him for many months! exposing
+him to misconstruction, to dishonor and reproach. Oh, no! I can never,
+never pardon myself! Nor do I even know how <i>he</i> can ever pardon me.
+But he will! I am sure he will! Even as the Lord pardons all repented
+sin, however grievous, so will my peerless husband pardon me!&quot; fervently
+exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess reverted to her own troubles.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot understand,&quot; she said, &quot;the mystery of that man's appearance
+here this morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What man?&quot; inquired Salome, who was so absorbed in thinking of her
+husband that she had nearly forgotten the existence of other men.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'What man?' Why, daughter, the Count Waldemar de Volaski&mdash;the man who
+came here with the woman this morning&mdash;the man whom you mistook for your
+own husband, the Duke of Hereward, but whom I knew to be Waldemar de
+Volaski, once my betrothed, who was said to have been killed in a duel,
+shot through the heart, a quarter of a century ago!&quot; answered the lady,
+emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>Salome stared at the abbess for a few moments in amazed silence, and then
+exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dear madam, good mother, are you still under that deep delusion?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Delusion!&quot; echoed the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, the deepest delusion. Dear lady, do you not know, can you not
+comprehend <i>now</i> that the man who visited us this morning was no
+other than John Scott, the counterpart whom even I really did mistake for
+the Duke of Hereward, as you say; and that the bold, bad beauty who
+accompanied him was his wife, Rose Cameron?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay, daughter, he was Count Waldemar de Volaski!&quot; persisted the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What an hallucination! Dear lady, do you not see&mdash;But what is the use of
+talking? I cannot convince you of your mistake: but circumstances may;
+for, of course, sooner or later the unhappy man will be arrested and
+brought to trial for his share in the robbery and murder at Castle Lone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, you cannot convince me of mistake, because I have not made any; but
+<i>I</i> will convince <i>you</i> of <i>yours</i>,&quot; said the lady, rising
+and striking a match and lighting a lamp; for they had hitherto sat in
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Salome smiled incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess went to a little drawer of the stand upon which her crucifix
+and missal stood, and drew from it a small box, which she opened and
+exhibited to Salome, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This, daughter, is the only memento of the world and the world's people
+that I have retained. I should not have kept even this, but that it is
+the likeness of my once betrothed, bestowed on me on the occasion of our
+betrothal, cherished once in loyal love, cherished now in prayerful
+memory of one whom I supposed had expiated his sins by death, long, long
+ago. I have kept it, but I have not looked at it for twenty years or
+more.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome took the miniature, and examined it carefully with interest and
+curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>It was very well painted in water-colors on ivory. It represented a young
+man of from twenty to twenty-five years of age, with a Roman profile,
+fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde hair and mustache; and so far as
+these features and this complexion went, the miniature certainly did bear
+an external and superficial resemblance to John Scott and to the young
+Duke of Hereward; but in character and expression the faces were so
+totally different that Salome could never have mistaken the miniature
+to be a likeness of the duke or his brother, or either of these men to be
+the original of the picture.</p>
+
+<p>After gazing intently at the miniature for a few minutes, she turned to
+the abbess and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You tell me that you have not looked at this for twenty years?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have not,&quot; said the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you tell me that the man who visited the asylum this morning is the
+original of this picture?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then, dear mother, your memory is at fault and your imagination deceives
+and misleads you. Both the supposed original and the miniature are
+thin-faced, with Roman features, fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde
+hair&mdash;points of resemblance which are common to many men who are not at
+all alike in any other respect. Now look at this miniature again, and you
+will see that, except in the points I have named, it is in no way like
+the man you mistook for its original.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I would rather not look at it. I have not seen it since&mdash;Volaski's
+supposed death,&quot; said the abbess, shrinking.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, but do, for the satisfaction of your own mind. You see so few men,
+that you may easily mistake one blonde for another after twenty years of
+absence from them,&quot; persisted Salome, pressing the open miniature upon
+the lady.</p>
+
+<p>So urged, the abbess took it, gazed wistfully at the pictured face, and
+murmured:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is possible. I may be mistaken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are,&quot; muttered Salome.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess continued to gaze on the portrait, and whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think I am mistaken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am <i>sure</i> that you are, good mother,&quot; said Salome.</p>
+
+<p>The lady's eyes were still fixed upon the relic, until at length she
+closed the locket with a click and laid it away in the little drawer,
+saying, clearly and firmly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I see that I <i>was</i> mistaken.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very glad you know it,&quot; remarked Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So am I. It is a relief. And now, dear daughter, I will dismiss you to
+your rest. To-morrow we will consult concerning your affairs, and see
+what is best for you to do,&quot; said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know what is best for me to do&mdash;<i>my duty</i>. And my very first duty
+is to hasten immediately to England, seek out my dear husband, confess
+all my cruel misapprehension of his conduct, and implore his pardon. I
+am sure of his pardon, and of his love! As sure as I am of my Heavenly
+Lord's pardon and love when I kneel to Him and confess and deplore my
+sins!&quot; fervently exclaimed the young wife.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I suppose you must return to England now. I do suppose that, after
+what we have discovered, you cannot remain here and become a nun,&quot; sighed
+the abbess, unwilling to resign her favorite.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, indeed, I cannot remain here. But I will richly endow the Infants'
+Asylum, dear mother. And I will visit, it every year of my life. I am
+going to retire now, good mother. Bless me,&quot; murmured Salome, bending
+her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Benedicite</i>, fair daughter,&quot; said the abbess, spreading her open
+palms over the beautiful, bowed head as she invoked the blessing.</p>
+
+<p>Then Salome arose, left the cell, and hurried back through the two long
+passages at right angles that conducted her from the nursery to the
+Infants' Asylum.</p>
+
+<p>She passed silently as a spirit through every dormitory where her infant
+charges lay sleeping, assured herself that they were all safe and well,
+and then she entered her own little sleeping-closet adjoining the
+dormitory of the youngest infants, then disrobed and went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>She was much too happy to sleep. She lay counting the hours to calculate
+in how short a time she could be with her beloved husband!</p>
+
+<p>She had no dread of meeting him, not the least.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perfect love casteth out fear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She arose early the next morning, and, after going through all her duties
+in the Infants' Asylum, she went to the lady-superior's sitting-room to
+consult her about making arrangements for an immediate departure for
+England.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But shall you not write first to announce your arrival?&quot; inquired the
+abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; because I can go to England just as quickly as a letter can, and I
+would rather go. There is a train from L'Ange at five <span class="smcaps">P. M.</span> I
+can go by that and reach Calais in time for the morning boat, and be in
+London by noon to-morrow&mdash;as soon as a letter could go. And I could see
+my husband, actually see him, before I could possibly get a letter from
+him,&quot; said Salome, brightening.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If his grace should be in London,&quot; put in the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think he will be in London. If he is not there, I can find out where
+he is, and follow him. Dear madam, <i>do</i> not hinder me. I <i>must</i>
+start by the first available train,&quot; said Salome, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not desire to hinder you,&quot; answered the lady-superior.</p>
+
+<p>Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Sister Francoise,
+who pale and agitated, sank upon the nearest seat, and sat trembling and
+speechless, until the abbess exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;For the love of Heaven, Sister Francoise, tell us what has happened. Who
+is ill? Who is dead?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Helas!</i> holy mother!&quot; gasped the nun, losing her breath again
+immediately.</p>
+
+<p>Salome drew a small phial of sal volatile from her pocket and uncorked
+and applied it to the nose of the fainting nun, saying soothingly:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now tell us what has overcome you, good sister.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my child! It is dreadful! It is terrible! It is horrible! It is
+awful! But they are bringing him in!&quot; gasped Sister Francoise, snuffing
+vigorously at the sal volatile, and still beside herself with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What! What! Who are they bringing in?&quot; demanded the abbess, in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm going to tell you! Oh, give me time! It is stupefying! It is
+annihilating! The poor gentleman who has just shot himself through the
+body!&quot; gasped Sister Francoise, losing her breath again after this
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A gentleman shot himself!&quot; echoed Salome, in consternation.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess, pale as death, said not a word, but left the unnerved sister
+to the care of Salome, and went out to see what had really happened.</p>
+
+<p>She met the little Sister Felecitie in the passage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What is all this, my daughter?&quot; she inquired, in a very low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They have taken him into the refectory, madam. That was the nearest to
+the gate, where it happened. It happened just outside the south gate,
+madam. They took off a leaf of the gate, and laid him on it and brought
+him in,&quot; answered the trembling little novice, rather incoherently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Daughter, I have often admonished you that you must not address me as
+'madam,' but as 'mother.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg your pardon, holy mother; but I was so frightened, I forgot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now tell me quickly, and clearly, what happened near the south gate?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, madam!&mdash;holy mother, I mean!&mdash;the suicide! the suicide!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The suicide! It was not an accident, then, but a suicide?&quot; exclaimed the
+abbess, aghast, and pausing in her hurried walk toward the refectory.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, madam&mdash;holy mother!&mdash;yes, so they say! It is enough to kill one to
+see it all!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go into my room, child, and stay there with Sister Francoise until I
+return. Such sights are too trying for such as you,&quot; said the abbess, as
+she parted from the young novice, and hurried on toward the refectory.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>RETRIBUTION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>She entered the long dining-hall, where a terrible sight met her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Stretched upon the table lay a man in the midst of a pool of his own
+blood!</p>
+
+<p>In the room were gathered a crowd, consisting of three Englishmen, three
+gend'armes, several countrymen, several out-door servants of the convent,
+and half a hundred nuns and novices.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd had parted a little on the side nearest the door by which the
+abbess entered, so as to permit the approach of an old man who seemed to
+be a physician, and who proceeded to unbutton the wounded man's coat and
+vest, and to examine his wound.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How horrible! Is he quite dead?&quot; inquired the abbess, making her way to
+the side of the village surgeon, for such the old man was.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, madam; he has fainted from loss of blood. The wound has stopped
+bleeding now, however, and I hope by the use of proper stimulants to
+recover him sufficiently to permit me to examine and dress his wounds,&quot;
+replied the surgeon, who now drew from his pocket a bottle of spirits of
+hartshorn, poured some out in his hands, and began to bathe the forehead,
+mouth and nostrils of the unconscious man.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess drew nearer, stooped over the body, and gazed attentively into
+the pallid and ghastly face, and then started with a half-suppressed cry
+as she recognized the features of the man who had visited the Infants'
+Asylum on the day previous, and whom the abbess now believed to be John
+Scott, the half brother and the &quot;double&quot; of the Duke of Hereward.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Will you kindly order some brandy, madam?&quot; courteously requested the
+surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, monsieur,&quot; replied the lady superior, who immediately
+dispatched a nun to fetch the required restorative.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as it was brought, a few drops were forced down the throat of the
+fainting man, who soon began to show signs of recovery.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should like to put my patient to bed, madam; but the nearest
+farm-house is still too far off for him to be conveyed thither in safety.
+The motion would start his wound to bleeding again, and the hemorrhage
+might prove fatal,&quot; said the surgeon suggestively.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess took the hint.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course,&quot; she said, &quot;the poor wounded man must remain here. I will
+have a room prepared for him in our Old Men's Home. It will not take ten
+minutes to get the room ready, and carry him to it. Can you wait so long,
+good Doctor?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Assuredly, madam,&quot; answered the surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess gave the necessary orders to a couple of young nuns, who
+hurried off to obey them.</p>
+
+<p>In less time than the abbess required, they came back and reported that
+the room was ready for the patient.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, then, Monsieur le Docteur, you may remove your patient,&quot; said the
+abbess, courteously.</p>
+
+<p>The surgeon, assisted by two of the countrymen, tenderly lifted the
+wounded man, and laid him on the leaf of the gate, and, preceded by an
+aged nun to show the way, bore him off toward the Old Men's Home.</p>
+
+<p>One of the Englishmen and one of the gend'armes followed him.</p>
+
+<p>The remaining two Englishmen and two gend'armes showed no disposition to
+depart.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was not two well pleased at this masculine invasion of her
+sanctuary, and so after waiting for some explanation of their presence
+from these strange men, she went up to them and inquired, with suggestive
+politeness:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;May we know, messieurs, how we can further serve you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your pardon, holy madam, but we are not willing intruders. I am
+Inspector Setter, of Scotland Yard, London, at your service. The wounded
+man is one John Scott, charged with complicity in the murder and robbery
+of the late Sir Lemuel Levison of Lone Castle. I bear a warrant for his
+arrest, countersigned by your chief of police. But for the prisoner's
+dying condition, we should convey him back to England immediately. As it
+is, we must hold him in custody here until the end,&quot; said the elder and
+more respectable-looking of the two Englishmen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry to hear what you have to tell me; but since it seems
+your duty to remain here on guard for the security of your prisoner, I
+think it would be better that you should be nearer to him. The Old Men's
+Home will afford the most proper lodging for you as well as for him. One
+of my nuns will show you the way there, when a room near that of your
+wounded prisoner shall be assigned you,&quot; said the abbess, with grave
+courtesy, as she beckoned a withered old nun to her presence, and
+silently directed her to lead the way for the strangers to the lodging
+provided for them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;John Scott, the half brother of the Duke of Hereward, charged with
+complicity in the murder and robbery at Castle Lone! Well, I am more
+grieved than surprised,&quot; murmured the abbess to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Then she sent the younger nuns and novices about their several duties,
+and directed one of the elders to see that the refectory was restored to
+order.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess was about to return to her own room when she was stayed by
+the re-entrance of Inspector Setter, the three gend'armes, and the
+countrymen.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess looked up in a grave inquiry at this second intrusion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I beg your pardon, reverend madam; I have come to report to you the
+condition of your wounded guest, and to relieve you of the presence of
+these trespassers,&quot; said Inspector Setter, indicating his companions.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, monsieur, what of the wounded man?&quot; inquired the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The surgeon has dressed his wound, but pronounces it mortal. The man, he
+says, cannot live over a few days, perhaps not over a few hours. The
+surgeon will not leave him to-day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry to hear that. Will you be so good as to tell me,
+monsieur, how the unfortunate man received his fatal injury? I heard&mdash;I
+heard&mdash;but I hope it is not true,&quot; said the abbess, shrinking from
+repeating the awful rumor that had reached her ears.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You heard, holy madam, that he had committed suicide?&quot; suggested the
+harder-nerved inspector.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess bowed gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is unfortunately quite true,&quot; said Inspector Setter. &quot;You see,
+reverend madam, we traced him and his young&mdash;woman&mdash;I beg your reverend
+ladyship's pardon, holy madam&mdash;to Paris. Afterwards, we tracked them to
+L'Ange. We reached L'Ange this morning, and learned that our man had
+walked out toward the convent here. We followed, and came upon him near
+the south gate. I accosted him, and arrested him. He was as cool as a
+cucumber, and quick as lightning! Before we could suspect or prevent the
+action, he whipped a pistol out of his breast-pocket, and presented it at
+his own head. I seized his arm while his finger was on the trigger; but
+was too late to save him. He fired! I only changed the direction of the
+ball, which, instead of blowing off his head, buried itself somewhere in
+his body. He fell, a crowd gathered, we picked him up, took a leaf of the
+gate off its hinges, laid him on it, and brought him in here. That is
+all, your reverend ladyship. The doctor says the wound is mortal; I must
+remain in charge until all is over; but I don't want a body-guard, and if
+your ladyship's politeness will permit me. I will dismiss all these men
+and see them out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do so, if you please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Oh, this is too horrible!&quot;
+said the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>While she was yet speaking, the surgeon also re-entered the refectory.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How goes it with your patient, Monsieur le Docteur?&quot; inquired the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He will die, good madam. Velpeau himself could not save him; he knows
+that he will die as well as we do, for he has recovered consciousness,
+and desired that a telegram be sent off immediately to summon the Duke
+of Hereward, whom he seems extremely anxious to see. I have written the
+message; here it is. I cannot leave my patient, or I would take it
+myself; but Monsieur l'Inspecteur, perhaps you can provide me with a
+messenger to carry this to L'Ange,&quot; said the surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly,&quot; agreed Mr. Setter, taking the written message and reading
+it. &quot;But you have directed this to Hereward House, Piccadilly, London?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wrote it at the dictation of my patient.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is mistaken. The Duke of Hereward is living in Paris, at Meurice's.
+I will make the correction,&quot; said Mr. Setter, drawing from his pocket a
+lead pencil and a blank-book, upon a leaf of which he re-wrote the
+message. He tore out the leaf, and read what he had written:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>To <span class="smcaps">His Grace The Duke of Hereward, Meurice's, Paris</span>: I am
+dying. Come immediately.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">John Scott</span>, Convent of St. Rosalie, L'Ange.</p></div>
+
+<p>&quot;That will do,&quot; said Mr. Setter, inspecting his work. &quot;Now, Smith,&quot; he
+added, handing the paper to one of his officers, &quot;hurry with this message
+to the telegraph office at the railway station at L'Ange. See that it is
+sent off promptly, for it is a matter of life and death, as you know.
+Wait for an answer, and when you get it hasten back with it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right, sir,&quot; answered the man, taking the paper, and hurrying away.</p>
+
+<p>The other men, whose services were no longer required, followed him out
+to go about their business.</p>
+
+<p>The inspector and the surgeon, seeing the lady abbess about to address
+them, lingered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope, messieurs, that you will freely call upon us for anything that
+may be needed for the relief of your patient, or for the convenience of
+yourselves,&quot; she said, with grave courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, madame, we will do so,&quot; replied the surgeon, with a deep bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And, above all, the interests of his immortal soul should be taken care
+of. If he should need spiritual comfort, here is Father Garbennetti, who
+will wait on him,&quot; added the abbess, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your ladyship's holiness is very good. I happen to know the man is a
+Romanist, and if he should ask for a priest, I will let your reverend
+ladyship know,&quot; said Mr. Setter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do so. Monsieur l'Inspecteur. And tell him the name of the priest I
+proposed for him&mdash;Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy; for I have
+reason to believe that this holy father once knew your patient very
+intimately,&quot; added the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Stay, now&mdash;what was the priest's name again? I never can get the name of
+these foreigners,&quot; muttered Mr. Setter, with a puzzled air.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy. But I will write it for you.
+Lend me your pencil and tablets, monsieur, if you please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Setter placed his pocket writing material in the hands of the lady,
+with his best bow.</p>
+
+<p>She carefully wrote the name of the Italian priest on a blank leaf and
+returned the pencil and the book to the inspector, who received them with
+another bow.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Dubourg and Inspector Setter then &quot;bowed&quot; themselves out of the
+lady's presence and returned to the bedside of the wounded man.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess gave a few more directions to the lay sisters who were engaged
+in restoring the room to order, and then she withdrew from the refectory
+and returned to her own apartment, where she had left Salome and the
+little Sister Felecitie.</p>
+
+<p>She found them still waiting there; and both engaged in the little bit of
+knitting or embroidery that they always carried in their pockets to take
+up at odd moments that would otherwise be wasted in idleness, which was
+held to be a grave fault, if not a deadly sin, by the sisterhood, and,
+besides, from the sale of this work they realized a very considerable
+income.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I waited here, good mother, to learn more of the poor wounded man.
+Sister Felecitie tells me that he is a suicide. I hope that is a
+mistake,&quot; said Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is too true, <i>helas</i>! But, my daughter,&quot; said the abbess,
+turning to the young nun, &quot;leave us alone for a few minutes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The little sister retired obediently, but very unwillingly, for she was
+tormented with unsatisfied curiosity concerning the unfortunate stranger,
+who had committed suicide at their convent gate.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome! do you know, can you conjecture, who the unhappy man is?&quot;
+solemnly inquired the abbess, as soon as she was left alone with her
+young friend.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not know. I&mdash;<i>fear to conjecture</i>,&quot; whispered the young wife;
+growing pale.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yet your very fear proves that you <i>have</i> conjectured, and
+conjectured correctly. Yes! the wretched suicide is no other than John
+Scott, the 'double' of the Duke of Hereward.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven of heavens! What drove him to the fatal deed? But why should
+I ask? Of course, it was remorse! remorse that was slowly killing him!
+too slowly for his suffering and his impatience!&quot; exclaimed the young
+lady, with a shudder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, it was remorse, and&mdash;<i>desperation</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Desperation!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes! The English detectives had traced him down to this neighborhood;
+they followed him down here with a warrant for his arrest, countersigned
+by our chief of police. They surprised him near the south gate of the
+convent; but he was too quick for them; and before they could prevent
+him, driven to desperation, he caught a pistol from his pocket and shot
+himself through the body, inflicting a mortal wound. They brought him
+into the convent. I have had him placed in a comfortable room in the Old
+Men's Home, where he is attended by Doctor Dubourg, of L'Ange, who
+Providentially happened to be passing the convent at the time of the
+occurrence.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome covered her face with her hands, and sank back in her chair, with
+a groan.</p>
+
+<p>A few moments elapsed, and then Salome, still vailing her face, murmured
+a question:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long may the dying man last? Surely&mdash;surely&mdash;&quot; Her voice faltered,
+and broke down with a sob.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He <i>can</i> not last more than a very few days. He <i>may</i> not last
+more than a few hours,&quot; said the abbess, in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Surely&mdash;surely, then,&quot; resumed Salome, in a broken voice, &quot;he will make
+a confession before he dies. He will vindicate his brother, and so save
+his own soul.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think that he will do so, Sister Salome. Calm yourself. He has caused
+a telegram to be sent to the Duke of Hereward, calling him here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome started and trembled violently. She could scarcely gasp forth the
+words of her broken exclamation:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Duke of Hereward! Called! Here!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, my daughter. So you perceive that your proposed journey to England
+is forestalled.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My husband coming here! Oh! how soon will he come? He cannot be here in
+less than twenty-four hours, can he?&quot; eagerly demanded Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He may be here in less than six hours. The Duke of Hereward does not
+have to come from London; he is not there, but in Paris; so you perceive,
+also, that if you had gone to England, as you proposed to do, you would
+have missed seeing him there,&quot; added the lady, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My husband in Paris&mdash;so near. My husband to be here this evening&mdash;so
+soon. Oh, this is too much, too much happiness!&quot; exclaimed the young
+wife, bursting into tears of joy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then you have no dread of meeting him?&quot; suggested the elder lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Dread of meeting him?' Dread of meeting my own dear husband? Ah, no,
+no, no! No dread, but an infinite longing to meet him. Oh! I know and
+feel how I have wronged him. How deeply and bitterly I have wronged him.
+But I know, also, how utterly he will pardon me. Yes, I know that, as
+surely as I know that my Heavenly Lord pardons us all of our repented
+sins!&quot; fervently exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven grant that you may be happy, my child'&quot; said the lady, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the door opened, and an aged nun, one of the attendants in
+the Old Men's Home, entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mere Pauline, what is it?&quot; calmly inquired the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Holy mother, I have come from Monsieur le Docteur to say that the
+messenger has come back from L'Ange, and brought an answer to the
+telegram. Monsieur le Duc d' Hereward will be here by the midday
+express from Paris, which reaches L'Ange at five o'clock this afternoon,&quot;
+answered Mere Pauline.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks for your news. Sit down and breathe after climbing all these
+stairs. And now tell me, how is the wounded man?&quot; inquired the abbess,
+as the old nun sank wearily into the nearest chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Helas!</i> holy mother, he is sinking fast. The doctor thinks he will
+not outlive the night; and meanwhile he is anxious, so anxious, for the
+arrival of Monsieur le Duc! He asks from time to time if the duke has
+come, or is coming; if we have heard from him, and so on,&quot; sighed the old
+nun.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But have you not soothed him by communicating the message received from
+the duke, that his grace will be here at five o'clock?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, holy mother! for he was sleeping under the influence of opium, which
+the good surgeon had felt obliged to administer in order to quiet him
+just before the message came. If he wakes and inquires about the duke
+again, we will give him the message.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Quite right. Has the wretched man seen a priest, or asked to see one?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, mother! but I was not unmindful of his immortal weal. I asked him if
+he would see Pere Garbennetti. He brightened up at the name, and inquired
+if le pere was here. I told him yes, and at his service, waiting to
+attend him, indeed. But then he gloomed again, and said no; he would see
+no one until he had seen the Duke of Hereward. He would rest and save his
+strength for his interview with the Duke of Hereward. I will return to my
+charge now, if my good mother will permit me,&quot; said the old nun, rising
+from her chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go, then, Mere Pauline, if you are sufficiently rested. Keep me advised
+of the state of your patient, but do not tax your aged limbs to climb
+these stairs again. Send one of the younger nuns, and give yourself some
+rest,&quot; said the abbess, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Helas!</i> holy mother, I shall have time enough to rest in the
+grave, whither I am fast tending,&quot; sighed the old nun, as she withdrew
+from the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mother!&quot; joyfully exclaimed Salome, as soon as they were left alone,
+&quot;he comes by the midday express! It is midday now! The train has already
+left Paris! He is speeding toward us, even now, as fast as steam can
+bring him. I can almost see and hear and <i>feel</i> him coming!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Calm your transports, dear daughter; think of the dying sinner so near
+us, even now,&quot; gravely replied the elder lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can think of nothing but my living husband,&quot; exclaimed the young wife.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, these young hearts! these young hearts! 'From all inordinate and
+sinful affections, good Lord, deliver us!'&quot; prayed the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>She had scarcely spoken, when the door opened and Sister Francoise
+entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I came with a message from the portress, good mother. She says that a
+young woman has come from L'Ange, who claims to be the wife of the
+wounded man, and insists upon being admitted to see him. The portress
+does not know what to do, and has sent me to you for instructions,&quot; said
+Sister Francoise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The wounded man is sleeping and must not be awakened. Tell the portress
+to keep the young woman in the parlor until she can be permitted to see
+the patient, then do you go to the Old Men's Home, inquire for Monsieur
+le Doctor Dubourg, and announce to him the arrival of this woman, and let
+him use his medical discretion about admitting her. Go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, holy mother,&quot; said Sister Francoise, retreating.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have not had a moment's peace since this unhappy man has been in the
+house,&quot; said Salome, compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; smiled the lady. &quot;Of course not, but it cannot be helped. We must
+bear one another's burdens.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The loud ringing of the dinner-bell arrested the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come, we will go down,&quot; said the abbess, rising.</p>
+
+<p>They descended to the refectory.</p>
+
+<p>The long hall, that had been the scene of so much horror and confusion in
+the morning, was now restored to its normal condition.</p>
+
+<p>The plain, frugal, midday meal of the abbess and the elder nuns was
+arranged with pure cleanliness upon the table, where, but a few hours
+before, the body of the wounded man had lain. But the awful event of the
+morning had taken a deep effect upon the quiet and sensitive sisterhood.
+They sat down at the table, but scarcely touched the food.</p>
+
+<p>When the form of dining&mdash;for it was little more than a form that day&mdash;was
+over, the abbess and her nuns arose, and separated about their several
+vocations.</p>
+
+<p>Later on, the abbess sent a message to the Old Men's Home, inquiring
+after the wounded man.</p>
+
+<p>She received an answer to the effect that the patient had waked up, and
+had been told of the telegram from the Duke of Hereward, and the expected
+arrival of his grace at five o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>The news had satisfied the suffering man, who had been calmer ever since
+its reception. He had also been told of the arrival of his wife, but he
+had declined to see her, or <i>any</i> one, until he should have seen the
+Duke of Hereward. He was saving up all his little strength for his
+interview with the duke.</p>
+
+<p>As the hours of the afternoon crept slowly away, the impatience of the
+young wife, Salome, arose to fever heat. She could not rest in any one
+room, but roamed about the convent, and through all its departments and
+offices, until, at length, she was met in the main corridor by the
+abbess, who gravely took her hand, drew it within her arm, and led her
+along, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come into my parlor, child. The Duke of Hereward has arrived.&quot;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE END OF A LOST LIFE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Duke of Hereward knew nothing of his wife's presence in the Convent
+of St. Rosalie.</p>
+
+<p>On his arrival, soon after five o'clock, he was met by the portress, who
+ushered him into the receiving parlor and sent to warn the abbess of his
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess dispatched a message to the surgeon in attendance upon John
+Scott, and then sought out the young duchess to inform her of her
+husband's arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime Dr. Dubourg hurried down to the receiving-parlor to see the
+Duke of Hereward. They were strangers to each other, so the portress
+introduced them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope your patient is better, Monsieur le Docteur,&quot; said the duke, when
+the first salutations were over.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I regret to say. There is, indeed, no hope. The poor man has been
+sinking since morning. He is most anxious to see your grace, before he
+dies, and that very anxiety, I think, has kept him up,&quot; gravely replied
+the physician.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am sorry to hear that. Is he in condition to see me now? Will not the
+interview tend to excite him and shorten his life?&quot; anxiously inquired
+the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It may do so; but, on the other hand, his failure to see you might prove
+fatal to him sooner than his wound would. The fact is, sir, the man is
+doomed; his hours are numbered, and he knows it. He is eager to see you;
+he seems to have something weighing upon his mind, which he wishes to
+confide to you. He has been saving his little strength for an interview
+with you. He has refused to speak to any one, lest he should waste his
+forces and be too weak to talk to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will go to him, then, at once,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do so, your grace, and I will attend you,&quot; said the doctor with a bow.</p>
+
+<p>The duke arose and followed the doctor through the long corridors and
+narrow passages leading from the Nunnery to the Old Men's Home.</p>
+
+<p>On their way thither, the duke inquired how the patient had received that
+fatal wound, of which his grace had only heard a vague report from scraps
+of conversation among the officials at the L'Ange Railway Depot.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor gave him a brief account of the arrest and the suicide.</p>
+
+<p>The duke made no comment, but fell into deep, sorrowful thought, until
+they reached the door of the room in which John Scott lay mortally
+wounded.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor opened the door and passed in with the duke.</p>
+
+<p>It was a good-sized, square room, in which had once been placed four cots
+to accommodate four old men. Now, however, all the cots had been removed
+except the one on which the wounded man lay, and that had been drawn into
+the middle of the chamber, so as to give the patient a free circulation
+of fresh air, and to allow the approach of surgeon and attendants on
+every side. The walls were white-washed, the floor sanded, the windows
+shaded with blue paper hangings, and the cot-bed covered with a clean,
+blue-checked spread. Four cane chairs and a small deal table completed
+the furniture.</p>
+
+<p>Everything was plain, clean and comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor, with a deprecating gesture, signed to the duke to wait a
+moment, and went up to the side of the bed, and finding his patient
+awake, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Monsieur, the friend you expected has arrived.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You mean&mdash;the Duke of Hereward?&quot; faintly inquired Scott.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, monsieur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give me then&mdash;some cordial&mdash;to keep up my strength&mdash;for fifteen minutes
+longer,&quot; sighed the dying man at intervals.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor signed to Sister Francoise, who sat by the bedside, to go and
+bring what was required.</p>
+
+<p>The old nun went to the deal table and brought a small bottle of cognac
+brandy and a slender wine glass.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor filled the glass, lifted the head of the patient, and placed
+the stimulant to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>Scott swallowed the brandy, drew a deep breath as he sank back upon the
+pillow and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, bring the duke to my bed side, and let everyone go and leave us
+together.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor signed for the duke to approach, and silently presented him to
+the patient.</p>
+
+<p>Then he beckoned Sister Francoise to follow him, and they left the room,
+closing the door behind them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am sorry to see you suffering, my brother,&quot; said the duke, kindly, as
+he bent over the dying man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! you call me your brother! You acknowledge me then?&quot; said Scott, half
+in earnest, half in mockery.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Most certainly I do acknowledge you, and most sincerely do I deplore
+your misfortunes,&quot; answered the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yet I have been a great sinner. I feel that now, as I lie upon my
+death-bed,&quot; muttered Scott, in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I look upon you as one 'more sinned against than sinning,'&quot; said the
+duke seriously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, that is true also,&quot; murmured the dying man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But let us not dwell upon that. The past is dead. Let it be buried.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aye, with all my heart.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You wished to see me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I did.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To make some communication to me. Is it a very important one?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is so important that I have risked my soul to make it to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But how can that be?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, in this way. I have but little strength, I might have used that
+strength in making my confession to Father Garbennetti, and received
+absolution at his hands; but I was afraid of exhausting myself so that
+I should not be able to tell you what I have to communicate.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I trust and believe that you have more strength than you suppose. Your
+eyes look bright and strong.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is the effect of the brandy. I never tasted better. Ah! they know
+what good liquor is&mdash;these holy sisters&mdash;no offence to them, bless them;
+their care has helped me; but I am going fast, for all that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are at ease&mdash;you feel no pain?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; but that is because mortification has set in. I feel no pain: I am
+at ease, only sinking, sinking, sinking fast. Will you pour out a little
+glass of brandy and give it to me? You will find the bottle and the
+wine-glass on the table,&quot; said the patient, who was visibly growing
+feebler.</p>
+
+<p>The duke went and brought the stimulant, and administered it to the dying
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah! that revives me! How long have you known that I was your brother?&quot;
+Scott inquired, as soon as the duke had replaced the glass and returned
+to the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Only since our honored father's death. I should at once have claimed you
+and carried out certain instructions he had left me for your benefit, in
+the letter in which he revealed our relationship&mdash;if&mdash;if&mdash;if&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke, with more delicacy than moral courage, hesitated, and finally
+left his sentence incomplete.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If I had not dishonored my family by committing a crime, and flying the
+country!&quot; said John Scott, finishing the sentence for the first speaker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did not say so,&quot; exclaimed the duke, flushing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But it was the truth nevertheless. And now before I begin my confession,
+will you please to tell me the nature of the revelation and of the
+instructions that my father left to you concerning me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly. He told me the story of his first fatal marriage; of the
+divorce sought and granted under lying circumstantial evidence; of your
+birth some few months later&mdash;out of wedlock&mdash;although you were the son of
+his lawful marriage. He told me how impossible it was ever to restore you
+to your lawful rights, and he charged me to regard you as a dear brother,
+and share with you all the benefits of the estate, the whole of which
+would eventually have been yours had not your father's own rash act
+deprived you of the succession, and forever put it out of our power to
+restore you to it. I accepted the trust, and should have discharged it
+had you not left the country.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I suppose the old man did as well as he could under the
+circumstances. He too was to be pitied. But now tell me, did <i>you</i>
+help to hark the bloodhounds of the law on my track?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No. From the time I received a hint from that wretched man, Potts, the
+valet, implicating yourself, I refrained from all action in your
+pursuit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought so&mdash;I thought so. You wouldn't like to help hang your own
+brother, even if he had deserved it; but he did not quite deserve it; and
+it was to explain that, as well as some other things, that I brought you
+here. You know so much already, however, so much more than I suspected
+you knew, that I shall not have a great deal to tell you; but&mdash;my
+strength is going fast again. I shall have to be quick. Give me another
+glass of brandy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The duke complied with the man's request, and then replaced the glass
+again and returned to the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I suppose I should not require that stimulant so often to keep up my
+dying frame, if I had not been so hard a drinker in late years. However,
+it is absolutely necessary to me now, if I am to go on. Come close; I
+cannot raise my voice any longer,&quot; whispered the fast-failing man.</p>
+
+<p>The duke drew his chair as closely as possible to the side of the cot,
+took the wasted hand of his poor brother, and bowed his head to hear the
+sorrowful story.</p>
+
+<p>In a weak, low voice, with many pauses, John Scott told the story of
+his life, from his own point of view, dwelling much on his mother's
+undeserved sorrows and early death.</p>
+
+<p>He told of his own secluded life and education, and of his ignorance of
+his father's name until after his mother's decease.</p>
+
+<p>He confessed the rage and hatred that filled his bosom on first learning
+that poor mother's wrongs, greater even than his own.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke of the natural mistake made by the country people at Lone, who
+misled by his perfect likeness to his brother, had received him and
+honored him as Marquis of Arondelle.</p>
+
+<p>He admitted that their error flattered his self-love, and believing
+that he had the best right to the title, he allowed them to deceive
+themselves, and to address him and speak of him as Lord Arondelle, the
+heir.</p>
+
+<p>He related the incident of his first accidental meeting with Rose
+Cameron, who, like all the other tenantry, mistook him for the young
+marquis, and so had her head turned by his attentions, and followed him
+to London, where he secretly married her.</p>
+
+<p>This brought him to the time when the extravagance of his companion,
+added to his own expensive vices, brought him deeply into debt. He knew
+that his father had placed a large amount of money in the hands of Sir
+Lemuel Levison to be invested for his (John Scott's) benefit. He applied
+for a part of this money to pay his debts, but was refused by the
+trustee. Whereupon a quarrel ensued, which resulted in Sir Lemuel
+Levison's resolution to take the money down to Lone Castle and restore
+it to the original donor, that the latter might dispose of it at his own
+discretion.</p>
+
+<p>This move maddened the penniless spendthrift. It drove him to
+desperation. He resolved to get possession of his money by foul means
+since he could not do so by fair ones; by violence, if not by peace.
+Circumstances had brought him to acquaintance with a pair of desperate
+thieves and burglars.</p>
+
+<p>He sought them out, tempted them by the prospect of great booty for
+themselves, and arranged with them the whole plan of the robbery of Lone,
+stipulating that there should be no bloodshed at all; but that if the
+burglars were discovered before completing the robbery, they should seek
+rather to make their escape than to secure their booty.</p>
+
+<p>But who can unchain a devil and say to him, &quot;Thus far, no farther shalt
+thou go?&quot; The instigator of the crime had no power over his instruments;
+on the contrary, they had power over him from the moment he called in
+their aid and became their confederate.</p>
+
+<p>John Scott continued his confession by relating that he took the men down
+to Lone, disguised as countrymen, and led them to the castle grounds,
+where, lost in the great crowd that came to see the preparations for the
+wedding festivities, their presence as strangers was unnoticed; that at
+night he drugged the drink of the valet, stole the pass-key from his
+pocket, and through the secret passage under Malcolm's Tower he admitted
+the thieves into the castle, and by means of the valet's key passed them
+into Sir Lemuel Levison's bedroom.</p>
+
+<p>He shuddered, failed, and seemed about to faint, as he recalled the
+horrible tragedy enacted in the room that night.</p>
+
+<p>The duke gave him another small glass of brandy before he could revive
+and continue.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heaven knows, though under strong temptation, not to say under
+imperative necessity, I employed thieves and burglars, I was neither
+a robber nor a murderer in intention. I wanted to get my own money,
+withheld from me against my expressed desire&mdash;that was all. I do not say
+this to extenuate my crime, but to let you know the exact truth. I cannot
+dwell upon this part of the dreadful tale. You know already that the
+thieves murdered Sir Lemuel Levison in his chamber. It seems that he
+had not gone to bed, but had fallen asleep in his chair. He woke and
+discovered them. He was instantly about to give the alarm, when he was
+knocked senseless by Smith and killed by Murdockson. From the moment that
+I heard the old man was dead, although I had not intended the awful
+crime, I knew that I had actually occasioned it, and that the curse of
+Cain was upon my head! I have not had a happy moment since. I fled the
+country, and stayed abroad until I heard that my wretched companion,
+Rose, was in trouble. Then I returned in disguise to see what was to
+become of her, resolved to give myself up to justice, if it should be
+necessary to vindicate her. But I found, by cautious inquiry, that she
+had been admitted as crown's evidence on the trial of the valet Potts,
+who was discharged from custody, on a verdict of 'Not Proven,' but that
+she was in prison again, on the charge of perjury, for having sworn&mdash;what
+she truly believed, by the way, poor wench&mdash;that the confederate of the
+thieves who murdered Sir Lemuel Levison was no other than the young
+Marquis of Arondelle. You were there, sir, and immediately proved an
+alibi?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rose was thereupon committed for perjury. I found her in prison on that
+charge when I returned to Scotland. I did not see her then. I was afraid
+to show myself, especially as I knew the girl felt very bitterly toward
+me, believing that I had willfully betrayed her into danger, when in
+point of fact it was her own dishonesty that led to her arrest. Her
+vanity tempted her to purloin and secrete a portion of the most valuable
+jewels from the booty that had accidentally in the confusion of the
+thieves' flight fallen into my hands along with the money that was my
+own. I had intended, secretly to return the jewels upon the first
+opportunity, but the unfortunate woman secreted them, and denied all
+knowledge of them. After my flight she was so mad as to wear the watch in
+public, and to take it to a West End jeweller for repairs. Of course that
+jeweller, like others, had a full description of the watch, recognized
+the stolen property, and caused the arrest of the holder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We heard all that on the trial. Do not exhaust yourself by repeating
+anything that has already come to our knowledge,&quot; said the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I refer to this only to explain the bitterness of the girl's feelings
+toward me as the reason why I was obliged to keep concealed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But if the girl had been favorable toward you, would not it have been
+equally dangerous for you to have shown yourself?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! no; my disguise was too complete. Besides, if I had not been
+disguised&mdash;you see in that neighborhood I had never been known as myself,
+but had always been mistaken for you&mdash;and the people were not undeceived
+up to that time. Give me a little more brandy. Ah! this spurring up a
+jaded horse! You see it does not get into my head. It only keeps up my
+sinking strength,&quot; added the man, after the duke had complied with his
+request.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I remained in the neighborhood to see the result of Rose Cameron's trial
+for perjury. It was near the end of the term when she was arraigned at
+Banff. She would certainly have been convicted, for it was in evidence
+that she had sworn that the Marquis of Arondelle had been the confederate
+of the thieves and murderers, and had himself received and delivered to
+her the stolen booty; and her testimony was rebutted on the spot, not
+only by the high character and standing of the marquis, but by witnesses
+who proved an alibi for him. She would certainly have been convicted, I
+say, had not an unexpected witness appeared in her behalf. John Potts,
+the valet, who had been discharged from custody, came upon the stand,
+took the oath, and testified to the existence of a perfect counterpart of
+the Marquis of Arondelle, in the person of one John Scott, the companion
+of the accused woman, who had always foolishly believed him to be the
+young marquis himself. This testimony not only vindicated the accused
+woman from the charge of perjury, but opened her eyes to the facts of the
+case&mdash;namely, that I had never abandoned her to suffer in my stead while
+I went off to marry another woman, as she had supposed&mdash;that my only sin
+against her was in having allowed her to deceive herself in believing me
+to be Lord Arondelle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man gasped as he concluded the last sentence, and the duke said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You had better rest now. A little rest will do more good than any
+stimulant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You think so? Nay, rest would be death for me now. I must go on while my
+nerves are strung up; once they relax, I die.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well; I am listening attentively.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As soon as Rose was discharged from custody I sought her out, and there
+was a mutual explanation and reconciliation. But the testimony of John
+Potts, given on the trial of Rose Cameron, had placed my life in great
+jeopardy: so we secretly left the country. We went away separately for
+our greater security. I went first. Rose came on a week later. We met by
+appointment at L'Ange. In the obscurity of that village we hoped for
+safety; but I was tormented by remorse; for the murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison lay heavily on my soul. There, my wife, Rose, gave birth to a
+little girl, whom we secretly placed in the rotary basket at the door of
+the Infants' Asylum attached to this convent. The good nuns received it,
+and cared for it. They called it <i>Marie Perdue</i>, 'Lost Mary.' After
+Rose's recovery, we went away, because it was not safe for us to remain
+so near home with such sharpers as English detectives and French police
+on our track. We took refuge in Italy, in the Sanctuary of the Holy See.
+We stayed there several months, when, thinking that all pursuit had been
+abandoned, and longing to see our child, we came on a flying visit to
+L'Ange. But the police were on the watch for us. I was arrested, as you
+have heard, on the day after my arrival. Quick work; but you see the
+chief of police here telegraphed the police in London, and brought the
+detectives hither within twenty-four hours. You know the rest. I am dying
+here by my own hand. It was a mad, rash, impulsive act, for which I
+am deeply sorry; but&mdash;I am dying in expiation of <i>my</i> share in the
+tragedy at Lone Castle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young duke took the emaciated hand of the failing man and pressed it
+in silence; he was too deeply moved to trust himself to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have but this to say now. I leave a wife and helpless child. They are
+penniless and friendless. You will not let them starve,&quot; murmured the
+man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, no, I will care for them, believe me, as long as we all shall
+live,&quot; said the duke, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That is all. Bid me good-by now. And when you go out ask good Sister
+Francoise to send the priest,&quot; said John Scott, holding out his white,
+cold hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will. Good-bye. May our merciful Father in heaven bless and save you,
+my poor brother,&quot; murmured the duke, pressing that pale hand, laying it
+tenderly on the coverlet, and gliding from the room of death.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, the good Father Garbennetti was closeted with his
+penitent, administering religious consolation.</p>
+
+<p>When the last sacred offices were all performed, the priest retired, and
+the wife and child of the dying man were admitted to his presence, with
+permission to remain with him to the end.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, the Duke of Hereward, conducted by Doctor Dubourg,
+traversed the long passages leading from the Old Men's Home to the
+convent.</p>
+
+<p>As they went on, the duke gave the doctor instructions to supply the
+patient with everything that he should require during the last few hours
+of his life; and after death to take direction of the funeral, and charge
+all expenses to himself (the duke), adding:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall, of course, remain at L'Ange until all is over.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It will not be long, monseigneur. The poor man has been kept up by
+mental excitement and by strong stimulants all day long; there comes a
+fatal reaction soon, from which nothing can raise him. He will not
+outlive the day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very sorry for him,&quot; murmured the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He was, perhaps, a distant relative of your grace. There is a slight
+family likeness,&quot; suggested the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is a very remarkable family likeness, and he is a very near
+relative,&quot; answered the duke, adding; &quot;I hope you will kindly follow the
+instructions I have given you in regard to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will faithfully follow them out, monseigneur,&quot; said the doctor, with
+a bow.</p>
+
+<p>At the entrance to the convent proper they were met by an elderly nun,
+who brought the lady superior's compliments and begged leave to announce
+that refreshments were laid in the receiving-parlor, if the Duke of
+Hereward and Doctor Dubourg would do the house the honor to partake of
+them.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke was tired and hungry from his long journey and longer
+fast, and gratefully accepted the sister's courteous invitation in his
+own and the doctor's name.</p>
+
+<p>The nun led the way to the parlor, where a table was set out, not merely
+with slight refreshments, but with the first course of a dainty dinner,
+which the forethought of the abbess had caused to be prepared for her
+noble guest.</p>
+
+<p>The duke and the doctor sat down to the table, and were attentively
+waited on by two of the elder sisterhood.</p>
+
+<p>Notwithstanding the good appetite of the guests and the delicacy of the
+viands set before them, the meal passed in gravity and in almost total
+silence, for the thoughts of the two companions were with the dying
+man whom they had left in the Old Men's Home.</p>
+
+<p>When they had finished dining, and had arisen from the table, a message
+was delivered by one of the old nuns who had waited upon them, to the
+effect that the lady superior desired to see the duke in the portress'
+room for a few minutes, before his departure.</p>
+
+<p>The duke immediately signified his readiness to wait on the lady,
+and followed his conductress to the little room behind the wicket
+appropriated to the portress.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>HUSBAND AND WIFE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Two hours before this, the lady superior had conducted the young duchess
+to the private apartment of the abbess, to await the issue of events.</p>
+
+<p>Salome, pale, and trembling with excitement, sank into the nearest chair.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You do not fear to meet the duke, my child?&quot; inquired the abbess,
+uneasily, as she also dropped into her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Fear to meet my own magnanimous husband? Oh, no, no! I do not fear to
+meet him; but I long to meet him with an infinite longing!&quot; fervently
+exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am very glad to hear you say so. And you are sure of his prompt and
+full forgiveness?&quot; said the abbess, softly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Sure of his forgiveness!'&quot; echoed Salome, with a holy and happy smile.
+&quot;Yes, as sure of his forgiveness as I am of the Lord's pardon!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And yet when he hears the truth and understands all, he will know that
+he has nothing to forgive. And he should know and understand everything
+before he sees you. For this reason, as well as for several others, I
+have brought you here, and I advise you to seclude yourself yet for a few
+hours. I do not wish you to see the duke, or even to advise him of your
+presence in the house, until he has seen the dying man and heard the
+confession of the truth from his lips. That confession will prepare
+your husband to receive and understand you, better than any explanation
+you could possibly make would do. It will also save you from the distress
+of having to make a long explanation. Do you understand me, my child?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, dear mother, I understand, and thank you for your wise counsels.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have also given directions to Sister Dominica that after he shall have
+concluded his interview with Mr. Scott, and partaken of dinner, which
+will be prepared for him in the receiving parlor, he shall be requested
+to meet me in the portress' room, where I propose to break to him the
+intelligence of your presence in the house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, dear mother! infinite, eternal thanks for all your great
+goodness to me,&quot; fervently exclaimed Salome.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are much too extravagant in your expressions of gratitude, my
+daughter! You exaggerate like a school-girl!&quot; smiled the abbess.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! I will prove by my acts that I do not exaggerate my feelings at
+least!&quot; persisted Salome.</p>
+
+<p>And then, with girlish enthusiasm, she began to tell the lady-superior
+all she intended to do for the benefit of the convent charities, and
+especially for the &quot;Infants' Asylum.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The vesper-bell summoned them to chapel, where the evening service
+occupied them for an hour.</p>
+
+<p>They then went to the refectory, and joined the sisterhood at tea.</p>
+
+<p>In coming from the refectory, they were met in the corridor by old Sister
+Dominica, who stopped the abbess, respectfully, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I come, holy mother, to report to you that I have followed all your
+instructions. Monseigneur le Duc and Monsieur le Docteur have well dined.
+Monsieur le Docteur has returned to his patient, Monseigneur le Duc has
+gone to the wicket-room to await madame, our holy mother.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;<i>Bien!</i>&quot; said the abbess. &quot;I will attend his grace. Go, dear
+daughter, and await my return in my parlor. Sister Dominica, lead the
+way and announce me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Salome, in obedience to the abbess' orders, went back to the
+lady-superior's private parlor to await, with palpitating heart the
+issue of the lady's interview with the duke.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Dominica deferentially led the lady abbess to the wicket room,
+opened the door, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The lady-superior of the convent to see Monseigneur, the Duke,&quot; then
+closed the door after the abbess, and retired.</p>
+
+<p>As Mother Genevieve entered the room, she saw standing there a tall,
+thin, distinguished-looking young man, with a pale complexion, blonde
+hair and beard, and blue eyes. His face bore traces of deep suffering
+bravely endured. The gentle abbess sympathized with him from the depths
+of her kind heart, and for the first time felt glad that he would regain
+his wife, although by his doing so the convent would lose her fortune.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Monseigneur, the Duke, of Hereward?&quot; she said graciously, advancing into
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, madam. I have the honor of saluting the Lady Abbess of St.
+Rosalie?&quot; returned the duke, with a bow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A poor nun, monseigneur; who, as the unworthy head of the house, begs
+leave to welcome you here,&quot; humbly returned the lady, bending her head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanks, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is a sad event which has brought you under our roof, monseigneur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A very sad one, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And yet, for your sake, a very fortunate one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;May I be permitted to ask you, madam, in what way this misfortune can be
+fortunate?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I had supposed that you already knew that, monseigneur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps I do. I am not sure. I do not clearly comprehend, madam. Will
+madam deign to make her meaning plainer?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, monseigneur, and you will pardon me if I enter too abruptly upon
+a subject at once painful and delicate.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess paused, and the duke inclined his head in the attitude of an
+attentive listener.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The young Duchess of Hereward, monseigneur?&quot; said the abbess, in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>The duke started very slightly, but his pale face flushed crimson.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pardon, monseigneur. I am the more deeply interested in the young lady,
+for that she passed her infancy, childhood and youth&mdash;being nearly the
+whole of her short life, indeed, under this roof&mdash;where I stood in the
+position of a mother to her orphanage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I knew, madam, that the motherless heiress was educated here,&quot; replied
+the duke, by way of saying something.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You will, therefore, understand the interest I take in Madame la
+Duchesse, and forgive my question when I ask: Have you heard from her
+grace since she left her home?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You knew that she had left her home, then?&quot; exclaimed the duke, in
+painful astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess bowed assent.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hoped and believed that no one knew of her flight except the members
+of our own household, and the single confidential agent I employed to
+find her, and on whose discretion I could implicitly rely,&quot; said the
+duke, in a tone of extreme mortification and sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be tranquil, monseigneur, no one does know of it out of the circle of
+her own devoted friends, who can never misinterpret it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know something of the duchess' movements, then? You know, perhaps,
+the cause of her flight&mdash;the place of her residence? You know&mdash;ah, madam,
+tell me <i>what</i> you know, I beseech you!&quot; implored the duke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know the cause of her flight, and justify her action even though she
+acted under a false impression. I know the place of her residence, and
+will tell it to you after you shall have answered one or two questions
+that I shall put to you. First then, monseigneur, when did you last hear
+of the duchess?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Some few weeks after her flight, I received the first and last news
+I have ever had of my lost bride. It came in a short and cautiously
+written note from herself. This note was without date or address. It was
+apparently written in kind consideration for me, but it contained no word
+of affection. It was signed by her maiden name and post-marked Rome.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The abbess smiled as she remembered that letter which had been written by
+Salome to put her husband out of suspense, and which had been sent by the
+mother superior, through a confidential agent who happened to be going
+there, to be mailed from Rome, to put the Duke of Hereward entirely off
+the track of his lost wife.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have the note in my pocketbook. You may read it, madam, if you
+please,&quot; continued the duke, as he opened his portmonnaie and handed her
+a tiny, folded paper.</p>
+
+<p>The abbess took it and read as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcaps">Duke of Hereward</span>: I have just arisen from a bed of illness which
+has lasted ever since my flight, and prevented me from writing to you up
+to this time.</p>
+
+<p>I write now only to relieve any anxiety that you may feel on account of
+one in whom you took too much interest; for I would not have you suffer
+needless pain.</p>
+
+<p>You know the reason of my flight; or if you do not, my maiden name, at
+the foot of this note, will tell you how surely I had learned that it was
+my bounden duty to leave you instantly.</p>
+
+<p>I left you without malice, trying to put the best construction on your
+motives and actions, if any such were possible; I left you with sorrow,
+praying the Lord to forgive and save you.</p>
+
+<p>I dare not write to you as I feel toward you, for that would be a sin.</p>
+
+<p>I have entered a religious house, where, by prayer and labor, I may live
+down all &quot;inordinate and sinful affections,&quot; and where I shall henceforth
+be dead to the world and to you.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, is the very last you will hear of her who was once known as
+<span class="smcaps">Salome Levison</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>&quot;She says you knew the cause of her flight. <i>Did</i> you know it,
+monseigneur?&quot; inquired the abbess, when she had finished reading the
+note, and had returned it to the owner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did not even suspect it, at first, madam. At the trial of John Scott,
+on the charge of murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, to which I was summoned as
+a witness for the crown, some facts were developed that first awoke my
+suspicions as to the cause of my wife's flight. These suspicions were
+further strengthened by the tone of her letter, received three weeks
+afterwards, and they were absolutely confirmed by a revelation I have
+received this day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;From John Scott?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know the cause of your bride's flight, monseigneur. Do you blame her
+for it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Under such circumstances, I honor her for it. She nearly broke her own
+heart and mine; but, as a pure woman, believing as she was forced to
+believe, she could do no less. Now, madam, I have answered all your
+questions. Now relieve my anxiety&mdash;tell me where she is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;First tell me where you have been seeking her?&quot; inquired the abbess,
+with a singular smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In Italy, of course! Her letter was post-marked Rome, though without any
+other address,&quot; said the duke, lightly lifting his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That letter was written in this house, and sent to Rome to be mailed
+thence, in order to put you off the true track of the duchess,
+monseigneur,&quot; said the abbess, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you tell me, madam!&quot; exclaimed the duke, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Madame la Duchesse is under this roof, to which she fled for refuge
+direct from London!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Can this be possible, madam?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is true! To whom, indeed, could the child come, in her extremity, but
+to me, the mother of her motherless youth?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, madam, you fill my heart with joy and gratitude! My wife under this
+roof?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, monseigneur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And safe and well?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Safe and well.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank Heaven! Can I see her at once? Does she know I am here? Does she
+know&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;She knows everything, monseigneur, that you would have her know,
+although she has not heard the confession of John Scott, which has just
+been made to you. She knows everything by means of the agencies I set to
+work to investigate the truth. And she knows that you will forgive her,
+through the intuitions of her own spirit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;When can I see her, madam? Oh, when?&quot; exclaimed the young duke, rising
+impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This moment, if you please. She is expecting you. Follow me,
+monseigneur,&quot; said the abbess, rising and leading the way through the
+broad hall that stretched between the wicket room and the lady-superior's
+parlor.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the place, the abbess said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Enter, monseigneur. You will find the duchess alone, within.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And she opened the door and admitted him, then closed it behind him, and
+paced slowly away from the spot.</p>
+
+<p>As the duke advanced into the room, so silently that his footsteps were
+unheard, he saw his wife sitting within the recess of the solitary
+window. She wore a simple dress of black serge, with a white collar and
+white cuffs, such as she had worn ever since her entrance into the
+convent. Her head was turned toward the window and bowed upon her hand in
+an attitude of meditation. She neither saw nor heard the soft approach of
+the duke. He stood gazing on her with infinite pity, for a moment, and
+then laying his hand gently on her shoulder, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She started up with a wild cry of joy! She would have sank down at his
+feet, but he caught her to his bosom, held her there, stroking her hair,
+kissing her face, murmuring in her ear:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Salome, Salome, my sweet wife, Salome! Oh, how thankful! Oh, how glad
+I am to meet you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She could not answer him. She could not speak. She was overwhelmed by his
+goodness. She could only burst into tears and weep like a storm upon his
+bosom.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on the sofa, and drew her to his side, keeping his arm around
+her and resting her head upon his bosom, while still he smoothed her hair
+with his hands, and kissed her from time to time, until she ceased to
+weep.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can never forgive myself,&quot; she murmured at length&mdash;&quot;never forgive
+myself for the deep wrong I have done your noble nature; nor do I ask you
+to forgive me; because&mdash;because your every tone and look and gesture
+expresses the full forgiveness, you are too delicate and generous to
+speak!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, sweet wife, do not ask me to forgive you; for you have done no
+willful wrong that needs forgiveness. And I have no forgiveness for you,
+sweet, but only love! infinite, eternal love! Our past is dead and
+buried. Let it be forgotten. You will leave this house with me this
+evening, love. And as soon as our duties will release us from this
+neighborhood we will return to England, where a host of friends will
+welcome us home. And here is something that will surprise and please you,
+love. Your flight is not known to the world. We are believed to be living
+in Italy together, where I have been traveling alone in secret search for
+you these many months. We shall return to society as from a lengthened
+wedding tour. Come, love, will you go away with me this very evening?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I will go anywhere, do anything you wish&mdash;for, under God, henceforth
+I have no will but yours, oh, my lord and love!&quot; murmured the young wife,
+sweetly, and solemnly, as she turned her face to his, and he sealed her
+promise with an earnest kiss.</p>
+
+<p>The same evening the Duke of Hereward took his recovered bride to the
+pretty, rustic inn at L'Ange, and installed her in a pleasant suite of
+apartments. They remained at L'Ange until after the funeral of poor John
+Scott, whose body was interred in the little cemetery by St. Marie
+L'Ange.</p>
+
+<p>The young Duke of Hereward defrayed all the expenses of the burial, and
+settled upon the widow an income sufficient to enable her to live in
+comfort and respectability. With the full consent of the unloving mother,
+who was but too willing to be relieved of her incumbrance, the young
+Duchess of Hereward adopted little Marie Perdue; &quot;perdue&quot; no longer, but
+the cherished pet of a fond foster-mother.</p>
+
+<p>Before leaving France, the Duke and Duchess of Hereward richly endowed
+the charities of the Convent of St. Rosalie, which had been so long the
+refuge of the lost bride. The duchess took an affectionate leave of the
+gentle abbess and her simple nuns, who had for so many months been her
+only companions. She promised to make them an annual visit.</p>
+
+<p>The young duke took his recovered bride over to England, then on to
+Scotland, and finally to their beautiful home, Lone Castle, where the
+young couple were received by their tenantry with great rejoicings.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcaps">THE END</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1" /><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> &quot;Not Proven&quot;&mdash;a Scotch verdict in uncertain cases.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lost Lady of Lone
+
+Author: E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
+Release Date: June 11, 2005 [EBook #16039]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST LADY OF LONE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE LOST LADY OF LONE
+
+                       By MRS. E.D.E.N. SOUTHWORTH
+
+     Author of "Nearest and Dearest," "The Hidden Hand," "Unknown,"
+     "Only a Girl's Heart," "For Woman's Love," etc.
+
+                                   1876
+
+
+
+
+PUBLISHERS' NOTICE.
+
+
+"THE LOST LADY OF LONE" is different from any of Mrs. Southworth's other
+novels. The plot, which is unusually provocative of conjecture and
+interest, is founded on thrilling and tragic events which occurred in the
+domestic history of one of the most distinguished families in the
+Highlands of Scotland. The materials which these interesting and tragic
+annals place at the disposal of Mrs. Southworth give full scope to her
+unrivalled skill in depicting character and developing a plot, and she
+has made the most of her opportunity and her subject.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+       I. The bride of Lone
+
+      II. An ideal love
+
+     III. The ruined heir
+
+      IV. Salome's choice
+
+       V. Arondelle's consolation
+
+      VI. A horrible mystery on the wedding-day
+
+     VII. The morning's discovery
+
+    VIII. A horrible discovery
+
+      IX. After the discovery
+
+       X. The letter and its effect
+
+      XI. The vailed passenger
+
+     XII. The house on Westminster Road
+
+    XIII. A surprise for Mrs. Scott
+
+     XIV. The second bridal morn
+
+      XV. The cloud falls
+
+     XVI. Vanished
+
+    XVII. The lost Lady of Lone
+
+   XVIII. The flight of the duchess
+
+     XIX. Salome's refuge
+
+      XX. Salome's protectress
+
+     XXI. The bridegroom
+
+    XXII. At Lone
+
+   XXIII. A startling charge
+
+    XXIV. The vindication
+
+     XXV. Who was found?
+
+    XXVI. Off the track
+
+   XXVII. In the convent
+
+  XXVIII. The soul's struggle
+
+    XXIX. The stranger in the chapel
+
+     XXX. The haunter
+
+    XXXI. The abbess' story
+
+   XXXII. The duke's double
+
+  XXXIII. After the earthquake
+
+   XXXIV. Risen from the grave
+
+    XXXV. Face to face
+
+   XXXVI. A gathering storm
+
+  XXXVII. A sentence of banishment
+
+ XXXVIII. The storm bursts
+
+   XXXIX. The rivals
+
+      XL. After the storm
+
+     XLI. Father and son
+
+    XLII. Her son
+
+   XLIII. The duke's ward
+
+    XLIV. Retribution
+
+     XLV. After the revelation
+
+    XLVI. Retribution
+
+   XLVII. The end of a lost life
+
+  XLVIII. Husband and wife
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST LADY OF LONE.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE BRIDE OF LONE.
+
+
+"Eh, Meester McRath? Sae grand doings I hae na seen sin the day o' the
+queen's visit to Lone. That wad be in the auld duke's time. And a waefu'
+day it wa'."
+
+"Dinna ye gae back to that day, Girzie Ross. It gars my blood boil only
+to think o' it!"
+
+"Na, Sandy, mon, sure the ill that was dune that day is weel compensate
+on this. Sooth, if only marriages be made in heaven, as they say, sure
+this is one. The laird will get his ain again, and the bonnyest leddy in
+a' the land to boot."
+
+"She _is_ a bonny lass, but na too gude for him, although her fair
+hand does gie him back his lands."
+
+"It's only a' just as it sud be."
+
+"Na, it's no all as it sud be. Look at they fules trying to pit
+up yon triumphal arch! The loons hae actually gotten the motto
+'HAPPINESS' set upside down, sae that a' the blooming red roses
+are falling out o' it. An ill omen that if onything be an ill omen. I
+maun rin and set it right."
+
+The speakers in this short colloquy were Mrs. Girzie Ross, housekeeper,
+and Mr. Alexander McRath, house-steward of Castle Lone.
+
+The locality was in the Highlands of Scotland. The season was early
+summer. The hour was near sunset. The scene was one of great beauty and
+sublimity. The occasion one of high festivity and rejoicing.
+
+The preparations were being completed for a grand event. For on the
+morning of the next day a deep wrong was to be made right by the marriage
+of the young and beautiful Lady of Lone to the chosen lord of her heart.
+
+Lone Castle was a home of almost ideal grandeur and loveliness, situated
+in one of the wildest and most picturesque regions of the Highlands, yet
+brought to the utmost perfection of fertility by skillful cultivation.
+
+The castle was originally the stronghold of a race of powerful and
+warlike Scottish chieftains, ancestors of the illustrious ducal line of
+Scott-Hereward. It was strongly built, on a rocky island, that arose from
+The midst of a deep clear lake, surrounded by lofty mountains.
+
+For generations past, the castle had been but a picturesque ruin, and the
+island a barren desert, tenanted only by some old retainer of the ancient
+family, who found shelter within its huge walls, and picked up a scanty
+living by showing the famous ruins to artists and tourists.
+
+But some years previous to the commencement of our story, when
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott succeeded his father, as seventh Duke of
+Hereward, he conceived the magnificent, but most extravagant idea of
+transforming that grim, old Highland fortress, perched upon its rocky
+island, surrounded by water and walled in by mountains--into a mansion of
+Paradise and a garden of Eden.
+
+When he first spoke of his plan, he was called visionary and extravagant;
+and when he persisted in carrying it into execution, he was called mad.
+
+The most skillful engineers and architects in Europe were consulted and
+their plans examined, and a selection of designs and contractors made
+from the best among them. And then the restoration, or rather the
+transfiguration, of the place was the labor of many years, at the cost
+of much money.
+
+Fabulous sums were lavished upon Lone. But the Duke's enthusiasm grew
+as the work grew and the cost increased. All his unentailed estates in
+England were first heavily mortgaged and afterwards sold, and the
+proceeds swallowed up in the creation of Lone.
+
+The duchess, inspired by her husband, was as enthusiastic as the duke.
+When his resources were at an end and Lone unfinished she gave up her
+marriage settlements, including her dower house, which was sold that the
+proceeds might go to the completion of Lone.
+
+But all this did not suffice to pay the stupendous cost.
+
+Then the duke did the maddest act of his life. He raised the needed money
+from usurers by giving them a mortgage on his own life estate in Lone
+itself.
+
+The work drew near to its completion.
+
+In the meantime the duke's agents were ransacking the chief cities in
+Europe in search of rare paintings, statues, vases, and other works of
+art or articles of virtu to decorate the halls and chambers of Lone; for
+which also the most famous manufacturers in France and Germany were
+elaborating suitable designs in upholstery.
+
+Every man directing every department of the works at Lone, whether as
+engineer, architect, decorator, or furnisher, every man was an artist in
+his own speciality. The work within and without was to be a perfect work
+at whatever cost of time, money, and labor.
+
+At length, at the end of ten years from its commencement, the work was
+completed.
+
+And for the sublimity of its scenery, the beauty of its grounds, the
+almost tropical luxuriance of its gardens, the magnificence of its
+buildings, the splendor of its decorations, and the luxury of its
+appointments, Lone was unequalled.
+
+What if the mad duke had nearly ruined himself in raising it?
+
+Lone was henceforth the pride of engineers, the model of architects, the
+subject of artists, the theme of poets, the Mecca of pilgrims, the eighth
+wonder of the world.
+
+Lone was opened for the first time a few weeks after its completion, on
+the occasion of the coming of age of the duke's eldest son and heir, the
+young Marquis of Arondelle, which fell upon the first of June.
+
+A grand festival was held at Lone, and a great crowd assembled to do
+honor to the anniversary. A noble and gentle company filled the halls and
+chambers of the castle, and nearly all the Clan Scott assembled on the
+grounds.
+
+The festival was a grand triumph.
+
+Among the thousands present were certain artists and reporters of the
+press, and so it followed that the next issue of the _London News_
+contained full-page pictures of Castle Lone and Inch Lone, with their
+terraces, parterres, arches, arbors and groves; Loch Lone, with its
+elegant piers, bridges and boats; and the surrounding mountains, with
+their caves, grottoes, falls and fountains.
+
+Yes, the birthday festival was a perfect triumph, and the fame of Lone
+went forth to the uttermost ends of the earth. The English Colonists at
+Australia, Cape of Good Hope, and New Zealand, read all about it in
+copies of the _London News_, sent out to them by thoughtful London
+friends. We remember the day, some years since, when we, sitting by our
+cottage fire, read all about it in an illustrated paper, and pondered
+over the happy fate of those who could live in paradise while still on
+earth. Five years later, we would not have changed places with the
+Duke of Hereward.
+
+But this is a digression.
+
+The duke was in his earthly heaven; but was the duke happy, or even
+content?
+
+Ah! no. He was overwhelmed with debt. Even Lone was mortgaged as deeply
+as it could be--that is, as to the extent of the duke's own life
+interests in the estate. Beyond that he could not burden the estate,
+which was entailed upon his heirs male. Besides his financial
+embarrassments, the duke was afflicted with another evil--he was
+consumed with a fever too common with prince and with peasant, as well
+as with peer--the fever of a land hunger.
+
+The prince desires to add province to province; the peer to add manor to
+manor; the peasant to own a little home of his own, and then to add acre
+to acre.
+
+The Lord of Lone glorying in his earthly paradise, wished to see it
+enlarged, wished to add one estate to another until he should become
+the largest land-owner in Scotland, or have his land-hunger appeased.
+He bought up all the land adjoining Lone, that could be purchased at any
+price, paying a little cash down, and giving notes for the balance on
+each purchase. Thus, in the course of three years, Lone was nearly
+doubled in territorial extent.
+
+But the older creditors became clamorous. Bond, and mortgage holders
+threatened foreclosure, and the financial affairs of the "mad duke,"
+outwardly and apparently so prosperous, were really very desperate. The
+family were seriously in danger of expulsion from Lone.
+
+It was at this crisis that the devoted son came to the help of his
+father--not wisely, as many people thought then--not fortunately, as it
+turned out. To prevent his father from being compelled to leave Lone, and
+to protect him from the persecution of creditors, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle performed an act of self-sacrifice and filial devotion seldom
+equalled in the world's history. He renounced all his own entailed
+rights, and sold all his prospective life interest in Lone. His was a
+young, strong life, good for fifty or sixty years longer. His interest
+brought a sum large enough to pay off the mortgage on Lone and to settle
+all others of his father's outstanding debts.
+
+Thus peaceable possession of Lone might have been secured to the family
+during the natural life of the duke. At the demise of the duke, instead
+of descending to his son and heir, it would pass into the possession of
+other parties, with whom it would remain as long the heir should live.
+
+Thus, I say, by the sacrifice of the son the peace of the father might
+have been secured--for a time. And all might have gone well at Lone but
+for one unlucky event which finally set the seal on the ruin of the ducal
+family.
+
+And yet that event was intended as an honor, and considered as an honor.
+
+In a word the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the royal family, were
+coming to the Highlands. And the Duke of Hereward received an intimation
+that her majesty would stop on her royal progress and honor Lone with a
+visit of two days. This was a distinction in no wise to be slighted by
+any subject under any circumstances, and certainly not by the duke of
+Hereward.
+
+The Queen's visit would form the crowning glory of Lone. The chambers
+occupied by majesty would henceforth be holy ground, and would be pointed
+out with reverence to the stranger in all succeeding generations.
+
+In anticipation of this honor the "mad" Duke of Hereward launched out
+into his maddest extravagances.
+
+He had but ten days in which to prepare for the royal visit, but he made
+the best use of his time.
+
+The guest chambers at Lone, already fitted up in princely magnificence,
+had new splendors added to them. The castle and the grounds were adorned
+and decorated with lavish expenditure. The lake was alive with
+gayly-rigged boats. Triumphal arches were erected at stated intervals
+of the drive leading from the public road, across the bridge connecting
+the shore with the island, and--maddest extravagance of all--the ground
+was laid out and fitted up for a grand tournament after the style of the
+time of Richard Coeur de Lion, to be held there during the queen's
+visit--that fatal visit spoken of in the early part of this chapter.
+
+Yes, fatal!--for a hundred thousand pounds sterling, won by the son's
+self-sacrifice, which should have gone to satisfy the clamorous creditors
+of the duke, was squandered in extravagant preparations to royally
+entertain England's expensive royal family.
+
+A second time Lone was the scene of unparalleled display, festivity, and
+rejoicing. Once more all the country round about was assembled there;
+again the artists and reporters of the London press were among the crowd;
+and again full-page pictures of the ceremonies attending the queen's
+reception and entertainment were published in the illustrated papers, and
+the fame of that royal visit went out to the uttermost parts of the
+earth.
+
+But mark this: Every footman that waited at the grand state-dinner table
+was a bailiff in disguise, in charge of the plate and china, which,
+together with all the fabulous riches of art, literature, science and
+_virtu_ collected at Lone had been taken in execution, by the
+officers secretly in possession.
+
+The royal party, with their retinue, left Lone on the afternoon of the
+third day.
+
+And then the crash came? The blow was sudden, overwhelming and utterly
+destructive.
+
+The shock of the fall of Lone was felt from one end of the kingdom to the
+other.
+
+For the last time a crowd gathered around Castle Lone. But they came not
+as festive guests but as a flock of vultures around a carcass, bent on
+prey. For the last time artists and reporters came not to illustrate the
+triumphs, but to record the downfall of the great ducal house of
+Scott-Hereward; to make sketches, take photographs and write descriptions
+of the magnificent and splendid halls and chambers, picture-galleries and
+museums, before they should be dismantled by the rapacious purchasers who
+flocked to the vendue of Lone, to profit by the ruin of the proprietor.
+
+And for the last time illustrations of Lone and its glories went forth
+over every part of the world where the English language is spoken, or the
+English mails penetrate.
+
+Another heavy blow fell upon the doomed duke. Even while the grand vendue
+was still in progress the duchess died of grief.
+
+When all was over, and the good duchess was laid in the family vault, the
+duke and the young marquis disappeared from Lone and none knew whither
+they went. Some said that they had gone to Australia; some that they were
+in America; some that they were on the Continent. Others declared that
+they had hidden themselves in the wilderness of London, where they were
+living in great poverty and obscurity, and even under assumed names.
+
+Opinions and rumors differed also concerning the character and conduct of
+the young marquis. Many called him a devoted son, filled with the spirit
+of heroic self-sacrifice. Many others affirmed that he was a hypocrite
+and a villain, addicted to drinking, gambling, and other vices and even
+cited times, places, and occasions of his sinning.
+
+There never lived a man of whom so much good and so much evil was
+said as of the young Marquis of Arondelle. A stranger coming into the
+neighborhood of Lone, would hear these opposite reports and never be able
+to decide whether the absent and self-exiled young nobleman was a model
+of virtue or a monster of vice.
+
+But there was one whose faith in him was firm as her faith in Heaven.
+
+Rose Cameron was the daughter of a Highland shepherd, living about ten
+miles north of Ben Lone. No court lady in the land was fairer than this
+rustic Highland beauty. Her form was tall, fine, and commanding. Her step
+was stately and graceful as the step of an antelope. Her features were
+large, regular, and clear cut, as if chiseled in marble, yet full of
+blooming and sparkling life as ruddy health and mountain air could fill
+them. Her hair was golden brown, and clustered in innumerable shining
+ringlets closely around her fair open forehead and rounded throat. Her
+eyes were large, and clear bright blue. Her expression full of innocent
+freedom and joyousness.
+
+Rumor said that the fast young Marquis of Arondelle, while deer-stalking
+from his hunting lodge in the neighborhood of Ben Lone, had chanced to
+draw rein at the gate of Rob. Cameron's sheiling, and had received from
+the shapely hand of the beautiful shepherdess a cup of water, and had
+been so suddenly and forcibly smitten by her Juno-like beauty, that
+thenceforth his visits to his hunting lodge became very frequent, both in
+season and out of season, and that he was a very dry soul, whose thirst
+could be satisfied by nothing but the spring water that spouted close by
+the shepherd's sheiling, dipped up and offered by the hands of the
+beautiful shepherdess.
+
+Much blame was cast by the rustic neighbors upon all parties
+concerned--first of all, upon the young marquis, who they declared "meant
+nae guid to the lass," and then to the old shepherd, who they said, "suld
+tak mair care o' his puir mitherless bairn," and lastly, to the girl,
+who, as they affirmed, "suld guide hersel' wi' mair discretion."
+
+None of these criticisms ever came to the ears of the parties concerned:
+they never do, you know.
+
+Besides the lovers seemed to be infatuated with each other, and the
+shepherd seemed to be blind to what was going on in his sheiling. To be
+sure, he was out all day with his sheep, while his lass was alone in the
+sheiling. Or, if by sickness _he_ was forced to stay home, then
+_she_ was out all day with the sheep alone.
+
+Gossip said that the young marquis visited the handsome shepherdess in
+her sheiling, and met her by appointment, when she was out with her
+flock.
+
+And as the occasion grew, so grew the scandal, and so grew indignation
+against the marquis and scorn of the shepherdess.
+
+"He'll nae mean to marry the quean! If she were my lass, I'd kick him
+out, an' he were twenty times a markis!" said the shepherd's next
+neighbor, and many approved his sentiment. These were among the
+detractors of the young nobleman.
+
+But he had warm defenders--who affirmed that the Marquis of Arondelle
+would never seek a peasant girl to win her affections, unless he intended
+to make her his marchioness--which was an idea too preposterous to be
+entertained for an instant--therefore there could be no truth in these
+rumors.
+
+And at length, when the great thunderbolt fell that destroyed Lone and
+banished the ducal family, there were not wanting "guid neebors" who
+taunted Rose Cameron with such words as these:
+
+"The braw young markis hae made a fule o' ye, lass. Thoul't ne'er see him
+mair. And a guid job, too. Best ye'd ne'er see him at a'!"
+
+But the handsome shepherdess betrayed no sign of mortification or doubt.
+When such prognostics were uttered, she crested her queenly head with a
+smile of conscious power, and looked as though--"she could, an if she
+would,"--tell more about the Marquis of Arondelle, than any of these
+people guessed.
+
+Meanwhile, princely Lone passed into the possession of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, a London banker of enormous wealth. He had not always been Sir
+Lemuel Levison. But he had once been Lord Mayor of London, and for some
+part that he had taken in a public demonstration or a royal pageant, (I
+forget which,) he had been knighted by her Majesty.
+
+He was, at this time, a tall, spare, fair-faced, gray-haired and gray
+bearded man of sixty-five. He was a widower, with "one only daughter,"
+the youngest and sole survivor of a large family of children.
+
+This daughter, Salome, had never known a mother's love nor a father's
+care. She was under three years old when her mother passed away.
+
+Then her father, hating his desolate home, broke up his establishment on
+Westbourne Terrace, London, and placed his infant daughter under the care
+of the nuns in the Convent of the Holy Nativity in France.
+
+Here Salome Levison passed the days of her dreamy childhood and early
+youth. Her father seldom found time to visit her at her convent school,
+and she never went home to spend her holidays. She had no home to go to.
+
+When Salome was eighteen years of age, the Superior of the convent wrote
+to Sir Lemuel Levison, enclosing a letter from his daughter that
+considerably startled the absorbed banker and forgetful father. He had
+not seen his daughter for two years, and now these letters informed him
+that she wished to become a Nun of the Holy Nativity, and to enter upon
+her novitiate immediately! But that being a minor, she could not do so
+without his consent.
+
+His sole surviving child! The sole heiress of his enormous wealth! On
+whom he depended, to make a home for him in his declining years, when he
+should have made a few more millions of millions upon which to retire!
+
+And now this long neglected daughter had found consolation in devotion,
+and wished to take the vail which was to hide her forever from the world!
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison hastened to France, and brought his daughter back to
+England. He took apartments at a quiet London hotel, and looked about for
+a suitable country-seat to purchase.
+
+At this time Lone was advertised. He went thither with the crowd.
+
+He saw Lone, liked it, wanted it, and determined to "pay for it and take
+it."
+
+He stopped the vandalish dismantling of the premises by outbidding
+everybody else and purchasing all the furniture, decorations, plate,
+pictures, statues, vases, mosaics, and everything else, and ordering
+them to be left in their old positions.
+
+He then engaged the house-steward, the housekeeper, and as many more of
+the servants of the late proprietor as he could induce to remain at Lone.
+
+And when the princely castle was cleared of its crowds, and once more
+restored to order, beauty and peace, Sir Lemuel Levison went back to
+London to bring his daughter home.
+
+Salome, submissive to her father's will, yet disappointed in her wish to
+take the vail, met every event in life with apathy.
+
+Even when the splendors of Lone broke upon her vision she regarded them
+with an air of indifference that amused, while it mortified, her father.
+
+"I see how it is, my girl," he said. "You have renounced the world, and
+are pining for the convent. But you know nothing of the world. Give it a
+fair trial of three years. Then you will be twenty-one years old, of
+legal age to act for yourself, with some knowledge of that which you
+would ignorantly renounce; and then if you persist in your desire to take
+the vail--well! I shall then have neither the power nor the wish to
+prevent you," added the wise old banker, who felt perfectly confident
+that at the end of the specified time his daughter would no longer pine
+to immure herself in a convent.
+
+Salome, grateful for this concession, and feeling perfectly self-assured
+that she would never be won by the world, kissed her father, and roused
+herself to be as much of a comfort and solace to him as she might be in
+the three years of probation. And she took her place at the head of her
+father's magnificent establishment at Lone with much of gentle quiet and
+dignity.
+
+And now it is time to give you some more accurate knowledge of the
+outward appearance and the inner life of this motherless, convent-reared
+girl, who, though a young and wealthy heiress, was bent on forsaking the
+world and taking the vail. In the first place, she was not beautiful at
+all in repose. There can be no physical beauty without physical health.
+And Salome Levison partook of the delicate organization of her mother,
+who had passed away in early womanhood, and of her brothers and sisters,
+who had gone in infancy or childhood.
+
+Salome, when still and silent, was, at first sight plain. She was rather
+below the medium height, slight and thin in form, pale and dark in
+complexion, with irregular features, and quiet, downcast, dark-gray eyes,
+whose long lashes cast shadows upon pallid cheeks, and which were arched
+with dark eyebrows on a massive forehead, shaded with an abundance of
+dark brown hair, simply parted in the middle, drawn back and wound into
+a rich roll. Her dress was as simple as her station permitted it to be.
+
+Altogether she seemed a girl unattractive in person and reserved in
+speech.
+
+The very opposite of the handsome shepherdess of Ben Lone.
+
+And yet when she looked up or smiled, her face was transfigured into a
+wondrous beauty; such intellectual and spiritual beauty as that perfect
+piece of flesh and blood never could have expressed. And she was a
+"sealed book." Yet the hour was at hand when the "sealed book" was to be
+opened--when her dreaming soul, like the sleeping princess in the wood,
+was to be awakened by the touch of holy love to make the beauty of her
+person and the glory of her life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+AN IDEAL LOVE.
+
+
+A few weeks after their settlement at Lone, Sir Lemuel Levison returned
+to London on affairs connected with his final retirement from active
+business.
+
+Salome was left at the castle, with the numerous servants of the
+establishment, but otherwise quite alone. She had neither governess,
+companion, nor confidential maid. She suffered from this enforced
+solitude. She had seen all the splendors of the interior of Lone, and
+there was nothing new to discover--except--yes, there was Malcom's Tower,
+which tradition said was the most ancient portion of the castle, whose
+foundations had been dug from the solid rock, hundreds of feet below the
+surface of the lake.
+
+The tower had been restored with the rest of the castle, but had never
+been fitted up for occupation.
+
+Salome determined to spend one morning in exploring the old tower from
+foundation to top.
+
+She summoned the housekeeper to her presence, and made known her purpose.
+
+"Macolm's Watch Tower, Miss! Weel, then, it's naething to see within,
+forbye a few auld family portraits and sic like, left there by the auld
+duke; but there'll be an unco' foine view frae the top on a braw day like
+this," said Dame Ross, as she detached a bunch of keys from her belt, and
+signified her readiness to attend her young mistress.
+
+I need not detail the explorations of the young lady from the horrible
+dungeon of the foundation--up the narrow, winding steps, cut in the
+thickness of the outer wall, which was perforated on the inner side by
+doorways on each landing, leading into the strong, round stone rooms or
+cells on each floor, lighted only by long narrow slits in the solid
+masonry. All the lower cells were empty.
+
+But when they reached the top of the winding steps and opened the door of
+the upper cell, the housekeeper said:
+
+"Here are deposited some o' the relics left by the auld duke until such
+time as he shall be ready to tak' them awa'."
+
+Salome followed her into the room and suddenly drew back in surprise.
+
+She saw standing out from the gloom, the form of a young man of majestic
+beauty and grace.
+
+A second look showed her that this was only a full-length life-sized
+portrait--but of whom?
+
+Her gaze became riveted on the glorious presence.
+
+The portrait represented a young man of about twenty-five years of age,
+tall, finely formed, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with a well-turned,
+stately head, a Grecian profile, a fair, open brow, dark, deep blue eyes,
+and very rich auburn hair and beard. He wore the picturesque highland
+dress--the tartan of the Clan Scott.
+
+But it was not the dress, the form, the face that fascinated the gaze of
+the girl. It was the air, the look, the SOUL that shone through
+it all!
+
+A sun ray, glancing through the narrow slit in the solid wall, fell
+directly upon the fine face, lighting it up as with a halo of glory!
+
+"It is the face of the young St. John! Nay, it is more divine! It is
+the face of Gabriel who standeth in the presence of the Lord! But it
+expresses more of power! It is the face of Michael rather, when he put
+the hosts of hell to flight! Oh! a wondrously glorious face!" said the
+rapt young enthusiast to herself, as she gazed in awe-struck silence on
+the portrait.
+
+"Ye are looking at that picture, young leddy? Ay it weel deserves your
+regards! It is a grand one!" said Dame Ross, proudly.
+
+"_Who is it? One of the young princes?_" inquired Salome, in a low
+tone, full of reverential admiration.
+
+"Ane o' the young princes? Gude guide us! Nae, young leddy; I hae seen
+the young princes ance, on an unco' ill day for Lone! And I dinna care
+if I never see ane mair. But they dinna look like that," said the
+housekeeper, with a deep sigh.
+
+"Who is it, then?" whispered Salome, still gazing on the portrait with
+somewhat of the rapt devotion with which she had been wont to gaze on
+pictured saint, or angel, on her convent walls. "Who is it, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Wha is it? Wha suld it be, but our ain young laird? Our ain bonny
+laddie? Our young Markis o' Arondelle? Oh, waes the day he ever left
+Lone!" exclaimed Dame Girzie, lifting her apron to her eyes.
+
+"The Marquis of Arondelle!" echoed Salome, catching her breath, and
+gazing with even more interest upon the glorious picture.
+
+Even while she gazed, the ray that had lighted it for a moment was
+withdrawn by the setting sun, and the picture was swallowed up in sudden
+darkness.
+
+"The Marquis of Arondelle," repeated Salome in a low reverent tone, as
+if speaking to herself.
+
+"Ay, the young Markis o' Arondelle; wae worth the day he went awa'!" said
+the housekeeper, wiping her eyes.
+
+Salome turned suddenly to the weeping woman.
+
+"I have heard--I have heard--" she began in a low, hesitating voice, and
+then she suddenly stopped and looked at the dame.
+
+"Ay, young leddy, nae doubt ye hae heard unco mony a fule tale anent our
+young laird; but if ye would care to hear the verra truth, ye suld do so
+frae mysel. But come noo, leddy. It is too dark to see onything mair in
+this room. We'll gae out on the battlements gin ye like, and tak' a luke
+at the landscape while the twilight lasts," said Dame Girzie.
+
+Salome assented with a nod, and they climbed the last steep flight of
+stairs, cut in the solid wall, and leading from this upper room to the
+top of the watch-tower.
+
+They came out upon a magnificent view.
+
+The bright, long twilight of these Northern latitudes still hung
+luminously over island, lake and mountain.
+
+While Salome gazed upon it Dame Girzie said:
+
+"All this frae the tower to the horizon, far as our eyes can reach, and
+far'er, was for eight centuries the land of the Lairds of Lone. And noo!
+a' hae gane frae them, and they hae gane frae us, and na mon kens where
+they bide or how they fare. Wae's me!"
+
+"It was indeed a household wreck," said Salome, with sigh of sincere
+sympathy.
+
+"Ye may say that, leddy, and mak' na mistake."
+
+"What is that lofty mountain-top that I see on the edge of the horizon
+away to the north, just fading in the twilight?" inquired Salome, partly
+to divert the dame from her gloomy thoughts.
+
+"Yon? Ay. Yon will be, Ben Lone. It will be twenty miles awa', gin it be
+a furlong. Our young laird had a braw hunting lodge there, where in the
+season he was wont to spend weeks thegither wi' his kinsman, Johnnie
+Scott, for the young laird was unco' fond of deer stalking, and sic like
+sport. I dinna ken wha owns the lodge now, or whether it went wi' the
+lave of the estate," said Dame Girzie, with a deep sigh.
+
+"It is growing quite chilly up here," said Salome, shivering, and drawing
+her little red shawl more closely around her slight frame. "I think we
+will go down now, Mrs. Ross. And if you will be so good as to come to me
+after tea, this evening, I shall like to hear the story of this sorrowful
+family wreck," she added, as she turned to leave the place.
+
+That evening, as the heiress sat in the small drawing room appropriated
+to her own use, the housekeeper rapped and was admitted.
+
+And after seating herself at the bidding of her young mistress, Girzie
+Ross opened her mouth and told the true story of the fall of Lone, as I
+have already told to my readers.
+
+"And this devoted son actually sacrificed all the prospects of his whole
+future life, in order to give peace and prosperity to his father's
+declining days," murmured Salome, with her eyes full of tears and her
+usually pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.
+
+"He did, young leddy, like the noble soul, he was," said Dame Girzie.
+
+"I never heard of such an act of renunciation in my life," murmured
+Salome.
+
+"And the pity of it was, young leddy, that it was a' in vain," said the
+housekeeper.
+
+"Yes, I know. Where is he now?" inquired the young girl, in a subdued
+voice.
+
+"I dinna ken, leddy. Naebody kens," answered Girzie Ross, with a deep
+sigh, which was unconsciously echoed by the listener.
+
+Then Dame Ross not to trespass on her young mistress's indulgence, arose
+and respectfully took her leave.
+
+Salome fell into a deep reverie. From that hour she had something else to
+think about, beside the convent and the vail.
+
+The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and
+employed her thoughts. That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir,
+a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall
+on the next morning.
+
+In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie
+Ross a simple question. And she wondered at her own hesitation to do it.
+At length she asked it:
+
+"Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord Arondelle?"
+
+"Like him, young leddy? Why, it is his verra sel'! And only not sae bonny
+because it canna move, or smile, or speak. Ye should see him _alive_
+to ken him weel," said the housekeeper, heartily.
+
+That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent a
+dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing
+upon the face.
+
+That evening, while the housekeeper attended her at tea, she took courage
+to make another inquiry, in a very low voice:
+
+"Is Lord Arondelle engaged, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+She blushed crimson and turned away her head the moment she had asked the
+question.
+
+"Engaged? What--troth-plighted do you mean, young leddy?"
+
+"Yes," in a very low tone.
+
+"Bless the lass! nay, nor no thought of it," answered the housekeeper.
+
+"I was thinking that perhaps it would be well if he were not, that is
+all," explained Salome, a little confusedly.
+
+That night, as she undressed to retire to bed, she looked at herself in
+the glass critically for the first time in her life.
+
+It was not a pretty face that was reflected there. It was a pale, thin,
+dark face, that might have been redeemed by the broad, smooth forehead,
+shaped round by bands of dark brown hair, and lighted by the large,
+tender, thoughtful gray eyes, had not that forehead worn a look of
+anxious care, and those eyes an expression of eager inquiry.
+
+"But then I am so plain--so very, very plain," she said to herself, as if
+uttering the negation of some preceding train of thought.
+
+And with a deep sigh she retired to rest.
+
+The next day Girzie Ross herself was the first to speak of the young
+marquis.
+
+"I hae been thinking, young leddy, what garred ye ask me gin the young
+laird, were troth plighted. And I mistrust ye must hae heard these fule
+stories anent his hardship, having a sweetheart at Ben Lone. There's
+nae truth in sic tales, me leddy. No that I'm denying she's a handsome
+hizzy, this Rose Cameron; but she's nae one to mak' the young laird
+forget his rank. Ye'll no credit sic tales, me young leddy."
+
+"I have heard no tales of the sort," said Salome, looking up in surprise.
+
+"Ay, hae ye no? Aweel, then, its nae matter," said the dame.
+
+"But what tales are there, Mrs. Ross?" uneasily inquired the heiress.
+And then she instantly perceived the indiscretion of her question, and
+regretted that she had asked it.
+
+"Ou aye, it's just the fule talk o' thae gossips up by Ben Lone. They
+behoove to say that's its na the game that draws the young laird sae
+often to Ben Lone; but just Rab Cameron's handsome lass, Rose, and she
+_is_ a handsome quean as I said before; but nae 'are to mak' the
+young master lose his head for a' that! Sae ye maun na beleiv' a word
+of it, me young leddy," said Dame Girzie.
+
+And she hastened to change the subject.
+
+"Ah! what a power beauty is! It can make a prince forget his royal state,
+and sue to a peasant girl," sighed Salome to herself. "I wonder--I
+wonder, if there _is_ any truth in that report? Oh, I hope there is
+not, for his own sake. I wonder where he is--what he is doing? But that
+is no affair of mine. I have nothing at all to do with it! I wonder if I
+shall ever meet him. I wonder if he would think me very ugly? Nonsense,
+what if he should? He is nothing to me. I--I _do_ wonder if a young
+man so noble in character, so handsome in person as he is, ever could
+like a girl without any beauty at all, even if she--even if she--Oh,
+dear! what a fool I am! I had better never have come out of the convent.
+I will think no more about him," said Salome, resolutely taking up a
+volume of the "Lives of the Saints," and turning to the page that related
+how--
+
+                 "St. Rosalie,
+Darling of each heart and eye,
+From all the youth of Italy
+Retired to God."
+
+"That is the noblest love and service, after all," she said--"the
+noblest, surely, because it is Divine!"
+
+And she resolved to emulate the example of the young and beautiful
+Italian virgin. She, too, would retire to God. That is, she would enter
+her convent as soon as her three probationary years should be passed.
+
+But though she so resolved to devote herself to Heaven in this abnormal
+way, the natural human love that now glowed in her heart, would not be
+put down by an unnatural resolve.
+
+Days and nights passed, and she still thought of the banished heir all
+day, and dreamed of him all night--the more intensely as well as purely
+perhaps, because she had never looked upon his living face.
+
+To her he was an abstract ideal.
+
+Later in the month her father returned to Lone--on business of more
+importance than that which had hurried him away.
+
+He had only retired from one phase of public life to enter upon another.
+
+There was to be a new Parliament. And at the solicitations of many
+interested parties, and perhaps also at the promptings of his own late
+ambition, Sir Lemuel Levison consented to stand for the borough of Lone.
+In the absence of the young Marquis of Arondelle there was no one to
+oppose him, and he was returned by an almost unanimous vote.
+
+Early in February, Sir Lemuel Levison took his dreaming daughter and went
+up to London to take his seat in the House of Commons at the meeting of
+Parliament.
+
+He engaged a sumptuously furnished house on Westbourne Terrace, and
+invited a distant relative, Lady Belgrave, the childless widow of a
+baronet, to come and pass the season with him and chaperone his daughter
+on her entrance into society.
+
+Lady Belgrade was sixty years old, tall, stout, fair-complexioned,
+gray-haired, healthy, good-humored, and well-dressed--altogether as
+commonplace and harmless a fine lady as could be found in the fashionable
+world.
+
+Salome had never seen her, scarcely ever heard of her before the day of
+her arrival at Westbourne Terrace.
+
+Salome met Lady Belgrade with courtesy and kindness, but with much
+indifference.
+
+Lady Belgrade, on her part, met her young kinswoman with critical
+curiosity.
+
+"She is not pretty, not at all pretty, and one does not like to have a
+plain girl to bring out. She is not pretty, and what is worse than all,
+she seems _to know it_. And she can only grow pretty by believing
+that she is so. A girl with such a pair of eyes as hers can always get
+the reputation of beauty if she can only be made to believe in herself,"
+was Lady Belgrade's secret comment; but--
+
+"What beautiful eyes you have, my dear!" she said with effusion, as she
+kissed Salome on both cheeks.
+
+The girl smiled and blushed with pleasure, for this was the first time
+in all her life that she had been credited with any beauty at all.
+
+Lady Belgrade was partly right and partly wrong.
+
+A girl with such a physique as Salome could never be pretty, never be
+handsome, but, with such a soul as hers, might grow beautiful.
+
+At her Majesty's first drawing-room, Salome Levison was presented at
+court, where she attracted the attention, only as the daughter of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, the new Radical member for Lone, and as the sole heiress
+of the great banker's almost fabulous wealth.
+
+Then under the experienced guidance of Lady Belgrade, she was launched
+into fashionable society. And society received the young expectant of
+enormous wealth, as society always does, with excessive adulation.
+
+Salome was admired, followed, flattered, feted, as though she had been
+a beauty as well as an heiress. She was petted at home and worshiped
+abroad. Her father gave unlimited pocket-money in form of bank-cheques,
+to be filled up at her own discretion. For she was his only daughter, and
+he wished to get her in love with the world and out of conceit of a
+convent. And surely the run of his bank, and of all the fine shops of
+London, would do that, he thought, if anything could.
+
+But Salome remained a "sealed book" to the wealthy banker, and a great
+trial to the fashionable chaperon who had her in training. Salome
+_would not_ grow pretty, in spite of all that could be done for her.
+Salome would not make a sensation, for all her father's wealth and her
+own expectations. She remained quiet, shy, silent, dreamy, even in the
+gayest society, as in the Highland solitudes, with one worship in her
+soul--the worship of that self-devoted son--that self-banished prince,
+whose "counterfeit presentment" she had seen in the tower at Lone, and
+who had become the idol of her religion.
+
+But all this did not hinder the heiress from receiving some very matter
+of fact and highly eligible offers of marriage; for though Salome, in the
+holiness of her dreams, was almost unapproachable, the banker was not
+inaccessible. And it was through her father that Salome, in the course of
+the season, had successively the coronet of a widowed earl, the title of
+a duke's younger son, and the fortune of a baronet who was just of age,
+laid at her feet.
+
+She rejected them all--to her father's great disappointment and
+disturbance.
+
+"I fear--I do much fear that her mind still runs on that convent. She
+does nothing but dream, dream, dream, and absolutely ignore homage that
+would turn another girl's head. I wish she were well married, or--I had
+almost said ill married! anything is better than the convent for my only
+surviving child! If she will not accept an earl or a baronet, why cannot
+her perversity take the form of any other girl's perversity? Why can she
+not fall in love with some penniless younger son, or some dissipated
+captain in a marching regiment? I am sure even under such circumstances
+I should not perform the part of the 'cruel parent' in the comedies! I
+should say, 'Bless you my children,' with all my heart! And I should
+enrich the impecunious young son, or reform the tipsy soldier. Anything
+but the convent for my only child!" concluded the banker, with a sigh.
+
+But Salome had ceased to think of the convent. She thought now only of
+the missing marquis.
+
+The offers of marriage that had been made to Salome, rejected though they
+were, had this good effect upon her mind. They encouraged her to think
+more hopefully of herself. Salome was too unworldly, too pure, and holy,
+to suspect that these offers had been made her from any other motive than
+personal preference. It was possible, then, that she might be loved. If
+other men preferred her, so also might he on whom she had fixed. And now
+it had come to this with the dreaming girl--she resolved to think no more
+of retiring to a convent, but to live in the world that contained her
+hero; to keep herself free from all engagements for his sake, to give
+_herself_ to him, if possible, if not to give his land back to him
+some day, at least. So in her secret soul she consecrated herself in a
+pure devotion to a man she had never seen, and who did not even know of
+her existence.
+
+When Parliament rose at the end of the London season, Sir Lemuel Levison
+took his daughter on an extended Continental tour, showing her all the
+wonders of nature, and all the glories of art in countries and cities.
+And Salome was interested and instructed, of course. Yet the greatest
+value her travels had for her was in the possibility of their bringing
+her to a meeting with the missing heir. It had been said that the mad
+duke and his son were somewhere on the Continent. A wide field! Yet, on
+the arrival of Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison at any city, Salome's first
+thought was this:
+
+"Perhaps they are living here, and I shall see him."
+
+But she was always disappointed. And at the end of a seven months'
+sojourn on the Continent, Sir Lemuel Levison brought his daughter back
+to London, only in time for the meeting of Parliament.
+
+Only two years of Salome's probation was left--only two more seasons
+in London. Her father's anxiety increased.
+
+He sent for her chaperone again, and opened his house in Westbourne
+Terrace to all the world of fashion. Again the young heiress was
+followed, flattered, feted as much as if she had been a beauty as well.
+Again she received and rejected several eligible offers of marriage. And
+so the second season passed.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison took his daughter to Scotland, and invited a large
+company to stay with them at Lone, thinking that, after all, more matches
+were made in the close daily intercourse of a country house, than in the
+crowded ball-rooms of a London season.
+
+But though the banker's daughter received two or three more eligible
+offers of marriage, she politely declined them all, and stole away as
+often as she could to worship the pictured image in the old tower.
+
+Her chaperone was in despair.
+
+"How many good men and brave has she refused, do you know, Lemuel?"
+inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Seven, to my certain knowledge," angrily replied the banker.
+
+"Perhaps she likes some one you know nothing about," suggested the
+dowager.
+
+"She does not; I would let her marry almost any man rather than have her
+enter a convent, as she is sure to do when she is of age. I would let her
+marry any one; aye, even Johnnie Scott, who is the most worthless scamp I
+know in the world."
+
+"And pray who is Johnnie Scott!"
+
+"Oh, a handsome rascal; is sort of kinsman and hanger-on of the young
+Marquis of Arondelle; he used to be. I don't know anything more about
+him."
+
+"Perhaps he _is_ the man."
+
+"Oh, no, he is not. There is no man in the convent. Well, we go up to
+London again in February. It will be her last season. If she does not
+fall in love or marry before May, when she will be twenty-one years of
+age, she will immure herself in a convent, as I am pledged not to prevent
+her."
+
+The conversation ended unsatisfactorily just here.
+
+In the beginning of February Sir Lemuel Levison, with his daughter and
+her chaperone, went up to London for her third season. They established
+themselves again in the sumptuous house on Westbourne Terrace, and again
+entered into the whirl of fashionable gayeties.
+
+It was quite in the beginning of the season that Sir Lemuel and Miss
+Levison received invitations to a dinner party at the Premier's.
+
+It was to be a semi-political dinner, at which were to be entertained
+certain ministers, members of Parliament, with their wives, and leading
+journalists.
+
+Sir Lemuel accepted for himself and Miss Levison. On the appointed day
+they rendered themselves at the Premier's house, where they were
+courteously welcomed by the great minister and his accomplished wife.
+
+After the usual greetings had been exchanged with the guests that were
+present, and while Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison were conversing with their
+hostess, the Premier came up with a stranger on his right arm.
+
+Salome looked up, her heart gave a great bound and then stood still.
+
+The original of the portrait in the tower, the self-devoted son, the
+self-exiled heir, the idol of her pure worship, the young Marquis of
+Arondelle stood before her.
+
+And while the scene swam before her eyes, the Premier bowed, and
+presenting him, said:
+
+"Sir Lemuel, let me introduce to you, Mr. John Scott of the _National
+Liberator_. Mr. Scott, Sir Lemuel Levison, our new member for Lone."
+
+Mr. John Scott!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE RUINED HEIR.
+
+
+Where, meanwhile, was the "mad" duke with his loyal son?
+
+Various reports had been circulated concerning them, so long as they had
+been remembered. Some had said that they had emigrated to Australia;
+others that they had gone to Canada; others again that they were living
+on the Continent. All agreed that wherever they were, they must be in
+great destitution.
+
+But now, three years had passed since the fall of Lone and the
+disappearance of the ruined ducal family, and they were very nearly
+forgotten.
+
+Meanwhile where were they then?
+
+They were hidden in the great wilderness of London.
+
+On leaving Lone, the stricken duke, crushed equally under domestic
+affliction and financial ruin, and failing both in mind and body, started
+for London, tenderly escorted by his son.
+
+It was the last extravagance of the young marquis to engage a whole
+compartment in a first-class carriage on the Great Northern Railway
+train, that the fallen and humbled duke might travel comfortably and
+privately without being subjected to annoyance by the gaze of the
+curious, or comments of the thoughtless.
+
+On reaching London they went first to an obscure but respectable inn in
+a borough, where they remained unknown for a few days, while the marquis
+sought for lodgings which should combine privacy, decency and cheapness,
+in some densely-populated, unfashionable quarter of the city, where their
+identity would be lost in the crowd, and where they would never by any
+chance meet any one whom they had ever met before.
+
+They found such a refuge at length, in a lodging-house kept by the widow
+of a curate in Catharine street, Strand.
+
+Here the ruined duke and marquis dropped their titles, and lived only
+under their baptismal name and family names.
+
+Here Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of
+Arondelle in the Peerage of England, and Baron Lone, of Lone, in the
+Peerage of Scotland, was known only as old Mr. Scott.
+
+And his son Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, by courtesy Marquis of
+Arondelle, was known only as young Mr. John Scott.
+
+Now as there were probably some thousands of "Scotts," and among them,
+some hundreds of "John Scotts," in all ranks of life, from the old landed
+proprietor with his town-house in Belgravia, to the poor coster-monger
+with his donkey-cart in Covent Garden, in this great city of London,
+there was little danger that the real rank of these ruined noblemen
+should be suspected, and no possibility that they should be recognized
+and identified. They were as completely lost to their old world as
+though they had been hidden in the Australian bush or New Zealand
+forests.
+
+Here as Mr. Scott and Mr. John Scott, they lived three years.
+
+The old duke, overwhelmed by his family calamity, gradually sank deeper
+and deeper into mental and bodily imbecility.
+
+Here the young marquis picked up a scanty living for himself and father
+by contributing short articles to the columns of the _National
+Liberator_, the great organ of the Reform Party.
+
+He wrote under the name of "Justus." After a few months his articles
+began to attract attention for their originality of thought, boldness
+of utterance, and brilliancy of style.
+
+Much speculation was on foot in political and journalistic circles as to
+the author of the articles signed "Justus." But his incognito was
+respected.
+
+At length on a notable occasion, the gifted young journalist was
+requested by the publisher of the _National Liberator_, to write
+a leader on a certain Reform Bill then up before the House of Commons.
+
+This work was so congenial to the principles and sentiments of the
+author, that it became a labor of love, and was performed, as all such
+labors should be, with all the strength of his intellect and affections.
+
+This leader made the anonymous writer famous in a day. He at once became
+the theme of all the political and newspaper clubs.
+
+And now a grand honor came to him.
+
+The Premier--no less a person--sent his private secretary to the office
+of the _National Liberator_ to inquire the name and address of the
+author of the articles by "Justus," with a request to be informed of them
+if there should be no objection on the part of author or publisher.
+
+The private secretary was told, with the consent of the author, what the
+name and address was.
+
+"Mr. John Scott, office of the _National Liberator_."
+
+Upon receiving this information, the Premier addressed a note to the
+young journalist, speaking in high terms of his leader on the Reform
+Bill, predicting for him a brilliant career, and requesting the writer
+to call on the minister at noon the following day.
+
+The young marquis was quite as much pleased at this distinguished
+recognition of his genius as any other aspiring young journalist might
+have been.
+
+He wrote and accepted the invitation.
+
+And at the appointed hour the next day he presented himself at Elmhurst
+House, the Premier's residence at Kensington.
+
+He sent up his card, bearing the plain name:
+
+"Mr. John Scott."
+
+He was promptly shown up stairs to a handsome library, where he found the
+great statesman among his books and papers.
+
+His lordship arose and received his visitor with much cordiality, and
+invited him to be seated.
+
+And during the interview that followed it would have been difficult to
+decide who was the best pleased--the great minister with this young
+disciple of his school, or the new journalist with this illustrious head
+of his party.
+
+This agreeable meeting was succeeded by others.
+
+At length the young journalist was invited to a sort of semi-political
+dinner at Elmhurst House, to meet certain eminent members of the reform
+party.
+
+This invitation pleased the marquis. It would give him the opportunity
+of meeting men whom he really wished to know. He thought he might accept
+it and go to the dinner as plain Mr. John Scott, of the _National
+Liberator_, without danger of being recognized as the Marquis of
+Arondelle.
+
+For in the days of his family's prosperity he had been too young to enter
+London society.
+
+And in these days of his adversity he was known to but a limited number
+of individuals in the city, and only by his common family name.
+
+On the appointed evening, therefore, he put on his well-brushed
+dress-suit, spotless linen, and fresh gloves, and presented himself at
+Elmhurst House as well dressed as any West End noble or city nabob there.
+
+He was shown up to the drawing-room by the attentive footman, who opened
+the door, and announced:
+
+"Mr. John Scott."
+
+And the young Marquis of Arondelle entered the room, where a brilliant
+little company of about half a dozen gentlemen and as many ladies were
+assembled.
+
+The noble host came forward to welcome the new guest. His lordship met
+him with much cordiality, and immediately presented him to Lady ----, who
+received him with the graceful and gracious courtesy for which she was
+so well known.
+
+Finally the minister took the young journalist across the room toward
+a very tall, thin, fair-skinned, gray-haired old gentleman, who stood
+with a pale, dark-eyed, richly-dressed young girl by his side.
+
+They were standing for the moment, with their backs to the company, and
+were critically examining a picture on the wall--a master-piece of one
+of the old Italian painters.
+
+"Sir Lemuel," said the host, lightly touching the art-critic on the
+shoulder.
+
+The old gentleman turned around.
+
+"Sir Lemuel, permit me to present to you Mr. John Jones--I beg
+pardon--Mr. John Scott, of the _National Liberator_--Mr. Scott, Sir
+Lemuel Levison, our member for Lone," said the minister.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison saw before him the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom he
+had know as a boy and young man for years in the Highlands, and of whom,
+indeed, he had purchased his life interest in Lone. But he gave no sign
+of this recognition.
+
+The young marquis, on his part, had every reason to know the man who had
+succeeded, not to say supplanted, his father at Lone Castle. But by no
+sign did he betray this knowledge.
+
+The recognition was mutual, instantaneous and complete. Yet both were
+gravely self-possessed, and addressed each other as if they had never met
+before.
+
+Then the banker called the attention of the young lady by his side:
+
+"My daughter."
+
+She raised her eyes and saw before her the idol of her secret worship,
+knowing him by his portrait at Lone. She paled and flushed, while her
+father, with old-fashioned formality, was saying:
+
+"My daughter, let me introduce to your acquaintance, Mr. John Scott of
+the _National Liberator_. You have read and admired his articles
+under the signature of Justus, you know!--Mr. Scott, my daughter, Miss
+Levison."
+
+Both bowed gravely, and as they looked up their eyes met in one swift
+and swiftly withdrawn glance.
+
+And before a word could be exchanged between them the doors were thrown
+open and the butler announced:
+
+"My lady is served."
+
+"Sir Lemuel, will you give your arm to Lady ----, and allow me to take
+Miss Levison in to dinner?" said the noble host, drawing the young lady's
+hand within his arm.
+
+"Mr. John Scott" took in Lady Belgrave.
+
+At dinner Miss Levison found herself seated nearly opposite to the young
+marquis. She could not watch him, she could not even lift her eyes to his
+face, but she could not chose but listen to every syllable that fell from
+his lips. It was the cue of some of the leading politicians present to
+draw out this young apostle of the reform cause. And of course they
+proceeded to do it.
+
+The young journalist, modest and reserved at first, as became a disciple
+in the presence of the leaders of the great cause, gradually grew more
+communicative, then animated, then eloquent.
+
+Among his hearers, none listened with a deeper interest than Salome
+Levison. Although he did not address one syllable of his conversation
+to her, nor cast one glance of his eyes upon her, yet she hung upon his
+words as though they had been the oracles of a prophet.
+
+If the high ideal honor and reverence in which she held him, could have
+been increased by any circumstance, it must have been from the sentiments
+expressed, the principles declared in his discourse.
+
+She saw before her, not only the loyal son, who had sacrificed himself
+to save his father, but she saw also in him the reformer, enlightener,
+educator and benefactor of his race and age.
+
+Of all the men she had met in the great world of society, during the
+three years that she had been "out," she had not found his equal, either
+in manly beauty and dignity, or in moral and intellectual excellence.
+
+_His_ brow needs no ducal coronet to ennoble it! _His_ name
+needs no title to illustrate it. The "princely Hereward!" "If all the men
+of his race resembled him, they well deserved this popular soubriquet.
+And whether this gentleman calls himself Mr. Scott or Lord Arondelle,
+I shall think of him only as the 'princely Hereward.'" mused Salome, as
+she sat and listened to the music of his voice, and the wisdom of his
+words.
+
+She was sorry when their hostess gave the signal for the ladies to rise
+from the table and leave the gentlemen to their wine.
+
+They went into the drawing-room, where the conversation turned upon the
+subject of the brilliant young journalist. No one knew who he was. Scott,
+though a very good name, was such a common one! But the noble host's
+endorsement was certainly enough to pass this gifted young gentleman
+in any society. The ladies talked of nothing but Mr. Scott, and his
+perfection of person, manner and conversation, until the entrance of
+the gentlemen from the dining-room.
+
+The host and the member for Lone came in arm in arm, and a little in the
+rear of the other guests, and lingered behind them.
+
+"This most extraordinary young man, this Mr. Scott--you have known him
+some time, my lord?" said Sir Lemuel Levison, in a low tone.
+
+"Ay, probably as long as you have, Sir Lemuel," replied the Premier, with
+a peculiarly intelligent smile.
+
+"Ah, yes! I see! Your lordship has possibly detected my recognition of
+this young gentleman," said Sir Lemuel.
+
+"Of course. And I, on my part, knew him when I first saw him again after
+some years."
+
+"His name was common enough to escape detection."
+
+"Yes, but his face was not, my dear sir. The profile of the 'princely
+Hereward' could never be mistaken. Our first meeting was purely
+accidental. He was pointed out to me one evening at a public meeting,
+as the 'Justus' of the '_National Liberator_.' I looked and
+recognized the Marquis of Arondelle. Nothing surprises or _should_
+surprise a middle-aged man. Therefore, I was not in the least degree
+moved by what I had discovered. I sent, however, to the office of the
+_Liberator_ to inquire the address, not of the Marquis of Arondelle,
+but of the writer, under the signature of 'Justus.' Received for answer
+that it was Mr. John Scott, office of the _Liberator_. I wrote to
+Mr. John Scott, and invited him to call on me. That was the beginning of
+my more recent acquaintance with this gifted young gentleman. Why he has
+chosen to drop his title I cannot know. He has every right to be called
+by his family name, only, if he so pleases. And, Sir Lemuel, we must
+regard his pleasure in this matter. Not even to my wife have I betrayed
+him," said the Premier, as they passed into the drawing-room.
+
+"Umph, umph, umph," grunted the banker, who, surfeited with wealth though
+he was, could think of but one cause to every evil in the world, and
+that the want of money, and of but one remedy for that evil, and that
+was--plenty of money. "Umph, umph, umph! It is his poverty has made him
+drop the title that he cannot support. If he would only marry my girl
+now, it would all come right."
+
+The entrance of the tea-service occupied the guests for the next half
+hour, at the end of which the little company broke up and took leave.
+
+Salome Levison went home more thoughtful and dreamy than ever
+before--more out of favor with herself, more in love with her "paladin,"
+more resolved never to marry any man except he should be John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+She almost loathed the hollow world of fashion in which she lived. Yet
+she went more into society than ever, though she enjoyed it so much less.
+She had a powerful motive for doing so. She attended all the balls,
+parties, dinners, concerts, plays, and operas to which she was invited,
+only with the hope of meeting again with him whose image had never left
+her heart since it first met her vision.
+
+But she never was gratified. She never saw him again in society. John
+Scott was unknown to the world of fashion.
+
+The season drew to its close. Constant going out, day after day, and
+night after night, would have weakened much stronger health than that
+possessed by Salome Levison. And, when added to this was constant longing
+expectation, and constant sickening disappointment, we cannot wonder that
+our pale heroine grew paler still.
+
+Her chaperone declared herself "worn out" and unable to continue her
+arduous duties much longer.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was puzzled and anxious.
+
+"I cannot see what has come to my girl! She goes out all the time; she
+accepts every invitation; gives herself no rest; yet never seems to enjoy
+herself anywhere. She grows paler and thinner every day, and there is a
+hectic spot on her cheeks and a feverish brightness in her eyes that I do
+not like at all. I have seen them before, and I have too much reason to
+know them! I do believe she is fretting herself into a decline for her
+convent. I do believe she only goes out as a sort of penance for her
+imaginary sins! Poor child! I must really have a talk and come to an
+understanding with her!" said the anxious father to himself, as he mused
+on the condition of his daughter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+SALOME'S CHOICE.
+
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was taking his breakfast in bed. The London season was
+near its close. Parliament sat late at night, and often all night. Sir
+Lemuel, a punctual and diligent member of the House, seldom returned home
+before the early dawn.
+
+So Sir Lemuel was taking his breakfast in bed, and "small blame to him."
+
+It was a very simple breakfast of black tea, dry toast, fresh eggs, and
+cold ham.
+
+"Take these things away now, Potts. Go and find Miss Levison's maid, and
+tell her to let her mistress know that I wish to see my daughter here,
+before she goes out," said the banker, as he drained and set down his
+tea-cup.
+
+"Yes, Sir Lemuel," respectfully answered the servant, as he lifted the
+breakfast tray and bore it off.
+
+"Umph! that is the manner in which I have to manoeuvre for an interview
+with my own daughter, before I can get one," grumbled the banker, as he
+lay back on his pillow and took up a newspaper from the counter-pane.
+
+Before he had time to read the morning's report of the night's doings at
+the House, Salome entered the room.
+
+The banker darted a swift keen look at her, that took in her whole aspect
+at a glance.
+
+She was dressed for a drive. She wore a simple suit of rich brown silk,
+with hat, vail and gloves to match, white linen collar and cuffs, and
+crimson ribbon bow on her bosom, and a crimson rose in her hat. Her face
+was pale and clear, but so thin that her broad, fair forehead looked too
+broad beneath its soft waves of dark hair, and her deep gray eyes seemed
+too large and bright under their arched black eyebrows.
+
+"You wished to see me, dear papa?" she said, gently.
+
+"Yes, my love. But--you are going out? Of course you are. You are always
+going out, when you are not gone. I hope, however, that I have not
+interfered with any very important engagement of yours, my dear?" said
+the banker, half impatiently, half affectionately.
+
+"Oh, no, papa, love! I was only going with Lady Belgrade to a flower-show
+at the Crystal Palace. I will give it up very willingly if you wish me to
+do so," said Salome, gently, stooping and pressing her lips to his, and
+then seating herself on the side of his bed.
+
+"I do not wish you to do so, my child. I shall be going out myself in
+a couple of hours. But I want to have a little conversation with you.
+I suppose a few minutes more or less will make no difference in your
+enjoyment of the flower-show."
+
+"None whatever, papa, dear."
+
+"Humph! Salome, now that I look at you well, I do not believe you care
+a penny for the flower-show. Come, tell me the truth, girl. Do you care
+one penny to go to the flower-show?" he inquired, looking keenly into her
+pensive face.
+
+"No, papa, dear," she answered, in a very low tone.
+
+"Humph! I thought not. Now do you care for _any_ of the shows,
+plays, balls, and other tom-fooleries that occupy you day and night?
+I pause for a reply, my daughter."
+
+"No, papa, I do not," she answered, in a still lower tone.
+
+"Then why the deuce do you go to them?" demanded the banker.
+
+His daughter's soft, gray eyes sank beneath his scrutinizing gaze, but
+she did not answer. How _could_ she confess that she went out into
+company daily and nightly only in the hope of seeing again the one man
+to whom she had given her unsought heart, and for whose presence her very
+soul seemed famishing.
+
+"What is it that you _do_ care for, then, Salome?" demanded her
+father, varying his question.
+
+Her head sank upon her bosom, but still she did not answer. How could she
+tell him that she cared only for a man who did not care for her.
+
+"This is unbearable!" burst forth the banker. "Here you are with every
+indulgence that affection can yield you, every luxury that money can give
+you, and yet you are not well nor content. What ails you girl? Are you
+pining after your convent? Set fire to it. Are you pining after your
+convent, I ask you, Salome?"
+
+"Indeed, _no_, papa!"
+
+"What!" demanded her father, starting up at her reply and gazing with
+doubt into her pale, earnest face.
+
+"I am not thinking of the convent, dear papa. Indeed I had forgotten all
+about it. If it will give you any pleasure to hear it, dear papa, let me
+tell you that I have quite given up all ideas of entering a convent,"
+added Salome, with a pensive smile.
+
+"What!" exclaimed the banker, starting up in a sitting position and
+bending toward his daughter as if in doubt whether to gaze her through
+and through or to catch her to his heart.
+
+She met that look and understood her father's love for his only child,
+and reproached herself for having been so blind to it for these three
+years past.
+
+"Dearest papa," she said, with tender earnestness, "I have no longer the
+slightest wish or intention of ever entering a convent. And I wonder now
+how I ever could have been so insane as to think I could live all my life
+contentedly in a convent, or so selfish as to forget that by doing so I
+should leave my father alone in the world!"
+
+"My darling child! Is this truly so? Are these really your thoughts?"
+exclaimed the banker, with such a look of delight as Salome had not
+believed possible in so aged a face.
+
+"Really and truly, my father! And does it give you so much pleasure?"
+
+"Pleasure my daughter! It gives me the greatest joy! Hand me my
+dressing-gown, my dear. I must get up. I cannot lie here any longer.
+You have put new life into me!"
+
+Salome handed him his gown, socks, and slippers, and then went to clear
+off his big easy-chair, which was burdened with his yesterday's dress
+suit, and draw it up for his use.
+
+And in a few minutes the banker, wrapped in his gown, with his feet in
+his slippers, was seated comfortably in his arm-chair.
+
+"Now, shall I ring for Potts, papa, dear?" inquired Salome.
+
+"No, my love, I don't want Potts, I want you. Sit down near me, Salome,
+and listen to me. You have made me very happy this morning, my darling;
+and now I wish to make you happy; you are not so now; but I am your
+father; you are my only child; all that I have will be yours; but in the
+meantime, you are not happy. What can I do, my beloved child, to make
+you so?" said the banker, drawing her to his side and kissing her
+tenderly, and then releasing her.
+
+"Papa, dear, I should be a most ungrateful daughter if I were not happy,"
+answered the girl.
+
+"Then you _are_ a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you
+are very far from happy," said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet
+looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.
+
+Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.
+
+"My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only
+tell me how. Tell me, my dear," persisted her father.
+
+But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.
+
+"If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide
+in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you," said
+Sir Lemuel, sadly.
+
+"Father, dear father, I _do_ love you; and I will confide in you,"
+said Salome, earnestly.
+
+For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting
+out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.
+
+"What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you
+have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me
+all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is
+holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor
+girl, not your awkward, blundering old father," suddenly said the banker,
+breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon
+his shoulder.
+
+"My dear, gentle father, no mother could be tenderer than you," murmured
+Salome.
+
+"Tell me all, then, my darling. It is the first wish of my heart to see
+you happily married. And no trifling obstacle shall stand in the way of
+its accomplishment. _Who is he, Salome?_" he inquired, in a low
+whisper, as he passed his hand around her neck.
+
+She did not answer, but she kissed and fondled his hand.
+
+"You cannot bring yourself to tell me yet? Well, take your own time, my
+love. You will tell me some time or another," he continued, returning her
+soft caresses.
+
+"Yes, I will tell you sometime, dear, good, tender father. But now--when
+do we leave town papa?"
+
+"In less than three weeks, my dear."
+
+"And where do we go?"
+
+"To Lone Castle, if you like; if not, anywhere you prefer, my dear."
+
+"Then we _will_ go to Lone, if you please, papa."
+
+"Certainly, my dear."
+
+"Papa?"
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"Will you do something for me before we leave town?"
+
+"I will do anything on earth that you wish me to do for you, my dear,"
+said the banker, looking anxiously toward her.
+
+She hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
+
+"Papa, I want you to give just such a semi-political dinner party as that
+given by the Premier in the beginning of the season."
+
+"What! my little, pale Salome taking an interest in politics!" exclaimed
+the banker, in droll surprise.
+
+"Yes, papa; and turning politician on a small, womanish scale. You will
+give this semi-political dinner?"
+
+"Why of course I will! Whom shall we invite?"
+
+"Papa, the very same party to a man, whom we met at the Premier's
+dinner."
+
+"Let me see. Who was there? Oh! there were three members of Parliament
+and their wives; two city magnates and their daughters; you and myself,
+Lady Belgrade, and--and the Marquis of--John--Mr. John Scott, I mean."
+
+"Yes, papa, that was the company. Send the invitations out to-day, for
+this day week please--if no engagement intervenes to prevent you."
+
+"Very well, my dear. You see to it. I leave it all in your hands. Now you
+may ring for Potts, my dear. I have to dress and go down to the House. I
+am chairman of a committee there, that meets at two. And you, my love,
+must be off to your flower-show. You must not keep Lady Belgrade
+waiting."
+
+Salome touched the bell, and on the entrance of the valet, she kissed her
+father's hand and retired.
+
+"Now I wonder," mused the old gentleman, "who it is she wants to meet
+again, out of that dinner company? It cannot be either of the old M.P.'s
+or their wives; nor the two elderly city magnates, or their tall
+daughters; that disposes of ten out of the fourteen invited guests.
+The remainder included Lady Belgrade, myself, Salome herself, and--Lord,
+bless my soul, alive!" burst forth the banker, with such a start, that
+his valet, who was brushing his hair, begged his pardon, and said that he
+did not mean it.
+
+"Lord, bless my soul alive," mentally continued the banker, without
+paying the slightest attention to the apologizing servant. "The Marquis
+of Arondelle! He was the fourteenth guest, and the only young man
+present! And upon my word and honor, the very handsomest and most
+attractive young fellow I ever saw in all the days of my life! Come!" he
+added to himself, as the full revelation of the truth burst upon his
+mind; "_that_ can be easily enough arranged. If he is the sensible,
+practical man I take him to be, he will get back his estates and the very
+best little wife that ever was wed into the bargain; and my girl will be
+a marchioness, and in time a duchess. But stay--what is that I heard up
+at Lone about the young marquis and a handsome shepherdess? Chut! what is
+that to us? That is probably a slander. The marquis is a noble young
+fellow; and I will bring him home with me this evening. I will not wait
+a week until that dinner comes off. We cannot afford to lose so much time
+at the end of the season," mused the banker, through all the time his
+valet was dressing him.
+
+And now we must glance back to that evening when John Scott, Marquis of
+Arondelle, first met Salome Levison. He had met many statuesque, pink and
+white beauties in his young life; and he had admired each and all with
+all a young man's ardor. But not one of them had touched his heart, as
+did the first full gaze of those large, soft gray eyes that were lifted
+to his and immediately dropped as the old banker had presented him to--
+
+"My daughter, Miss Levison."
+
+She was not statuesque. She was not pink and white. She was not at all
+handsome, or even pretty; yet something in the pale, sweet, earnest face,
+something in the soft clear gray eyes touched his heart even before he
+was presented to her. But when she lifted those eloquent eyes to his
+face, there was such a world of sympathy, appreciation and devotion in
+their swift and swiftly-withdrawn gaze, that her soul seemed then and
+there to reveal itself to his soul.
+
+He never again met the full gaze of those spirit eyes. He never exchanged
+a word with her after the first few formal words of greeting. He had only
+bowed to her, in taking leave that evening.
+
+Yet those eyes had haunted him in their meek appealing tenderness ever
+since. He did not meet her anywhere by accident, and he did not try to
+meet her by design. He only thought of her constantly. But what had he to
+do with the banker's wealthy heiress, the future mistress of Lone? If he
+were so unwise as to seek her acquaintance, the world would be quick to
+ascribe the most mercenary motives to his conduct. But like weaker minded
+lovers, he comforted himself by writing such transcendental poetry as
+"The Soul's Recognition," "The Meeting of the Spirits," "What Those Eyes
+Said," etc. He did not publish these. After having relieved his mind of
+them, he put them away to keep in his portfolio. So you see the handsome,
+"princely" Hereward was as much in love with our pale, gray-eyed girl as
+She could possibly be with him.
+
+And so with the young marquis also the season passed slowly and heavily
+away, until the day came when into his den at the office of the
+_Liberator_ walked Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+His heart really beat faster, although it was only her father who
+entered.
+
+He arose, and placed a chair for his visitor.
+
+"Lord Arondelle, you _know_ I knew you when I met you at Lord P.'s
+dinner-party, and I saw that you knew me. It was not my business to
+interfere with your incognito, and so I met you as you met me--as a
+stranger. But surely here and now we may meet as friends without
+disguise," said the banker, as he slowly sank into his seat.
+
+"We must do so, Sir Lemuel, since we are _tete-a-tete_. It would
+be idle and useless to do otherwise," replied the young marquis,
+courteously.
+
+"And now, my young friend, you are wondering what has brought me here,"
+continued the banker.
+
+"I am at least most grateful to any circumstance that gives me the
+pleasure of your company, Sir Lemuel," courteously replied the young
+marquis.
+
+"Well, my lord, I come to beg you to waive ceremony, and go home with me
+to dinner this evening. I hope you have no engagement to prevent you from
+coming," added Sir Lemuel, with more earnestness than the occasion seemed
+to call for.
+
+"I have no engagement to prevent me," answered the young man frankly, but
+slowly and thoughtfully, for he was wondering not only at the invitation
+but at the suddenness and earnestness with which it was given.
+
+"Then I _hope_ you will come?" said the banker.
+
+"You are very kind, Sir Lemuel. Yes, thanks, I will come," said the
+marquis.
+
+"So happy! Will you allow me to call for you--at--at your lodgings?"
+
+"Thanks, Sir Lemuel, if you will kindly call _here_ at your own
+hour, it will be more directly in your way home, and you will find me
+ready to accompany you."
+
+"Quite right. I will be here at seven. Good morning."
+
+And with this the banker went away.
+
+"He wants me to make an article about something, I suppose," mused the
+young man when the elder had gone. "I will go. I will see that sweet girl
+again, even if I never see her afterwards."
+
+The temptation was certainly very strong. And so, at the appointed hour,
+when the banker called at the office of the _National Liberator_ he
+found the young gentleman in evening dress ready to accompany him home.
+
+Salome Levison was dressed for dinner, and seated in the drawing-room
+with her chaperone, Lady Belgrade.
+
+Salome was certainly not expecting any guest. But she intended to go to
+the opera that evening with Lady Belgrade, to hear the last act of Norma.
+Luckily for Sir Lemuel's plan, it was not a peremptory engagement, and
+could easily be set aside.
+
+On this evening she was beautifully dressed. She wore a delicate tea-rose
+tinted rich silk skirt, with an over skirt of point lace, looped up with
+tea-rose buds, a tea-rose in her dark hair, a necklace of opals set in
+diamonds, and bracelets of the same beautiful jewels. Refined, elegant,
+and most interesting she certainly looked.
+
+Meanwhile, the banker came home, and himself conducted the unexpected
+guest to the drawing-room.
+
+"Mr. John Scott, my dear," said Sir Lemuel, bringing the young gentleman
+up to his daughter.
+
+The young marquis caught the sudden lighting up of those soft, gray eyes,
+and the sudden flushing of those delicate cheeks.
+
+It was but for an instant; for even as he bowed before her, her eyes fell
+and her color faded.
+
+It was but for an instant, yet in that glance those eyes had again
+revealed her soul to his.
+
+The young marquis was not a vain man. He could not at once believe the
+evidence of his own consciousness. But he found it rather more awkward to
+sit down and open a conversation with this pale, shy girl, than he ever
+had in his palmiest days to make himself agreeable to the brightest
+beauty that ever honored Castle Lone with a visit.
+
+For once the presence of a chaperone was not unwelcome to a pair of young
+people secretly in love with each other.
+
+Lady Belgrade chattered of the weather, the opera the park, and what not,
+and relieved the embarrassment of the lovers during the interval in which
+Sir Lemuel Levison had gone to change his dress.
+
+The young marquis seldom spoke to Salome, but when he did, his voice sank
+to a low, tender, reverential tone that thrilled her inmost spirit. She
+replied to him only in soft monosyllables, but her drooping eyelids, and
+kindling cheeks, told him all he wished to know. He might have wondered
+more at the interest he had seemed to excite in a girl he had met but
+once before, had he not had a corresponding experience himself. He knew
+that he himself had been deeply impressed by this sweet, shy, pale girl,
+on the first meeting of her soft gray eyes, with their soul of love
+shining through them.
+
+He did not know that this "soul of love" had first been awakened in her,
+by hearing his story and seeing his portrait, and that it was which so
+powerfully attracted him--for love creates love.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison hurried over his toilet, and soon entered the
+drawing-room.
+
+Dinner was immediately announced.
+
+"Mr. Scott, will you take my daughter to the table?" said the banker, as
+he gave his own arm to Lady Belgrade.
+
+It was an elegant little dinner for four, arranged upon a round table.
+There was no possibility of estrangement, in so small a party as that.
+
+Sir Lemuel talked gayly, and without effort, for he was very happy. Lady
+Belgrade chattered, because she was spiritually a magpie. And as both
+constantly appealed to "Mr. Scott," or to Salome, it was impossible for
+either of the lovers to relapse into awkward silence. The conversation
+was general and lively.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison and Lady Belgrade would have talked in the most
+flattering manner of "Mr. Scott's" leaders, if that young gentleman had
+not laughingly waived off all such direct compliments.
+
+When dinner was over, Lady Belgrade gave the signal, and arose from the
+table. Salome followed her, and left the two gentlemen to their wine.
+
+"It afflicts me to have to call you Mr. Scott, my lord," said Sir Lemuel,
+when he found himself alone with his guest.
+
+"Then call me John, as you used to do when I rode upon your foot in my
+childhood, and when I used to come to you in all my worst scrapes in
+boyhood--I shall never resume my title, Sir Lemuel," replied the young
+man.
+
+"Never!" exclaimed the banker.
+
+"Never, Sir Lemuel. A pauper lord is rather a ridiculous object. I will
+never be one."
+
+"You _could_ not be one. I won't hear you say such things about
+yourself. See here, John. Do you know why I bought Lone when I knew it
+was to be sold?"
+
+"I suppose because you wanted it."
+
+"Now what did I want with Lone? I, an old widower, without family, except
+one little girl at school? I did not want Lone. I wanted you to have it.
+But I knew that if I did not buy it some one else would. And--I had this
+only daughter, who would have Lone after me. And I thought perhaps--But
+then you disappeared, you know, and no one on earth could tell for three
+years what had become of you, when you suddenly turned up as Mr. John
+Scott at the Premier's dinner."
+
+The banker paused, and ran his hand through his gray hair.
+
+The young man looked at him with curiosity and interest.
+
+"Plague take it all! her mother, if she has one, could manage this matter
+so much better than I can," muttered the banker, as he poured out a glass
+of wine and drank it. "Well, Lord Arondelle--I will give myself the
+pleasure of calling you so while we are _tete-a-tete_ 'over the
+walnuts and wine.' Lord Arondelle, there is my daughter; what do you
+think of her?" he demanded, bending down his gray brows and fixing his
+keen blue eyes scrutinizingly upon the young man's face which flushed at
+the suddenness of the question. But he quickly recovered himself, and
+replied in a low, reverent tone:
+
+"I think Miss Levison the loveliest young creature I have ever had the
+happiness to know."
+
+"You do! So do _I_! I think so too. And the man who gets my girl to
+wife will get a pearl of price."
+
+"I truly believe that," said the young man, with an involuntary sigh.
+
+"That is right! Ahem! Bother it! a woman could do this so much better
+than such a blundering old fellow as I! Well, there! Salome has, in the
+three years since her first entrance into society, refused half a score
+of eligible men. She is, and always has been, perfectly free from any
+such engagement. If you are equally free, my dear marquis--(If I could
+only be her mother for three seconds)--Ahem! if you are equally free,
+and if you admire my girl as you say you do, and if you can win her
+affections--she--she shall be yours, and I will settle Lone upon her.
+There, her mother would have done this better, I know. So much better
+that you would have proposed to my daughter without ever dreaming that
+the suggestion came from our side. But as for me, I have flung my girl
+at your head, nothing less!" grumbled the banker.
+
+"My dear Sir Lemuel," said the young man, with some emotion, as he left
+his seat and came and stood by the banker's chair, leaning affectionately
+over him; "when I first met your lovely daughter, I was so deeply
+impressed by her rare sweetness, gentleness, intelligence--ah! Heaven
+knows what it was! It was something more than all these. In a word, I was
+so deeply impressed by her perfect loveliness, that had I been as really
+the heir of Lone as I was the Marquis of Arondelle, I should at once have
+cultivated her further acquaintance, and, before this, have laid my heart
+and hand, titles and estates, at her feet."
+
+"Well, well, my boy? Well, my dear lad, why didn't you do it?" inquired
+the banker, with tears rising to his kind eyes.
+
+"I have just told you, because I was a ruined man," said the marquis with
+mournful dignity.
+
+"'A ruined man?'" echoed the banker, with almost angry earnestness.
+"_I_ know that you are _not_ a ruined man! And you know, even
+better than I do, because you have more brains than I have; YOU
+know that no young man, sound in body and sound in mind, can be ruined
+by any financial calamity that can fall upon him. You love my daughter,
+you say. Well, then, you have my authority to ask her to be your wife.
+There, what do you say?"
+
+The young marquis sat down and covered his face with his hand for one
+thoughtful moment, and then replied:
+
+"This is a happiness so unexpected that it seems unreal. Sir Lemuel, do
+you really appreciate the fact that I am a man without a shilling that
+I do not earn by my labor?"
+
+"I really appreciate the fact, and most highly appreciate the fact that
+you are Marquis of Arondelle, and to be Duke of Hereward--and that you
+are personally as noble in nature as you are fortunately noble in
+descent. And although my first motive in favoring this marriage is the
+pure desire for yours and for my daughter's happiness, still I assure
+you, my lord, I am keenly alive to its eligibility in a mere worldly
+point of view. Your ancient historical title is, (to speak as a man of
+the world,) much more than an equivalent for my daughter's expectations.
+But it is not, as I said before, as a highly eligible, conventional
+marriage that I most desire it, but as a marriage that I feel sure will
+secure the happiness of yourself and my daughter, whom I shall,
+nevertheless, be very proud to see, some day, Duchess of Hereward.
+Come, now, I never saw a gallant young man hesitate so long. I shall grow
+angry presently."
+
+"Sir Lemuel," said the marquis, with some irrepressible emotion, "were
+I now really the Duke of Hereward, and the owner of Lone, and were your
+lovely daughter as dowerless as I am penniless at this moment, and did
+you give her to me, my deepest gratitude would be due you, and you have
+it now. When may I see Miss Levison and put my fate to the test?"
+
+"That's right. Upon my word, my boy, if I were a galvanic foreigner
+instead of a staid Englishman, I should jump up and embrace you. Consider
+yourself embraced. When shall you see her? We will go into the dining
+room now and get a cup of tea from the ladies; after which, you shall see
+her as soon and as often as you please. And after you win her, as I am
+sure you will, we will have a blithe wedding and you and your bride will
+do the Continent for a wedding-tour, and then come back and spend the
+Autumn at Lone. We two old papas, the duke and myself, will join you
+there, and everything will be quite as it used to be in the old days."
+
+"Ah! my poor father!" sighed the young man.
+
+"What of the duke, my dear boy? You told me he was well," said the
+banker, anxiously.
+
+"Yes, he is well in body, better in body than he has been for years; but
+I think that is only because his mind is failing."
+
+"I am very sorry to hear that! In what respect does this failure show
+itself--in loss of memory?"
+
+"In partial loss of memory; but chiefly in a hallucination that possesses
+him. He thinks that he is still the master of Lone as well as the Duke
+of Hereward. He thinks that he lives in London, and in the most
+Objectionable part of London, only to gratify my 'eccentric whim' of
+being a journalist. And he daily and hourly urges me to return with him
+to Lone!"
+
+"In the name of Heaven, then gratify him! Take him to Lone as my guest,
+until you can keep him there as your own. Let him be happy in the
+illusion that he is still its master. I will see that the servants there,
+who are most of them his own old people, do not say or do anything to
+dispel the illusion! Come, my son-in-law, that is to be, will you take
+your father at once to Lone?"
+
+For all answer the young marquis grasped and wrung the hand of his old
+friend.
+
+"But will you do it?" persisted the banker, who wanted to be satisfied on
+that point.
+
+"I will think of it. I will think most gratefully of your kind
+invitation, Sir Lemuel. And now shall we join the ladies?"
+
+"Certainly," said the banker.
+
+They went into the drawing-room.
+
+Lady Belgrade was presiding over the tea urn.
+
+Salome, who was seated near her, looked up and saw him. Again the marquis
+noted the sudden, beautiful lighting up of those soft, gray eyes, as they
+were lifted for a moment to his face. Again they fell beneath his glance,
+as her pale cheeks flushed up. He could not be mistaken. This sweet girl
+whom he loved, loved him in return.
+
+"I was just about to send for you. You lingered long at table, Sir
+Lemuel," said Lady Belgrade, as the two gentlemen bowed and seated
+themselves.
+
+"Oh, important political and journalistic matters to discuss," said Sir
+Lemuel. ("Only they were _not_ discussed,") he added, mentally.
+
+"So I supposed," said Lady Belgrade, as she handed him a cup of tea,
+which he immediately passed to his guest.
+
+After tea, when the service was removed, Sir Lemuel challenged Lady
+Belgrade for a game of chess, and told his daughter to show Mr. Scott
+those chromoes of the Madonnas of Raphael which had arrived in the last
+parcel from Paris.
+
+Salome flushed to the edges of her dark hair as she arose, glanced
+shyly at her guest for an instant, and walked to the other end of the
+drawing-room.
+
+There, on a gilded stand, under a brilliant gasolier, lay a large and
+handsome volume, which Salome indicated as the one referred to by her
+father.
+
+The marquis brought two chairs to the stand, and they sat down to go over
+the book.
+
+Meanwhile, the banker and the dowager commenced their game of chess. But
+from time to time, each looked furtively in the direction of the young
+people. _They_ were looking at the Madonnas of Raphael, and, once
+in a while, shyly into each other's eyes. All that Sir Lemuel saw there
+pleased him. All that Lady Belgrade saw there _dis_pleased her.
+
+At length she put her hand over that of her antagonist, and stopped his
+move while she said:
+
+"Sir Lemuel, a conflagration may be arrested by stamping out a spark of
+fire."
+
+"Whatever do you mean, my lady!" inquired the perplexed banker.
+
+"An inundation may be prevented by stopping up a small leak."
+
+"I am more mystified than ever!"
+
+"Look at Salome and Mr. Scott, then," said her ladyship, solemnly.
+
+"Well, what of them? They seem to be very happy and very well pleased
+with each other."
+
+"Ah! that is it, and worse may come of it."
+
+"What worse can come of it?"
+
+"Sir Lemuel, this Mr. Scott, you must remember, is nothing but an
+adventurer, who only gains an entrance into respectable circles on
+account of his journalistic reputation. He is probably also a pauper,
+but being a very handsome and attractive man, he is certainly a very
+dangerous, and likely to be a very successful fortune-hunter."
+
+"You mean he may try to marry my heiress?"
+
+"Yes, Sir Lemuel."
+
+"He has my full consent to do so."
+
+"Sir Lemuel!"
+
+"Listen, my good lady, I have a secret to tell you. That gentleman whom
+we have known as Mr. John Scott only, is really Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Marquis of Hereward."
+
+A woman of the world is hardly ever "taken aback." Lady Belgrade gave no
+exclamation. But she caught her breath and stared at the speaker.
+
+"It is as I have told you. He is the Marquis of Arondelle. He is going to
+marry my daughter. He will get back Lone through her. And she will be
+Marchioness of Arondelle, and in due time Duchess of Hereward."
+
+"You--don't--say--so!" breathed her ladyship, slowly.
+
+"And now, you know how to manage it. You must aid the young couple as
+much as you can by giving them as much as possible of each other's
+society."
+
+"Yes, I see," said her ladyship. "And now--don't look toward them again."
+
+The banker nodded intelligently. And they gave their attention to the
+game.
+
+And the two young people seemed to find inexhaustible interest in the
+volume they were bending over.
+
+It was eleven o'clock before the young marquis arose to take leave.
+
+"I have asked Miss Levison to ride with me in the Park to-morrow, and she
+has kindly consented--with your approbation, Sir Lemuel," said the young
+man.
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Scott. I consider horseback riding one of the most
+healthful of exercises," said the banker, heartily.
+
+The young marquis then bowed and took his leave.
+
+Lady Belgrade gathered up her embroidery work and bade them good-night.
+
+"My girl, what do you think of Mr. Scott?" asked the banker, when he was
+left alone with his daughter.
+
+"Oh, papa," she breathed in an embarrassed manner.
+
+"Do you know who he really is, my dear?"
+
+"Yes, papa, I knew him when I first met him at the Premier's dinner.
+I knew him by his portrait that I saw at Castle Lone!"
+
+"Oh, you did!" said the banker, musing.
+
+His daughter looked at him for a moment, and then suddenly threw herself
+into his arms, clasped his neck and kissed him fervently, exclaiming,
+with her face radiant with delight:
+
+"Oh, papa! this is all your doing! I understand it all, dear papa! Bless
+you! bless you! bless you, my own, own dear papa! You have made your
+child so happy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ARONDELLE'S CONSOLATION.
+
+
+On the next day, at the appointed hour, Salome came down to the
+drawing-room dressed for her ride.
+
+She wore a rich habit of dark blue summer-cloth, fastened with small
+gold buttons, fine, tiny white linen cuffs and collar, dark blue gloves,
+dark blue velvet hat with a short, white ostrich plume secured by a small
+gold butterfly, and she carried in her hand a slender ivory-handled
+riding-whip, set with a sapphire. Her dress was neat, elegant, and
+appropriate; and her face was for the moment radiant and beautiful
+from inward joy.
+
+In due time, the young marquis presented himself, and the lovers went
+forth for their ride.
+
+It is not necessary to linger over this courtship, in which "the course
+of true love" ran so smooth as to seem monotonous to all but the lovers
+themselves.
+
+The ride was followed by the small dinner party. And after that the young
+marquis became a daily visitor at Elmthorpe House, where he was ever
+received with fatherly affection by Sir Lemuel, and with subdued delight
+by Salome.
+
+The lovers had come to a mutual understanding for days before the marquis
+made a formal proposal for Miss Levison's hand.
+
+But it happened one evening that they found themselves alone in the
+drawing-room. They were seated at a table, loaded with books of
+engravings, photographs, and so forth.
+
+Salome was turning over the pages of Dore's Milton.
+
+"Close the volume, now, Miss Levison," Lord Arondelle said at length,
+uttering the formal words with a tone and look of such reverential
+tenderness as to seem a caress.
+
+Salome shut the book, and looked up to read the open volume of his
+eloquent face; but her eyes instantly sank beneath the gaze of ardent
+passion that met them.
+
+"Listen to me, Salome, my beloved; for I love you, and have loved you
+ever since the first moment when I met the beautiful spirit beaming
+through your sweet eyes--'Sweetest eyes were ever seen!' Dear eyes! look
+on me!"
+
+Salome, for all her profound and ardent affections, was still a very shy
+maiden. She wished to raise her eyes to his; she wished to pour her heart
+out to him; to let him have the comfort of knowing how perfectly she
+loved him, how utterly she was his own. But she could not look at him,
+she could not speak to him as yet. Her dark eyelashes drooped to her
+crimson cheeks.
+
+"My beloved, do you hear me? I am telling you how I have loved you since
+I first met your heavenly eyes. This is no lover's rhapsody, my own, for
+your eyes are heavenly in their spiritual beauty. And they have haunted
+me, Salome, like the eyes of a guardian angel ever since they first
+looked upon me. Daily they would have drawn me to your side but for my
+wrecked and ruined state," he said, with a half suppressed sigh.
+
+His look, his tone, and, more than all, his allusion to the calamity of
+his house, reached her soul, and broke the spell of reserve by which she
+was bound.
+
+"Oh, do not say that you are ruined!" she cried, in a voice thrilled and
+thrilling with profound emotion. "Do not think that you are ruined.
+_You_ could _never_ be ruined. _Nothing_ could ruin
+_you_. It is not in the power of fate to ruin a man like
+YOU. And if you loved me when you first met my eyes it was
+because you read in them the soul that was created yours! And if these
+eyes have haunted you ever since it was because this soul has been always
+longing, yearning, aspiring towards yours!" And she dropped her face in
+her hands and wept for pure joy.
+
+"Salome, Salome, can this be indeed true? Can I have been so blessed? Am
+I indeed so happy? Then is this abundant compensation for all that I have
+lost in this world! Heavenly consolation for all I have suffered on
+earth! Speak again, oh, my dearest! Tell me once more, for I can scarcely
+realize my happiness! Speak again, beloved, for your words are life to
+me!" he exclaimed, with profound emotion.
+
+"Yes, I will tell you all!" she said, wiping away her joyful tears and
+looking up. "I will tell you everything for it is your right! You have
+made me so happy to-day! I loved you from the beginning. First, I loved
+the magnanimous, self-sacrificing man who, at the age of twenty-one
+years, with a brilliant future before him, could renounce all his
+prospects to give peace to his father's latter years. I loved you then,
+Lord Arondelle, before I knew what manner of man you looked!"
+
+"How blessed, how surely blessed I am in hearing you," he breathed, in
+a low and reverent tone.
+
+"Afterward I saw your portrait in Malcolm's Tower at Lone," she
+continued, in a soft voice. "And I saw a beauty and a grandeur in the
+face and form that seemed the fitting manifestation of a soul like yours.
+And I loved you more than ever. My mornings were passed in the tower near
+the glory of that picture. But I gazed on it so hopelessly! You were
+missing, you were lost to your world! And then I was so plain, so pale,
+and dark and gray-eyed. If I should ever be so fortunate as to meet you,
+I thought you would never be likely to love me!"
+
+"My consolation! You are most lovely from your spirit, and now you
+_know_ that I loved you from my first meeting with you," he
+breathed, in a low, earnest tone, pouring his whole soul's devotion
+through the gaze that he fixed on her face.
+
+Again her eyes drooped as she murmured:
+
+"If I am lovely in the very least, it must be that my love for you has
+made me so; for, even then, when I had only heard your story and seen
+your portrait, I loved you so, that I could not think of marriage with
+any other man."
+
+"And that was the reason why you refused so many excellent offers?" he
+inquired, with a smile.
+
+"Perhaps that was the reason," she replied, lowly bending her head.
+
+"Tell me more, my consolation! I thirst for your words; they are as the
+words of life to me," he murmured, eagerly.
+
+She continued, still speaking in a low, thrilling voice:
+
+"At last--at last--at last--after three long years of waiting, longing,
+aspiring, I met you face to face. Oh!" she exclaimed, and as she spoke
+her hand for the first time went out to meet his, which closed upon it
+with a close clasp, and her eyes lifted themselves to his in a full
+blaze of love that seemed to blend their spirits into one.
+
+"Oh! if in that moment you loved me, it must have been because you read
+my soul, for in that moment I consecrated my life to you for acceptance
+or rejection. I recorded a vow in heaven to be no man's wife unless
+I could be yours; but to live unmarried so that when, in the course of
+nature, my dear father should pass to the higher life and leave me Castle
+Lone, I might be free to transfer it to its rightful owner."
+
+"Ah! my beloved! you would have been capable of such an act of
+renunciation as that! But I could not have accepted the sacrifice,
+Salome."
+
+"In that case I should have made a will and bequeathed it to you, and
+then prayed to the Lord to take me from the earth, that you might have it
+all the sooner. But let that pass. Thanks be to Heaven, there is no need
+of that. It would have been sweet to die for you, but it is so much
+sweeter to _live_ for you, dearest!" she said, lifting up a face
+in which rosy blushes, radiant smiles, and beaming eyes were blended in
+dazzling beauty.
+
+"Oh! angel of my destiny, what can I render you for all the blessings you
+have brought me?" exclaimed her lover, clasping her to his bosom in a
+close embrace.
+
+"Your love--your love! which will crown me a queen among women!" she
+whispered, softly.
+
+The morning succeeding this scene, Lord Arondelle called and asked for
+a private interview with Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+He was invited up into the library, where he found the banker alone among
+his books.
+
+"Good morning, Arondelle. Glad to see you. Take this chair," said the old
+gentleman, rising, shaking hands with his visitor, and placing a seat for
+him.
+
+The young marquis returned the hearty shake of the banker's hand, and
+took the offered chair.
+
+"Now, I suppose that you have come to tell me that you have taken up the
+girl I flung at your head about a month ago?" said the banker, rubbing
+his hands.
+
+"No, nothing of the sort," replied the young marquis, effectually
+declining to understand the jest of his host. "I do not remember that you
+ever flung any girl at my head. I came, Sir Lemuel, to tell you that I am
+so happy as to have won Miss Levison's consent to be my wife, if we have
+your approbation," he added, with a bow.
+
+"Humph! It amounts to about the same thing. Well, my dear boy, you have
+my consent and blessing on two conditions."
+
+"Name them, Sir Lemuel."
+
+"The first is, that you can assure me on your honor that you really do
+love my daughter. I would not give her to an emperor who did not love her
+as she deserves to be loved," said the banker, emphatically.
+
+"Love her!" repeated the young man, in a deep and earnest tone. "Love is
+scarcely the word, nor adoration, nor worship! She is the soul of my
+soul! She lives in my life, and my life is the larger, higher, holier for
+her!"
+
+"Humph! I don't understand one word of what you are talking about, but I
+suppose it means that you really do love Salome. So the first condition
+will be fulfilled," said the banker, with a smile.
+
+"And the second, sir. What is the second?"
+
+"The second is, that the marriage shall take place within a month from
+this time."
+
+"Agreed, sir. The sooner the better. The sooner I may call your lovely
+daughter mine, the sooner I shall be the most blessed among men,"
+exclaimed the young marquis, earnestly clapping his palm into the open
+hand of the banker, and shaking it heartily.
+
+"There! well, the second condition will be fulfilled. And now I will tell
+you what I never told you in so many words before, namely, that on the
+day Salome Levison becomes Marchioness of Arondelle, I will give her Lone
+as a marriage portion. There, now, not a word more upon that subject. I
+will send a message to my attorney to meet us here to-morrow morning,"
+said the banker, rising and ringing the bell.
+
+"You will let me thank--" began the marquis.
+
+"No, I won't!" exclaimed the banker, cutting short the young gentleman's
+acknowledgements. "Excuse me now half a minute, I want to write a line,"
+he added, as he hastily scribbled off a note.
+
+A footman entered in answer to the bell.
+
+"Take this to the office of the Messrs. Prye, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and
+wait an answer," said Sir Lemuel, handing the folded note to the man, who
+bowed and retired.
+
+"Prye must meet us here to-morrow morning to see to the marriage
+settlements. And I must see to Prye! Even lawyers may be hurried if they
+be well paid for making haste!" concluded the banker, rubbing his hands.
+"But now go and find Salome, and tell her it is all right! She has not
+got a stern father to ruffle the course of her true love, but a spooney
+old fellow who spreads out his hands over your heads and says: 'Bul-less
+you, my chee-ild-der-en!'"
+
+Lord Arondelle smiled at the dry banker's imitation of the heavy
+stage-father, but made no comment.
+
+"Yes, go see Salome; and then go to the duke, your father, and acquaint
+him with the result of your proposal. I take it for granted that you had
+his grace's authority for making it."
+
+"I had, sir. He told me to be guided by my own judgment."
+
+"Well tell him all about the settlements as I have told them to you.
+Agree to any amendment he may propose, for I will make it all right."
+
+"That is allowing a very large margin, indeed. I thank you, Sir Lemuel;
+but I must reflect before taking advantage of it."
+
+"Well, well; perhaps the duke will meet my solicitor here to-morrow
+morning in regard to the settlements. I consider the fact that he has
+steadily declined every invitation I have sent him to come to us on any
+occasion. Still, I hope he may be induced to honor us with his presence
+to-morrow in the interest of these marriage settlements, and to remain
+and dine with us in honor of this betrothal," said the banker.
+
+"I hope you will kindly continue to excuse my father, sir. His age, his
+infirmities, his failing mind and body, will, I trust, be his sufficient
+apologies," said the young marquis gravely.
+
+"You think that he will not come, then!"
+
+"I fear that he cannot."
+
+"I'm sorry for that. However, tell him all that I have told you, and
+agree to any alterations in the settlements that he may see fit to
+suggest. There! Go to Salome! Go to Salome! I must be off to the House,"
+said the conscientious M.P. rising, and putting an end to the interview.
+
+It was subsequently arranged that the marriage should be celebrated at
+Castle Lone on that day three weeks.
+
+Two weeks out of the three, Sir Lemuel Levison remained in town to give
+his daughter and her chaperon an opportunity of getting up as good a
+trousseau as could be prepared in so short a time. But jewellers,
+milliners, and dressmakers may be hurried as well as lawyers, when they
+are well paid to make haste. And so, in two weeks, the banker's heiress,
+the future Marchioness of Arondelle and Duchess of Hereward, had a
+trousseau as magnificent and splendid as if it had been in preparation
+for two years. When it was all carefully packed and sent down to Lone,
+Sir Lemuel Levison and his household prepared to follow.
+
+On the day before their departure a very curious thing happened.
+
+Sir Lemuel was waiting in his library, when a footman entered and laid a
+card before him. It was not a visiting card, but a business card. And it
+bore the name of a firm:
+
+Dazzle and Sparkle, jewellers, Number Blank, Bond street.
+
+"What is the meaning of this?" inquired the banker.
+
+"If you please, sir, the person who brought it directed me to say, that
+he craves to speak with you on the most important business," answered the
+man.
+
+"Important to himself most likely, and not in the least so to me. Well,
+show him up," said Sir Lemuel.
+
+The servant withdrew and, after a few moments, reappeared and announced:
+
+"Mr. Dazzle, of Dazzle and Sparkle, Bond street."
+
+A little, round-bodied, bald-headed man entered the library.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison received him with some surprise, but with much
+politeness.
+
+"I have come, sir, on a little business," began the visitor, who
+forthwith proceeded and explained his business at length.
+
+It seemed that the imbecile Duke of Hereward, being well pleased with his
+son's marriage, and imagining himself still to be the master of Lone and
+of a princely revenue, went to Messrs. Dazzle and Sparkle, and ordered
+a splendid set of diamonds for his prospective daughter-in-law.
+
+The firm, who, as well as all the world of London, had heard of the
+forthcoming marriage between the son of the pauper duke and the daughter
+of the wealthy banker, gravely accepted the order, pondered over it, and
+finally determined to lay the whole matter before the banker himself.
+
+"You have acted with much discretion, Mr. Dazzle. Fill the duke's order,
+and hold me responsible for the amount. And say nothing of the affair,"
+was the banker's answer to the tradesman, who bowed and left the room.
+
+The next morning Sir Lemuel Levison, his daughter, her chaperon, and
+their household, went down to Castle Lone.
+
+Active preparations were at once commenced for the wedding, which was to
+take place at Lone on the Tuesday of the following week.
+
+The first thing that Salome did on reaching the castle was to have the
+portrait of the Marquis of Arondelle brought down from the tower and
+mounted in state between the two lofty front windows of her favorite
+sitting-room.
+
+Among the servants at Lone, none received the bride elect with more
+effusive love than the old housekeeper, Girzie Ross.
+
+"Eh, me leddy! Heaven, sent ye to redeem Lone. My benison on ye, me
+leddy! and my ban on yon hizzie, wha hae been makin' sic' an ado, ever
+sin the report o' your betrothal has been noised about!" said the dame.
+
+"But who are you talking about, my dear Mrs. Ross?" inquired Salome.
+
+"Ou just that handsom hizzie, Rosy Cameron, wha will hae it that she, her
+vera sel', is troth-plighted to our young laird--the jaud!" replied the
+housekeeper.
+
+"But, Mrs. Ross, surely that must be a mistake of yours. No girl could
+have the impertinence to say such a false thing of Lord Arondelle,"
+exclaimed Salome, in disgust and abhorrence of the very idea presented.
+
+"Indeed, then, my young lady, _she_ ha' the impertinence to say just
+that thing--not in a whisper and in a corner, but loudly in the vera
+castle court, to whilk she cam yestreen, sae noisily that I was fain to
+threaten her wi' the constable before I could get shet o' her," said the
+housekeeper nodding her head.
+
+"What can the girl mean by it? What excuse can she possibly have to
+justify such a mad charge?" inquired Salome, in a painful anxiety that
+she could neither conquer nor yet explain to herself. She did not doubt
+the honor of her promised husband. She would have died rather than doubt
+him. Why, then, should this sudden anguish wring her heart. "What excuse
+can she have, Mrs. Ross?" repeated Salome.
+
+"Eh, me leddy, wha kens? Boys will be boys. And whiles the best o' them
+will be wild where a bonny lassie is concerned. No that's I'm saying sic
+a thing anent our young laird. But ye ken he used to be unco fond o' the
+sport o' deer stalking up by Ben Lone, where this handsome hizzie, Rose
+Cameron, bides wi' her owld feyther. And I e'en think the young laird,
+may whiles, hae putten a speak on the lass. Nae mair nor less than just
+that," said the housekeeper as she left the room to look after some
+important household work.
+
+A few minutes after her exit, Sir Lemuel Levison entered.
+
+Finding his daughter almost in tears, he naturally inquired:
+
+"What on earth is the matter with you, my child?"
+
+"Nothing, papa! At least nothing that should trouble me!"
+
+"But what is it?"
+
+"Well then, papa, dear, here has been a foolish girl--_very_
+foolish, I think she must be, going about, intruding even into the
+Castle, and telling all that will listen to her, that _she_ is
+betrothed to the Marquis of Arondelle."
+
+"Oh! Just as I feared!" muttered the banker, in a tone that instantly
+riveted the attention of his daughter.
+
+"_What_ did you fear, my father?" she inquired, fixing her eyes upon
+his face.
+
+The banker hesitated.
+
+His daughter repeated her question:
+
+"_What_ did you fear, my dear father?"
+
+"Why, just what has happened, my love!" impatiently answered the banker.
+"That this silly report would reach your ears and give you uneasiness. It
+_has_ reached you; but do not, I beseech you, let it trouble you!"
+
+"There is no truth in it of course, papa?" said Salome, in a tone of
+entreaty.
+
+"No, no, at least none that need concern you. Lord bless my soul, girl,
+young men will be young men! Arondelle is now about twenty-five years of
+age. And he was not brought up in a convent, as you were. He has lived
+for a quarter of a century in the world! Surely, you do not expect that
+a young man should live as long as that without ever admiring a pretty
+face, and even telling its owner so, do you?"
+
+"I never once thought about that, at all, papa," said Salome, in a
+mournful tone.
+
+"No, I'll warrant you didn't! Well, don't think anything more of it now.
+And don't expect too much of human nature. In this year of grace there
+are no saints left alive! Believe that, and accept it, my girl!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+A HORRIBLE MYSTERY ON THE WEDDING DAY.
+
+
+On the day before the wedding all the preparations were completed.
+
+The grounds around the castle, paradisial in their own natural beauty
+under this heavenly blue sky of June, were adorned with all that art and
+taste and wealth could bring to enhance their attractions in honor of the
+occasion.
+
+Triumphal arches of rare exotic flowers were erected at intervals along
+the avenue leading from the castle courtyard down to the bridge that
+spanned Loch Lone from the island, to the mountain hamlet on the main
+land. The bridge itself was canopied with evergreens, and starred with
+roses. Every house in the little hamlet of Lone was so wreathed and
+festooned with flowers as to look like a fairy bower. The little gothic
+church, said to be coeval in history with the castle itself, was
+decorated within and without as for an Easter or Christmas festival. And
+the only inn of the place, an antiquated but most comfortable public
+house, known for centuries as the "Hereward Arms," was almost covered
+with flags, banners and bushes, in honor of the presence of the Duke of
+Hereward, and the Marquis of Arondelle, especially, and of other noble
+guests who had arrived there to assist at the wedding of the next day.
+
+Yes, the expectant bridegroom and his aged father were at the Hereward
+Arms. Etiquette did not admit of their being guests at the Castle on the
+day before the expected marriage. And much ado had the young marquis to
+keep the duke quietly at the inn. The old man enjoying his pleasing
+hallucination of being still the proprietor of Lone, and the possessor of
+a princely revenue, fretted against the delay that detained him at the
+Hereward Arms, when he was so anxious to go on to Castle Lone. And his
+son did not venture to leave him until late at night, when he left him in
+bed and asleep.
+
+Then the young marquis walked out and crossed the evergreen covered
+bridge leading to the Castle grounds. He knew that custom did not
+sanction his visit to his bride-elect on the night before their wedding,
+but he could at least gaze on the walls that sheltered her, while he
+rambled over the rich lawns, parterres, shrubberies, and terraces.
+
+Within the Castle, meanwhile, all the arrangements for the morning's
+festivity were completed.
+
+Halls, drawing-rooms, parlors, chambers, and dining-rooms, all
+sumptuously furnished and beautifully decorated, were ready for the
+wedding guests.
+
+In the dining-room the luxurious wedding-breakfast was set. The service
+was of solid gold and finest Sevres china; the viands comprised every
+foreign and domestic delicacy fitting the feast.
+
+In the drawing-room the magnificent bridal presents were
+displayed--coronets, necklaces, earrings, brooches, bracelets, rings,
+of pearls, diamonds, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and amethysts; jewel
+caskets, dressing cases, work boxes, and writing desks, of ormolu, of
+malachite, of pearl, and of ivory, of silver, and of gold; illuminated
+prayer-books and Bibles, with antique covers and clasps set with precious
+stones; tea and dinner sets of solid gold; camel's hair and Cashmere
+shawls and scarfs; sets of lace in Honiton, Brussels, Valencia. Irish
+point and old point--on to an endless list of the most splendid
+offerings.
+
+"The wealth of Ormus and of Ind"
+
+seemed to load the tables in costly gifts to the banker's daughter, and
+marquis' bride.
+
+In the bride's own luxurious dressing-room, the elegant bridal costume
+was displayed. It consisted of a fine point-lace dress over a
+trained-skirt of rich white satin, a full-length vail of priceless
+cardinal point-lace; white kid boots, embroidered with small pearls;
+white kid gloves, trimmed at the wrists with lace; wreath and bouquet of
+orange flowers; necklace and pendant earrings and bracelets of rich
+Oriental pearls, set with diamonds. These jewels were the imaginary gift
+of the mad duke to the bride-elect of his son, and were paid for, as has
+been already explained, by the bride's own father. A sentiment of tender
+reverence for the unfortunate old duke had inspired Salome to select
+these jewels from all the others that had been lavished upon her, to wear
+on her wedding day.
+
+To the credit of the good banker's delicacy and discretion let it be
+said, that not even Salome knew but that this elegant gift had been given
+by the duke in reality as it was in intention.
+
+The Castle was now full of guests, friends of the bride and of her
+father's family. The eight young ladies who were to attend her to the
+altar, had arrived early in the afternoon, each chaperoned by her mother,
+aunt, or some matronly friend. These had all been shown to their separate
+apartments.
+
+They assembled again at the seven o'clock dinner in the family
+dining-room, and afterwards made a little tour of inspection through
+the rooms, looking with approval and admiration upon the sumptuous
+wedding-breakfast table, set in the great dining-room, and with surprise
+and enthusiasm at the splendid wedding presents displayed in the
+drawing-room. Finally, after a social cup of tea, they separated and
+retired to their several rooms, that they might be up in good time the
+next morning.
+
+When Salome entered her own bed-chamber, she found the old housekeeper,
+Girzie Ross, awaiting her.
+
+"I took the liberty, me leddy, to come to see ye, gin ye hae ony commands
+for me the night," said the dame, courtesying.
+
+"No, Mrs. Ross, I have no orders to give. All is done, as I understand.
+If there be anything left undone, you will use you own discretion about
+it. I can thoroughly trust you," said Salome.
+
+"Guid-night, then, me leddy. And a guid rest and a blithe waking till
+ye," said the dame, courtesying again, and turning to leave the room.
+
+"One moment, Mrs. Ross, if you please," said the young lady, gently
+arresting her steps.
+
+"Ay, me leddy, as mony as ye'll please," promptly replied the dame,
+returning to her place.
+
+"I wish to ask you a question," began Salome, in a slow and hesitating
+manner. "Have you seen or heard anything more of that girl, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Meaning that ne'er-do-weel light o' love Rose Cameron, me leddy!"
+inquired the housekeeper.
+
+"Yes, Rose Cameron. There have been such crowds of people on the island
+today to inspect the decorations, that I thought--I thought--"
+
+"As that handsome jaud might be amang 'em, me leddy? Ou, ay, and sae she
+waur! But when I caught her prowling about here, I sent Mr. McRath to
+warn her off the place, and threaten her wi' the constable gin she
+didna gang!" said the housekeeper.
+
+"But that was cruel, Mrs. Ross."
+
+"Na, na, me leddy. It waur unco well dune! She was after no guid prowling
+about here, and making an excuse o' luking at the deekorated grounds. She
+didna care for the sight a bodle! Aweel she's gane, and a guid riddance."
+
+"What does the girl look like, Mrs. Ross?"
+
+"Eh, leddy, she's a strapping wench! tall and broad-shouldered, and
+full-breasted, with a handsome head that she carries unco high, and big,
+bold blue eyes, and a heap o' long, red hair. That's Rosy Cameron, me
+leddy."
+
+This was a rather rough portrait of the Juno-like Highland beauty; but
+then, it was drawn by an enemy, you know.
+
+"But dinna fash yersel' about yon hizzie ony mair, me young leddy. She'll
+na be permitted to trouble ye," concluded the housekeeper.
+
+"That will do, Mrs. Ross. Thanks. But pray do not let anyone be harsh
+with that poor girl. If she is a little crazy, she is all the more to be
+pitied. Good-night," said Salome, thus gently dismissing her talkative
+attendant.
+
+"Guid night, me young leddy. Guid rest and blithe waking to ye," repeated
+the old woman, as she courtesied and left the room.
+
+"Poor girl!" mused Salome. "I cannot help sympathizing with her tonight.
+What if Arondelle who is so courteous to all, were courteous to her also.
+And she, unused to courtesy in her rude Highland home, mistook such
+gentle courtesy for preference, for love, and gave him her love in
+return? He would not be in the least to be blamed, while she would be
+much to be pitied. What a cruel sight these wedding preparations must be
+to her! What a miserable night this must be for her! I must see to that
+poor girl's welfare," concluded Salome.
+
+A low rap at her door disturbed her.
+
+"Come in."
+
+Her maid entered.
+
+"What is it, Janet?"
+
+"If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel's man has just brought me a message for
+you. Sir Lemuel requests, Miss, that you will come to his room before you
+retire."
+
+"Dear papa, I will go at once. You need not wait for me here, Janet. Just
+turn the lights down low--they make the room so warm--and leave the
+windows partly open, and then go to bed, my girl, I shall not want you
+again tonight," said Salome, as she passed out of the chamber and went
+down to the long hall, at the opposite extremity of which was her
+father's room.
+
+She entered silently, and found the banker wrapped in his gray silk
+dressing-gown and seated in his large resting-chair.
+
+"Come and sit by me, my dear. I only wanted to have a little talk with
+you tonight," he said, holding out his hand to her.
+
+She went up to him, clasped and kissed the out-stretched hand, and then
+seated herself, not on the chair by his side, for that would not have
+brought her near enough to him, but on the footstool at his feet, so that
+she could lay her head upon his knees.
+
+"Salome, my darling, I have not been a good father to you," he said,
+sadly, as he ran his long white fingers through the tresses of the little
+dark-haired head that lay upon his knees.
+
+"Oh, papa! the best and dearest papa that ever lived!" she answered,
+drawing his hand to her lips and kissing it fondly.
+
+"No, no; I have not been a good father to you, my poor motherless child.
+I feel it to-night. I left you fourteen years in a foreign convent, and
+scarcely ever saw you. Was that being a good father to you, my child?"
+
+"Yes, dear, it was. I had to be educated. And the nuns did their whole
+duty by me, did they not?" said Salome, soothingly.
+
+"They sent me home a sweet and lovely child, who in the three years that
+she has been my greatest blessing and comfort has made me feel and know
+how much I lost in banishing her from my presence so long--fourteen
+years!--a time never to be redeemed!" said the banker, with a sigh.
+
+"Yes, papa, dear. It can and shall be redeemed. For now you know I shall
+live with you as long as you live. My marriage will not deprive you of
+your daughter, but give you a dear and noble son. You know it is settled
+that after our brief wedding we shall return to Lone, and you and the
+duke, and Arondelle and myself, will all live here together until the
+meeting of Parliament in February, and then we shall go up to London
+together. So cheer up, papa. All the coming years shall compensate
+for all we have lost in the past," said Salome, gayly caressing him.
+
+"'The coming years?' Ah, my darling! do you forget that I am quite an old
+man to be your father? You were the child of my old age, Salome! I was
+nearly fifty when you were born. I am nearly seventy now!"
+
+"_Dear father!_" murmured Salome, caressing him with ineffable
+tenderness.
+
+"Do not let me sadden you, my darling. I would not be a day younger. It
+is well to be old. It is well to have lived a long time in this world,
+for it is a good world. But good as it is, it is but rudimentary. It is
+to the human being only what the soil is to the seed--the germinating
+bed; the full and perfect world is beyond. Young Christians believe this.
+Aged Christians know it. There, brighten up! And think that this marriage
+of yours and Arondelle's if it be as true as I feel assured it is--will
+be not for time only but for all eternity! Believe this and be happier
+than you were ever before! There now, my darling! I called you in here
+to make my little confession. I have received absolution. Now go to your
+rest. Good night," said the banker, bending and kissing her forehead.
+
+"Dear, dearest father! bless your daughter before she goes," said Salome,
+in a voice thrilling with emotion, as she raised from her seat and knelt
+at her father's feet.
+
+The old man laid his hand upon her bowed head and solemnly invoked a
+blessing upon her.
+
+"May the Lord look down on you, my daughter. May He give you health and
+grace to bear your burdens and do your duties as wife and mother, and
+save and bless you and yours, now and ever more, for Christ's dear sake.
+AMEN."
+
+She arose in silence from her knees, put her arms around his neck, kissed
+him, and glided from the room.
+
+And now a terrible and mysterious thing happened to the bride-elect.
+
+The lights had been turned very low in the hall. The household had all
+retired to rest. The stillness and the sense of darkness awed her as she
+glided noiselessly along in the deep shadows. Suddenly she saw the form
+of a man approaching from the direction of her own room. He might be some
+belated servant on some legitimate business for one of the guests, yet he
+startled her. She looked intently toward him, but in the obscure light
+she could only see that he was a tall man in dark clothing, and with a
+very white face. She shrank back in the shadow of the wall as he swiftly
+and silently approached her.
+
+Then with amazement she recognized the face and form of her betrothed
+husband. But the face was deadly pale, and the form was shaking as with
+an ague fit.
+
+"ARONDELLE! _You here!_" she exclaimed, starting towards
+him.
+
+But she met only the empty air, the form had vanished.
+
+In unbounded amazement she stared all around to see where it could have
+gone, and in what part of the darksome hall she herself then stood.
+
+She found herself opposite to the entrance of a long, narrow passage
+opening from the hall and leading to the door of a staircase
+communicating with the dungeons of Malcolm's Tower.
+
+She looked down that passage. It was black as the mouth of Hades!
+
+A nameless terror seized her, and she fled precipitately down the hall,
+nor stopped until she had reached her own room, rushed in, and shut and
+bolted the door. Then she sank down into the nearest chair, feeling cold
+as ice, and trembling from head to foot.
+
+Her maid had over-acted her instructions, and had not only turned the
+lights low, but had turned them out entirely.
+
+There was no need of artificial light, however; for the windows were open
+and the room was flooded with the brilliant moonshine of these northern
+latitudes.
+
+Salome did not know or care how the room was lighted. She sat there
+thrilled with awe of what she had just experienced.
+
+Had she really seen the marquis?--or his spirit? Or had she been the
+victim of an optical illusion?
+
+If she had seen the marquis, what could have brought him secretly into
+the house and up into the hall of the bed-rooms, at that hour of the
+night? And why did he not answer her, when she called him?
+
+It surely could not have been the marquis whom she saw! He never would
+have crept into the house and up to their private-rooms, at that hour of
+the night, or fled from her, when she called him?
+
+What was it then that she had seen in the likeness of her lover?
+
+Was it the disembodied spirit of Arondelle? _Could_ the spirit of a
+living man appear in one place, while the body of the man was present in
+another? She had heard and read of such wonders, yet she could not accept
+them as facts.
+
+No, this was no spirit.
+
+What then? Had she been the subject of an optical illusion? She had heard
+of those wonders also!
+
+But no! This was too real, too solid, too substantial for an optical
+illusion!
+
+Was the form she had seen possibly that of some other person, some guest
+of the house, who had lost his way.
+
+No, and a thousand noes! She knew every guest staying at the castle, and
+knew that not one of them bore the slightest resemblance to the Marquis
+of Arondelle.
+
+No, the form that she had seen in the murky hall seemed that of her
+betrothed husband, or it was his spirit.
+
+She could not tell which, nor could she test the question now. The house
+was full of wedding guests, who were now most probably sound asleep in
+their beds. And the household all had long since retired. She could not
+rouse them only to satisfy her own doubts without any other practical
+result. For what if the intruder were Lord Arondelle? He was not in the
+least an objectional guest. And in the morning he would explain his
+strange presence.
+
+By this time Salome had reasoned herself into some degree of calmness.
+But she was still too much excited to feel sleepy or to think of retiring
+to bed.
+
+The mid-summer night was warm and close, even there in the Highlands--or
+in her nervous condition it seemed to her to be so. She wanted more air.
+She went to the window, and seated herself in an easy-chair, and looked
+out.
+
+A heavenly night!
+
+The deep-blue sky was spangled with myriads of sparkling stars. The full
+harvest moon was at the zenith and pouring down a flood of silvery
+radiance over mountain, lake and island.
+
+Right opposite the window was the elegant little bridge that spanned the
+lake between the island and the mountain, at the base of which stood the
+little Gothic church with the cottages of the hamlet clustered around it.
+
+A beautiful scene!
+
+This morning it had been gay and noisy with a rejoicing crowd come to
+inspect the decorated grounds, and to triumph over the approaching
+marriage of their disinherited young lord, with the present heiress of
+his lost estate.
+
+To-morrow this scene would be even more gay and more noisy, with a
+greater and more rejoicing crowd. For all the Clan Scott were to gather
+here to do honor to the nuptials of their hereditary chieftain.
+
+But to-night the beautiful scene was holy in its solitude and stillness.
+
+Hark!
+
+A sound of voices beneath the window.
+
+Salome started, and drew back. And the next moment, paralyzed by
+consternation and despair, she overheard the following conversation:
+
+"_Hist!_ are you there, Rose?" inquired a dear familiar voice.
+
+"Ay, I'm here, me laird! After being turnit frae the castle like a thief,
+or a beggar, or a dog! after being threatened wi' a constable and a
+prison if I ever showed my face here; but once mair I hae come agen, in
+obedience to your bidding! Come creeping, creeping, creeping ander the
+castle wa', by night, like ony puir cat afeared o' scauding water! Ay, me
+laird, I'm here, mair fule I!" replied a woman's voice.
+
+"Hush, Rose! Do not say so, my girl. And do not call me 'lord;' I am your
+slave and not your 'lord,' my lady queen! You know I love you--you only
+of all women."
+
+"Luve me? Ou, ay, sae ye tell me. But this gran' wedding is coming unco
+near to be naething but a jest. How far will ye carry the jest? Up till
+the altar railings? Into the bridal chamber? It's deceiving and fuling
+me, ye are, me laird! But I'll tell ye weel! Ye sail no marry yon girl,
+I say! Gin ye gae sae far as to lead her to the kirk mesel' will meet you
+at the altar and forbid the marriage. And _then_ see wha will put me
+out!"
+
+"Hush, hush, you wild Highland witch, and listen to me. I shall not marry
+that girl! How can I, when I am married to you? I have had an object in
+letting this thing go on thus far. My plans could not all be accomplished
+until to-night. But to-night something will happen that will put all
+thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage effectually out of the heads
+of all parties concerned, I will warrant. And to-morrow, you and I will
+be far away from this place--together, and never to part again. Wait here
+for me, my love; I shall not be long away. But on your life, do not stir,
+or speak, or scarcely breathe until you see me again."
+
+"How long will you be gone?"
+
+"Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two hours. You can be patient?"
+
+"Ay, I can be patient."
+
+Here the low, whispering voice ceased. And Salome?
+
+Before that conversation was half through, Salome had fallen back in her
+chair in a deadly swoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE MORNING'S DISCOVERY.
+
+
+When Miss Levison recovered her consciousness it was broad daylight. The
+rising sun glancing over the top of the Eastern mountain sent arrows of
+golden light in through the window at which she sat.
+
+Music filled the morning air!
+
+Salome passed her hands over her eyes, and gazed around. So long and
+deep had been her swoon that, for the time, she had utterly lost her
+memory, and now found difficulty in trying to recover it. Bewildered,
+she looked about, and listened to the strange, wild music sounding under
+her window--a sort of morning serenade or reveille, it seemed.
+
+Next her eyes fell upon her magnificent bridal array, displayed on stands
+near the elegant dressing-table.
+
+Then she remembered that this was her wedding-day, and a flush of joy
+lighted up her face.
+
+But it passed in a moment.
+
+What was this that lay so heavy at her heart! Was it the remnant of an
+evil dream?
+
+What had happened? Something must have happened! Else why should she find
+herself seated in that easy-chair at the open window, and see that her
+bed had not been occupied?
+
+Then, slowly, she recollected the events of the previous night--her
+retirement to her chamber; her talk there with the housekeeper about Rose
+Cameron, the "handsome hizzie," who had been haunting the premises and
+giving trouble all that day; the message from her father; her affecting
+interview with him in his bedroom; her return to her own apartment
+through the dimly-lighted, deserted hall, where she met the pale and
+spectral form of Lord Arondelle, who vanished as she called to him!
+her terrified flight into her own chamber!
+
+All these incidents she clearly remembered.
+
+Then her excited vigil in the easy-chair, by the open window, and the two
+voices that broke upon it--that of her betrothed husband and that of a
+woman--of this same Rose Cameron, whose name had been so disreputably
+connected with Lord Arondelle's; who then and there claimed to be his
+wife and was not contradicted!
+
+There! that was the weight that lay so heavy at her heart!
+
+"And yet it must have been a dream!" she said to herself. Of course she
+had fallen asleep there in the easy-chair, and with her thoughts running
+on the apparition she had met in the hall, and on the country people's
+gossip about Lord Arondelle and Rose Cameron, she had had that evil
+dream. Unquestionably it was only a dream! Lord Arondelle could never
+play so base a part as he had seemed to do in her dream! She reproached
+herself for having even involuntarily been the subject of it.
+
+And yet! and yet! the weight lay heavy at her heart, and although this
+was a warm June morning, she shivered as though it had been January.
+
+She arose to close the window.
+
+Then--
+
+What a magnificent and beautiful scene burst upon her vision! The eastern
+horizon was ablaze with glory. Lovely morning clouds, soft, transparent
+white, tinted with rose, violet and gold, tempered the dazzling splendor
+of the rising sun, and half vailed the opal-hued mountain tops, and even
+hung upon the emerald mountain side. Morning sky, rosy clouds, and opal
+mountains, were all reflected as by a mirror in the clear water of the
+lake below.
+
+The hamlet at the foot of the mountain was gay with flags and banners and
+festoons of flowers. The bridge spanning the lake and connecting the
+hamlet with the island, was grand with triumphal arches. The lake was
+alive with gayly-trimmed pleasure-boats of every description. The island,
+with its groves, shrubberies, parterres, arbors, terraces, statues, was
+decorated with flags and banners, innumerable colored lamps and floral
+mottoes and devices.
+
+The streets of the hamlet, the bridge and the island was each alive with
+a merry crowd of tenantry and peasantry in their picturesque holiday
+suits, coming to see the wedding pageant.
+
+Gayer than all was the gathering of the Clan Scott, in their brilliant
+tartans, and with their national music to do honor to the nuptials of the
+heir of their chief.
+
+As Miss Levison looked and listened, the shadows of the night vanished
+from her mind as clouds before the sun!
+
+How strange the thought that the evil dream should have troubled her at
+all! But the dream had seemed as real as any waking experience. But then,
+again, dreams often do seem so! She would think no more of it, except
+to repent having been so unjust to Lord Arondelle, even though it was but
+in an involuntary dream.
+
+It was as yet very early in the morning--not seven o'clock. Her
+serenaders had waked her betimes, and the country people had clearly
+determined to lose not one hour of that festive day. But Miss Levison was
+still shivering in the mild June morning. She thought she would ask for a
+cup of coffee to warm her.
+
+She rang her bell.
+
+Her maid entered the room, courtesied, and stood waiting
+
+"Janet, tell the housekeeper to send me a strong, hot cup of coffee," she
+said.
+
+"Yes, Miss. If you please, Miss, my lord's gentleman is below with a note
+and a parcel for you, Miss."
+
+"Very well, Janet. Do you bring it up and ask the man to wait. There may
+be answer," replied Miss Levison, as the rose clouds rolled over her
+clear, pale cheeks.
+
+The girl courtesied and withdrew.
+
+"To think of my being so wicked as to have such a dream about
+him--_him_!" she said to herself, as again she shivered with cold.
+
+Presently the housekeeper entered with a tiny cup of coffee on a small
+silver tray in her hand, and with many cordial congratulations on her
+lips.
+
+Fortunately the lace curtains of the bed were down, so that she could not
+see that it had not been slept in, and annoy her young mistress with
+exclamations and questions.
+
+"Eh, me young leddy! a blithe bridal morn ye hae got; and a braw sight on
+the ramparts of a' the Scotts, wi' their tartans and bag-pipes, come to
+do ye honor!" said the housekeeper, as she held the tray to her mistress.
+
+Miss Levison drank the coffee, returned the cup, and then inquired:
+
+"Where is Janet? I sent her with a message; she should have returned by
+this time."
+
+"Ou, aye, sae she should. She's clacking her clavvers wi' yon lad frae
+the 'Hereward Arm.' But here she is now, me young leddy," answered the
+housekeeper, as the maid entered the room and placed in her mistress'
+hand a note and a small parcel, tied up in white paper with narrow white
+ribbon, and sealed with the Hereward crest.
+
+Miss Levison opened the note and read:
+
+"HEREWARD ARMS INN, Tuesday Morning.
+
+"I greet you, my only beloved, on this our bridal morning--the
+commencement of a long and happy union for both of us! Yes, a long union,
+for it will stretch into eternity, and a happy one, for come what will,
+we shall be happy in each other. I send you the richest jewel that has
+ever been in our possession, the only one which has survived the wreck of
+our fortunes. It has been preserved more on account of its traditionary
+interest than for its intrinsic value. Tradition tells us that at the
+taking of Jerusalem, in the first crusade, this jewel was snatched from
+the turban of Saladin, the Sultan, in single combat, by our wild
+crusading ancestor, Ranulph d' Arondelle. It adorned his own hemlet at
+the siege of St. Jean d' Acre, some years later. In short, it has been
+handed down from father to son through six centuries and sixteen
+generations. It has "in the thickest carnage blazed" on battle-fields,
+and in the maddest merriment flashed in festive scenes. Yet it is an
+offering all too poor for my great love to make, or your great worth to
+receive. But take it as the best I have to give.
+
+"ARONDELLE."
+
+She read this note with tearful eyes, roseate cheeks' and smiling lips.
+And then she untied the white ribbon and opened the white paper. It first
+disclosed a golden casket about four inches square, richly chased and
+bearing the Hereward arms set in small precious stones. The tiny key was
+in the lock. She opened it and found, lying on a bed of rich white satin,
+a large, burning, blazing ruby heart--the famous ruby of the Hereward,
+said to be the largest in the world. Miss Levison had read of this jewel
+as one of the most valuable among precious stones. She had heard also,
+what evidently the young marquis did not think worth while to tell her in
+connection with its history, namely, that it had been held as an amulet
+of such power that it was believed the ducal house of Hereward would
+never be without a male heir as long as it possessed that priceless ruby
+heart. Miss Levison supposed this to be the reason why it had been
+preserved by the old duke from the total wreck of his fortune. And the
+marquis had given it to her! Well, that was not giving it out of the
+family, since she was to be his wife. While offering it he had
+undervalued the royal gift. But how highly she appreciated it, rating
+it far above all the other jewels that blazed upon her table.
+
+"And to think I should have had such an evil dream about him, and even
+suffered myself to be troubled by it!" she said, pressing his note to her
+lips.
+
+Then she shivered so hardly that her old housekeeper exclaimed:
+
+"Me dear young leddy, ye hae surely taken cauld. Let me order a fire
+kindled here."
+
+"Nonsense, Mrs. Ross--a fire on this warm summer morning? I could not
+bear it. Besides if I shiver with cold one moment, I glow with heat the
+next," said Miss Levison, smiling.
+
+"Ay; I am sair afeard ye's gaun to be ill, wi' all thae shivers and
+glows," replied the dame, shaking her head.
+
+"Nonsense again, Mrs. Ross, dear woman. I am well enough. Now, Janet, did
+you tell his lordship's messenger to wait?"
+
+"Yes, Miss."
+
+Miss Levison drew a little writing-stand to her side, opened the desk,
+took out materials and penned the following note:
+
+"LONE CASTLE, Tuesday.
+
+"MY MOST BELOVED AND HONORED: Your right royal gift is beyond all
+price for richness, beauty, traditional interest, and symbolism, and as
+such I shall hold it above all other gifts, and cherish it to the end of
+my life. But it is not only to speak of your invaluable gift I write; it
+is also to ask you to do a strange thing to please me this morning. It is
+now eight o'clock. We are appointed to meet at the church at eleven. Will
+you meet me _here_ first at half-past nine? I wish to tell you
+something before we go to the altar. It is nothing important that I have
+to tell you--you will probably only laugh at it; but I must get it off my
+mind; for it weighs there like a sin. Come and receive my little
+confession, and give absolution to YOUR OWN SALOME."
+
+She enveloped and directed this note, and gave it to Janet, with orders
+to hand it to Lord Arondelle's man.
+
+When the girl had left the room, Miss Levison turned to the housekeeper
+and inquired:
+
+"Has my father's bell rung yet, do you know?"
+
+"Na, me young leddy, it has na rung yet. Sir Lemuel's man, Mr. Peter, is
+down-stairs, waiting for the summons."
+
+"Perhaps he had better call his master," suggested Miss Levison.
+
+"Na, Miss, sae I tauld him; but he said his orders were no to call his
+master the morn', but to wait till he heard his bell ring. He's waiting
+for that e'en noo."
+
+"Very well, Mrs. Ross. Papa was up late last night, I know, and is
+probably tired this morning. So we must let him sleep as long as
+possible. But as soon as his bell rings, be sure to take him up a cup
+of coffee."
+
+"Verra weel, Miss."
+
+"And, Mrs. Ross, I hope that all our guests are cared for, and served in
+their own rooms with tea and toast, or coffee and muffins, as they
+choose?"
+
+"Ou, ay, me dear young leddy, I hae ta'en care of a' that. And what will
+I bring yersel', Miss, before ye begin to dress?"
+
+"Nothing; I have had a cup of coffee. That is sufficient for the
+present."
+
+"Neathing but ae wee bit cup o' coffee, my dear young leddy?"
+
+"No; I have no appetite. I suppose no girl ever did have on her wedding
+morning," said Miss Levison, shivering and then flushing.
+
+The housekeeper contemplated her young mistress with growing anxiety.
+
+"I am sure ye are no weel," she ventured again to suggest.
+
+"I am quite well, my dear Mrs. Ross. Do not disturb yourself. But go now
+and send Janet and Kitty to me. I must begin to dress."
+
+The housekeeper left the room, and was soon replaced by the lady's maid
+and the upper house-maid.
+
+"Is my bath ready, Kitty?"
+
+"Yes, Miss; and I have poured six bottles of ody collone intil it," said
+the girl, with a very self-approving air.
+
+"You needn't have done that," said Miss Levison, with an amused smile,
+"but you meant well, and I thank you."
+
+She took her customary morning bath, and slipping on a soft, white,
+cashmere wrapper, placed herself in the hands of her maidens to be
+dressed for the altar.
+
+Janet combed, and brushed and arranged the shining dark brown hair. Kitty
+laced the dainty white velvet boots. Janet arrayed her in her bridal
+robes, and Kitty clasped the costly jewels around her neck and arms. One
+placed the bridal vail and wreath upon her head, while the other drew the
+pretty pearl-embroidered gloves upon her hands.
+
+At length her toilet was complete, and she stood up, beautiful in her
+youth, love, and joy, and imperial in her array.
+
+She wore a long trained dress of the richest white satin, trimmed with
+deep point lace flounces, headed with trails of orange flower buds; an
+over-dress of fine cardinal point lace, looped up with festoons of orange
+buds; a point lace berthe and short sleeve ruffles; a necklace, pendant,
+and bracelets of pearls set in diamonds, white kid gloves, embroidered
+with fine white silk; white satin boots worked with pearls. On her head
+the rich, full orange flower wreath. And over all, like mist over frost
+and snow, fell the long bridal vail of finest point lace, softening the
+whole effect.
+
+"The young ladies, your bridesmaids, bid me tell you, Miss, that they are
+quite ready to come to you, when you are so to receive them," said Kitty,
+as she placed the bouquet of orange flowers in its jewelled holder, and
+handed it to her mistress.
+
+"Very well. I will send for them in good time," answered Miss Levison,
+glancing at the little golden clock upon the mantel-piece, and noticing
+that it was nearly half-past nine, the hour at which she expected Lord
+Arondelle. "But now, Kitty, my good girl, go and inquire if my father is
+up, and return and let me know. I would like to see him in his room."
+
+The house-maid courtesied and went out, and after a few minutes' absence
+returned running.
+
+"If you please, Miss, Sir Lemuel hasn't rung his bell yet, and Mr. Peters
+says, with his duty to you, Miss, as it is so late, hadn't he better call
+his master?"
+
+"By no means! Let Mr. Peters obey his master's orders not to disturb him
+until his bell rings," answered the young lady.
+
+"Yes, Miss; and if you please, Miss, here is a card, and his lordship,
+Lord Arondelle, is down stairs asking for you, Miss," said the girl,
+laying the pasteboard in question before her young mistress.
+
+"Lord Arondelle! Yes, I expected his lordship. Where is he?"
+
+"Mr. McRath showed him into the library, Miss."
+
+"Quite right. None of our guests have left their rooms yet?"
+
+"No, Miss, they be all busy a dressing of themselves, as I think."
+
+"Ah! then go before me and open the door, and tell his lordship that
+I shall be with him in a moment," said Miss Levison.
+
+The girl dropped another courtesy and preceded her mistress down stairs.
+In going down the great upper hall, Miss Levison passed the door of the
+dark, narrow passage at right angles with the hall, and leading to the
+tower stairs, where she had seen the apparition of the night before. She
+shivered and hurried on. She paused a moment before the door leading to
+the ante-room of her father's bed-chamber, and listened to hear if he
+were stirring; but all within seemed as still as death. She went on and
+descended the stairs and reached the library-door, just as Kitty opened
+it and said:
+
+"Miss Levison, my lord," and retired to give place to the young lady.
+
+Miss Levison entered the library.
+
+Lord Arondelle, in his wedding dress, stood by the central book-table. As
+his costume was the regulation uniform of a gentleman's full dress, it
+needs no description here. Gentlemen array themselves much in the
+same style for a dinner or a ball, a wedding or a funeral--the only
+difference to mark the occasion being in the color of the gloves.
+
+Lord Arondelle advanced to meet his bride.
+
+"My love and queen! this meeting is a grace granted me indeed! How
+beautiful you are!" he exclaimed, taking both her hands and carrying them
+to his lips. "But you are shivering, sweet girl! You are cold!" he added
+anxiously, as he looked at her more attentively.
+
+"I have been shivering all the morning. I sat at my open window late
+last night and got a little chilled; but it is nothing," she answered,
+smiling.
+
+"You shall not do such suicidal things, when I have the charge of you, my
+little lady," he said, half jestingly, half seriously, as he led her to a
+sofa and seated her on it, taking his own seat by her side.
+
+"Come, now," he gayly continued, "was that indiscreet star-gazing which
+has resulted in a cold the little sin for which you wish me to give you
+absolution?"
+
+"No, my lord. My sin was an evil dream."
+
+"A dream!"
+
+"Ay, a dream."
+
+"But a dream cannot be a sin!"
+
+"Hear it, and then judge. But first--tell me--were you in the castle late
+last night?" she gravely inquired.
+
+He paused and gazed at her before he replied:
+
+"_I_ in the castle late last night? Why, most certainly not! Why
+ever should you ask me such a question, my love?"
+
+"Because if you were not in the castle last night--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I met your 'fetch,' as the country people would call it."
+
+"My--I beg your pardon."
+
+"Your 'fetch,' your double, your spectre, your spirit, whatever you may
+call it."
+
+"Whatever do you mean, Salome?"
+
+"Shall I tell you all about it?"
+
+"Of course--yes, do."
+
+Miss Levison began and related all the circumstances in detail of her
+night visit to her father's room, and her meeting with an appearance
+which she took to be that of her betrothed husband, but which, on being
+called by her, instantly vanished.
+
+Lord Arondelle mused for awhile. Miss Levison gazed on him in anxious
+suspense for a few minutes, and then inquired:
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"My love, if I were a transcendental visionary, I might say, that at
+the hour you saw my image before you, my thoughts, my mind, my spirit,
+whatever you choose to call my inner self, was actually with you, and
+so became visible to you; but--" he paused.
+
+"But--what?" she inquired.
+
+"Not being a transcendentalist or a visionary, I am forced to the
+conclusion that what you thought you saw, was, really nothing but an
+optical illusion!"
+
+"You think that?"
+
+"Indeed I do!"
+
+"I assure you, that the image seemed as real, as substantial, and as
+solid to me then as you do now."
+
+"No doubt of it! Optical illusions always seem very real--perfectly
+real."
+
+"It was an optical illusion then! That is settled! And now!" exclaimed
+Salome. Then she paused.
+
+"Yes, and now! About the sinful dream! What did you dream of? Throwing me
+over at the last moment and marrying a handsomer man?" gayly inquired the
+young marquis.
+
+"I will tell you presently what I dreamed; but first tell me, were you in
+our grounds last night?" she gravely inquired.
+
+"Yes, my little lady; but how did you know of it?" inquired the young
+marquis in surprise.
+
+"I did not know it. Were you under my window?" she asked, in a low,
+tremulous tone.
+
+"Yes, love. How came you to suspect me?" he inquired, more than ever
+astonished.
+
+"I did not suspect you. Had you a companion with you?" she murmured.
+
+"No, Salome. Certainly not. Why, sweet, do you ask me?"
+
+"I thought I heard your voice speaking to some one who answered you under
+my window."
+
+"But, love, there was no one with me. I was quite alone. And I
+did not speak at all--not even to myself. I am not in the habit of
+soliloquizing."
+
+"Please tell me, if you can, at what hour you were under my window."
+
+"It was between ten and eleven o'clock. I was walking in the grounds,
+and I went under your wall and looked up. I saw three shadows pass
+the lighted windows, which I took to be those of yourself and your
+attendants, and then suddenly the lights were turned off and all was
+dark. I knew then that you had retired to rest, and of course I turned
+away and walked back to the hamlet. But, love, instead of telling the
+little story you promised, it seems that you have put me through a very
+sharp examination," said his lordship, laughing. "Now, what do you mean
+by it? There is something behind all this," he added, gravely.
+
+"Of course there is something behind. Did I not tell you that I had a
+confession to make concerning a wicked dream? Listen, Lord Arondelle. At
+the time you stood under my window and saw the light turned off, and
+supposing that I had gone to rest, you turned away and left the grounds,
+at that time I had _not_ gone to rest, but had gone to my father's
+room, in returning from which I experienced that strange optical
+illusion. My nerves must have been strangely disordered, for when I
+reached my own chamber again, and finding it quite dark, opened the
+window and sat down to look out upon the moonlit lake, I immediately fell
+asleep, and had a terrible, and a terribly real and distinct dream--a
+dream, dear, that nearly overturned my reason, I do believe."
+
+"What was it, love?" he inquired.
+
+She told him without the least reserve.
+
+He listened to her with interest, and then laughed aloud.
+
+"The idea of your having such a dream about me as that! I do not wonder
+it weighed upon your mind. Yes, it was very wicked of you, my sinful
+child--very. But since you sincerely repent, I freely absolve you.
+_Benedicite!_"
+
+Salome looked and listened to him with surprise; for as she spoke of
+dreaming that he called Rose Cameron his wife, he not only laughed at
+that idea, but really appeared as if the very existence of the girl was
+unknown to him.
+
+Then Salome ventured another question:
+
+"Do you know any one of the name of Rose Cameron?"
+
+"No, not personally. I believe one of our shepherds, up at Ben Lone, has
+a very handsome daughter of that name, but I have never seen her," said
+the young marquis, with an open sincerity that carried conviction with
+it.
+
+Salome was amazed, but convinced. What could have started the false
+reports concerning the young marquis and the handsome shepherdess?
+Clearly Rose's own hallucination. She had seen the marquis somewhere,
+without having been seen by him; she had fallen in love with him, and
+had partly lost her reason and imagined all the rest, she thought.
+
+"And so you have never even looked upon the beauty of that dream?" she
+said, with a smile.
+
+"Never even looked upon her," assented the marquis.
+
+"Then I do, in downright earnest, beg your pardon for my dream," said
+Salome, gravely.
+
+"But I have already given you absolution, my erring daughter?
+_Benedicite! Benedicite!_" replied the marquis still laughing.
+
+At that moment there was a light rap at the library door, followed by the
+entrance of a footman who placed a small, twisted note in the hands of
+Miss Levison. She opened it and read:
+
+"MY DEAR CHILD: It is after ten o'clock. We go to church at
+eleven. Sir Lemuel has not yet rung his bell. His valet having received
+his orders last night not to call him this morning, has declined to do
+so. What is to be done under these circumstances? Send me a verbal
+message by the bearer. Your loving Aunt,
+
+"SOPHIE BELGRADE."
+
+"My father not yet risen!" exclaimed Salome in surprise. "He must have
+overslept himself with fatigue. Tell Lady Belgrade, with my thanks, that
+I will go to my father's room and waken him," she added, turning to the
+footman, who bowed and went to deliver his message.
+
+"I hope Sir Lemuel is quite well?" said the young marquis, earnestly.
+
+"He is quite well. My father regulates his habits so well as to live in
+perfect harmony with the laws of life and health. If he fatigues himself
+over night, he always takes a compensating rest in the morning. That is
+what he is doing now. But I think he is sleeping even longer than he
+intended to do, so I really must arouse him now, if we are to keep our
+appointment with the minister. Good-by, until we meet at the church, Lord
+Arondelle," she said, as she floated from the room in her bridal robe,
+and vail.
+
+"Who says that she is not beautiful, belies her? She is lovely in person
+and in spirit," murmured the young marquis, as he took up his hat to
+leave the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+A HORRIBLE DISCOVERY.
+
+
+In order not to attract the attention of the crowds of people who swarmed
+in the village, on the bridge, and on the island, Lord Arondelle had
+driven over to the castle in a closed cab that now waited at the gates
+to take him back again.
+
+He left the library and went out into the great hall.
+
+The hall porter, an elderly, stout, and important-looking functionary,
+slowly arose from his chair to honor the young marquis by opening the
+doors with his own official hands instead of leaving that duty to the
+footman.
+
+And Lord Arondelle was just in the act of passing out when his steps were
+suddenly arrested.
+
+A WILD AND PIERCING SHRIEK RANG THROUGH THE HOUSE, STARTLING ALL ITS
+ECHOES!
+
+It was followed by a dead silence, and then by the sound of many hurrying
+feet and terrified exclamations.
+
+"Salome! my bride! Oh, what has happened!" thought the startled young
+marquis, rushing back into the hall and up the stairs.
+
+In the upper hall he found a crowd of terrified people, all hurrying in
+one direction--toward the bedroom of the banker.
+
+"The dear old gentleman has got a fit, I fear, and his daughter has
+discovered him in it," was the next thought that flashed upon the mind of
+the marquis as, without waiting to ask questions, he rushed through and
+distanced the crowd, and reached the door of the banker's bedroom, which
+was blocked up by men and women, wedding guests, and servants, some
+questioning and exclaiming, some weeping and wailing, some standing in
+panic-stricken silence.
+
+"What has happened?" cried the young marquis pushing his way with more
+violence than ceremony through all that impeded his entrance into the
+chamber.
+
+No one answered him. No one dared to do so.
+
+"It is Lord Arondelle--let his lordship pass," said one of the wedding
+guests, recognizing the expectant bridegroom as he entered the room.
+
+An awe-struck group of persons was gathered around some object on the
+floor; they made way in silence for the approach of the marquis.
+
+He passed in and looked down.
+
+HORROR UPON HORRORS! There lay the dead body of the banker,
+full-dressed as on the evening before, but with his head crushed in and
+surrounded by a pool of coagulated blood! The face was marble white; the
+eyes were open and stony, the jaws had dropped and stiffened into death.
+Across the body lay the swooning form of his daughter, with her bridal
+vail and robes all dabbled in her father's blood.
+
+"HEAVEN OF HEAVENS! Who has done this?" cried the marquis, a
+cold sweat of horror bursting from his pallid brow as he stared upon this
+ghastly sight!
+
+A dozen voices answered him at once, to the effect that no one yet knew.
+
+"Run! run! and fetch a doctor instantly! Some of you! any of you who can
+go the quickest!" he cried, as he stooped and lifted the insensible form
+of his bride and laid her on the bed--the bed that had not been occupied
+during the night. Evidently from these appearances, the banker had been
+murdered before his usual hour of retiring.
+
+"Who has gone for a doctor?" inquired Lord Arondelle, in an agony of
+anxiety, as he bent over the unconscious form of his beloved one.
+
+"I have despatched Gilbert, yer lairdship. He will mak' unco guid haste,"
+answered the steward, who stood overcome with grief as he gazed upon the
+ghastly corpse of his unfortunate master.
+
+"My lord," said Lady Belgrade, who stood by too deeply awed for tears,
+and up to this moment for action either--"my lord, you had better go out
+of the room for the present, and take all these men with you, and leave
+Miss Levison to the care of myself and the women. This is all unspeakably
+horrible! But our first care should be for her. We must loosen her dress,
+and take other measures for her recovery."
+
+"Yes, yes! Great Heaven! yes! Do all you can for her! This is maddening!"
+groaned the marquis, smiting his forehead as he left the bedside,
+yielding his place to the dowager.
+
+"Do try to command yourself, Lord Arondelle. This is, indeed, a most
+awful shock. It would have been awful at any time, but on your wedding
+day it comes with double violence. But do summon all your strength of
+mind, for _her_ sake. Think of her. She came to this room in her
+bridal dress to call her father, that he might get ready to take her to
+the altar, to give her to you, and she found him here murdered--weltering
+in his blood. It was enough to have killed her, or unseated her reason
+forever," said the lady, as she busied herself with unfastening the rich,
+white, satin bodice of the wedding robe.
+
+"Oh, Salome! Salome! that I could bear this sorrow for you! Oh, my
+darling, that all my love should be powerless to save you from a sorrow
+like this!" cried the young man, dropping his head upon his clenched
+hands.
+
+"My lord," continued Lady Belgrade, who was now applying a vial of sal
+ammonia to her patient's nostrils: "my dear Lord Arondelle, rouse
+yourself for her sake! She has no father, brother, or male relative to
+take direction of affairs in this awful crisis of her life. You, her
+betrothed husband, should do it--must do it! Rouse yourself at once. Look
+at this stupefied and gaping crowd of people! Do not be like one of them.
+Something must be done at once. Do WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE!" she
+cried with sudden vehemence.
+
+"I know what should be done, and I will do it," said the young man, in
+a tone of mournful resolution. Then turning to the crowd that filled the
+chamber of horror, he said:
+
+"My friends we must leave this room for the present to the care of Lady
+Belgrade and her female attendants."
+
+Then to the dowager he said:
+
+"My lady, let one of your maids cover that body with a sheet and let no
+one move it by so much as an inch, until the arrival of the coroner. As
+soon as it is possible to do so, you will of course have Miss Levison
+conveyed to her own chamber. But when you leave this room pray lock it
+up, and place a servant before the door as sentry, that nothing may be
+disturbed before the inquest."
+
+Lastly addressing the stupefied house-steward, he said:
+
+"McRath, come with me. The castle doors must all be closed, and no
+one permitted to learn the arrival of a police force, which must be
+immediately summoned."
+
+So saying, after a last agonized gaze upon the insensible form of his
+bride, he left the room of horrors, followed by the house-steward and all
+the male intruders.
+
+The news of the murder spread through the castle and all over the island,
+carrying consternation with it. Yet the wedding guests outside, who were
+quite at liberty to go, showed no disposition to do so. They had come to
+take part in a joyous wedding festival--they remained, held by the
+strange fascination of ghastly interest that hangs over the scene of
+a murder--and such a murder!
+
+So, the crowd, instead of diminishing, greatly increased. Peasants from
+the hills around, who, having had no wedding garments, had forborne to
+appear at the feast, now came in their tattered plaids, impelled by an
+eager curiosity to gaze upon the walls of the castle, and see and hear
+all they could concerning the mysterious murder that had been perpetrated
+within it.
+
+The country side rang with the terrible story. And soon the telegraph
+wires flashed it all over the kingdom.
+
+The coroner hastened to the castle, inspected the corpse, and ordered
+that everything should remain untouched. He then empanelled a jury for
+the inquest, whose first session was held in the chamber of death, from
+which the suffering daughter of the deceased banker had been tenderly
+removed.
+
+Such among the guests who were not detained as witnesses, found
+themselves at liberty to depart. But very few availed themselves of
+the privilege. They preferred to stop and see the end of the inquest.
+
+Skillful and experienced detectives were summoned by telegraph from
+Scotland Yard, London, and arrived at the castle about midnight.
+
+The house was placed in charge of the police while the investigation was
+pending.
+
+But the materials for the formation of a decided verdict seemed very
+meagre.
+
+A careful examination of the body showed that the banker had been killed
+by one mortal blow inflicted by a blunt and heavy instrument that had
+crushed in the skull. The instrument was searched for, and soon found
+in a small but very heavy bronze statuette of Somnes that used to stand
+on the bedroom mantel-piece; but was now picked up from the carpet,
+crusted with blood and gray hair. But the miscreant who had held that
+deadly weapon, and dealt that mortal blow, could not be detected.
+
+Investigation further brought to light that an extensive robbery had been
+committed. From the banker's person his diamond-studded gold watch,
+chain, and seals, his gold snuff-box, set with emeralds, a heavy
+cornelian seal ring set in gold, and his diamond studs and sleeve buttons
+were taken. A patent safe, which stood in his room, and contained
+valuable documents as well as a large amount of money, had been broken
+open, the documents scattered, and the money carried off.
+
+Yet no trace of the robber could be found.
+
+The broken safe was the only piece of "professional" burglary to be seen
+anywhere about the house. The fastenings on every door and every window
+were intact.
+
+The most plausible theory of the murder was, that some burglar, or
+burglars, attracted and tempted by the rumor of almost fabulous treasure
+then in the castle in the form of wedding offerings to the bride, had
+gained access to the building, and penetrated to the upper chambers,
+where, finding the banker still up and awake, they had killed him by one
+fell blow, to prevent discovery.
+
+True, the priceless wedding presents had not been disturbed. They still
+blazed in their open caskets upon the drawing-room table--a splendid
+spectacle. But then they had been guarded all through the night by two
+faithful men-servants armed with revolvers and seated at the table under
+a lighted chandelier. It was supposed that the robbers, seeing this
+lighted and guarded room, had crept past it and mounted to the banker's
+chamber to pursue their nefarious purpose there; that simple robbery was
+their first intention, but being seen by the watchful banker, they had
+instantly killed him to prevent his giving the alarm.
+
+For no alarm had been given!
+
+Every inmate of the house who was examined testified to having passed
+a quiet night, undisturbed by any noise.
+
+The hall porter and footmen whose duty it was to see to the closing of
+the castle at night, and the opening of it in the morning, testified to
+having fastened every door at eleven o'clock on the previous night, and
+to having found them still fastened at six in the morning.
+
+How, then, did the murderers and robbers gain access to the house, since
+there was no sign of a broken lock or bolt to be seen anywhere, except in
+the safe in the banker's room.
+
+Suspicion seemed to point to some inmate of the castle, who must have let
+the miscreants in.
+
+Yes, but what inmate?
+
+No member of the small family, of course; no visitor, certainly; no
+servant, probably! Yet, for want of another subject, suspicion fell upon
+Peters, the valet. He was always the last to see his master at night, and
+the first to see him in the morning. He had a pass-key to the ante-room
+of his master's chamber. It was believed to be a very suspicious
+circumstance, also that he had so persistently declined to call his
+master that morning, asserting as he did to the very last that Sir Lemuel
+had given orders that he should not be disturbed until he rang his bell.
+
+This story of the valet was doubted. It was suspected that he might have
+been in league with the robbers and murderers, might have admitted them
+to the house that night after the family had retired, and concealed them
+until the hour came for the commission of their crime; and that he made
+excuses in the morning not to call his master so as to prevent as long as
+possible the discovery of the murder, and give the murderers time to get
+off from the scene of their awful crime.
+
+The valet was not openly accused by any one. The officers of the law were
+too discreet to permit that to be done.
+
+But he was detained as a witness, and subjected to a very severe
+examination.
+
+Peters was a very tall, very spare, middle-aged man, with a slight stoop
+in his shoulders, with a thin, flushed face, sharp features, weak, blue
+eyes, and scanty red hair and whiskers, dressed with foppish precision.
+He looked something like a fool; but as little like the confederate
+of robbers and murderers as it was possible to imagine.
+
+Witness testified that his name was Abraham Peters, that he was born in
+Drury Lane, London, and was now forty years of age; that he had been in
+the service of Sir Lemuel Levison for the last five years; that he loved
+and honored the deceased banker, and had every reason to believe that his
+master valued him also. He said that it was his service every night to
+assist his master in undressing and getting to bed, and every morning in
+getting up and dressing.
+
+A juror asked the witness whether he was in the habit of waiting every
+morning for his master's bell to ring before going to his room.
+
+The witness answered that he was not; that he had standing orders to call
+his master every morning at seven o'clock, except otherwise instructed by
+Sir Lemuel.
+
+Another juror inquired of the witness whether he had received these
+exceptional instructions on the previous night.
+
+The witness answered that he had received such; that his master had sent
+him with a message to his daughter, Miss Levison, requesting her to come
+to his room, as he wished to have a talk with her. He delivered his
+message through Miss Levison's maid, and returned to his master's room.
+But when Miss Levison was announced Sir Lemuel dismissed him with
+permission to retire to bed at once, and not to call his master in the
+morning, but to wait until Sir Lemuel should ring his bell.
+
+"I left Miss Levison with her father, your honor, and that was the last
+time as ever I saw my master alive," concluded the valet, trembling like
+a leaf.
+
+"I presume that Miss Levison will be able to corroborate this part of
+your testimony. Where _is_ Miss Levison? Let her be called," said
+the coroner.
+
+The family physician, who was present at the inquest, arose in his place
+and said:
+
+"Miss Levison, sir, is not now available as a witness. She is lying in
+her chamber, nearly at the point of death, with brain fever."
+
+"Lord bless my soul, I am sorry to hear that! But it is no wonder, poor
+young lady, after such a shock," said the kind-hearted coroner.
+
+"But here, sir," continued the doctor, "is a witness who, I think, will
+be able to give us some light."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+AFTER THE DISCOVERY.
+
+
+"Sir, if you please, I request that this witness be immediately placed
+under examination," said Lord Arondelle, who sat, with pale, stern
+visage, among the spectators, now addressing the coroner.
+
+"Yes, certainly, my lord. Let the man be called," answered the latter.
+
+A short, stout, red-haired and freckle-faced boy, clothed in a well-worn
+suit of gray tweed, came forward and was duly sworn.
+
+"What is your name, my lad?" inquired the coroner's clerk.
+
+"Cuddie McGill, an' it please your worship," replied the shock-headed
+youth.
+
+"Your age?"
+
+"Anan?"
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew's Eve, at night."
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"Wi' my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone."
+
+"Well now, then, what do you know about this case?" inquired the clerk,
+who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant,
+preliminary answers of the witness under examination.
+
+"Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just
+happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa', and doctor here,
+he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just,"
+replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.
+
+"But tell us what you saw."
+
+"Aweel, then, your worship, I had been hard at wark a' the day, and could
+na get awa to see the wedding deecorations. But after my wark was dune
+and I had my bit aitmeal cake and parritch, I e'en cam' my way over the
+brig to hae a luke at them."
+
+"Well, and what did you see besides the decorations?"
+
+"An it please your worship, as I cam through the thick shrubbery I spied
+a lassie, standing under the balcony on the east side o' the castle wa'."
+
+"At what hour was this?"
+
+"I dinna ken preceesely. It may hae been ten o'clock; for I ken the moon
+was about twa hours high."
+
+"Ay, well; go on."
+
+"I hid mysel' in the firs and watchit the lassie; for I said to mysel' it
+wair a tryste wi' her lad, and I behoove to find out wha they were. Sae I
+watchit the lassie. And presently a tall gallant cam' up till her, and
+they spake thegither. I could na hear what they said. But anon the tall
+mon went his ways, and the lassie bided her lane under the balcony. I
+wondered at that. And I waited to see the end. I waited, it seemed to me,
+full twa hour. The moon was weel nigh overhead, when at lang last the
+gallant cam' on wi' anither tall mon. And they passed sae nigh that I
+heard their talk. Spake the gallant: 'I would na hae had it happened for
+a' we hae gained.' Said the ither ane: 'It could na be helpit. The auld
+mon skreekit. He would hae brocht the house upon us, and we hadna stappit
+his mouth.' And the twa passit out o' hearing, and sune cam' to the
+lassie under the balcony. And the three talkit thegither, but I just
+couldna hear a word they spake. And sae I went my ways home, wondering
+what it a' meant. But I thocht nae muckle harm until the morn when I
+heerd o' the murder."
+
+"Would you know the tall man again if you were to see him?" inquired the
+coroner.
+
+"Na, for ye ken I could na see a feature o' his face."
+
+"Would you know the girl again?"
+
+"Na. I could na see the lass ony mair than the gallant."
+
+"Nor the third man?"
+
+"Na, nor the ither ane."
+
+"Did you hear any name or any place spoken of between the parties?"
+
+"Na, na name, na pleece. I hae tuld your honor all I heerd. I heerd no
+mair than I hae said," replied the witness.
+
+And the severest cross-examination could not draw anything more from him.
+
+The officials put their heads together and talked in whispers.
+
+This last witness gave, after all, the nearest to a clue of any they had
+yet received.
+
+The notes of the testimony were put in the hands of the London detective
+then present.
+
+"Allow me to remind you, sir," said Lord Arondelle, "that this interview
+testified to by the last witness, was said to have taken place between
+ten and twelve at night, and that there is a train for London which stops
+at Lone at a quarter past twelve. Would it not be well to make inquiries
+at the station as to what passengers, if any, got on at Lone?"
+
+"A good idea. Thanks, my lord. We will summon the agent who happened to
+be on duty at that hour," said the coroner.
+
+And a messenger was immediately dispatched to Lone to bring the railway
+official in question.
+
+In the interim, several of the household servants were examined, but
+without bringing any new facts to light.
+
+After an absence of two hours, the messenger returned accompanied by
+Donald McNeil, the ticket-agent who had been in the office for the
+midnight train of the preceding day.
+
+He was a man of middle age and medium size, with a fair complexion, sandy
+hair and open, honest countenance. He was clothed in a suit of black and
+white-checked cloth.
+
+He was duly sworn and examined. He gave his name as Donald McNeil, his
+age forty years, and his home in the hamlet of Lone.
+
+"You are a ticket-agent at the Railway Station at Lone?" inquired the
+coroner's clerk.
+
+"I am, sir."
+
+"You were on duty at that station last night, between twelve midnight and
+one, morning?"
+
+"I was, sir."
+
+"Does the train for London stop at Lone at that hour?"
+
+"The up-train stops at Lone, at a quarter past twal, sir, and seldom
+varies for as muckle as twa minutes."
+
+"It stopped last night as usual, at a quarter past twelve?"
+
+"It did, sir, av coorse."
+
+"Did any passengers get on that train from Lone?"
+
+"_One_ passenger did, sir; whilk I remarked it more particularly,
+because the passenger was a young lass, travelling her lane, and it is
+unco seldom a woman tak's that train at that hour, and never her lane."
+
+"Ah! there was but one passenger, then, that took the midnight train from
+Lone for London?"
+
+"But one, sir."
+
+"And she was a woman?"
+
+"A young lass, sir."
+
+"Did she take a through ticket?"
+
+"Ah, sir, to London."
+
+"What class?"
+
+"Second-class."
+
+"Had she luggage?"
+
+"An unco heavy black leather bag, sir, that was a'."
+
+"How do you know the bag was heavy?"
+
+"By the way she lugged it, sir. The porter offered to relieve her o' it,
+but she wad na trust it out o' her hand ae minute."
+
+"Ah! Was it a large bag?"
+
+"Na, sir, no that large, but unco heavy, as it might be filled fu' o'
+minerals, the like of whilk the college lads whiles collect in the
+mountains. Na, it was no' large, but unco heavy, and she wad na let it
+out o' her hand ae minute."
+
+"Just so. Would you know that young woman again if you were to see her?"
+
+"Na, I could na see her face. She wore a thick, dark vail, doublit over
+and over her face, the whilk was the moir to be noticed because the nicht
+was sae warm."
+
+"You say her face was concealed. How, then, did you know her to be a
+young woman?"
+
+"Ou, by her form and her gait just, and by her speech."
+
+"She talked with you, then?"
+
+"Na, she spak just three words when she handed in the money for her
+ticket: 'One--second-class--through.'"
+
+"Would you recognize her voice again if you should hear it?"
+
+"Ay, that I should."
+
+"How was this young woman dressed?"
+
+"She wore a lang, black tweed cloak wi' a hood till it, and a dark vail."
+
+A few more questions were asked, but as nothing new was elicited the
+witness was permitted to retire.
+
+Other witnesses were examined, and old witnesses were recalled hour after
+hour and day after day, without effect. No new light was thrown upon the
+mystery.
+
+No one, except Cuddie McGill, the saddler's apprentice, could be found
+who had seen the suspicious man and woman lurking under the balcony.
+
+Certainly Lord Arondelle remembered the "dream" Miss Levison had told him
+of the two persons whom she mistook to be himself and Rose Cameron
+talking together under her window. But Miss Levison was so far incapable
+of giving evidence as to be lying at the point of death with brain fever.
+So it would have been worse than useless to have spoken of her dream, or
+supposed dream.
+
+The coroner's inquest sat several days without arriving at any definite
+conclusion.
+
+The most plausible theory of the murder seemed to be that a robbery had
+been planned between the valet and certain unknown confederates, who had
+all been tempted by the great treasures known to be in the castle that
+night in the form of costly bridal presents; that no murder was at first
+intended; that the confederates had been secretly admitted to the castle
+through the connivance of the valet; that the strong guard placed over
+the treasures in the lighted drawing-room had saved them from robbery;
+that the robbers, disappointed of their first expectations, next went,
+with the farther connivance of the valet, to the bedchamber of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, for the purpose of emptying his strong box; that being detected
+in their criminal designs by the wakeful banker, they had silenced him by
+one fatal blow on the head; that they had then accomplished the robbery
+of the strong box, and of the person of the deceased banker; and had been
+secretly let out of the castle by the valet.
+
+Finally, it was thought that the man and the woman discovered under the
+balcony by Cuddie McGill on the night of the murder, were confederates
+in the crime, and the woman was the midnight passenger to whom Donald
+McNeil sold the second-class railway ticket to London, and that the heavy
+black bag she carried contained the booty taken from the castle.
+
+On the evening of the third day of the unsatisfactory inquest a verdict
+was returned to this effect.
+
+That the deceased Sir Lemuel Levison, Knight, had come to his death by
+a blow from a heavy bronze statuette held in the hands of some person
+unknown to the jury. And that Peters, the valet of the deceased banker,
+was accessory to the murder.
+
+A coroner's warrant was immediately issued, and the valet was arrested,
+and confined in jail to await the action of the grand jury.
+
+An experienced detective officer was sent upon the track of the
+mysterious, vailed woman, with the heavy black bag, who on the night
+of the murder had taken the midnight train from Lone to London.
+
+Then at length the coroner's jury adjourned, and Castle Lone was cleared
+of the law officers and all others who had remained there in attendance
+upon the inquest.
+
+And the preparations for the funeral of the deceased banker were allowed
+to go on.
+
+In addition to the long train of servants there remained now in the
+castle but seven persons:
+
+The young lady of the house, who lay prostrate and unconscious upon the
+bed of extreme illness or death; Lady Belgrade, who in all this trouble
+had nearly lost her wits; the Marquis of Arondelle, who had been
+requested to take the direction of affairs; the old Duke of Hereward,
+who had been brought to the castle in a helpless condition; the family
+physician, who had turned over all his other patients to his assistant,
+and was now devoting himself to the care of the unhappy daughter of the
+house; and lastly the family solicitor, and his clerk, who were down
+for the obsequies.
+
+Beside these, the undertaker and his men came and went while completing
+their preparations for the funeral.
+
+There had been some talk of embalming the body, and delaying the burial,
+until the daughter of the deceased banker should view her father's face
+once more; but the impossibility of restoring the crushed skull to shape
+rendered it advisable that she should not be shocked by a sight of it. So
+the day of the funeral was set.
+
+But before that day came, another important event occurred at Lone
+Castle. It was not entirely unexpected. The old Duke of Hereward, since
+his arrival at the castle, had sunk very fast. He had been carefully
+guarded from the knowledge of the tragedy which had been enacted within
+its walls. He knew nothing of the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, or even
+of the banker's presence in the castle. His failing mind had gone back to
+the past, and he fondly imagined himself, as of yore, the Lord of Lone
+and of all its vast revenues. The presence and attendance of all his old
+train of servants, who, as I said before, had been kindly retained in the
+service of the banker's family, helped the happy illusion in which the
+last days of the old duke were passed, until one afternoon, just as the
+sun was sinking out of sight behind Ben Lone, the old man went quietly
+to sleep in his arm-chair, and never woke again in this world.
+
+A few days after this, in the midst of a large concourse of friends,
+neighbors and mourners, the mortal remains of Archibald-Alexander-John
+Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of Arondelle, in the peerage of
+England, and Lord of Lone and Baron Scott, in the peerage of Scotland,
+were laid side by side with those of Sir Lemuel Levison, Kt., in the
+family vault of Lone.
+
+The reading of the late banker's will was deferred until his daughter and
+sole heiress should be in a condition to attend it.
+
+And the family solicitor took it away with him to London to keep until it
+should be called for.
+
+The crisis of Salome's illness passed safely. She was out of the imminent
+danger of death, though she was still extremely weak.
+
+The family physician returned to his home and his practice in the village
+of Lone, and only visited his patient at the castle morning and evening.
+
+Now, therefore, besides the train of household servants, there remained
+at the castle but three inmates--Salome Levison, reduced by sorrow and
+illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady
+Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and
+the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the
+Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was "of the most
+straitest sect, a Pharisee" of conventional etiquette, nevertheless
+implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the
+heiress, and the reading of the father's will.
+
+The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily
+consented to stay.
+
+But Salome's recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she
+seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.
+
+Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost
+the memory of its cause--her father's shocking death. Thus she had no new
+grief or horror to experience.
+
+No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to
+allude to it.
+
+The occasion was this:
+
+On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and
+sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her
+boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent
+for the young duke to come to her.
+
+He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.
+
+He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was
+almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her
+former self she had faded.
+
+As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair
+flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked,
+that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her
+away.
+
+He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and
+then sat down next her.
+
+After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and
+asking:
+
+"Has the murderer been discovered yet?"
+
+"No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will
+lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch," answered the young
+duke, in a low voice.
+
+"Where have they laid the body of my dear father?" she next inquired in
+a low hushed tone.
+
+"In the family vault beside those of my own parents," gravely replied the
+young man.
+
+"Your own--_parents_, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone
+before, but--your father--"
+
+"My father has passed to his eternal home. It is well with him as with
+yours. They are happy. And we--have a common sorrow, love!"
+
+"I did not know--I did not know. No one told me," murmured Salome, as she
+dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.
+
+"Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible. Yet
+I _did_ think, they had told you of my father's departure, else I
+had not alluded to it so suddenly. There! weep no more, love! Viewed in
+the true light, those who have passed higher are rather to be envied than
+mourned."
+
+Then to change the current of her thoughts he said:
+
+"Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?"
+
+"Yes, if it concerns you," she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.
+
+"It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love. You
+are of age, my Salome?"
+
+"Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday."
+
+"Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance--an onerous and
+responsible position."
+
+"But you will sustain it for me. I shall not feel its weight," she
+murmured.
+
+"There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would
+gladly relieve me of the dear trust," said the duke, with a smile. "We
+must, however, be guided by your father's will, which I am happy to know
+is in entire harmony with your own wishes. And that brings me to what I
+wished to say. Kage, your late father's solicitor, is in possession of
+his last will. He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately
+after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your
+presence at its perusal. But he only waits for your recovery and a
+summons from me to bring it. Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the
+exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down,"
+concluded the duke.
+
+"My father's last will!" softly murmured Salome. "Send the telegram
+to-day, please. To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing
+from him."
+
+"There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you,
+and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the
+will, in the case of his, the writer's, sudden death," gravely added the
+duke.
+
+"A letter from my dear father to me? A letter from the grave! No, rather
+a letter from Heaven! Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at
+once, dear John," said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her
+pale, transparent cheek.
+
+"I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal
+importance with the will--though no lawyer would think so," said the
+duke.
+
+"You know its purport then?"
+
+"No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations
+that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison."
+
+As he spoke the door opened and Lady Belgrade entered the room, saying
+softly, as she would have spoken beside the cradle of a sick baby:
+
+"I am sorry to disturb your grace; but the fifteen minutes permitted by
+the doctor have passed, and Salome must not sit up longer."
+
+"I am going now, dear madam," said the duke, rising.
+
+He took Salome's hand, held it for a moment in his, while he gazed into
+her eyes, then pressed it to his lips, and so took his morning's leave of
+her.
+
+The same forenoon he rode over to the Lone Station, and dispatched a
+telegram to the family solicitor, Kage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+
+
+Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received
+the duke's telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private
+interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the
+will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of
+the assembled household.
+
+"The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his
+daughter?" inquired the duke.
+
+"No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will
+recognize when you hear it read," answered the lawyer.
+
+"Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it.
+Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?"
+
+"None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker
+anticipated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in
+the event of his sudden decease."
+
+"Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?"
+
+"None that I have heard of."
+
+"Or to the mysterious woman who was supposed to have carried off the
+booty?"
+
+"None, Detective Keightley called on me yesterday for some information
+regarding the stolen property, and I furnished him with a photograph of
+that snuff-box given to Sir Lemuel Levison by the Sultan of Turkey--the
+gold one richly set with precious stones. Sir Lemuel had it photographed
+by my advice, for identification in case of its being stolen. And he left
+several duplicate copies with me. I gave one to Keightley. But the man
+could give me no information in return. The missing woman seemed lost in
+London. And the proverbial little needle in the haystack might be as
+easily found," said the lawyer.
+
+The announcement of luncheon put an end to the interview.
+
+The two gentlemen passed on into the smaller dining-room where Lady
+Belgrade awaited them. She received the solicitor politely and invited
+him to the table.
+
+After the three were seated and helped to what they preferred, her
+ladyship turned to the lawyers and said:
+
+"My niece understands that you have a letter for her, left in your charge
+by her father. She wishes you to send it to her immediately. Her maid is
+here waiting to take it."
+
+"Pardon me, my dear lady, the letter must remain in my possession until
+after the reading of the will, when, for certain reasons, it must be
+read, as the will, in the presence of the household. Pray explain this to
+Miss Levison, and tell her that I shall be ready to read and deliver both
+at five o'clock this afternoon, if that will meet her convenience," said
+the lawyer, respectfully.
+
+"That will suit her; but I hope the forms will not occupy more than an
+hour. Miss Levison is still extremely feeble, and ought not to sit up
+longer," said the dowager.
+
+"It will not require more than half an hour, madam," replied Mr. Kage.
+
+Lady Belgrade gave the message to the maid for her mistress. And when the
+girl retired, the conversation turned upon the proceedings of the London
+detectives in pursuit of the unknown murderers.
+
+At the appointed hour the household servants were all assembled in the
+dining-room. At the head of the long table sat the family attorney and
+his clerk. Before them lay a japanned tin box, secured by a brass
+padlock. It contained the last will, the letter, and other documents
+appertaining to the deceased banker's estate. They were only waiting for
+the entrance of Miss Levison and her friends. No one else was expected.
+There was not the usual crowd of poor relatives who "crop up" at the
+reading of almost every rich man's will. The late Sir Lemuel Levison had
+no poor relations whatever. His people were all rich, and all scattered
+over Europe and America, at the head of banks, or branches of banks, in
+every great capital, of the almost illustrious house of "Levison,
+Bankers."
+
+The assembled household had not to wait long. The door opened and the
+young lady of Lone entered, supported on each side by the Duke of
+Hereward and the dowager, Lady Belgrade.
+
+Her fair, transparent, spiritual face looked whiter than ever, in
+contrast to her deep black crape dress, as she bowed to the lawyer, and
+passed to her seat at the table.
+
+The duke and the dowager seated themselves on either side of her.
+
+"Are you quite ready, Miss Levison, to hear the will of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison?" inquired the attorney.
+
+"I am quite ready, Mr. Kage, thanks," replied the young lady, in a low
+voice, and speaking with an effort.
+
+The attorney unlocked the box, took out the will, unfolded and proceeded
+to read it.
+
+The document was dated several years back. It was neither long nor
+complex. After liberal bequests to each one of his household servants,
+rich keepsakes to his dear friends, an annuity to the dowager Lady
+Belgrade, and a princely endowment to found an orphan asylum and
+children's hospital in the heart of London, he bequeathed the residue of
+his vast estates, both real and personal, without reserve and without
+conditions, to his only and beloved child, Salome.
+
+After the reading of the will was finished, the attorney arose, came
+around to where the ladies sat, and congratulated Miss Levison and Lady
+Belgrade, on their rich inheritance.
+
+"How could he do it?" thought the unconventional and weeping heiress.
+"Oh, how could he congratulate me on an inheritance which came, and could
+only have come, through my dear father's decease!" Then in a voice broken
+with emotion, she said:
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage. Will you please now to read my dear papa's
+letter?--since you _are_ to read it aloud, I think," she added.
+
+"Such was the deceased Sir Lemuel's direction, my dear Miss Levison,"
+said the lawyer. And returning to his place at the head of the table, he
+took the letter from the japanned box, opened it, and said:
+
+"This letter from my late honored client to his daughter was committed by
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison to my charge to be retained and read after
+the will, in the event of a circumstance which has already occurred--I
+mean the sudden and unexpected death of the writer. The letter will
+explain itself."
+
+Here the lawyer cleared his throat, and began to read:
+
+"ELMHURST HOUSE, Kensington, London,
+
+"Monday, May 1st, 18--.
+
+"MY DEAREST ONLY CHILD: Blessings on your head! Nothing could
+have made me happier, than has your betrothal to so admirable a young man
+as the Marquis of Arondelle. Had I possessed the privilege of choosing
+a husband for you, and a son-in-law for myself, from the whole race of
+mankind, I should have chosen him above all others. But, my dearest
+Salome, the satisfaction I enjoy in your prospects of happiness is
+shadowed by one faint cloud. It is not much, my love; it is only the
+consciousness of my age and of the precarious state of my health. I may
+not live to see you united to the noble husband of your choice. Therefore
+it is that I have urged your speedy marriage with what your good
+chaperon, Lady Belgrade, evidently considers indecorous haste. She must
+continue to think it indecorous, because unreasonable. I cannot, and will
+not, darken your sunshine of joy, by giving to you _now_ the real
+reason of my precipitation--the extremely precarious state of my health.
+Yet, in the event of my being suddenly taken from you, I must prepare
+this letter to be delivered to you after my death, that you may know my
+last wishes. If I live to see you wedded to the good Lord Arondelle,
+this paper shall be torn up and destroyed; if not, if I should be
+suddenly snatched away from you before your wedding-day, this letter will
+be read to you, after my will shall have been read, in the presence of
+your betrothed husband, your good chaperon and your assembled household,
+that you and they and all may know my last wishes concerning you, and
+that none shall dare to blame you for obeying them, even though in doing
+so you have to pursue a very unusual course. My wish, therefore, is that
+your marriage with Lord Arondelle may not be delayed for a day upon
+account of my death; but that it take place at the time fixed or as soon
+thereafter as practicable. In giving these directions, I feel sure that I
+am consulting the wishes of Lord Arondelle, the best interests of
+yourself, and the happiness of both. Follow my directions, therefore, my
+dearest daughter, and may the blessing of our Father in Heaven rest upon
+you and yours, is the prayer of
+
+"Your devoted father, LEMUEL LEVISON."
+
+During the reading of the letter the face of Salome was bathed in tears
+and buried in her pocket-handkerchief.
+
+The duke sat by her, with his arm around her waist, supporting her.
+
+At the end of the reading, without looking up, she stretched out her hand
+and whispered softly:
+
+"Give me my dear father's letter now."
+
+The attorney, who was engaged in re-folding the documents and restoring
+them to the japanned box, left his seat, and came to her side, and placed
+the letter in her hands.
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage," she said, wiping her eyes and looking up. "But now
+will you tell me if you know what my dear father meant by writing of the
+precarious state of his health? He seemed to enjoy a very vigorous
+and green old age."
+
+"Yes, he '_seemed_' to do so, my dear young lady; but it was all
+seeming. He was really affected with a mortal malady, which his
+physicians warned him might prove fatal at any moment," gravely replied
+the lawyer.
+
+"And he never hinted it to us!"
+
+"He did not wish to sadden your young life with a knowledge of his
+affliction."
+
+"My own dear papa! My dear, dear papa! loving, self-sacrificing to the
+end of his earthly life! never thinking of his own happiness--always
+thinking of mine or of others! My dear, dear father!" murmured the still
+weeping daughter.
+
+"He thought of your happiness, and of the happiness of your betrothed
+husband, my dear young lady, when he committed that letter to my care, to
+be delivered to you in case of his sudden death, and when he charged me
+to urge with all my might, your compliance with its instructions. And now
+permit me to add, my dear Miss Levison, that to obey your father's will
+in
+this matter would be the very best and wisest course you could pursue."
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Kage; I know that you are a faithful friend to our family;
+but--I must have a little time to recover," murmured Salome, faintly.
+
+"Here, you may remember my dear Salome, that when I told you of this
+letter in the possession of Mr. Kage, I said that I thought I knew its
+purport from certain conversations I had held with your late father. He
+had hinted to me the dangerous condition of his health, and he had
+expressed a hope that no accident to himself should be permitted to
+postpone our marriage; and then he told me that he had left a letter with
+his solicitor to be read in case of his sudden death, and that the letter
+would explain itself. He concluded by begging me if anything should
+happen to him to necessitate the delivery of that letter to you, to urge
+upon you the wisdom and policy of following its direction. He could not
+have given me a commission I should be more anxious or earnest in
+executing. My dear Salome, will you obey your good father's wishes? Will
+you give me at once a husband's right to love and cherish you?" he
+added in a low whisper.
+
+"Oh, give me a little time," she murmured--"give me a little time. There
+is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as
+you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so
+weak and broken-spirited. Give me a little time, dear John, to recover
+some strength to overcome my sorrow."
+
+Here she broke down and wept.
+
+"I think we had best take her back to her room," said Lady Belgrade,
+rising.
+
+Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his
+pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.
+
+Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties,
+and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl
+from the room.
+
+The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were
+left alone.
+
+The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses,
+and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.
+
+The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.
+
+It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke
+of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her
+father's wishes.
+
+Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it: Dr. McWilliams, the family
+physician, urged it: above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of
+Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade,
+objected to it.
+
+Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could
+decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.
+
+Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities--the impropriety of
+the daughter's marriage so soon after the father's murder.
+
+Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the
+Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer
+visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.
+
+The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome
+Levison. She contracted a serious cough.
+
+Then the family physician, (so to speak,) "put down his foot" with
+professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.
+
+"This is a question of life or death, my lady," he said to the
+dowager--"a question of life and death, ye mind! And not of
+conventionality and etiquette! Let conventionality and etiquette go to
+the D., from whom they first came. This girl must die, or she must marry
+immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian
+Archipelago. That is all that can save her. And as for you, my laird
+duke," continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he
+always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, "as for
+you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie's scruples, and marry
+her out of hand, the de'il hae me but I'll e'en marry her mysel', and
+tak' her awa to save her life! Now, then will I tak' her mysel' or will
+you?"
+
+"I will take her!" said the young duke, smiling. Then turning to the
+dowager, he added, gravely: "Lady Belgrade, this marriage must and shall
+take place immediately. You must add your efforts to mine to overcome
+your niece's scruples. Your ladyship has been working against me
+heretofore. I hope now, after hearing what the doctor has said, that
+you will work with me."
+
+"Of course, if the child's life and health are in question: and, indeed,
+this climate is much too severe for her, and she certainly does need
+rousing; and as it has been three months now since Sir Lemuel Levison's
+funeral, I don't see--But, of course, after all, it is for you and Salome
+to decide as you please;" answered Lady Belgrade, in a confused and
+hesitating manner, for when the dowager went outside of her
+conventionalities she lost herself.
+
+Salome Levison was again besieged by the pleadings of her lover, the
+counsels of her solicitor, and the arguments of her physician, all with
+the co-operation of her chaperon.
+
+"I do not see what else can be done, my dear," she said to her protegee.
+"The ceremony can be performed as quietly as possible, and you two can go
+away, and the world be no wiser."
+
+"As if I cared for the world! I will do this in obedience to my dear
+father's directions and my betrothed husband's wishes, and I do not even
+think of the world," gravely replied Salome.
+
+"Now, then, to the details, my dear. What day shall we fix? And shall the
+ceremony be preformed here at the castle or at the church at Lone?"
+
+"Oh, not here! not here! I could not bear to be married here, or at the
+Lone church either. No, Lady Belgrade. We must go up to our town house in
+London, and be married quietly at St. Peter's in Kensington, where I used
+to attend divine service with my dear papa," said Salome, becoming
+agitated.
+
+"Very well, my love. But don't excite yourself. We will go. And the
+sooner the better. These horrid Scotch mists are aggravating my
+rheumatism beyond endurance," concluded the dowager.
+
+It was now the last week in September. But so diligently did the dowager,
+and the servants under her orders exert themselves both at Castle Lone
+and in London, that before the first of October, Miss Levison, with her
+chaperon and their attendants, were all comfortably settled in the
+luxurious town-house in the West End.
+
+The Duke of Hereward took lodgings near the home of his bride-elect.
+
+As the marriage settlements had been executed, and the bridal
+paraphernalia prepared for the first marriage day set three months
+before, there was really nothing to do in the way of preparation for the
+wedding, and no reason for even so much as a week's delay. An early
+day was therefore set. It was decided that the ceremony should be
+performed without the least parade.
+
+Since her departure from Castle Lone and her arrival at their town house,
+the change of scene and of circumstances, and the preliminaries of her
+wedding and her journey, had the happiest effects upon Miss Levison's
+health and spirits.
+
+She recovered her cheerfulness, and even acquired a bloom she had never
+possessed before. And her attendants took care to keep from her all that
+could revive her memory of the tragedy at Lone.
+
+One morning the Duke of Hereward came to the house and asked to see Lady
+Belgrade alone.
+
+The dowager received him in the library.
+
+"Has Miss Levison seen the morning papers?" he inquired, as soon as the
+usual greetings were over.
+
+"No, they have not yet come," answered her ladyship.
+
+"Thank Heaven! Do not let her see them on any account! I would not have
+her shocked. The truth is," he added, in explanation of his words to the
+wondering dowager, "I have important news to tell you. The mysterious
+vailed woman, supposed to be connected with the robbery and murder at
+Lone Castle, has been found and arrested. The stolen property has been
+discovered in her possession. And she--you will be infinitely
+shocked--she proves to be Rose Cameron, the daughter of one of our
+shepherds, living near Ben Lone."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE VAILED PASSENGER.
+
+
+We must return to the night of the murder, and to the man and woman whom
+Salome Levison heard, and did not merely "dream" that she heard,
+conversing under her balcony at midnight.
+
+When left alone in her dark and silent hiding-place, the woman waited
+long and impatiently. Sometimes she crept out from her shadowy nook, and
+stole a look up to the casements of the castle, but they were all dark
+and silent, and closely shut, save one immediately above her head, which
+stood open, though neither lighted nor occupied.
+
+She had waited perhaps an hour when stealthy footsteps were heard
+approaching, and not one, but two men came up whispering in hurried and
+agitated tones. She caught a few words of their troubled talk.
+
+"You have betrayed me! I never meant, under any circumstances, that you
+should have done such a deed!" said one.
+
+"It was necessary to our safety. We should have been discovered and
+arrested," said the other.
+
+"You have brought the curse of Cain upon my head!" groaned the first
+speaker.
+
+"Come, come, my lord, brace up! No one intended what has happened. It was
+an accident, a calamity, but it is an accomplished fact, and 'what is
+done, is done,' and 'what is past remedy is past regret.' If the old man
+hadn't squealed--"
+
+"Hush! burn you! the girl will hear!" whispered the first speaker, as
+they approached the woman under the balcony.
+
+"Rose, here; don't speak. Take this bag; be very careful of it; do not
+let it for a moment go out of your sight, or even out of your hand. Go
+to Lone station. The train for London stops there at 12:15. Take a
+second-class ticket, keep your face covered with a thick vail until you
+get to London, and to the house. I will join you there in a few days,"
+said the first speaker, earnestly.
+
+"Why canna ye gae now, my laird?" impatiently inquired the girl.
+
+"It would be dangerous, Rose."
+
+"I'm thinking it is laughing at me ye are, Laird Arondelle. You'll bide
+here and marry yon leddy," said the girl, tossing her head.
+
+"No, on my soul! How can I, when I have married you? Have you not got
+your marriage certificate with you?"
+
+"Ay, I hae got my lines, but I dinna like ye to bide here, near your
+leddy, whiles I gang my lane to London."
+
+"Rose, our safety requires that you should go alone to London. You cannot
+trust me; yet see how much I trust you. You have in that bag, which I
+have confided to your care, uncounted treasures. Take it carefully to
+London and to the house on Westminster Road. Conceal it there and wait
+for me."
+
+"Who is yon lad that cam' wi' ye frae the castle?" inquired the girl,
+pointing to the other man who had withdrawn apart.
+
+"He is one of the servants of the castle, who is in my confidence. Never
+mind him. Hurry away now, my lass. You have just time to cross the bridge
+and reach the station, to catch the train. You are not afraid to go
+alone?"
+
+"Nay, I'm no feared. But dinna be lang awa' yersel', my laird, or
+I shall be thinking my thoughts about yon leddy," said the girl, as she
+folded the dark vail around and around the hat, and without further
+leave-taking, started off in a brisk walk toward the bridge.
+
+She passed through the castle grounds and over the bridge, and went on to
+the station, without having met another human being.
+
+She secured her ticket, as has been related, and when the train stopped,
+she took her place on a second-class car.
+
+Being very much of an animal, and very much fatigued, she could not be
+kept awake even by the excitement of her novel and perilous position,
+but, holding on to her booty, and lulled by the swift motion of the
+train, she fell asleep, and slept until eight o'clock next morning,
+when she was awakened by the stopping of the train and the bustle of the
+arrival at Euston Square Station. Her first thought was for the safety of
+her bag. With a start of dismay she missed it from her lap, where she had
+been holding it so tightly.
+
+"An' it 's yer little valise yer a looking for, my dear, there it be at
+yer feet, where it fell, with a crash, while ye slept. An' there was
+anything in it would break, sure it 's broken entirely," said a kindly
+man, pointing to the bag upon the floor.
+
+She hastily picked it up.
+
+"Oh! if any one had known what it contains, would it have been left there
+in safety all the time I slept?" she asked herself, as her hands closed
+tightly upon her recovered treasure.
+
+But the passengers were all leaving the train, and so she got out with
+the rest.
+
+She was too cunning to take a cab from the station. She left it on
+foot and walked a mile or two, making many turns, before, at length she
+hailed a "four wheeler," hired it and directed the cabman to drive to
+Number ---- Westminster Road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE HOUSE ON WESTMINSTER ROAD.
+
+
+An hour's ride through some of the most crowded streets of London brought
+her to her destination--a tall, dingy, three-storied brick house, in a
+block of the same.
+
+She paid and dismissed the cab at the door, and then went up and rang the
+bell.
+
+It was answered by an old woman, in a black skirt, red sack, white apron,
+and white cap.
+
+"Well, to be sure, ma'am, you have taken me unexpected; but I'm main
+glad to see you so soon. Come in, and I'll make you comfortable in no
+time," said the woman, with kindly respect, as she held the door wide
+open for her mistress.
+
+"Any one been here sin' we left Mrs. Rogers?" inquired the traveller.
+
+"No, ma'am--no soul. It is very lonely here without you. Let me take your
+bag, ma'am. It do seem heavy," said Mrs. Rogers, as she held out her hand
+and took hold of the handle of the satchel.
+
+"Na, I thank ye. It's na that heavy neither," exclaimed the girl,
+nervously jerking back the bag, and following her conductor into the
+house and up stairs.
+
+An unlikely house to be the shelter of thieves and the receptacle of
+stolen goods. There was a look of sober respectability about its
+dinginess that might have appertained to a suburban doctor with a large
+family and a small practice. An old oil cloth, whole, but with its
+pattern half washed off, covered the narrow hall--an old stair-carpet of
+originally good quality, but now thread-bare in places, covered the
+steps. This was all that could be seen from the open door by any chance
+caller. But upstairs all was very different.
+
+As the girl reached the landing, the old woman opened a door on her left
+and ushered her into a bright, glaring room, filled up with cheap new
+furniture, in which blinding colors and bad taste predominated. Carpets,
+curtains, chair and sofa covers, and hassocks, all bright scarlet;
+cornices, mirrors, and picture frames, (framing cheap, showy pictures,)
+all in brassy looking gilt. Through this sitting-room the girl passed
+into a bedroom, where, also, the furniture was in scarlet and gilt,
+except the white draperied bed and the dressing-table. Here the girl
+threw herself down in an easy-chair saying:
+
+"I'll just bide here a bit and wash my face and hands, while ye'll gae
+bring my breakfast."
+
+"Yes, ma'am. What would you like to have?" inquired the woman.
+
+"Ait meal parritch, fust of a', to begin wi' twa kippered herrings; a
+sausage; a beefsteak; twa eggs; a pot o' arange marmalade; a plate of
+milk toast, some muffins, and some fresh rolls," concluded the girl.
+
+"Anything more, ma'am?" dryly inquired Mrs. Rogers.
+
+"Nay--ay! Ye may bring me a mutton chop, wi' the lave."
+
+"Tea or coffee, ma'am?"
+
+"Baith, and mak' haste wi' it," answered the girl.
+
+The old woman, smiling to herself, went out.
+
+The girl being left alone, fastened both doors of her room, hung napkins
+over the key-holes, drew close the scarlet curtains of her windows, and
+then sat down on the floor and opened the bag and turned out its contents
+on the carpet.
+
+Fortunatus! what a sight! Well might her fellow-passenger have heard
+a crash when the bag slipped from her lap to the bottom of the car!
+
+About twelve little canvas bags filled with coins, and marked variously
+on the sides--L50, L100, L500, L1,000.
+
+She gazed at the treasure in a sort of rapture of possession! How fast
+her heart beat! She did not think that there was so much money in the
+whole world! She began to count the bags, and add up their marked
+figures, to try to estimate the amount. There were two bags marked one
+thousand, four marked five hundred, three marked one hundred, and three
+marked fifty pounds--in all twelve little canvas bags containing
+altogether four thousand four hundred and fifty pounds.
+
+What a mine of wealth! How she gloated over it! She longed to cut open
+the little canvas bags and spread the whole glittering mass of gold and
+silver on the carpet before her, that she might gaze upon it--not as a
+miser to hoard it, but as a vain beauty to spend it. How many bonnets and
+dresses and shawls and laces and jewels this money would buy? How she
+longed to lay it out! But she dared not do it yet. She dared not even
+open the canvas bags. She must conceal her riches.
+
+She began to put the bags back in the satchel.
+
+In doing so, she perceived that she had not half emptied it--there was
+something in each of the buttoned pockets on the inside. She opened the
+pockets and turned out their contents.
+
+Rainbows and sunbeams and flashes of lightning!
+
+Her eyes were dazzled with splendor. There was set in a ring a large
+solitaire diamond in which seemed collected all the light and color of
+the sun! There was a watch in a gold hunting case, thickly studded with
+precious stones, and bearing in the center of its circle the initials of
+the late owner, set in diamonds, and which was suspended to a heavy gold
+chain. There was a snuff-box of solid gold encrusted with pearls, opals,
+diamonds, rubies, emeralds, amethysts and sapphires, in a design of
+Oriental beauty and splendor.
+
+There were also diamond studs and diamond sleeve-buttons--each a large
+solitaire of immense value, and there were other jewels in the form of
+seals, lockets, and so forth; and all those delighted her woman's eyes
+and heart. But, above all, the golden box, set with all sorts of flaming
+precious stones, with its splendid colors and blazing fires dazzled her
+sight and dazed her mind.
+
+"I _will_ keep this for mysel'," she said, as she put it in the
+bosom of her dress--"I will, I _will_, I WILL! He shall na hae this
+again. I'll tell him it was lost or sto'en."
+
+Then she opened the satchel and began to put away the other jewels, until
+she took up the watch, looked at it longingly, put it in the bag, took it
+out again, and finally, without a word, slipped it into her bosom beside
+the box.
+
+Next she trifled with the temptation of the diamond ring. She slipped it
+on and off her finger. She had large beautiful hands in perfect
+proportion to her large beautiful form, and the ring that had fitted the
+banker's long thin finger fitted her round white one perfectly. So, she
+took the jewelled box from her bosom, opened it, put the diamond ring in
+it, then closed and returned it to its hiding place.
+
+Finally retaining the box, the watch and the rings, she replaced all the
+jewels and the money-bags in the satchel, and put the satchel for the
+present between the mattresses of her bed. While thus engaged she heard
+her old attendant moving about in the next room, and she knew that she
+was setting the table for her breakfast.
+
+So she hastened to smooth the bed again, and snatch the napkins off the
+keyholes, and unlock the doors lest her very caution should excite
+suspicion.
+
+Then at length she took time to wash the railroad dust from her face, and
+brush it from her hair.
+
+And finally she passed into her sitting-room where she found the table
+laid for her single breakfast.
+
+Presently her housekeeper entered bringing one tray on which stood tea
+and coffee with their accompaniments, and followed by a young kitchen
+maid with another tray on which stood the bread, butter, marmalade,
+meat, fish, etc., with _their_ accompaniments.
+
+When all these were arranged upon the table, Rose Cameron sat down and
+fell to.
+
+Being a very perfect animal, she was blessed with an excellent appetite
+and a healthy digestion. She was therefore, a very heavy feeder; and now
+bread, butter, fish, meat, marmalade disappeared rapidly from the scene,
+to the great amusement of the housekeeper and kitchen maid, who had never
+seen "a lady" eat so ravenously.
+
+When the breakfast service was removed, she went back into her bedroom,
+locked the door, and covered the keyholes as before, and took the satchel
+from between the mattresses, and opened it to gloat over her treasures;
+for she quite considered them as her own. Again she was "tempted of the
+devil." She thought of the fine shops in London, and the fine ready-made
+dresses she could buy with the very smallest of these bags of money.
+
+"Why should I no'? What's his is mine! I'll e'en tak the wee baggie, and
+gae till the fine shops," she said to herself. And selecting one of the
+fifty pound bags, she replaced the others in the satchel, and put the
+satchel in its hiding place.
+
+She got ready for her expedition by arraying herself in a cheap,
+dark-blue silk suit, and a straw hat with a blue feather. Then she
+carefully locked her bedroom door, and took the key with her when she
+left the house.
+
+Her ambition did not take any very high flights, although she did believe
+herself to be a countess. She knew nothing of the splendid shops of the
+West End. She only knew the Borrough and St. Paul's churchyard, both of
+which she thought, contained the riches and splendors of the whole world.
+She went to the nearest cab-stand, took a cab, and drove to St. Paul's
+churchyard, (in ancient times a cemetery, but now a network of narrow,
+crowded streets, filled with cheap, showy shops.) She spent the best part
+of the day in that attractive locality.
+
+When she returned, late in the afternoon, the canvas bag was empty and
+the cab was full, for Rose Cameron, the country girl, ignorant of the
+world, but having a saving faith in the dishonesty of cities, refused to
+trust the dealers to send the goods home, but insisted on fetching them
+herself.
+
+She displayed her purchases--mostly gaudy trash--to the wondering eyes of
+Mrs. Rogers, and then, tired out with her long night's journey and her
+whole day's shopping, she ate a heavy supper and went to bed. Such
+excesses never seemed to over-task her fine digestive organs or disturb
+her sleep. After an unbroken night's rest she awoke the next morning with
+a clear head and a keen appetite, and rang for the housekeeper to bring
+her a cup of tea to her bedside.
+
+While waiting for her tea she wondered if her "guid mon" would arrive
+during the next twenty-four hours.
+
+And that revived in her mind the memory of her supposed rival. During
+the preceding day she had been so absorbed in the contemplation of her
+newly-acquired treasures in jewelry and money that she had scarcely
+thought of what might then be going on at Castle Lone.
+
+Now she wondered what happened there; whether the marriage had failed to
+take place; but, of course, she said to herself, it had failed. Lord
+Arondelle would never commit bigamy--but _how_ had it failed? What
+had been made to happen to prevent it from going on? And what had the
+bride and her friends said or thought?
+
+Above all, why had Lord Arondelle, married to herself as she fully
+believed him to be, _why_ had Lord Arondelle allowed the affair
+to go so far, even to the wedding-morning, when the wedding-feast was
+prepared, and the wedding guests arrived?
+
+It must have been done to mortify and humiliate those city strangers who
+sat in his father's seat, she thought.
+
+Oh, but she would have given a great deal to have seen her hated rival's
+face on that wedding-morning when no wedding took place?
+
+No doubt "John" would tell her all about it when he arrived. And oh! How
+impatient she became for his arrival!
+
+Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper with
+a cup of tea in one hand and the _Times_ in the other.
+
+"Good morning, ma'am. And hoping you find yourself well this morning!
+Here is your tea, ma'am. And here is the paper, ma'am. There's the most
+hawful murder been committed, ma'am, which I thought you might enjoy
+along of your tea," said the worthy woman, as she drew a little stand by
+the bedside and placed the cup and the newspaper upon it.
+
+"A murder?" listlessly repeated Rose Cameron, rising on her elbow, and
+taking the tea-cup in her hand.
+
+"Ay, ma'am, the most hawfullest murder as ever you 'eard of, on an'
+'elpless old gent, away up at a place in Scotland called Lone!"
+
+"EH!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, starting, and nearly letting fall
+her tea-cup.
+
+"Yes, ma'am, and the most hawfullest part of it was, as it was done in
+the night afore his darter's wedding-day, and his blessed darter herself
+was the first to find her father's dead body in the morning."
+
+"Gude guide us!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, putting down her untasted tea,
+and staring at the speaker in blank dismay.
+
+"You may read all about it in the paper, ma'am," said the housekeeper.
+
+"When did it a' happen?" huskily inquired the girl, whose face was now
+ashen pale.
+
+"On the night before last, ma'am. The same night you were traveling up to
+London by the Great Northern. And bless us and save us, the poor bride
+must have found her poor pa's dead body just about the time you arrived
+at home here, ma'am, for the paper says it was ten o'clock."
+
+"Ou! wae's me! wae's me! wae's me!" cried Rose, covering her ashen-pale
+face with her hands and sinking back on her pillow.
+
+"Oh, indeed I'm sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am, if it gives
+you such a turn. I _did_ hope it would amuse you while you sipped
+your tea. But la! there! some ladies do be _so_ narvy!"
+
+"An' that's the way the braw wedding was stappit!" cried Rose, without
+even hearing the words of her attendant.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," replied Mrs. Rogers, not understanding the allusion of the
+speaker, "_that_ was the way the wedding was stopped, in course. No
+wedding could go on after _that_, you know, ma'am, anyhow, let alone
+the bride falling into a fit the minute she saw the bloody corpse of her
+murdered father, and being of a raving manyyack ever since. Instead of a
+wedding and a feast there will be an inquest and a funeral."
+
+"Was--there--a--robbery?" inquired Rose Cameron in a low, faint,
+frightened tone.
+
+"Ay, ma'am, a great robbery of money and jewelry, and no clue yet to the
+vilyuns as did it! But won't you drink your tea, ma'am?"
+
+"Na, na, I dinna need it now. Ou! this is awfu'! Wae worth the day!"
+exclaimed the horror-stricken girl, shivering from head to foot as with
+an ague.
+
+"Indeed, I am very sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am. But I
+thought it would interest you. I didn't think it would shock you. But,
+indeed, if I were you, I wouldn't take on so about people I didn't know
+anything about. And you didn't know anything about _them_. You
+haven't even asked the names," urged the worthy woman.
+
+"Na, na, I did na ken onything anent them; but it is unco awfu'!" said
+Rose, in hurried, tremulous tones.
+
+Not for all her hidden treasures would she have had it suspected that she
+even remotely knew anything about the murder or the man who was murdered.
+
+"And yet you take on about them. Ah! your heart is too tender, ma'am. If
+you are going to take up everybody else's crosses as well as your own,
+you'll never get through this world, ma'am. Take an old woman's word
+for that."
+
+"Thank'ee, Mrs. Rogers. Noo, please gae awa and leave me my lane. I'll
+ring for ye if I want ye," said Rose, nervously.
+
+"Very well, ma'am. I'll go and see after your breakfast."
+
+"Oh, onything at a'! The same as yestreen. Only gae awa!" exclaimed the
+excited girl, too deeply moved now even to care what she should eat for
+breakfast.
+
+When the housekeeper had left her alone she gave way to the emotions of
+horror and fear which prudence had caused her to restrain in the presence
+of the woman. She wept, and sobbed, and cried out, and struck her hands
+together. She was, in truth, in an agony of terror.
+
+For now she understood the hidden meaning of her lover's words, when on
+the night of the murder he had said to her, under the balcony, "Something
+will happen to-night that will put all thoughts of marrying and giving
+in marriage out of the heads of all concerned." And she comprehended also
+how the meaning of the fragmentary conversation she had overheard between
+her lover and his companion, as they approached her from the house: "You
+have brought the curse of Cain upon me." "It could not be helped." "If
+the old man had not squealed out," and so forth.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison had been robbed and murdered, and she--Rose
+Cameron--had been accessory to the robbery and the murder! She had lain
+in wait under the balcony while the burglars went in and slaughtered the
+old banker, and emptied his money chest. She had received the booty, and
+carried it off, and brought it to London. She had it even then in her
+possession!
+
+She was liable to discovery, arrest, trial, conviction, execution.
+
+With a cry of intense horror she covered up her head under the bedclothes
+and shook as with a violent ague. She had suspected, and indeed, she had
+known by circumstance and inference, that the money and jewels contained
+in the bag she had brought from Castle Lone, had been taken from the
+house, but she had tried to ignore the fact that they had been stolen.
+But now the knowledge was forced upon her.
+
+She had been accessory both before and after the facts to the crime of
+robbery and murder, and she was subject to trial and execution. It all
+now seemed like a horrible nightmare, from which she tried in vain to
+wake.
+
+While she shivered and shook under the bedclothes, the housekeeper came
+up and opened the door and said:
+
+"Mr. Scott have come, ma'am. Will he come up?"
+
+"Ay, bid him come till me at ance!" cried the agitated woman, without
+uncovering her head.
+
+A few minutes passed and the door opened again and her lover entered the
+room still wearing his travelling wraps.
+
+"Rose, my lass, what ails you?" he inquired, approaching the bed, and
+seeing her shaking under the bedclothes.
+
+"It's in a cauld sweat, I am, frae head to foot," she answered.
+
+"You have got an ague! Your teeth are chattering!" said Mr. Scott,
+stooping over her.
+
+"Keep awa' frae me! Dinna come nigh me!" she cried, cuddling down closer
+under the clothing. She had not yet uncovered her face or looked at him.
+
+"What is the meaning of all this, Rose?" he inquired, in a tone of
+displeasure.
+
+"Speer that question to yoursel'! no' to me!" she answered, shuddering.
+
+"Look at me!" said the man, sternly.
+
+"I canna look at you! I winna look at you! I hae ta'en an awfu' scunner
+till ye!"
+
+"What have I done to you, you exasperating woman, that you should behave
+to me in this insolent manner?" demanded the man.
+
+"What hae ye dune till me, is it? Ye hae hanggit me! nae less!" cried the
+girl, with a shudder.
+
+"_Hanged_ you? Whatever do you mean? Are ye crazy, girl?"
+
+"Ay, weel nigh!"
+
+"But what do you mean by saying that I have hanged you? Come, I insist on
+knowing!"
+
+"Oh, then I just ken a' anent the murder up at Lone Castle! Ye hae drawn
+me in till a robbery and murder, without me kenning onything anent it
+until a' was ower, and me with the waefu' woodie before me!"
+
+"Rose, if I understand you, it seems that you think I was in some sort
+concerned in the death of Sir Lemuel Levison?"
+
+"Ay, that is just what I _be_ thinking!" said the shuddering girl.
+
+"Then you do me a very foul and infamous injustice, Rose! Look at me! Do
+I look like an assassin? Look at me, I say!" sternly insisted the man.
+
+"I canna luke at ye! I winna luke at ye! I hae lukit at ye ower muckle
+for my ain gude already!" cried the girl, cowering under the clothes.
+
+"See here, lass? I say that you are utterly wrong! I had no connection
+whatever with the death of the banker! I would not have hurt a hair of
+his gray head for all that he was worth! Come! I answer you seriously and
+kindly, although your grotesque and horrible suspicion deserves about
+equally to be laughed at or punished. Come, look into my face now and see
+whether I am not telling you the truth."
+
+"And sae ye did na do the deed?" she inquired at length, uncovering her
+head and showing a pale affrighted face.
+
+"My poor lass, how terrified you have been! No, of course, I did not. But
+how came you to know anything about that horrible affair?"
+
+Rose took up the morning paper and put it in his hands.
+
+"Ah! confound the press!" muttered the man between his teeth.
+
+"What did ye say?"
+
+"These papers, with their ghastly accounts of murders, are nuisances,
+Rose!"
+
+"Ay sae they be! But ye didna do the deed?"
+
+The man made a gesture of impatience.
+
+"Aweel, then sin ye had na knowledge o' the deed until after it was done,
+what did ye mean by saying that something wad happen, wad pit a' thoughts
+o' marriage and gi'eing in marriage out the heads o' a' concerned?--when
+ye spak till me under the balcony that same night?"
+
+"I meant--I meant," said the man, hesitating, "that I would let the
+preparations for the wedding go on to the very altar, and then before the
+altar I would reject the bride! I had heard something about her."
+
+"Ah! I thought ye did it a' for spite!"
+
+"But Rose, I never thought you were such an utter coward as I have found
+you out to be to-day!" said the man reproachfully.
+
+"Ay' I can staund muckle; but I canna staund murder!"
+
+"It is not even certain that there has been any murder committed. The
+coroner's jury have not yet brought in their verdict. Many people think
+that the old man fell dead with a sudden attack of heart-disease, and in
+falling, struck his head upon the top of that bronze statuette, which was
+found lying by him."
+
+"Ay! and that wad be likely eneuch! for na robber wou'd gae to kill a man
+wi' siccan a weepon as that," said Rose, who had begun to recover her
+composure.
+
+Then the man began to question her in his turn:
+
+"You brought the satchel safely?"
+
+"Ay, I brought it safely."
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+"Lock the door and I'll get it."
+
+The man locked the door. While his back was turned, Rose jumped out of
+bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. Then she put her hand in between the
+mattresses and drew out the bag.
+
+"Have you examined its contents?" inquired the man.
+
+"Na, I hanna opened it once," replied the girl, unhesitatingly telling a
+falsehood.
+
+"Oh! then I have a surprise for you. Sir Lemuel Levison was my banker. He
+had my money, and also my jewels, in his charge. He delivered them to me
+last night a few minutes before I brought them out and gave them to you.
+You know I wished you to take them to London because--I meant to reject
+Miss Levison at the altar, and after that, of course, I could not return
+to the castle for anything. Don't you see?"
+
+"Ay, I see! But stap! stap! Noo you mind me about the bag. When you
+brought out the bag that night, I heard you and a man talking. You said
+to the man, 'You hae brocht the curse o' Cain upon me.' Noo, an ye had
+naething to do wi' the murder, what did ye mean by that?"
+
+The man's face grew very dark. "She cross-questions me," he muttered to
+himself. Then controlling his emotions, he affected to laugh, and said:
+
+"How you do twist and turn things, Rose! One would think you were
+interested in convicting me. But I had rather think that you are a little
+cracked on this subject. I never used the words you think you heard. The
+servant had brought me the wrong walking-stick, one that was too short
+for me, and so I said, 'You have brought that cursed cane to me.'"
+
+"Ou, _that_ indeed!" said the credulous girl, "But what did
+_he_ mean when he said, 'It could na be helpit. The auld man
+squealed?'"
+
+"I don't know what he meant, nor do I know whether he used those words.
+Probably he did not; and you mistook him as you have mistaken me. But I
+am really tired of being so cross-questioned, Rose. Look me in the face,
+and tell me whether you really believe me to be guilty or not?" he said,
+in his most frank and persuasive manner.
+
+"Na, na, I canna believe ony ill o' ye, Johnnie Scott," replied the girl.
+
+And, in fact, the man had such magnetic power over her that he could make
+her believe anything that he wished.
+
+"Now let us look into this satchel," he said, proceeding to open it.
+
+He took out the bags of money.
+
+"There is one bag gone! fifty pounds gone!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Na, that canna be, gin it was in the bag. I hanna opened it ance," said
+the girl, unhesitatingly.
+
+The man paid no attention to her words, but took out the jewels and began
+to examine them.
+
+"Confound it! The watch and chain are gone, and the solitaire diamond
+ring is gone, and--" here the man broke out into a volley of curses
+forcible enough to right a ship in a storm, and said: "The jewel
+snuff-box, worth ten times all the other jewels put together, is gone!
+How is this, Rose?"
+
+"I dinna ken. How suld I ken? I took the bag frae your hands, and I put
+it back intil your hands, e'en just as I took it, without ever once
+seeing the inside o' it," boldly replied the girl.
+
+A volley of curses from the man followed, and then he inquired:
+
+"Was the bag out of your possession at any time since you received it?"
+
+"Na, not ance."
+
+"Then that infernal valet has taken the lion's share of the prog! I
+wish I had him by the throat!" exclaimed the man, with a torrent of
+imprecations.
+
+"What do ye mean by a' that?" inquired Rose.
+
+"I mean, that servant I believed in has robbed me, that is all," said the
+man.
+
+With her recovered spirits Rose had regained her appetite. She now rang
+the bell loudly.
+
+The housekeeper answered it.
+
+"_Is_ breakfast ready?" inquired the hungry creature.
+
+"Yes, madam; and I will put in on the table just as soon as you are ready
+for it," answered the old woman.
+
+"Put it on now, then," replied the girl.
+
+The housekeeper left the room.
+
+Rose made a hasty toilet while her husband was washing the railway dust
+from his face and head.
+
+And then both went into the adjoining parlor, where the morning meal was
+by this time laid.
+
+After breakfast the man went out.
+
+The woman remained in the house. She was in a very unenviable state of
+mind. She was not yet quite easy on the subject of the murder at Lone
+Castle. For although her husband and herself might have no connection
+with the crime, still they had undoubtedly been lurking secretly about
+the house on the very night of its perpetration, and therefore might get
+into great trouble. And, besides, she was frightened at having secreted
+the costly watch and chain, snuff-box, and other jewels, from her Scott,
+and then told him a falsehood about them. What if he should find her out
+in her dishonesty and duplicity?
+
+She did not dream of giving up her stolen property. She would risk all
+for the possession of that precious golden box, whose brilliant colors
+and blazing jewels fascinated her very soul; but where could she securely
+hide it from her husband's search? At that moment it was with the watch
+and the diamond ring under the bolster of her bed. But there it was in
+danger of being discovered, should a search be made.
+
+She went into her bedroom and looked about for a hiding-place.
+
+At length she found one which she thought would be secure.
+
+The gilt cornice at the top of her bedroom window was hollow. She climbed
+up on top of her dressing bureau, and reaching as far as she could she
+pushed first the snuff-box, (which also contained the diamond ring,)
+and then the watch and chain, far into the hollow part of the cornice,
+over the window.
+
+There she thought they would be perfectly safe.
+
+The next few days passed without anything occurring to disturb the peace
+of this misguided peasant girl.
+
+Every morning the man who called himself Lord Arondelle, but who was
+known at the house he occupied only as Mr. Scott, and who professed to be
+the husband of the young woman--went out in the morning and remained
+absent until evening.
+
+Every day the girl, known to her servants as Mrs. Scott, spent in
+dressing, going out riding in a cab, and freely spending the money that
+her husband lavished upon her, and in gormandizing in a manner that must
+have destroyed the digestive organs of any animal less sound and strong
+than this "handsome hizzie" from the Highlands.
+
+On the Monday of the week following the tragedy at Castle Lone, however,
+Mr. Scott came home in the evening in a state of agitation and alarm.
+
+"Where is that satchel with the money?" he inquired as he entered the
+bedroom of his wife.
+
+She stared at him in astonishment, but his looks so frightened her that
+she hastened to produce the bag.
+
+He took from it a little bag of gold marked L500, and threw it in her
+lap, saying:
+
+"There, take that!" And before she could utter a word, he hurried out of
+the room.
+
+She ran down stairs after him, calling:
+
+"John! John! what ails you? What hae fashed ye sae muckle?"
+
+But he banged the hall door and was gone.
+
+"That's unco queer!" said Rose, as she retraced her steps, up stairs,
+feeling a vague anxiety creeping upon her.
+
+"He'll be back sune. He has na gane a journey, for he has na ta'en e'en
+sa mickle as a change o' linnen, or a second collar," she said, as she
+regained her room, and sank down breathless into a chair.
+
+The bag of gold he had left her next attracted her attention. L500--ten
+times as much as she had ever possessed in her life. The contemplation of
+this fortune drove all speculations about the movements of "John" out of
+her head. "John" was always queer and uncertain, and _would_ go off
+suddenly sometimes and be gone for days.
+
+"I winna fash mysel' anent him! He may tak' his ain gait, and I'll tak'
+mine!" she said to herself, as she resolved to go out the very next day
+and buy what her heart had long been set upon--a cashmere shawl!
+
+The next morning's papers however contained news from Lone, which, had
+Rose taken the trouble to look at them, must have thrown some light upon
+the sudden departure of Mr. Scott.
+
+They contained this telegraphic item, copied from the evening papers:
+
+"The coroner's inquest that has been sitting at Lone, returned last night
+a verdict of murder against Peters, the valet of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison, and against some person or persons unknown. The valet has been
+arrested and committed to gaol to await the action of the grand jury. It
+is said that he is very much depressed in spirits, and it is supposed
+that he will make a full confession, and save himself from the extreme
+penalty of the law by giving up the names of his confederates in the
+crime, and turning Queen's evidence against them."
+
+Rose did not read the papers at all. They did not interest that fine
+animal.
+
+She went shopping that day, and bought a blazing scarlet cashmere shawl.
+Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she was not troubled. She
+had a roast pheasant, champagne, and candied fruits for supper, and
+she was happy.
+
+She went shopping the next day, and bought a flashing set of jewels.
+
+Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she had another luxurious
+supper, and was still happy. In this way a week passed, and still Mr.
+Scott did not come back. But Rose shopped and gormandized and enjoyed
+her healthy animal life.
+
+Then she felt tempted to wear her gold watch and chain when she dressed
+to go abroad. So one morning she put it on, and went out. She had not the
+slightest suspicion of the danger to which she exposed herself by wearing
+it. She was not afraid of any one finding it in her possession, except
+her husband. So she wore it proudly day after day.
+
+One morning, about ten days after the departure of "Mr. Scott," the
+postman left a letter for her. It was a drop-letter. She opened it and
+read.
+
+It was without date or signature, and merely contained these lines:
+
+"Business detains me from you longer than I had expected to stay. Do not
+be anxious. I will return or send very soon."
+
+Rose was not anxious. She was enjoying herself. Now after shopping and
+eating and drinking all day, she went to the theatre at night. The
+theatre--one of the humblest in the city--was a new sensation to her,
+and her first visit to one was so delightful that she resolved to repeat
+it every evening.
+
+"I shanna fash mysel' anent Johnnie ony mair. He'll come hame when he
+gets ready," she said in her heart.
+
+But weeks grew into months, and "Johnnie" did not come home.
+
+Rose's five hundred pounds had sunk down to fifty pounds, and then indeed
+she did begin to grow impatient for the return of her husband. Suppose
+the money should give out before he came back?
+
+One day, while she was disturbing herself by these questions, she went
+out shopping as usual. When she had made her purchases she looked at her
+watch, and found that it had stopped. She was too ignorant to know what
+was the matter with it. She only knew that when she wound it up it would
+not go.
+
+So she asked the dealer from whom she had bought her goods to direct her
+to a watchmaker.
+
+The dealer gave her the address of a jeweller not far off.
+
+She took her watch to "Messrs. North and Simms, Watchmakers and
+Jewellers," and asked an elderly man behind the counter, who happened to
+be one of the firm, if he could make her watch "gae" while she waited for
+it in the shop. And she detached it from its chain and handed it to him.
+
+Mr. North received the rich, diamond-studded, gold repeater, and
+looked at the tawdry, ignorant, vain creature that presented it, with
+astonishment.
+
+Then he examined the initials set in diamonds, and a change came over
+his face. He went to his desk, taking the watch with him. He drew out a
+small drawer, took from it a photograph, and compared it with the watch
+in his hand. Then he placed both together in the drawer and locked it and
+beckoned a young man from the opposite counter, scribbled a few words on
+a card and sent him out with it.
+
+Rose, who had watched all these movements without the least suspicion of
+their meaning, now moved toward the jeweller and said:
+
+"Aweel then, hae ye lookit at my watch and can ye na mak it ga?"
+
+"The spring is broken, Miss, and it will take a little time to repair it.
+You can leave it with me, if you please," replied Mr. North.
+
+"Indeed, then, and I'm nae sic a fule! I'll na leave it with you at a'.
+If you canna mak it gae just gie it till me," she said.
+
+Now Mr. North did not wish his customer to leave his shop yet a while.
+The truth was that photographs of the late Sir Lemuel Levison's watch and
+snuff-box, in the possession of his legal steward, had been copied and
+the copies distributed by London directory to every jeweller in the city,
+as a means of discovering the stolen property, and finally detecting the
+criminals.
+
+Messrs. North and Simms had received a copy of each.
+
+And when Rose presented the rich watch to be repaired, Mr. North had at
+first suspected and then identified the article as the missing watch of
+the late Sir Lemuel Levison. And he had locked it in the drawer with the
+photographs, and dispatched a messenger to the nearest police station for
+an officer.
+
+His object now was to detain Rose Cameron until the arrival of that
+officer.
+
+"Will you look at something in my line this morning, Miss?" he inquired.
+
+"Na. Gi'e me my watch, and I will gae my ways home," she answered.
+
+"I have a set of diamonds here that once belonged to the Empress
+Josephine. They are very magnificent. Would you not like to see them?"
+
+"Ou, ay! an empress's diamonds? ay, indeed I wad!" cried the poor fool,
+vivaciously.
+
+Mr. North drew from his glass case a casket containing a fine set of
+brilliants, which probably the Empress Josephine had never even heard of,
+and displayed it before the wondering eyes of the Highland lass.
+
+While she was gazing in rapt admiration upon the blazing jewels, the
+messenger returned, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes.
+
+"Excuse me, Miss, I wish to speak to a customer," said the jeweller, as
+he met the officer and silently took him up to the farther end of the
+shop to his desk, opened a little drawer and showed him the watch and the
+photographs.
+
+Then they conferred together for a short time. The jeweller told the
+policeman how the watch had fallen into his hands; but that the pretended
+owner, finding that he could not repair it while she waited, had refused
+to leave it, and insisted on taking it home with her.
+
+"Give it to her. Let her take it home. She can then be followed and her
+residence ascertained. I think, without doubt, that we have now got a
+certain clue to the perpetrators of the robbery and murder at Castle
+Lone."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SCOTT.
+
+
+"Will ye gie me my watch or no?" exclaimed Rose, growing impatient of
+the whispered colloquy between the jeweller and the policeman in plain
+clothes, although she was quite unsuspicious of its subject.
+
+"Here it is, madam," said the jeweller, with the utmost politeness, as he
+came and placed the watch in her hand.
+
+She attached it to her chain and then left the shop.
+
+The policeman sauntered carelessly toward the door and kept his eye
+covertly upon her.
+
+She got into a four-wheeled cab and drove off.
+
+The policeman hailed a "Hansom," sprang into it, and directed the driver
+to keep the first cab in sight and follow it to its destination.
+
+Rose, as it was now late in the afternoon, and she was longing for her
+turbot, green-turtle soup, and roast pheasants and champagne, drove
+directly home.
+
+Her housekeeper met her at the door with good news.
+
+"A letter from the master, ma'am. The postman brought it soon after you
+left home," she said, putting another "drop" letter in the hand of her
+mistress.
+
+"Is dinner ready?" inquired Rose, who was more interested in her meals
+than in her lover.
+
+"Just ready, ma'am," replied the housekeeper.
+
+"Put it on the table directly, then," said Rose, as she ran up stairs to
+her own room.
+
+She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter to read it, at her
+ease.
+
+It was without date and very short. It only informed her that the writer
+was still detained by "circumstances beyond his control," and enjoined
+her to wait patiently in her house on Westminster Road, until she should
+see him.
+
+It was also without signature.
+
+"And there's nae money in it. I dinna ken why he should write to me at
+a', if he will send me nae money," was the angry comment of Rose, as she
+impatiently threw the letter into the fire.
+
+Her "improved" circumstances had not taught the peasant girl any
+refinement of manners. She did not think it at all necessary to change
+her dress, or even to wash her face after her dusty drive. But when
+dinner was announced, she went to the table as she had come into the
+house. And she enjoyed her dinner as only a young person with a perfectly
+healthful and intensely sensual organization could. She lingered long
+over her dessert of candied fruits, creams, jellies, and light wines.
+And when the housekeeper came in at length with the strong black coffee,
+she made the woman sit down and gossip with her about London life.
+
+While they were so employed, "the boy in buttons," whose duty it was to
+attend the street door and answer the bell, entered the room and said:
+
+"A gemman down stairs axing to see the missus. I told 'im 'er was at
+dinner, and mussent be disturbed at meals, which 'e hanswered, and said
+as 'is business were most himportant, and 'e must see you whether or no,
+ma'am, which I beg yer parding for 'sturbing yer agin horders."
+
+"It will be a mon frae Johnnie Scott. He'll be fetching me a message or
+some money. Gae tell him to come in," said Rose, in hopeful excitement.
+
+"Must I bring the gemman up here, missus?" inquired Buttons.
+
+"Ay, ye fule! Where else? Wad ye ask the gentlemon intil the kitchen? And
+we had na that money rooms to choose fra!" said Rose, impatiently.
+
+And indeed, in that great empty old house, she had but three to her own
+use--the tawdry scarlet parlor, which was also her dining room; the
+equally tawdry scarlet chamber; and the dressing-room behind it.
+
+The boy vanished and soon reappeared, ushering in the policeman in plain
+clothes.
+
+"You will be coming frae Mr. Scott, wi' a message?" said Rose, without
+rising to receive him.
+
+"No, mum; haven't the pleasure of that gent's acquaintance, though I
+would like to enjoy it. I come to _Mrs._ Scott, however, and on
+particular unpleasant business. What is your full name, mum?" gruffly
+inquired the policeman, approaching her.
+
+"And what will my name be to you, ye rude mon? And wha ga'ed ye
+commission to force yersel, on my company at my dinner?" indignantly
+inquired Rose.
+
+"My commission, as you call it, mum, lies in this warrant, which
+authorizes me to make a thorough search of these premises for property
+stolen from Lone Castle on the night of the first of June last."
+
+As the policeman spoke, Rose stared at him with eyes that grew larger,
+and a face that grew whiter every minute. And as she stared, she suddenly
+recognized the visitor as the man she had seen in the jeweller's shop,
+talking with the proprietor while the latter was pretending to be
+examining the watch she had put in his hand for repairs.
+
+And now the whole truth burst upon her. The watch had been recognized by
+the jeweller, who perhaps had seen it in Sir Lemuel Levison's possession,
+or perhaps had had it in his own for cleaning, and he had sent for this
+policeman in plain clothes, who had followed her home, "spotted" the
+house, and then taken out a search-warrant. Fright and rage possessed her
+soul. And oh! in the midst of all, how she cursed her own folly in
+secreting those dangerous jewels in the house, and her madness in wearing
+the watch abroad.
+
+"I hope you will submit quietly to the necessary search, mum. It will be
+the better for you," said the officer.
+
+Then rage got the better of fright in Rose Cameron's distracted bosom.
+
+"I'll tear your e'en out, first, ye--" here followed a volley of
+expletives not fit to be reported here--"before ye s' all bring me to sic
+an open shame! Search my house, will ye? Ye daur!" and here the handsome
+Amazon struck an attitude of resistance.
+
+The policeman went to the front window, threw it up, and beckoned to some
+persons below.
+
+In two minutes, the sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, the
+door was opened, and a couple of officers entered the room.
+
+Rose Cameron gazed at them in terror and defiance.
+
+"Mrs. Scott, you are my prisoner. We arrest you on the charge of
+complicity in the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, and the robbery of Castle
+Lone!" said the first policeman, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Tak' yer claws affen me, ye de'il!" exclaimed Rose, springing from under
+his hand, and then shrinking, shuddering, into the nearest chair.
+
+"Perkins, look after this woman, while I direct the search of the house.
+You come with me, Thompson. We will go through this room now," said the
+first policeman, putting his hand on the lock of the chamber door.
+
+"Ye sell na gae into my bedroom, ye de'il! It is na decent for a strange
+mon to gae into a leddy's chamber!" cried Rose, springing before him to
+bar his entrance.
+
+"Never mind her, Mr. Pryor; I'll take care of her," said the man called
+Perkins, as with a firm hand he laid hold of his prisoner, and forced
+her, screaming, scratching, and resisting with all her might from the
+door.
+
+"Excuse me, my girl, but this is a murder case, and we must not stand
+upon politeness to the fair sex; here," added Perkins, as he forced her
+down upon her chair and held her there so firmly that all she could do
+was to spit, glare, and rail at him.
+
+"Oh, my dear, good lady, do be quiet. You are in the hands of the law,
+which I believe you to be as innersent as the dove unborn; but it will be
+the best for you to submit quietly," said the housekeeper, who had
+hitherto sat in appalled silence, taking note of the proceedings.
+
+"I will na submit to ony sic indignity," screamed Rose, with an
+additional torrent of very objectionable language.
+
+Meantime officers Pryor and Thompson passed into the bedroom and began
+the search. Bureau and bureau drawers, wardrobes, boxes, caskets, cases,
+were opened, ransacked, and their contents turned out, but no sign of
+the stolen property was discovered. Closets, wash-stands, and chair
+cushions next underwent a thorough examination, with a similar result.
+Then the bed was pulled to pieces, and the mattresses were closely
+scrutinized, to detect any sign of a recent ripping and re-sewing of any
+part of the seams through which the stolen jewels might have been pushed
+in among the stuffing, but evidently the mattresses had not been tampered
+with.
+
+Then the two officers of the law stopped and looked at each other.
+
+"Before proceeding further in our search, we must be sure as the stolen
+goods are not in this room," said Pryor.
+
+"I don't know where they can be concealed in this room," said Thompson.
+
+"We must apply our infallible square inch rule, now. Take the inside of
+this room from floor to ceiling, and search in succession _every square
+inch of it_. No matter whether the part under review seems a likely or
+an unlikely, or even a possible or an impossible place of concealment,
+search it whether or no. Stolen goods are often found in impossible
+places, or in what seems to be such," said Pryor.
+
+The search was re-commenced on the new principle, and following the
+square inch system into an impossible place, they at last came upon the
+stolen treasure, hidden in the hollow of the cornice at the top of the
+scarlet window curtains, near the bedstead.
+
+"Here we are! all right! The jewel snuff box, and the solitaire
+diamond ring. The watch and chain will be found upon her person. This
+will be sufficient for to-day. We must close and seal these rooms, and
+place a couple of men on guard here before we take the girl to the
+station-house," said Pryor, as he carefully bestowed the recovered
+jewels in the deep breast-pocket of his coat.
+
+The two officers returned to the parlor, where they found Perkins sitting
+by the prisoner, who was now pallid and quiet, merely because she had
+raged herself into a state of exhaustion.
+
+"Go and fetch a close cab, Thompson. And you, good woman, fetch your
+missus' hat and wraps, and whatever else you may think she will need to
+go to the Police Station-House, and spend the night there. I will also
+trouble you for that watch and chain, my dear," said Pryor, turning
+lastly to his prisoner.
+
+"I will na gie my bonny watch! And I will na gae to your filthy
+station-house, ye--!"
+
+Whew! Inspector Pryor was used to storms of abuse from female prisoners,
+and could stand them well on most occasions; but now he turned as from a
+shower of fire, and walked rapidly to the window, while Perkins forcibly
+took from her the watch and chain, and put them for the present into his
+own pocket.
+
+Thompson came in to announce the cab, and the housekeeper entered
+with her mistress's hat and shawl, and a small bundle tied up in a
+handkerchief.
+
+But Rose stormed and wept, and utterly refused either to put on the hat
+and shawl, or to enter the cab. Nor could any amount of pursuasion or
+threats move her obstinacy until she found that the officers of the law
+were about to take her by force, and without her proper out-door dress.
+
+Then, indeed, she yielded to the coaxing of her housekeeper, and allowed
+the old woman to prepare her for her compulsory drive.
+
+When she was ready, Inspector Pryor would have escorted her down stairs,
+but she shook off his hand with angry scorn, and with an expletive that
+made even his case-hardened ears burn and tingle again.
+
+"If I maun gae, I will gae; but I willna hae your filthy hand on me, ye
+beastly de'il!" she added, as she reached the cab. She paused an instant,
+with her foot upon the step, and looked up and down the street, as if
+she contemplated for a moment a flight for liberty and life; but probably
+she did not like the prospect of the hue and cry, the pursuit and
+recapture sure to ensue, for the next instant she stepped into the cab.
+
+That night Rose Cameron passed in the Police Station-House of the
+Westminster precinct. She had slept in much less comfortable, if more
+respectable quarters, when she lived in the Highland hut at the foot of
+Ben Lone.
+
+The officers who had her in charge overlooked all her viciousness in
+consideration of her youth and beauty, and afforded her every indulgence
+which their own duty and her safe-keeping permitted. They gave her a cell
+and a clean cot to herself; and one of them, to whom she gave a
+sovereign, went out at her orders and bought for her a luxurious and
+abundant supper.
+
+And Rose--a perfect animal, as I beg leave to remind you--ate heartily
+and slept soundly, notwithstanding her perils and terrors.
+
+The next morning Rose Cameron was taken before the sitting magistrate of
+the Police Court at Vincent Square.
+
+The two witnesses from Lone, McNeil, the saddler, who had seen her
+lurking under the window of the castle at midnight on the night of the
+murder; and Ferguson, the railway clerk, who had sold her the ticket for
+the twelve-fifteen express to London, had been summoned by telegraph on
+the day before, had come up by the night train, and were now in court
+ready to identify the prisoner. Sir Lemuel Levison's house-steward, also
+summoned by telegraph, was there to identify the stolen jewels which were
+produced in court. The examination was brief and conclusive. McNeil and
+Ferguson swore to the woman as being Rose Cameron, and also as being the
+very woman they had each seen on the night of the murder, under the
+suspicious circumstances already mentioned.
+
+And McRath swore to the watch and chain, the jewelled snuff-box, and the
+solitaire diamond ring as the property of his deceased master, worn upon
+his person on the same night of the murder.
+
+The three policemen swore to finding the stolen property in the
+possession of the prisoner.
+
+Rose Cameron was incapable of inventing a plausible defence.
+
+When asked how this property came into her possession, she said she had
+picked up the watch and chain found upon her person, on the sidewalk, on
+Westminster Road, where she supposed the owner must have dropped it, and
+as she did not know who the owner might be, she had kept it, to her
+sorrow. But as for the gold snuff-box and the solitaire diamond ring, she
+did not know anything about them; she had never seen them in her life,
+until they were drawn out of the hollow cornice by Inspector Pryor, and
+where they must have been hidden by somebody else.
+
+This explanation was not received. And before the morning was over, Rose
+Cameron was remanded to her cell in the police station-house to wait
+until she could be taken back to Scotland for trial.
+
+When she reached her cell, she gave herself up to a passion of hysterical
+weeping and sobbing.
+
+She was interrupted by a visit from her friendly housekeeper.
+
+"My poor, dear, injured lady, I was here early this morning to see you,
+but could not get in," said the woman, after the first exciting greetings
+were over.
+
+"Sit ye down. Dinna staund, and tire yersel'," said the poor creature,
+glad to see any familiar face.
+
+"Oh, my good young lady, you were always very kind to me. And I never can
+believe as you've had anything to do with what you are accused of," said
+the good woman, weeping.
+
+"And sae I hadna. I dinna ken onything anent it. As for yon braw boxie, I
+ne'er set een on it, na, nor the fine ring, till the policeman pu'ed it
+doon frae the tap o' the window curtain. And the fine watch, they fund on
+me, and said belongit to Sir Lemuel Levison; that watch waur gied to me
+by a gude freend," said Rose, wiping the great tears from her stormy
+eyes.
+
+"I will believe it, my good young lady. I can very well believe it. I see
+how you have been imposed upon by bad people; but do you keep a stiff
+upper lip, madam, and don't be in no ways cast down, and your innercence
+will come like pure gold from the furniss, as the saying is. And now, my
+dear young lady, I have some news for you, as will help to divert your
+mind from your troubles, I hope," said the well-meaning woman,
+soothingly.
+
+"Is it about Johnnie Scott? Is it about my gude mon?" eagerly inquired
+Rose.
+
+"No, my dear young lady, it is not about him. You remember the marriage
+that was broken off, for the time between the young Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone?"
+
+"Yes! broken off by the murder of the bride's feyther, the nicht before
+the wedding day--the murder o' Sir Lemuel Levison, wi' whilk I now staund
+accusit. Ou, aye, I mind it! I am na likely to forget it!" sharply
+answered Rose Cameron.
+
+"Well, my dear young lady, the marriage is on again."
+
+"_Eh!_" exclaimed Rose Cameron, springing up.
+
+"Yes, my dear young lady. You know I always take time to look over the
+morning papers that are left at the house for you, and this morning I
+read that a grand marriage would take place at St. George's, Hanover
+Square, between the young Duke of Hereward--he who was Marquis of
+Arondelle before his father's death--and the heiress of the late Sir
+Lemuel Levison. And how, after the ceremony, there would be a breakfast
+at the bride's house, and then how the happy pair would set out for their
+wedding tower."
+
+While the well-meaning housekeeper was speaking, Rose Cameron was staring
+at her in dumb amazement.
+
+"I brought the paper in my pocket, ma'am, thinking, under all the
+circumstances, it would interest you and help to make you forget your
+own troubles. Would you like to read it for yourself?"
+
+"Yes! gie me the paper," cried Rose, snatching it from the housekeeper
+before the latter could hand it.
+
+"Where's the place? Where's the place?" cried the impatient young woman,
+wildly turning the pages.
+
+"Here it is ma'am. At the top of the 'FASHIONABLE NEWS,'" said
+the landlady, pointing out the item.
+
+Rose pounced upon it, and read aloud:
+
+"The marriage of His Grace, the Duke of Hereward, with Miss Levison, only
+daughter and heiress of the late Sir Lemuel Levison, will be celebrated
+at twelve, noon, to-day, at St. George's, Hanover Square. After the
+ceremony the noble party will adjourn to Elmhurst House, Westbourne
+Terrace, the home of the bride, to partake of the wedding breakfast,
+after which the happy pair will leave town by the tidal train for Dover,
+_en route_ for their continental tour."
+
+Rose Cameron threw down the paper and sprang to her feet with the bound
+of a tigress.
+
+"Oh, the villain! Oh, the shamfu', fause, leeing villain! This wad be the
+important business that kept him awa' frae me! This wad be the reason why
+he got me lockit up in prison here--for I ken weel that he pit the dogs
+o' the law on my track noo, if I dinna ken before--to keep me fra getting
+out to ban his marriage noo, as I wad ha banned it then hadna something
+else dune it for me. But it isna too late yet! I'll ban his wedding
+travels, gin I couldna ban his wedding! I'll bring him down to disgrace
+and shame afore a' his graund wedding guests--the fause-hearted, leeing,
+shamefu' villain! I will pu' him down frae his grandeur yet, gin ye will
+only help me!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, pouring out this torrent of words,
+as she strode up and down the narrow floor of her cell with the stride of
+an enraged lioness.
+
+"My dear, good young lady, I don't know, the least in the world, why you
+should get so excited over the young duke's marriage," said the
+housekeeper, gazing in amazement and terror upon the face of the
+infuriated young creature.
+
+"Why suld I get excited o'er it, indeed?" exclaimed Rose, stopping
+suddenly in her furious stride, and confronting her unoffending visitor
+with a scowl of rage.
+
+"Come now; come now;" murmured the woman, soothingly, for she began to
+fear that she was in the presence, and in the power, of a lunatic.
+
+"Dinna yo ken then, ye auld fule, that the Dooke o' Hareward is my ain
+gude mon?" imperiously demanded Rose.
+
+"Oh, her poor head! Her poor head is going, and no wonder, poor lass!"
+murmured the old woman, compassionately.
+
+"But how suld ye ken?" cried Rose, scornfully throwing herself down into
+her seat again. "He ca'ed himsel' Mr. John Scott. Mr. John Scott! And
+mysel' Mrs. John Scott. And sae ye kenned us, and nae itherwise."
+
+"Poor girl! Poor girl!" murmured the housekeeper. "She's far gone! Far
+gone! Poor girl!"
+
+"Puir girl, is it? It will be puir dooke before a' is ended! I'll hae him
+hanggit for trigomy, or what e'er ye ca' the marryin' o' twa wives at
+ance. Twa wives! Ou! I'll nae staund it! I'll nae staund it!" cried Rose,
+suddenly bounding to her feet.
+
+"Come now! Come now! my dear, good young lady," said the housekeeper,
+coaxingly.
+
+"Ye'll nae believe it! Ye'll nae believe he's my ain gude mon wha has
+marrit the heiress the morn? Look here, then! And look here! And look
+here!" continued the girl, impetuously, as she took a small morocco
+letter-case from her bosom and opened it, and took out one after
+another--a parchment, a letter, and a photograph.
+
+"Yes, dear, I'll look at anything you like," said the housekeeper, with
+a sigh, for she thought she was only humoring a lunatic.
+
+"Here's my marritge lines. And I was marrit here, in Lunnun town,
+at a kirk ye ca' St. Margaret's, by a minister ca'ed Smith. It's a'
+doon here in the lines. Look for yoursel'. Ye can read. See! Here will
+be my name, Rose Cameron. And here will be my gudeman's--de'il ha'e
+him!--Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis of Arondelle. And here will
+be the minister's name at the fut--James Smith; and the witnesses--John
+Jones, clerk, and Ann Gray, (she waur an auld body in a black bonnet and
+shawl). Noo! is that a' richt and lawfu'?" demanded Rose, triumphantly.
+
+"Indeed, ma'am, it looks so!" said the perplexed housekeeper. And
+these indiscreet words burst from her lips, almost without her own
+volition--"But the idea of the young Marquis of Arondelle marrying of
+you in downright earnest is beyond belief! It is, indeed!"
+
+"And what for nae?" cried Rose, angrily. "What for nae, wad he nae marry
+me, if he lo'ed me? He wad na hae me without marritge ye suld ken."
+
+"No offence, my dear young madam. None at all. I was only astonished,
+that's all," said the housekeeper, deprecatingly, though she wondered and
+doubted whether all she heard and saw was truth.
+
+"And, here! See here! Here is a letter I got frae him sune after the
+wedding. Ye ken the Dooke o' Harewood was Markiss o' Arondelle time when
+he married me?"
+
+"Yes, so it seems," said the housekeeper.
+
+"Aweel then, see here. This letter begins--'_My ain dear Wifie_,' ye
+mind?--'_My ain dear Wifie_'--and gaes on wi' a lot o' luve, and a'
+that, whilk I need na read, till ye. And it ends, look here--'_Your
+devoted husband_--ARONDELLE.' There! what do ye think o'
+that?"
+
+"I'm so astonished, ma'am, I don't know what to think."
+
+"But ye ken weel noo, that my gude mon wha ca'ed himsel' John Scott, was
+the Markiss o' Arondelle, and is noo the Dooke of Harewood?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I know that!--that is, if I'm awake and not dreaming," added
+the woman.
+
+"And ye ken weel that the Dooke of Harewood hae get me lappet up here in
+prison sae I canna get out to prevent him ha'eing his wicked will, in
+marrying the heiress o' Lone?"
+
+"I know that, too, ma'am--that is, if I'm not dreaming, as I said
+before," answered the bewildered old woman.
+
+"Aweel, noo, I canna get out to forestal this graund wickedness. The
+shamefu' villain took gude care to prevent that, but I can circumvent
+him, for a' that, gin ye will help me, Mrs. Brown. Will ye?"
+
+"You may be sure o' that, my poor young lady; for if things be as they
+seem, you have suffered much wrong," earnestly answered the woman.
+
+"Aweel, then, tak' my marritge lines, my letter, and this likeness o' my
+laird--and may the black de'il burn him in--"
+
+"Oh, my dear child, don't say that. It is dreadful. Tell me what I am to
+do with these papers and this picture."
+
+"First of a', ye'll be very carefu' o' 'em, and be sure to bring them
+back safe to me."
+
+"Yes, surely, my dear; but what am I to do with them?"
+
+"Ye'll get a cab, and tak' the papers and the picture to the bride's
+house, and ask to see the bride alone, on a matter o' life and death. And
+ye maun tak' nae denial. Ye maun see her, and tell her anent mysel' here,
+betrayed into prison sae I canna come to warn her. And show her my
+marritge lines, and my letter, and my laird's pictur'--the foul fien' fly
+awa' wi' him!--and tell her, gin she dinna believe them, to gae to the
+auld kirk o' St. Margaret's, Wes'minster, and look at the register, and
+see the minister, Mr. Smith, and the clerk, Mr. Jones, and the auld
+bodie, Mrs. Gray, and she'll find out anent it! Will ye do this for me?"
+
+"Yes, I will, my dear child."
+
+"Here is a half-sovereign then to pay for the cab hire. And, oh! be sure
+ye tak' unco gude care o' my papers! They's a' my fortun', ye ken."
+
+"Yes, indeed, I know how important they are to you, and I will bring them
+back safe," said the housekeeper, as she put the marriage certificate,
+the letter, the portrait, and the money in her pocket, and arose to leave
+the cell.
+
+"And noo, we'll see, an' I dinna bring ye to open shame, ye graund
+de'il!" exclaimed Rose.
+
+"I don't blame your anger, my poor dear, but don't use bad words. And now
+I am off. Good-day to you until I see you again," said the woman, as she
+left the cell.
+
+Mrs. Brown was a good woman, but she did delight in hearing and retailing
+gossip, and in making and seeing a sensation; so she rather enjoyed her
+errand to Westbourne Terrace. She was also a brave woman, so she did not
+shrink from meeting the high-born bridegroom and the bride with her
+overwhelming revelations.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE SECOND BRIDAL MORN.
+
+
+We must return to Elmhurst House and take up the thread of Salome's
+destiny, where we left it on the morning on which the young Duke of
+Hereward had called on Lady Belgrade and informed her ladyship of the
+arrest of the mysterious, vailed passenger, and implored her to keep all
+the papers announcing that arrest, or in any manner referring to the
+tragedy at Castle Lone, from the sight of the bereaved daughter and
+betrothed bride.
+
+"And so the mysterious vailed woman had been discovered, and she turns
+out to be Rose Cameron!" repeated Lady Belgrade, reflectively. Then,
+after a pause, she said: "I wonder who was her confederate in that
+atrocious crime--or, rather, who was her master in it? for she is too
+weak and simple to have been anything but a blind tool, poor creature!"
+
+"You knew her, then?" said the duke.
+
+"Only by report while I was staying at Castle Lone. But the report came
+from the tenantry, who had known her from childhood--a handsome,
+ignorant, vain and credulous fool of a peasant girl, more likely to
+become the victim of some godless man, than the confederate of murderers.
+Did _you_ know her, duke?" meaningly inquired the lady, as she
+remembered the reports in circulation at Castle Lone, that connected the
+name of the handsome shepherdess with that of the young nobleman.
+
+"No, I never saw the girl in my life. I have heard her beauty highly
+praised by some of the late companions of my hunting expeditions at Ben
+Lone; but I had no opportunity of judging for myself; and, moreover,
+I always discouraged such conversation among my comrades. But there, that
+is quite enough of the unhappy girl. I mentioned her arrest not as a most
+important fact only, but in order to warn you not to let our dear Salome
+get a sight of the daily papers, until you have looked over them, and
+assured yourself that they contain no reference to this arrest."
+
+"I see the wisdom of your warning, and I will endeavor to be guided by
+it; but it may be difficult to do so. My very sequestration of the papers
+may excite Salome's suspicions."
+
+"Then lose them; tear them; but do not let her see any part of them which
+may contain any reference to this girl. I thank Heaven that to-morrow I
+shall be able to take her out of the country and guard her peace and
+safety with my own head and hand. I shall take care also to keep her away
+until the trial and conviction of the criminals shall be over and done
+with, so that she may not be in any way harassed or distressed by the
+proceedings."
+
+"Yes, that will be very wise. If she were in England or Scotland during
+the time of the trial, she might be subpoenaed as a witness for the
+prosecution. She was the first, poor child, to discover the dead body of
+her father, you know," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I do not forget that circumstance, or what distress it may yet cause
+her," replied the young duke.
+
+And very soon after he took leave and went away.
+
+Lady Belgrade's task in keeping the day's papers from the sight of Salome
+Levison was easier than she had anticipated.
+
+Salome, deeply interested and absorbed in the final preparations for her
+marriage, did not even think of the newspapers, much less ask for them.
+
+The bridal day dawned, once more, for the heiress of Lone.
+
+Salome, with her attendant, was up early. The young girl, since her
+departure from Lone Castle, the scene of her father's murder, and her
+arrival at Elmhurst House, and occupations with her wedding preparations,
+had wonderfully recovered her health and spirits.
+
+Yet on this, her bridal day, she arose with a heavy heart. A vague dread
+of impending evil weighed upon her spirits.
+
+This occasion might well have brought back vividly cruelly to her memory,
+that fatal bridal morn when, going to invoke her father's presence and
+blessing on her marriage, she found him lying stiff and stark in the
+crimson pool of his own curdled blood. She had no father here on earth,
+now, to give her to the man she loved, and to bless her union with him.
+
+That, in itself might have been enough to account for the gloom that
+darkened her wedding day. But that was not all. For, though her father
+was not visibly present here on earth, she knew that he watched and
+blessed her from his eternal home. No! but her prophetic soul was
+darkened by the shadow of some approaching misfortune.
+
+Margaret, her new maid, brought her a cup of coffee in her chamber. After
+she had drank it, she went sadly in her dressing-room, to make her toilet
+for the altar.
+
+Margaret was her only attendant and dresser.
+
+Salome was still in the deepest mourning for her murdered father. In
+leaving it off, for the marriage altar only, she had resolved to replace
+it only by such a simple dress as might have been worn by any portionless
+bride in the middle class of society.
+
+She wore a plain white tulle dress, over a lustreless white silk, an
+Illusion vail, a wreath of orange buds, and white kid gloves and gaiters.
+She wore no jewels of any sort.
+
+Her bridesmaids, only two in number, were dressed like herself, except
+that they wore no vails, and that their wreaths were of white rose buds.
+
+At eleven o'clock in the morning, a handsome but very plain coach drew up
+before the gate of Elmhurst Terrace.
+
+The bride, attended by her two bridesmaids and Lady Belgrade, entered it,
+and was driven off quietly to St. George's, Hanover square.
+
+No invitations had been issued for the wedding, except to the nearest
+family connections of the bride and bridegroom.
+
+But unfortunately the news of the approaching marriage had crept out, and
+got into the morning papers, and consequently the street before the
+church, the churchyard, and the church itself, were crowded with
+spectators.
+
+Way was made for the small bridal procession, which was met at the
+entrance by the bridegroom's party, consisting of himself, his "best
+man," and his second groomsman.
+
+There, with reverential tenderness, the young Duke of Hereward greeted
+his bride. And the small procession passed up the central aisle, and
+formed before the altar.
+
+Around them stood the nearest friends of the two families.
+
+Behind them, extending back to the farthest extremity of the church,
+crowded a miscellaneous mass of spectators.
+
+This must have happened through the oversight of those parties whose duty
+it was to have had the church doors closed and guarded, so that the
+marriage of the so recently and cruelly orphaned daughter might be as
+private and decorous as it was intended to be.
+
+Baron Von Levison, the head of the Berlin branch of the great European
+banking firm of Levison, had come over to act the part of father to his
+orphan niece, and stood near the chancel to give her away.
+
+The Bishop of London, assisted by two clergymen, all in their sacred
+robes of office, stood within the chancel to perform the marriage
+ceremony.
+
+After the short preliminary exhortation, the ceremony was commenced. The
+bride was very pale, paler than she had ever been, even in those dread
+days when she stood always face to face with death. In making the
+responses her voice faltered, fainted, and died away with every new
+effort. No one would have thought from her look, tone or manner, that she
+was giving her hand, where her heart had so long and so entirely been
+bestowed. She seemed rather like a victim forced unwillingly to the altar
+by despotism or by necessity, than a happy bride about to be united to
+the man of her choice.
+
+At length the trial was over. The benediction was pronounced, and the
+young husband sealed the sacred rites by a kiss on the cold lips of his
+youthful wife.
+
+Friends crowded around with congratulations; but all who took the hand of
+Salome, Duchess of Hereward, felt its icy chill even through her glove
+and theirs.
+
+"No wonder poor child," they said to themselves; "she is thinking of her
+father, murdered on her first appointed wedding-day."
+
+But it was not that. Salome had too clear a spiritual insight not to know
+that her father was more alive than he had been while on earth, and that
+he was bending down and blessing her, even there.
+
+No; but the dark shadow of the approaching ill drew nearer and nearer.
+She could not know what it was. She could only feel it coming and
+chilling and darkening her soul.
+
+After a few minutes passed in the vestry, during which the marriage of
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Salome Levison was
+duly registered and signed and witnessed, the newly-married pair were
+at liberty to return home.
+
+The young duke handed his youthful duchess into his own handsomely
+appointed carriage.
+
+Baron Von Levison took her vacated place in the carriage with Lady
+Belgrade and the bridesmaids.
+
+The few invited guests, being only the nearest family connections of the
+bride and bridegroom, got into their carriages and followed to the
+bride's residence on Westbourne Terrace, where the wedding breakfast
+awaited.
+
+There were now no decorated halls and drawing-rooms, no bands of music,
+no display of splendid bridal presents, no parade whatever.
+
+To be sure, an elegant breakfast-table was laid for the guests. It was
+decorated only with fragrant white flowers from the home conservatory,
+furnished with white Sevres china and silver, and provided with a
+luxurious and dainty repast. That was all. All magnificence and splendor
+of display was carefully avoided in the feast as in the ceremony.
+
+Only ten in all sat down to the table, viz., the bride and bridegroom,
+two bridesmaids, two groomsmen, Lady Belgrade, Baron Von Levison, the
+Bishop of London, and the Rector of St. George's.
+
+A graver wedding party never was brought together. Even the youthful
+bridesmaids and groomsmen, expected to be "the life of the company," were
+awed into silence by the preponderance of age and clerical dignity in the
+little assembly, for the bishop was not ready with his usual harmless
+little jest, and the rector did not care to take precedence over his
+superior.
+
+The conversation was serious rather than merry, and the speeches earnest
+rather than witty.
+
+Near the end of the breakfast, the bride's health was proposed by the
+first groomsman in a complimentary speech, which was acknowledged in a
+few appropriate remarks by her nearest relative, the Baron Von Levison.
+The bridegroom's health was then proposed by the baron, and acknowledged
+by a deep and silent bow from the duke.
+
+Then the health of the bridesmaids, the clergy, Lady Belgrade, and the
+Baron Von Levison were duly honored.
+
+And then the young bride arose, courtesied to her guests, and attended by
+her bridesmaids, retired to change her wedding dress for a traveling
+suit.
+
+"How deadly pale she looks! Is my niece really happy in this marriage?"
+inquired the Baron Von Levison, in a low tone, of Lady Belgrade, as the
+guests left the table.
+
+"She is very happy in this marriage, which she has set her heart on for
+years. In a word, this young wife is madly in love with her husband. But
+you must consider what an awful shock she had on her first appointed
+wedding-day, and how it must recur to her mind in this," answered the
+dowager.
+
+"Ah, to be sure! to be sure! poor child! poor child!" muttered the German
+head of the family.
+
+Meanwhile the young Duchess of Hereward reached her apartments.
+
+Her dresser, Margaret, was in attendance. Her travelling suit of black
+bombazine, trimmed with black crape, was laid out. With the assistance of
+her maid she slowly divested herself of her white vail and robes, and put
+on the black travelling dress. A black sack and a black felt hat, both
+deeply trimmed with crape, and black gloves, completed her toilet.
+
+When she was quite ready she kissed her two bridesmaids and said:
+
+"Leave me alone now for a few minutes, dear girls, and wait for me in the
+drawing-room. I will join you very soon."
+
+The young ladies returned her kisses and retired.
+
+Then Salome dismissed her maid, that Margaret should prepare to accompany
+her mistress.
+
+Finally, as soon as she found herself alone, she sank on her knees to
+pray, that, if possible, this dark shadow might be permitted to pass away
+from her soul; that light and strength and grace might be given her to do
+all her duties and bear all her burdens as Christian wife and neighbor;
+that she and her husband might be blessed with true and eternal love for
+each other, for their neighbor, and above all for their Lord.
+
+As she finished her prayer, and arose from her knees, her maid re-entered
+the room, dressed to attend her mistress on her journey.
+
+The girl did not forget to honor the bride with her new title.
+
+"I beg pardon, your grace," she said, "but there is a strange-looking old
+woman down stairs who says she is a widow from Westminster Road, and that
+she must see your grace on a matter of life and death, before you start
+on your wedding tour."
+
+"I do not know any such person," said the young duchess, slowly, while
+that vague shadow of impending calamity gathered over her spirit more
+darkly and heavily than before.
+
+"Thomas, the hall footman, brought me the message from the woman, your
+grace, and I went down to see her myself before troubling you. I thought
+she might be only a bolder begger than usual. But she is no begger, your
+grace. She looks respectable," answered the girl.
+
+"Go to the woman and explain to her that I have no time to see her now,
+and ask her if she cannot intrust her business to you to be brought to
+me," said the duchess.
+
+The maid courtesied and left the room.
+
+"What is it? What is it? Why does every unusual event strike such deadly
+terror to my heart?" inquired the bride, as she sank, pale and trembling,
+into her resting-chair.
+
+In a few minutes the door opened and Margaret re-appeared.
+
+"I beg your grace's pardon, but the old woman is very obstinate and
+persistent. She will not tell me her business. She says it is with your
+grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter
+of more importance than life or death; and that--indeed I beg your
+pardon, your grace--but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message,
+it seems so impertinent," said the girl, blushing and casting down her
+eyes.
+
+"Nevertheless, deliver it. I will excuse you. The impertinence will not
+be yours," said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.
+
+"Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me
+straight in the face, and said--'Tell your mistress, if she would save
+herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell
+her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!'" answered the girl,
+in a low tone.
+
+"'_Before I see the Duke of Hereward again_.' Ah, what is it? What
+is it?" murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to
+Margaret. "Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once."
+
+Once more the girl obediently left the room.
+
+The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with
+dread of--she knew not what!
+
+A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared,
+ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.
+
+Salome looked up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE CLOUD FALLS.
+
+
+When Rose Cameron's emissary entered the bride's chamber, the young
+duchess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again,
+overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching
+calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her
+bridal day.
+
+And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to
+sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her
+nervous and sensitive organization.
+
+She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying
+before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet,
+shawl, and gown. No very alarming intruder to contemplate.
+
+The woman, on her part, instead of the proud and insolent beauty she had
+expected to see, in all the pomp and pride of her bridal day and her new
+rank, beheld a fair and gentle girl, still clothed in the deepest
+mourning for her murdered father.
+
+And her heart, which had been hardened against the supposed triumphant
+rival of the poor peasant girl, now melted with sympathy.
+
+And she, who had persistently forced her way into the bride's chamber,
+with the grim determination to spring the news upon her without
+hesitation or compassion, now cast about in her simple mind how to
+break such a terrible shock with tenderness and discretion.
+
+"You look very much fatigued. Pray sit down there and rest yourself,
+while you talk to me," said the young duchess, gently, and pointing to
+a chair near her own.
+
+"Ay, I am tired enough in mind and body, my lady, along of not having
+slept a wink all last night on account of--what I'll tell you soon, my
+lady. So I'll even take you at your kind word, my lady, and presume to
+sit down in your ladyship's presence," sighed the woman, slowly sinking
+into the indicated seat, and then adding: "I know as ladyship is not
+exactly the right way to speak to a duke's lady as is a duchess; but I
+don't know as I know what is."
+
+"You must say 'your grace' in speaking to the duchess," volunteered
+Margaret, in a low tone.
+
+"Never mind, never mind," said the bride, with a slight smile. "I am
+quite ready to hear whatever you may have to say to me. What can I do for
+you?"
+
+The visitor hesitated and moaned. All her eager desire to overwhelm Rose
+Cameron's rival with the shameful news of her bridegroom's previous
+marriage and living wife had evaporated, leaving only deep sympathy
+and compassion for the sweet young girl, who looked so kindly, and spoke
+so gentle. Yet deeply she felt that, even for this gentle girl's sake,
+she must reveal the fatal secret! It was dreadful enough and humiliating
+enough to have had the marriage ceremony read over herself and an already
+married man, the husband of a living woman; but it would be infinitely
+worse, it would be horrible and shameful, to let her go off in ignorance,
+believing herself to be that man's wife--to travel with him over Europe.
+
+All this, the honest woman from Westminster Road knew and felt, yet she
+had not the courage now to shock that gentle girl's heart by telling the
+news which must stop her journey.
+
+"Please excuse me; but I must really beg you to be quick in telling me
+what I can do to serve you. My time is limited. Within an hour we have to
+catch the tidal train to Dover. And--I have much to do in the interim,"
+said the young duchess, speaking with gentle courtesy to this poor,
+shabby woman in the rusty widow's weeds.
+
+"Ah, my lady--grace, I mean! there is no need of being quick! When
+you hear all I have to tell you--to my sorrow as well as yours, my
+grace!--your hurry will all be over; and you will not care about catching
+the tidal train--not if you are the lady as I take my--_your_ grace
+to be!"
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired Salome, in low, tremulous tones.
+
+"My lady--grace, I mean! will you send your maid away? What I have to
+tell you, must be told to you alone," whispered the visitor.
+
+"Margaret, you may retire. I will ring when I want you," said the young
+duchess.
+
+And her maid, disgusted, for her curiosity had been strongly aroused,
+left the room and closed the door. And, as Margaret had too much
+self-respect to listen at the key-hole, she remained in ignorance of
+what passed between the young duchess and the uncanny visitor.
+
+"Your strange words trouble me," said Salome, as soon as she found
+herself alone with her visitor.
+
+"Ay, my lady, your grace, I know it. And I am sorry for it. But I cannot
+help it. And, indeed, I'm very much afeared as I shall trouble you more
+afore I am done."
+
+"Then pray proceed. Tell me at once all you have to tell. And permit me
+to remind you that my time is limited," urged the young duchess.
+
+"Ay, madam, my lady--grace, I mean. But grant me your pardon if I repeat
+that there is indeed no hurry. You will not take the tidal train to
+Dover. Not if you be the Christian lady as I take you for," gravely
+replied the visitor.
+
+"I must really insist upon your speaking out plainly and at once," said
+Salome, with more of firmness than she had as yet exhibited, although her
+pale cheeks grew a shade paler.
+
+"My lady--your grace, I should say--when I started to come here this
+morning, to bring you the news I have to tell, my heart was _that_
+full of anger against him and you, for the deep wrongs done to one I know
+and love, that I did not care how suddenly I told it, or how awfully
+it might shock you. But now that I see you, dear lady--grace, I mean--I
+do hate myself for having of such a tale to tell. But, for all that--for
+your sake as well as for hers, I must tell it," said the woman, solemnly.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, go on! What is it you have to tell me?" inquired the
+bride, in a fainting voice.
+
+"Well, then, your lady, my grace--Oh, dear! I know that ain't the right
+way to speak, but--"
+
+"No matter! no matter! Only tell me what you have to tell and have done
+with it!" said Salome, impatiently at last.
+
+"Well, then--I beg ten thousand pardons, my lady, but did your ladyship
+ever hear tell, up your way in Scotland, of a very handsome young woman
+of the lower orders, by the name of Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Yes, I have heard of such a girl," answered the bride, in a low tone,
+averting her face.
+
+"I thought your ladyship must have heard of her. And now--I beg a million
+of pardons, my lady--but did your ladyship ever happen to hear of a
+certain person's name mentioned alongside of hers?"
+
+"I decline to answer a question so improper. What can such a question
+have to do with your present business?" inquired the bride, with more
+of gentle dignity than we have ever known her to assume.
+
+"It has a great deal to do with it, your ladyship. It has everything to
+do with it, as I shall soon prove to your grace. Take no offence, dear
+lady. I won't use any name to trouble you. And I won't say anything but
+what I can prove. Will you let me go on on them terms, your ladyship?"
+humbly inquired the messenger.
+
+"Yes, yes, if you only WILL be quick. I _wish_ you to go
+on. I believe you to mean well, though I do not exactly know what you
+really _do_ mean," said Salome, nervously.
+
+"Well, then, my lady, if you ever heard of this handsome Highland peasant
+girl, called Rose Cameron, you must have heard that she lived long of her
+old father, a shepherd, dwelling at the foot of Ben Lone, near by
+where--a--a certain person had his shooting-lodge. My dear lady, it is
+the same wicked old story as we hear over and over again, and a many
+times too often. Well, the young man--a certain person, I mean--while at
+his shooting-box, foot of Ben Lone, happened to see this handsome lass,
+and fell in love with her at first sight, as certain persons sometimes do
+with young peasant girls as they oughtn't to marry. But mayhap your
+ladyship have heard all this before."
+
+Salome had heard it all before; and now, in silence and sadness, she was
+wondering what she had to hear more; but certainly not expecting to hear
+the degrading revelation her visitor had still to make.
+
+"Well, my lady," resumed the visitor, "a certain person courted handsome
+Rose Cameron a long time, trying to coax her to accept of his heart
+without his hand, after the manner of certain persons, to poor and pretty
+young girls. But the handsome peasant was as proud as a princess, and so
+she was. And she would see him hanged first, and so she would, before she
+would degrade herself for him, especially as she wasn't overmuch in love
+with him herself, but only pleased with his preference, and proud to show
+him off. She didn't worship him at all. She worshiped herself, my lady.
+And she could take care of herself and keep him in his place, even while
+she sort of encouraged his attentions. That was the secret of her power
+over him, my lady. She would neither take him on his terms nor let him
+go. And the more she resisted him the more he fell down and worshiped
+her, until, at length, he was ready to give up everything for her sake,
+and offer her marriage. That was what she really wanted to fetch him to,
+for she was ambitious as well as honest--that she was! Are you listening
+to me, my lady?"
+
+"I am listening," breathed the bride, in a faint voice.
+
+She had turned her chair around, so that her weary head could rest upon
+the corner of the dressing-table, where she now leaned, face downward,
+on her spread hands.
+
+"Well, my lady, when she had fetched him to that pass as to offer her
+marriage, she took him at his word, and he brought her up to London. And
+they were married, sure enough, in the old church at St. Margaret's
+near by where I live, in Westminster."
+
+"It is false! It is false! It is false as--Oh! Heaven of Heavens!" cried
+Salome, wildly, throwing back her head and hands, and then dropping them
+again with a low, heart-broken moan.
+
+"I am cut to the soul, my lady, to say this; but I must say it, even for
+your sake, my lady, and I only say what I can easy prove," spoke the
+woman, humbly.
+
+"Go on, go on," moaned Salome, without lifting her head.
+
+"Well, my lady, after their marriage, they came to my house to live,
+which this was the way of it; I had a three-story brick house on
+Westminster Road, and I took lodgers. But what between getting only a few
+lodgers, and them being bad pay, I got myself over head and ears in debt,
+and was in danger of being sold up by my creditors, when a certain
+person, as called hisself Mr. John Scott, come and took the whole house
+right offen my hands just as it was, and engaged me as his housekeeper,
+telling of me as he was just married, and was agoing to bring home his
+wife. Well, my lady, he advanced me money to pay my debts, and then he
+fetched Mrs. John Scott, which was no other than Rose Cameron, my lady,
+as I soon after found out from herself. Well, he fetches Mrs. John Scott
+to look at the first floor which he was agoing to refit complete for her,
+and according to her taste. Well, your ladyship, she, having of a very
+glarish sort of her own, she chooses furniture all scarlet and gold,
+enough to put your eyes out. And when all was fixed up onto that first
+floor, then he brought her home sure enough."
+
+Without lifting her face, Salome murmured some words in so low and
+smothered a tone that they were inaudible to her visitor.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady. What did you please to say?" inquired the woman,
+bending toward the bowed head of the bride.
+
+"I asked how long ago was it?" she repeated, in a faint voice.
+
+"Just about a year, my lady."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Well, then, my lady, first along he seemed very fond of her, seemed to
+doat on her, and loaded her with dresses, and trinkets, and sweetmeats,
+and nick-nacks of all sorts, and never came home without bringing of her
+something. And she never got anything very nice but what she would call
+me up and give me some; for she made quite a companion of me, my lady.
+But after a few weeks, Mr. John Scott was frequent away from home for
+days together. But this didn't trouble Mrs. John Scott much. I soon saw
+as she wasn't that deep in love with him as she couldn't live without
+him. And so he kept her well supplied with finery and dainties, or with
+the money to get them, he might go off as often, and stay as long as
+he liked. She lived an idle, easy, merry life, and frequent went to the
+play-house, and took me. 'And all was merry as a marriage bell,' as the
+old saying says, until this summer, when Mr. John Scott went off, and
+stayed longer then he ever stayed before. Well, my lady, while he was
+still away, one morning in last June, Mrs. John Scott takes up the
+_Times_ to look over. She didn't often look over the papers, and
+when she did it was only to see what was going to be played at the
+theatres. But _that_ morning her eyes happened to light down on
+something in the paper as put her into a perfect fury. She was so beside
+herself as to let out a good deal that she meant to have kept in. And by
+her own goings on I found out that it was the announcement of the
+marriage, that was to come off in two days at Lone Castle, between the
+young Marquis of Hereward and the daughter and heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, as had set her on fire. I tried my best to quiet her, and even
+asked her what it was to her? She said she would soon let 'em all know
+what it was to her. I begged her to explain. But she would give me no
+satisfaction. She seemed all cock-a-whoop, begging your ladyship's
+pardon, to go somewhere and do something. And that same night she packed
+her carpet-bag and off she went. I asked her what I should say to Mr.
+John Scott if he should come home before she did. And she told me never
+to mind. I shouldn't have any call to say anything. _She_ should
+see him before _I_ could. And so off she went that same night."
+
+"What night was that?" slowly and faintly breathed Salome, without
+lifting her fallen head.
+
+"Two nights before--before the marriage was to have been, my lady,"
+answered the woman, in a low and hesitating tone.
+
+"Proceed, please."
+
+"And now, my lady, I must tell you what happened at Lone, as I received
+it from her own lips this very morning, before I came here. She went down
+to Scotland by the night express of the Great Northern, and arrived at
+Lone early in the morning of the day before the wedding-day that should
+have been. She found great preparations going on for the marriage of the
+markis and the heiress. She went over to the castle with the crowd of the
+country people who gathered there to see the grand decorations for the
+wedding. But she saw nothing of the bride or of the bridegroom; and,
+moreover, she was warned off with threats by the servants of the castle.
+But at length, towards night-fall, my lady, she saw Mr. John Scott, as he
+called himself, hanging about the Hereward Arms, and she 'went for him,'
+as the saying is. But he drew her apart from the crowd. And there she
+charged him with perfidy, and threatened to appear at the church the next
+day with her marriage lines and forbid the banns. He did all he could to
+quiet her, said that she was deceived and mistaken, and that he could not
+marry any one, being already married to herself, and that if she would
+meet him that night at the castle, just under the balcony, near Malcolm's
+Tower, he would explain everything to her satisfaction."
+
+"_It was no dream, then!_ Oh, Heaven! it was no dream! And my own
+senses witness against him!" exclaimed Salome again, throwing up her face
+and hands with a cry of anguish, and then dropping them, as before, upon
+the table in an attitude of abject despair.
+
+"My lady, this is too much for you! too much!" said the compassionate
+woman, weeping over the distress she had caused.
+
+"No, no; go on, go on; I will hear it all. My own senses, pitying Heaven!
+my own senses bear witness to it," moaned Salome, in a smothered voice.
+
+"Ah, my lady, it grieves me deeply to go on, as you bid me. They met, Mr.
+John Scott, as he called himself, and Rose Cameron, at the time and place
+agreed on--at midnight at Castle Lone, under the balcony near Malcolm's
+Tower. And there, my lady, he repeated to her that he was not going to
+marry anybody, reminding her that he was already married to herself; and
+he explained that something would happen before morning, which would put
+all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage out of the heads of all
+parties concerned. And then he--"
+
+A groan of anguish burst from the almost breaking heart of the wretched
+bride, as she lifted a face convulsed and deathly white with her soul's
+great agony.
+
+"My lady! oh, my lady!" exclaimed the woman, in much alarm.
+
+"I heard it all! I heard it all!" cried Salome, as if speaking to herself
+and unconscious of the presence of a hearer. "I heard it all! I heard it
+all! Yea! my own senses were witnesses of my own dishonor and despair!"
+she groaned, as she threw her arms and her head violently forward upon
+the table.
+
+"My lady, for mercy's sake, my lady!" exclaimed the widow, standing up
+and bending over her.
+
+"Oh, what a hell! what a hell is this world we live in! And what devils
+walk to and fro upon the earth!--devils beautiful and deceitful as the
+fallen archangel himself!" moaned Salome, all unconscious of the words.
+
+"Ah, my dear lady, for goodness' sake, now don't talk so, that's a
+darling," coaxed the good woman.
+
+"DO NOT HEED ME! Go on! go on! Give me the death-blow at once,
+and have done with it!" cried Salome, lifting her blanched and writhen
+face and wringing hands, and then dashing them down again.
+
+The appalled visitor seemed stricken dumb.
+
+"Go on, go on," moaned the poor bride in a half smothered tone.
+
+"Lord help me! I have forgotten where I was! I wish it had befallen
+anybody but me to have this here hard duty to do! Where was I again? Ah!
+under the balcony. My lady, he told her to wait there for him until he
+came back. And he went away, and was gone an hour or more. Then he came
+back, and another man along of him. The night was so still, she heard
+them coming before they got in sight. And she heard them a talking in
+a low voice. And Mr. John Scott he seemed awful put out about something
+or other as the other man had done agin his orders. And he said, hoarse
+like, 'I wouldn't have had it done, no, not for all we have got by it!'
+And the other one said, 'It couldn't be helped. The old man squealed, and
+we had to squelch him.' Says Mr. John Scott: 'You've brought the curse of
+Cain upon me!' Says t'other one, 'It was chance. What's done is done,
+and can't be undone. What's past remedy is past regret. And what can't be
+cured must be endured. The old man squealed, and had to be squelched, or
+he'd have brought the house about our ears--'"
+
+"Oh, my father! my dear father! my poor, murdered father! And _you_!
+oh _you_! with the beauty and glory of the archangel, and the
+cruelty and deceit of the arch fiend, I can never look upon your face
+again--never! The sight would blast me like a flame of fire," raved
+Salome, throwing back her head, wringing her hands, and gasping as if
+for breath of life.
+
+"Ah, my dear lady, I know how hard it is! Pardon me, my lady, but I feel
+a mother's heart in my bosom for you. Try to be patient, sweet lady, and
+do not despair. You are so young yet, hardly more than a child you seem.
+You have a long life before you yet. And if you be good, as I am sure you
+will be, it will be a happy life, in which these early sorrows will pass
+away like morning mists," said the woman, soothingly.
+
+"Oh, never more for me will morning dawn! Eternal night rests on my soul!
+For myself I do not care! But, oh, my ruined archangel!" she wailed,
+burying her face in her hands.
+
+A dead silence fell between the two, until Salome, without changing her
+position, murmured;
+
+"Go on to the end; I will not interrupt you again. Oh, that I could wake
+from this night-mare!--or--expire in it! Go on and finish."
+
+"My lady, while the two men were speaking, they came in sight of the
+woman who was waiting under the balcony. Then Mr. John Scott says: 'Hush!
+my girl will hear us.' And they hushed, but it was too late--she had
+heard them. Mr. John Scott came up to her in a hurry, and put a small but
+heavy bag in her hand, saying that she must take it and take care of it,
+and never let it go out of her possession, and that she must hurry back
+to Lone Station and catch the midnight express train back to London, and
+that he himself would follow her, and join her at home the next night."
+
+"And all that, too, was proved--yes, proved by the mouths of two
+witnesses at the inquest, though they did not either of them recognize
+the man or the woman," moaned Salome.
+
+"Mrs. John Scott returned to my house about breakfast time the next
+morning, my lady, bringing that bag with her, which I noticed she
+wouldn't let out of her sight, no, nor even out of her hand, while I was
+near her. She wouldn't answer any of my questions, or give me any
+satisfaction then, even so far as to tell me where she had been, or if
+she had seen Mr. John Scott. So I knew nothing until the next morning,
+when I got the _Times_. I don't in general care about reading the
+papers myself, but opened it that morning to see if there was anything
+in it about the grand wedding at Lone. And oh! My lady, I saw how the
+wedding had been stopped on account of--on account--of what happened to
+Sir Lemuel Levison that night, my lady, as I don't like to talk of it,
+or even t think of it. But when Mrs. John Scott rang her bell that
+morning, my lady, I took up the paper with her cup of tea, which she
+always took in bed. And oh, my lady, when she came to know what had
+happened at Lone, she went off into the very worst hysterics I ever
+saw. I was struck all of a heap! I couldn't imagine why she should take
+it so awfully to heart as that. But that's neither here nor there. I know
+_now_ why she took it so to heart. In the midst of all the hubbub,
+Mr. John Scott returned. And she fairly flew at him! She said, among
+other bitter, things, that he would bring her to the gallows yet! And she
+charged him with what she had overheard. But somehow or other he laughed
+at her, and explained it all away to her satisfaction. He could always
+make her believe whatever he pleased. If he had told her the rainbow was
+only a few yards of striped Leamington ribbon, she would have believed
+him! He didn't stay more than an hour, and was off again in a hurry. We
+didn't see him again until the last of the week. It was the news of the
+coroner's verdict on the Lone murder case was telegraphed to London, when
+he came rushing in at the door and up the stairs like a mad-man. And in
+ten minutes he came rushing down stairs again and out of the street door
+like a madman, but he carried the heavy little bag off with him in his
+hand. And he has never been back since. But, from time to time, he wrote
+to her, and sent her money, and told her that business still kept him
+away. But, mind you, my lady, his letters were all without date or
+signature, and were drop letters, now from one London post-office, and
+now from another, so that she never knew where to address him.
+Not that she cared. As long as her money lasted she was, perfectly
+satisfied. She lived comfortably, and she amused herself, and often
+went to the play and took me with her, and all went merry again until
+yesterday, when, all on a sudden, the police made a descent on the house,
+and arrested Mrs. John Scott on a charge of being implicated in the
+robbery and murder at Castle Lone, and proceeded to search the house,
+where they found the watch-chain, snuff-box, and other valuable property
+belonging to the late Sir Lemuel Levison!"
+
+"Great Heaven! they found these things in the house rented by--by--"
+
+Salome could say no more, but ended with a groan that
+seemed to rend body and soul apart.
+
+"They found the stolen jewels there, my lady. My unhappy mistress denied
+all knowledge of them, but her words availed her nothing. She was carried
+off to prison that same night. This morning she was taken before the
+sitting magistrate, and examined, and remanded to prison, until she can
+be carried back to Scotland for trial. Neither she nor I know at what
+hour she may be removed, or by what train she may be taken to Scotland.
+She may be gone now, for aught I know."
+
+"Where is the poor creature now confined?" inquired Salome, in a dying
+voice.
+
+"In the Westminster police station-house, my lady, if she has not been
+already removed. But I must tell your ladyship--your grace, I mean--how I
+happen to come to you now. I was at the West End this morning, my lady,
+and in returning to the city I passed St. George's Church, Hanover
+Square, and I saw the pageant of your wedding. And when I got back to
+Westminster and looked into the station-house to see my unfortunate
+mistress, and to help her mind often her own troubles, I told her about
+the wedding of the Duke of Hereward with the heiress of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at St. George's Church, my lady. She went off into the most
+terrible fit of excitement I ever seen her in yet, and I have seen her in
+some considerable ones, now I do assure your ladyship. And in her raving
+and tearing, my lady, I first heerd that Mr. John Scott and the young
+Marquis of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward was all one and the same
+gentleman, and he was the lawful husband of Rose Cameron. My lady, I
+thought her troubles had turned her head, and so I did not believe a word
+she said. And, my lady, I do not expect _you_ to believe _me_
+without proof, any more than I believed _her_."
+
+"Oh, Heaven of Heavens! I have the proof! I have the proof in the
+evidence of my own senses, too fatally discredited until now. But if you
+have further proof, give it me at once," groaned Salome.
+
+"Here is the marriage certificate. Look at that first, my lady, if you
+please," said Mrs. Brown, putting the document in her hands.
+
+Salome gazed at it with beclouded vision, but she saw that it was a
+genuine certificate of marriage between Archibald-Alexander-John Scott,
+Marquis of Arondelle, and, Rose Cameron, signed by James Smith, Rector of
+St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, and witnessed by John Thomas Price,
+Sexton, and Ann Gray, Pew-opener.
+
+"The man must have been mad! mad! to have done this, in the first
+instance, and then--done what he has just this morning," moaned Salome,
+as she returned the certificate to the woman.
+
+"My lady, he thought as he had got Rose Cameron lagged, he would never be
+found out. Here, my lady, is the first letter he wrote to her after they
+were married. I reckon it is a foolish love-letter enough, not worth
+reading; but what I want you to notice is, his handwriting, and the way
+he commences his letter--'My Darling Wife,' and the way he ends it--'Your
+Devoted Husband, Arondelle.'"
+
+"I recognize the handwriting, and I note the signature. I do not wish to
+read the letter," muttered Salome, waving it away.
+
+"Well, then, my lady, here is a photograph of his grace, given to his
+wife a few days before their marriage," said the widow, offering a small
+card.
+
+Salome took it, looked at it, and dropped it with a long, low wail of
+anguish.
+
+It was a duplicate of one presented to herself by the Duke of Hereward,
+from the same negative.
+
+Silence again fell between the lady and her visitor until it was broken
+by a rap at the door, and the voice of the maid without, saying:
+
+"Beg pardon, your grace, but Lady Belgrade desires me to say that you
+have but fifteen minutes to catch the train."
+
+"Very well," replied the young duchess; but her voice sounded strangely
+unlike her own.
+
+"Your ladyship will not go on your bridal tour?" said the visitor,
+imploringly.
+
+"No, I shall not go on a bridal tour. How can I?--I am not a bride. I am
+not a wife. I am not the Duchess of Hereward. I am just Salome Levison,
+as I was before that false marriage ceremony was performed over me! But
+do you be discreet. Say nothing below stairs of what has passed between
+us here," said Salome, speaking now with such amazing self-control that
+no one could have guessed the anguish and despair of her soul but for the
+marble whiteness and rigidity of her face.
+
+"Be sure I shall not say one word, my lady," answered Mrs. Brown.
+
+There was another low rap at the door, and again the voice of the maid
+was heard:
+
+"Please your grace, what shall I say to Lady Belgrade?"
+
+"Tell her ladyship that I am nearly ready," answered the young duchess.
+"And, Margaret," she added, "show this good woman out. And then, do not
+return here until I ring."
+
+The visitor courtesied and went to the door, where she was met by the
+maid, who conducted her down stairs.
+
+Salome locked and double-locked and bolted the doors leading from
+her apartments to the front corridor, and then she retreated to her
+dressing-room, alone with her terrible trial.
+
+Who can conceive the mortal agony suffered by that young, overburdened
+heart and overtasked brain.
+
+Who can estimate the force of the conflict that raged in her bosom,
+between her passion and her conscience? Between her love and her duty?
+Between what she knew of her worshiped husband, from daily association,
+and what she had just heard proved upon him by overwhelming testimony,
+confirmed also by the evidence of her own too long discredited senses!
+
+He--her Apollo--her ideal of all manly excellence--her archangel, as in
+the infatuation of her passion she had called him--he a bigamist, and an
+accomplice in the murder of her father!
+
+It was incredible! incomprehensible! maddening!
+
+Or surely it was some awful nightmare dream, from which she must soon
+awake.
+
+What should she do? How meet again the people below?
+
+She would not look upon _his_ face again. She could not. She felt
+that to do so would be perdition.
+
+In the darkness of her despair a great temptation assailed her.
+
+But we must leave her alone to wrestle with the demon, while we join the
+wedding-party below.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+VANISHED.
+
+
+After the withdrawal of the bride and her attendant from the
+breakfast-table, the bridegroom and his friends remained a few moments
+longer, and then joined Lady Belgrade and the bridesmaids in the
+drawing-room.
+
+They passed some fifteen or twenty minutes in pleasant social chat upon
+the event of the morning, the state of the weather, and the political,
+financial, or fashionable topics of the day.
+
+In half an hour they felt disposed to yawn, and some surreptitiously
+consulted their watches.
+
+Then one of the bridesmaids, at the request of Lady Belgrade, sat down to
+the piano and condescended to favor the company with a very fine wedding
+march.
+
+Three quarters of an hour passed, and then the Baron Von Levison--(Paul
+Levison, the head of the great Berlin branch of the banking-house of
+"Levison," had been ennobled in Germany, as his brother had been knighted
+in England)--Baron Von Levison then inquired of the bridegroom what train
+he intended to take.
+
+"The tidal train, which leaves London Bridge Station at three-thirty,"
+answered the duke.
+
+"Then your grace should leave here in fifteen minutes, if you wish to
+catch that train," said the baron.
+
+The bridegroom spoke aside to Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Had we not better send and see if Salome is ready? We have but little
+time to lose."
+
+"Yes," said her ladyship, who immediately rang the bell, and dispatched
+a message to the young duchess's dressing-maid.
+
+A few minutes elapsed, and an answer was returned to the effect that her
+grace would be ready in time to catch the train.
+
+The travelling carriage was at the door, and all the lighter luggage,
+such as dressing-bags, extra shawls and umbrellas, were put in it.
+
+And they waited full fifteen minutes, without seeing or hearing from the
+loitering bride.
+
+"I will go up to Salome myself," said Lady Belgrade, impatiently.
+
+"No, pray do not hurry her; if we miss this train we can take the next,
+and though we cannot catch the night-boat from Dover to Calais, we can
+stop at the 'Lord Warden' and cross the Channel to-morrow morning,"
+urged the duke.
+
+"At least I will send another message to her, and let her know that the
+time is more than up," said her ladyship.
+
+And again she rang the bell and sent a servant with a message to the
+lady's maid.
+
+Full ten minutes passed, and then Margaret, the maid, came herself to the
+drawing-room door, begged pardon for her intrusion, and asked to speak
+with Lady Belgrade.
+
+Lady Belgrade went out to her.
+
+"What is it? The time is up! This delay is perfectly disgraceful. They
+will never be able to catch the tidal train now--never!" said her
+ladyship in a displeased tone.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I am afraid something has happened," said the
+girl, in a frightened tone.
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired the dowager, sharply.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I went up and found all the doors leading from
+the corridor into her grace's suite of apartments locked fast. I knocked
+and called, at first softly, then loudly, but received no answer. I
+listened, my lady, but I heard no sound nor motion in the rooms."
+
+"I will go up myself," said Lady Belgrade, uneasily.
+
+And she hurried, as fast as her age and her size would permit, to the
+part of the house comprising the apartments of the duchess. Three doors
+opened from the corridor, relatively, into the boudoir, bed-room, and
+dressing-room, which were also connected by communicating doors within.
+
+Lady Belgrade rapped and called at each in succession, but in vain. There
+was no response.
+
+"She has fainted in her room! That is what has happened! This day of
+fatigue and excitement has been too much for her, in the delicate state
+of her health. Every one noticed how ill she looked when she came up
+stairs. Margaret, there is a back door, you are aware, leading from your
+lady's bath-room down to the flower garden. Go around and go up the back
+stairs and see if that door is open--if so, enter the rooms by it and
+open this," said her ladyship, never ceasing, while she talked, to rap
+at and shake the door at which she stood.
+
+Margaret flew to obey, and made such good haste, that in about two
+minutes she was heard within the rooms hurrying to open the closed door.
+In two seconds bolts were withdrawn, keys turned, and the door was
+opened.
+
+"How is she?" quickly demanded the dowager, as she stepped into the
+dressing-room.
+
+"My lady, I haven't seen her grace. If you please, perhaps she is in her
+chamber," replied the maid.
+
+Lady Belgrade bustled into the bed-room, looking all around for the
+bride, then into the boudoir, calling on her name.
+
+"Salome! Salome, my dear! Where are you?" No answer; all in the luxurious
+rooms still and silent as the grave.
+
+"This is very strange! She _may_ be in the garden," said her
+ladyship, passing quickly into the bath-room, and descending the stairs
+that led directly into a small flower-garden enclosed by high walls.
+
+The garden was now dead and sear in the late October frost. No sign of
+the missing girl was there.
+
+"This is very strange! Can she have gone down into the drawing-room,
+after all? I will see. There is no possibility of catching the tidal
+train now. It is already three o'clock; the train leaves London Bridge
+Station at three thirty, and it is a good hour's ride from Kensington!"
+said Lady Belgrade, speaking more to herself than to her attendant, as
+she came out of the rooms.
+
+"Shall I go through the house and inquire if any one has seen her grace,
+my lady?" respectfully suggested Margaret.
+
+"Yes; but first shut and lock that garden door of your lady's bath-room.
+It is not safe to leave it open," replied Lady Belgrade, as she again
+descended the stairs.
+
+As she entered the drawing-room, the young Duke of Hereward came to meet
+her.
+
+"I hope nothing is the matter. Salome was not looking strong this
+morning. And this delay? I trust that she is well?" he said, in an
+anxious, inquiring tone.
+
+"Salome is not in her apartments. I have sent a servant to seek her
+through the house. Her delay has made you miss the train, your grace,"
+said Lady Belgrade, in visible annoyance.
+
+"That does not much matter, so that the delay has not been caused by her
+indisposition," said the young duke, earnestly.
+
+"No indisposition could possibly excuse such eccentricity of conduct at
+such a time. Salome is moving somewhere about the house, according to her
+crazy custom," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I really cannot hear that sweet girl so cruelly maligned, even by her
+aunt," said the duke, with a deprecating smile.
+
+As they spoke, the Baron Von Levison appeared and said:
+
+"I should have been very glad to have seen you off, duke, and to have
+thrown a metaphorical old shoe after you; but your bride seems to have
+taken so long to tie her bonnet strings, that she has made you miss your
+train. And now you can't go until the night express, and I really can't
+wait to see you off by that. I have an appointment at the Bank of England
+at four. God bless you, my dear duke. Make my adieux to my niece, and
+tell her that if the men of her family had been as unpunctual as the
+women seem to be, they never would have established banks all over
+Europe."
+
+And with a hearty shake of the bridegroom's hand, and a deep bow to Lady
+Belgrade, the Baron Von Levison took leave.
+
+His example was followed by the bishop and the rector, who now came up
+and expressed regret at the inconvenience the bridegroom would experience
+by having missed his train, but agreed that it was much better to know
+that fact before starting for it, and having the long drive to London
+Bridge Station and back again for nothing. And they extolled the comfort
+of the night express, and the elegance of accommodations to be found at
+the Lord Warden Hotel. And upon the whole, they concluded that his grace
+had not missed much, after all, in missing the "tidal."
+
+Then again they wished much happiness to attend the married life of the
+young couple, and so bade adieux and departed.
+
+There now remained of the wedding guests only the two bridesmaids and the
+groomsmen.
+
+These were grouped near one of the bay-windows, and engaged in a subdued
+conversation.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade still stood near the door, waiting
+for news of the lingering bride.
+
+To them, at length, came the maid, Margaret, with pallid face and
+frightened air.
+
+"If you please, my lady, we have searched all over the house and inquired
+of everybody in it. But no one has seen her grace, nor can she be found."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE LOST LADY OF LONE.
+
+
+"Cannot be found? Whatever do you mean, girl? You cannot mean to say
+that the Duchess of Hereward is not in this house?" demanded Lady
+Belgrade, in amazement.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady; but we have made a thorough search of the
+premises, without being able to find her grace," respectfully answered
+the maid.
+
+"Oh, but this is ridiculous! The duchess is in some of the rooms; she
+must be! Go and renew your search, and tell her grace, when you find her,
+that she has made the duke miss the tidal train; but that we are waiting
+for her here," commanded the lady.
+
+The girl went, very submissively, on her errand.
+
+Lady Belgrade dropped wearily into her chair, muttering:
+
+"I do think servants are so idiotic. They can't find her because she
+happens to be out of her own room. I would go and hunt her up myself, but
+really the fatigue of this day has been too much for me."
+
+The Duke of Hereward did not reply. He walked restlessly up and down the
+floor, filled with a vague uneasiness, for which he could not account to
+himself--for surely, he reflected, Salome must be in the house somewhere;
+it could not possibly be otherwise; and there were a dozen simple reasons
+why she might be missed for a few minutes; doubtless she would soon
+appear, and smile at their impatience.
+
+Ay, but the minutes were fast growing into hours, and Salome did not
+re-appear.
+
+The maid returned once more from her fruitless search.
+
+"Indeed, I beg your pardon, my lady; but we cannot find her grace, either
+in the house or in the garden," she said, with a very solemn courtesy.
+
+"Now this is really beyond endurance! I suppose I must go and look for
+her myself," answered Lady Belgrade, rising in displeasure.
+
+"Will you let me accompany your ladyship?" gravely inquired the duke.
+
+Lady Belgrade hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
+
+"Well,--yes, you may come. We will go down stairs first."
+
+They descended to the first floor, and went through the dining-room,
+sitting-room, library and little parlors; but without finding her they
+sought.
+
+Then they ascended to the next floor and went through the
+picture-gallery, the music-room, the dancing-saloon, the hall, and
+lastly, the three drawing-rooms, in case that she might have returned
+there while they were absent. But their search was still without success.
+
+Then they ascended to the upper floors, and looked all through the
+handsome suites of private apartments, but still without discovering
+a trace of the missing bride.
+
+And so all over the house, from basement to attic, and from central hall
+to garden wall, they went searching in vain for the lost one.
+
+The dowager and the duke returned to the drawing-room and looked each
+other in the face.
+
+The dowager was stupefied with bewilderment. The duke was pale with
+anxiety.
+
+The mystery was growing serious and alarming.
+
+"What do you think of it, Lady Belgrade?" inquired the duke.
+
+"I cannot think at all. I am at my wit's end," answered the lady. "What
+do _you_ think?" she inquired, after a moment's pause.
+
+"I think--that we had better call the servants up, one at a time, and put
+them separately through a strict examination," answered the duke.
+
+Lady Belgrade rang the bell.
+
+A footman appeared in answer to it.
+
+"Examine him first, your grace," said the lady.
+
+The duke put the young man through a strict catechism, without
+satisfactory results. John was the hall footman, whose business it was
+to answer the street-door bell and announce visitors. And he assured
+his grace that no one had entered or left the house that morning, to
+_his_ knowledge, except the wedding party and their attendants.
+
+The hall-porter was next summoned and examined, and his report was found
+to correspond exactly to that of the footman.
+
+The butler was sent for and questioned, but could throw no light on the
+mystery of the lady's disappearance.
+
+The pantry footman was next called up. His duty was to wait on the butler
+and attend the servants' door, to take in provisions delivered there. And
+the first plausible clue to the mystery of Salome's disappearance was
+received from him.
+
+"Yes, my lady," he said, "there have been a stranger to the servants'
+door this morning--an elderly old widow woman, my lady, dressed in black,
+and werry much in earnest about seeing her grace; would take no denial,
+my lady, on no account; which compelled me to go to her grace's
+lady's-maid, Miss Watson, my lady, and send a message to her grace,"
+said the young footman.
+
+"Did the duchess see this strange visitor?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Miss Watson come down and seen her first, your grace, and told her how
+she mustn't disturb the duchess. But the visitor was so dead set on
+seeing her grace, and used such strong language about it, that at last
+Miss Watson took up her message and in a few minutes come back and took
+up the visitor."
+
+"She did? And what next?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Please, my lady, there was nothing next. In about an hour Miss Margaret
+brought the elderly old lady down, and I showed her out of the servants'
+door."
+
+"Did she leave the house alone?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Yes, your grace, just as she came, alone."
+
+"Go and tell Margaret Watson to come here," said Lady Belgrade.
+
+The man bowed and retired.
+
+In a few minutes the girl made her appearance again.
+
+"How is it, Watson, that you did not mention the visitor you showed up
+into your lady's room this morning?" inquired Lady Belgrade, in a severe
+tone.
+
+"If you please, my lady, I did not think the visitor signified anything,"
+meekly answered the maid.
+
+"How could you tell _what_ signified at a time like this?"
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady; but it was the time itself that made me forget
+the visitor."
+
+"Who was she? What time did she come? What did she want?" sharply
+demanded the lady.
+
+"Please, my lady, she said her name was Smith, or Jones, or some such
+common name as that. I think it was Jones, my lady. And she lived on
+Westminster Road--or it might have been Blackfriars Road. Least-ways
+it was one of those roads leading to a bridge because I remember it made
+me think of the river."
+
+"Extremely satisfactory! At what hour did this Mrs. Smith or Jones, from
+Westminster or Blackfriars, come?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Just as her grace went up to her room to change her dress. She had just
+finished changing it when the woman was admitted."
+
+"And now! what did the woman want of the duchess?"
+
+"I do not know, my lady. Her business was with her grace alone. And she
+requested to have me sent out of the room. I did not see the woman again,
+until her grace called me to show her, the woman, out again."
+
+"And you did so?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. And I have not seen the woman since. And--I have not seen
+her grace since, either, my lady."
+
+"You may go now," answered Lady Belgrade.
+
+And the girl withdrew.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade were once more left alone
+together.
+
+Again their eyes met in anxious scrutiny.
+
+"What do you think now, Duke?" inquired her ladyship.
+
+"I think the disappearance of the duchess is connected with the visit of
+that strange woman. She may have been an unfortunate beggar, who, with
+some story of extreme distress, so worked upon Salome's sympathies as to
+draw her away from home, to see for herself, and give relief to the
+sufferers. Or--I shudder to think of it--she may have been a thief, or
+the companion of thieves, and with just such a story, decoyed the duchess
+out for purposes of plunder. This does not certainly seem to be a
+probable theory of the disappearance, but it does really seem the only
+possible one," concluded the duke, in a grave voice.
+
+And though he spoke calmly, his soul was shaken with a terrible anxiety
+that every moment now increased.
+
+"But is it at all likely that Salome, even with all her excessive
+benevolence, could have been induced to leave her home at such a time
+as this, even at the most distressing call of charity? Would she not
+have given money and sent a servant?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"Under normal conditions she would have done as you say. But remember,
+dear madam, that Salome is not in a normal condition. Remember that it is
+but three months since she suffered an almost fatal nervous shock in the
+discovery of her father's murdered body on her own wedding morning.
+Remember that it is scarcely six weeks since her recovery from the nearly
+fatal brain fever that followed--if indeed she has ever fully recovered.
+_I_ do not believe that she has, or that she will until I shall have
+taken her abroad, when total change of scene, with time and distance, may
+restore her," sighed the duke.
+
+"I thought she was looking very well for the last few weeks," said Lady
+Belgrade.
+
+"Yes, until within the last few days, in which she seems to have
+suffered a relapse, easily accounted for, I think, by the association
+of ideas. The near approach of her wedding day brought vividly back to
+her mind the tragic events of her first appointed wedding morning, and
+caused the illness that has been noticed by all our friends this day. The
+excitement of the occasion has augmented this illness. Salome has been
+suffering very much all day. Every one noticed it, although, with the
+self-possession of a gentlewoman, she went calmly through the ceremonies
+at the church, and through the breakfast here. But I think she must
+have broken down in her room, and while in that state of nervous
+prostration she must have become an easy dupe to that beggar, or thief,
+whichever her strange visitor may have been," said the duke; and while
+he spoke so calmly on such an anxious and exciting subject, he, too,
+under circumstances of extreme trial and suspense, exhibited the
+self-possession and self-control which is the birthright of the true
+gentleman no less than of the true gentlewoman.
+
+"It may be as you think. It would be no use to question the servants
+further. They know no more than we do. We can do nothing more now but
+wait, with what patience we may, for the return of that eccentric girl,"
+said Lady Belgrade, with a deep sigh, as she settled herself down in her
+chair.
+
+Another hour passed--an hour of enforced inactivity, yet of unspeakable
+anxiety. Three hours had now elapsed since the mysterious disappearance
+of the bride; and yet no news of her came.
+
+"She does not return! This grows insupportable!" exclaimed Lady Belgrade,
+at length, losing all patience, and starting up from her chair.
+
+"She _may_ be detained by the sick bed, or the death bed, of some
+sufferer who has sent for her," replied the duke, huskily, trying to hope
+against hope.
+
+"As if she would so absent herself on her wedding day, on the eve of her
+wedding tour!" exclaimed the lady, beginning to walk the floor in a
+thoroughly exasperated state of mind.
+
+"Of course she would not, in her normal mental condition; but, as I said
+before--"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know what you said before. You insinuated that Salome may be
+insane from the latent effects of her recent brain fever, developed by
+the excitement of the last few days. And, Heaven knows, you may be right!
+It looks like it! Mysteriously gone off on her wedding day, in the
+interim between the wedding breakfast and the wedding tour! Gone off
+alone, no one knows where, without having left an explanation or a
+message for any one. What can have taken her out? Where can she be? Why
+don't she return? And night coming on fast. If she does not return within
+half an hour, you will miss the next train also, Duke," exclaimed Lady
+Belgrade, pausing in her restless walk, and throwing herself heavily into
+her chair again.
+
+"Perhaps," said the Duke, in great perplexity, "we had better have the
+lady's maid up again, and question her more strictly in regard to the
+strange visitor's name and address; for I feel certain that the
+disappearance of the duchess is immediately connected with the visit of
+that woman. If we can, by judicious questions, so stimulate the memory of
+the girl as to obtain accurate information about the name and residence,
+we can send and make inquiries."
+
+For all answer, Lady Belgrade arose and rung the bell for about the
+twentieth time that afternoon.
+
+And Margaret Watson was again called to the drawing-room and questioned.
+
+"Indeed, if you please, my lady, I am very sorry. I would give anything
+in the world if I could only remember exactly what the old person's name
+was, and where she lived. But indeed, my lady, what with being very
+much engaged with waiting on her grace, and packing up the last little
+things for the journey, and getting together the dressing-bags and such
+like, and having of my mind on them and not on the woman, and no ways
+expecting anything like this to happen, I wasn't that interested in the
+visitor to tax my memory with her affairs. But I know her name was a
+common one, like Smith or Jones, and I _think_ it was Jones. And I
+know she said she lived on Westminster Road or Blackfriars Road, or some
+other road leading over a bridge, which I remember because it made me
+think about the river. But I couldn't tell which," said the girl in
+answer to the cross-questioning.
+
+"And is that all you can tell us?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
+
+"I beg pardon, my lady, but that is all I can remember," meekly replied
+the girl.
+
+"Then you might as well remember nothing. You can go!" said Lady
+Belgrade, in deep displeasure.
+
+The girl retired, a little crestfallen.
+
+"Is there any other fool you would like to have called up and
+cross-examined, Duke?" sarcastically inquired the lady.
+
+The duke made a gesture of negation. And the lady relapsed into painful
+silence.
+
+And now another weary, weary hour crept by without bringing news of the
+lost one.
+
+The watchers seemed to "possess their souls" in patience, if not "in
+peace." There was really nothing to be done but to wait. There was no
+place where inquiries could be made. At this time of the year nearly all
+the fashionable world of London was out of town. Nor at any time had
+Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone. Nor would
+it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help
+to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment.
+
+The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible
+anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring
+forth.
+
+But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine
+continues, "in well regulated families," through the most revolutionary
+sort of domestic troubles.
+
+The first dinner bell had rung; but neither of the anxious watchers had
+even heard it.
+
+The groom of the chambers came in and lighted the gas in the
+drawing-rooms, and retired in silence.
+
+Still the watchers sat waiting in a state of intense, repressed
+excitement.
+
+The second dinner bell rang. And almost immediately the butler appeared
+at the door, and announced, with his formula:
+
+"My lady is served," and then:
+
+"Will your grace join me at dinner?" courteously inquired Lady Belgrade,
+thinking at the same time of the unparalleled circumstance of the
+bridegroom dining without his bride upon his wedding day--"Will your
+grace join me at dinner?" she repeated, perceiving that he had not heard,
+or at least had not answered her question.
+
+"I beg pardon. Pray, excuse me, your ladyship. I am really not equal--"
+
+"I see! I see! Nor am I equal to going through what, at best, would be
+a mere form," said her ladyship. Then turning toward the waiting butler,
+she said--"Remove the service, Sillery. We shall not dine to-day."
+
+The man bowed and withdrew.
+
+And the two watchers, whose anxiety was fast growing into insupportable
+anguish, waited still, for still, as yet, they could do nothing else but
+wait and control themselves.
+
+"Your grace has missed the last train," said Lady Belgrade, at length, as
+the little cuckoo clock on the mantel shelf struck ten.
+
+"Yes the night express leaves London Bridge station for Dover at
+ten-thirty, and it is a full hour's drive from Kensington," replied the
+duke.
+
+And both secretly thanked fortune that the wedding guests had all
+departed before the bride's mysterious absence from the house at such
+a time had become known; and they knew not but that "the happy pair
+had left by the tidal train for Dover, _en route_ for their
+continental tour,"--as per wedding programme. And both silently hoped
+that the household servants would not talk.
+
+The time crept wearily on. The clock struck eleven.
+
+"I cannot endure this frightful suspense one moment longer! I never heard
+of such a case in all the days of my life! A bride to vanish away on her
+bridal day! Duke of Hereward you are her husband! WHAT IS TO BE
+DONE?" exclaimed Lady Belgrade, starting up from her seat and giving
+full sway to all the repressed excitement of the last few hours.
+
+"My dear lady," said the duke, controlling his own emotions by a strong
+effort of will, and speaking with a calmness he did not feel--"My dear
+lady, the first thing you should do, should be to command yourself.
+Listen to me, dear Lady Belgrade. I have waited here in constrained
+quietness, hoping for our Salome's return from moment to moment, and
+fearing to expose her to gossip by any indiscreet haste in seeking her
+abroad. But I can wait no longer. I must commence the search abroad at
+once. I shall go immediately to a skillful detective, whom I know from
+reputation, and put the case in his hands. What seems to us so alarming
+and incomprehensible, may be to a man of his experience simple and clear
+enough. We are too near the fact to see it truly in its proper light.
+This man I understand to be faithful and discreet, one who may be
+intrusted with the investigation of the most delicate affairs. I will
+employ him immediately, in the confidence that no publicity will be given
+to this mystery. In the meanwhile, my dear Lady Belgrade, I counsel you
+to call the household servants all together. Do not inform them of the
+nature of my errand out, but caution them to silence and discretion as to
+the absence of their lady. You will allow me to confide this trust to
+you?"
+
+"Assuredly, Duke! And let me tell you that these servants are all so
+idolatrously devoted to their mistress, that they would never breathe, or
+suffer to be breathed in their presence, one syllable that could, in the
+remotest degree, reflect upon her dignity," said the lady.
+
+"I will return within an hour, madam," replied the duke, as he bowed and
+left the room.
+
+He went directly to the nearest police station at Church Court,
+Kensington.
+
+He asked to see Detective Collinson of the force.
+
+Fortunately, Detective Collinson was at the office, and soon made his
+appearance.
+
+The duke asked for a private interview.
+
+The detective invited him to sit down in an empty side-room.
+
+There the duke put the case of the missing lady in his hands, giving him
+all the circumstances supposed to be connected with her disappearance.
+
+The detective exhibited not the slightest surprise at the hearing of this
+unprecedented story, nor did he express any opinion. Detectives never are
+surprised at anything that may happen at any time to anybody, nor have
+they ever any opinions to venture in advance.
+
+Mr. Collinson said he would take the case and give it his undivided
+attention, but would promise nothing else.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, obliged to be contented with this answer, arose to
+leave the room. In passing out he met the chief, who had not been present
+when he first entered.
+
+"Oh, I beg your grace's pardon, but I consider this meeting very
+fortunate," said that officer, respectfully touching his hat.
+
+"Upon what ground?" gravely inquired the duke.
+
+"Your grace is wanted as a witness for the Crown, on the trial of John
+Potts and Rose Cameron, charged with the murder of the late Sir Lemuel
+Levison. The girl, who was arrested at a house in Westminster Road a few
+days ago, has been sent down to Scotland, and the trial will commence, on
+the day after to-morrow, at the Assizes now open at Bannff. But,
+according to the newspaper report, we thought your grace to be now on
+your way to Paris, and we were just about to dispatch a special messenger
+to you. So your grace will perceive how fortunate this meeting turns out
+to be."
+
+"Yes, I perceive," said the duke, dryly.
+
+"And your grace will not be inconvenienced, I hope," said the chief, as
+he bowed and placed a folded paper in the duke's hand.
+
+It was a subpoena commanding the recipient, under certain pains and
+penalties, to render himself at the Town Hall of Bannff as a witness for
+the Crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts, alias Abraham Peters,
+and Rose Cameron.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS
+
+
+When the emissary of Rose Cameron had gone, the young Duchess of
+Hereward, in a whirlwind of long-repressed excitement, slammed, locked
+and bolted all the doors leading from her apartments into the hall, and
+then fled into her dressing-room and cast herself head long down upon the
+floor in the collapse of utter, infinite despair--despair in all its
+depth of darkness, without its benumbing calmness!
+
+Her soul was shaken by a tempest of warring passions! Amazement,
+indignation, grief, horror, raged through her agonized bosom!
+
+It was well that no human eye beheld her in this deep degradation of woe!
+For in the madness of her anguish, she rolled on the floor, and tore the
+clothing from her shoulders and the dark hair from her head! She uttered
+such groans and cries as are seldom heard on this earth--such as perhaps
+fill the murky atmosphere of hell. She impiously called on Heaven to
+strike her dead as she lay! She was indeed on the very brink of raving
+insanity.
+
+There was but one thought that held her reason on its throne--the
+necessity of immediate flight and escape--escape from the man whom she
+had just vowed at the altar to love, honor, and obey until death--the man
+whom she had worshiped as an archangel!
+
+The man?--the fiend, rather!
+
+What had she just now found him proved to be?
+
+Yes _proved_ to be, beyond the merciful possibility of a saving
+doubt!--proved to be by the most overwhelming and convicting testimony,
+corroborated also by the evidence of her own eyes and ears, too long
+discredited for his sake.
+
+Her eyes had seen him lurking stealthily in the dark hall, near her
+father's bedroom door, late on the night of that father's murder. She had
+spoken to him, and at the sound of her voice he had shrunk silently out
+of sight.
+
+Yet she had discredited the evidence of her own eyes, and persuaded
+herself that she had been the subject of an optical illusion.
+
+Her ears had heard a part of his midnight conversation with his female
+confederate under the balcony--had heard his prediction that something
+would happen that night to prevent the marriage that he promised her
+should never take place--a prediction so awfully fulfilled in the morning
+by the discovery of the dead body of her murdered father! She had fainted
+at the sound of his voice, uttering such treacherous and cruel words;
+yet on her return to consciousness she had disbelieved the evidence of
+her own ears, and convinced herself that she had been the victim of a
+nightmare dream!
+
+Yes! she had disallowed the direct evidence of her own senses rather
+than believe such diabolical wickedness of her idol! But now the
+evidence of her own eyes and ears was corroborated by the most
+complete and convincing testimony--the conversation under the balcony,
+as reported by Rose Cameron's messenger, corresponded exactly with the
+conversation overheard by herself at the time and place it was said to
+have occurred, but which she dismissed from her mind as an evil dream!
+This corroborating testimony proved it to be an atrocious reality! And
+the man to whom she had given her hand that morning was an accomplice
+in the murder of her father! unintentionally perhaps, for the witness
+testified to the horror he expressed on learning from his confederate
+that a murder had been committed: "The old man squealed and we had to
+squelch him!" How she shuddered at the memory of these horrible words!
+
+But this man was not her husband, after all! Although a marriage ceremony
+had been performed between them by a bishop, he was not her husband, but
+the husband of Rose Cameron. She had overwhelming and convincing proof of
+this also!
+
+The letters written to Rose Cameron, calling her his dear wife, and
+signing himself her devoted husband "Arondelle," were in the handwriting
+of the Duke of Hereward! She could have sworn to that handwriting,
+under any circumstances.
+
+And the photograph shown as the likeness of Rose Cameron's husband, was a
+duplicate of one in her own possession, given her by the duke himself.
+
+And, above all, the certificate of marriage between them, signed by the
+officiating clergyman and witnessed by the officers of the church, was
+unquestionably genuine, regular, and legal!
+
+No! there was not one merciful doubt to found a hope of his innocence
+upon! It was amazing, stupefying, annihilating, but it was true. Her idol
+was a fiend, glorious in personal beauty, diabolical in spirit, as the
+fallen archangel Lucifer, Son of the Morning!
+
+He was deeply, atrociously, insanely guilty!
+
+Yes, insanely! for how could he have acted so recklessly, as well as so
+criminally, if he had not been insane? Would he not have known that swift
+discovery and disgrace were sure to follow the almost open commission
+of such base crimes? And if no feeling of honor or conscience could have
+deterred him, would not the fear of certain consequences have done so?
+
+_His_ insanity was _her_ only rational theory of the case! But
+his supposed insanity did not vindicate him to her pure and just mind.
+For he was not an insane _man_ so much as an insane devil! He had
+only been mad in his recklessness, not in his crimes.
+
+Then quickly through her storm-tossed soul passed the thought that both
+sacred and profane history recorded instances of crimes committed by
+righteous and honorable men. Amazing truth! She remembered the piety and
+the _sin_ of David, when he stole the wife of Uriah, and betrayed
+that loyal servant and brave soldier to a treacherous and bloody death!
+She remembered the loyalty and the _treason_ of that chivalrous
+young Scottish prince who headed a fratricidal rebellion, in which his
+father and his king was slain, and who, as James IV., lived a life of
+remorse and penance, until, in his turn, he was slain on the fatal field
+of Flodden. She thought of these, and other instances, in which it might
+seem as if an angel and a devil lived together, animating one man's body.
+This would, of course, produce inconsistency of conduct, insanity of
+mind.
+
+But among all the harrowing thoughts that hurried through her tortured
+mind, one feeling was predominant--the necessity of instant flight. There
+was no other cause for her to pursue. The bridal train was awaiting her
+down stairs. Soon they would send to summon her again. How could she meet
+them? What could she say to them? How could she ever look upon the face
+of the Duke of Hereward and _live_?
+
+She must fly at once. No, there was no time to write a note and leave it
+pinned on her dressing-table cushion. Besides, what could she say in her
+note? Nothing; or nothing that she would say.
+
+She must go and make no sign. She forced herself to rise from the floor
+and commence hurried preparations for immediate flight.
+
+In all the tumult of her soul, some intuition guided her through her
+hasty arrangements to take the most effectual means to elude pursuit and
+baffle discovery.
+
+She took off her handsome mourning dress of black silk and crape that she
+had put on to travel in, and she packed it, with the black felt hat,
+vail, sack and gloves that belonged to the suit, in one of her trunks,
+which she carefully locked.
+
+Then from some receptacle of her left-off colored dresses, she selected
+a dark-gray silk suit, with sack, hat, vail and gloves to match. And in
+that she dressed herself.
+
+Then she reflected.
+
+"They will think that I went away in my mourning dress, which they will
+miss. If they describe me, they will describe a lady in deep mourning. If
+any one comes in pursuit, they will look for a young woman in black,
+and pass me by, because I shall wear gray and keep my vail down."
+
+Then she concealed in her bosom all the cash she had in hand, being about
+fifteen hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, which she had previously
+drawn out for her own private uses during her bridal tour. This she
+thought would go far to meet the unknown expenses of her future. She also
+took her diamonds. She might have to sell them, she thought, for support.
+
+Then, when she was quite ready, dressed in the dark gray suit, sack, hat,
+vail and gloves, and with a small valise in her hand, she went into her
+bath-room, and to the back door at the head of the private stairs leading
+down to the little garden of roses that was her own favorite bower.
+
+She watched for a few seconds, to be sure that no one was in sight, and
+then she slipped swiftly down the stairs and crossed the garden to a
+narrow back door, which she quickly opened and passed through, shutting
+it after her. It closed with a spring and cut off her re-entrance there,
+even if she had been disposed to turn back.
+
+But she was not.
+
+She glanced nervously up and down the lane at the back of the garden
+wall, but saw no one there.
+
+Then she walked rapidly away, and turned into a narrow street, keeping
+her gray vail doubled over her face all the time.
+
+She purposely lost herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, getting
+farther and farther from her home, before she ventured near a cab-stand.
+
+At length she hailed a closed cab, engaged it, entered it, closed all
+the blinds, and directed the driver to take her to the Brighton, Dover,
+and South Coast Railway Station at London Bridge, and promised him a
+half-sovereign if he would catch the next train.
+
+Yes! after a few moments of rapid reflection, as to whither she would go,
+she resolved to leave London by that very same tidal-train on which she
+and her husband were to have commenced their bridal tour, for there, of
+all places, she felt that she would be safest from pursuit; that, of all
+directions, would be the last in which they would think of seeking her!
+
+And while they should be waiting and watching for her at Elmhurst House,
+she would be speeding towards the sea coast, and by the time they should
+discover her flight, she would be on the Channel, _en voyage_ for
+Calais.
+
+Beyond this she had no settled plan of action. She did not know where she
+would go, or what she should do, on reaching France.
+
+She only longed, with breathless anxiety, to fly from England, from the
+Duke of Hereward, and all the horrors connected with him. She felt that
+she was not his wife, could never have been his wife, and that the
+mockery of a marriage ceremony, which had been performed for them by the
+Bishop of London that morning, at St. George's Hanover Square, had made
+the duke a felon and not a husband!
+
+If she should remain in England she might even be called upon, in the
+course of events, to take a part in his prosecution. And guilty as she
+believed him to be, she could not bring herself to do that!
+
+No! she must fly from England and conceal herself on the Continent!
+
+But where?
+
+She knew not as yet!
+
+Her mind was in a fever of excitement when she reached London Bridge.
+
+She paid and discharged her cab, giving the driver the promised half
+sovereign for catching the train.
+
+Then, with her thick vail folded twice over her pale face, and her little
+valise in her hand, she went into the station, made her way to the office
+and bought a first-class ticket.
+
+Then she went to the train, and stopping before one of the first
+carriages called a guard to unlock the door and let her enter.
+
+"Oh, you can't have a seat in this compartment, Miss," said a somewhat
+garrulous old guard, coming up to her. "This whole carriage is reserved
+for a wedding party--the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, as were married
+this morning, and their graces' retinue, which they are expected to
+arrive every minute, Miss. But you can have a seat in _this_ one,
+Miss. It is every bit as good as the other," concluded the old man,
+leading the way to a lady's carriage some yards in advance.
+
+"Reserved for a wedding party--reserved for the Duke and Duchess of
+Hereward and their retinue!"
+
+How her heart fainted, almost unto death, with a new sense of infinite
+disappointment and regret at what might have been and what was! Reserved
+for the Duke and Duchess of Hereward! Ah, Heaven!
+
+"Here you are, Miss!" said the guard, opening the door of an empty
+carriage.
+
+"How long will it be before the train starts?" inquired the fugitive in
+a low voice.
+
+The guard looked at his big silver watch and answered:
+
+"Time'll be up in three minutes, Miss."
+
+"But if the--the--wedding party should not arrive before that?"
+hesitatingly inquired Salome.
+
+"Train starts all the same, Miss! Can't even wait for dukes and
+duchesses. 'Gin the law!" answered the old guard, as he touched his
+hat and closed and locked the door.
+
+Salome sank back in her deeply-cushioned seat, thankful, at least, that
+she was alone in the carriage.
+
+And in three minutes the tidal train started.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+SALOME'S REFUGE.
+
+
+Salome was scarcely sane. Married that morning, with the approval and
+congratulations of all her friends, by one of the most venerable fathers
+of the church, to one of the most distinguished young noblemen in the
+peerage, who was also the sole master of her heart, and--
+
+Flying from her bridegroom this afternoon as from her worst and most
+hated enemy!
+
+She could not realize her situation at all.
+
+All seemed a horrible nightmare dream, from which she was powerless to
+arouse herself; in which she was compelled to act a painful part, until
+some merciful influence from without should awaken and deliver her!
+
+In this dream she was whirled onward toward the South Coast, on that
+clear, autumnal afternoon.
+
+In this dream she reached Dover, and got out at the station amid all the
+confusion attending the arrival of the tidal train, and the babel of
+voices from cabmen, porters, hotel runners, and such, shouting their
+offers of:
+
+"Carriage, sir!"
+
+"Carriage, ma'am!"
+
+"Steamboat!"
+
+"Calais steamer!"
+
+"Lord Warden's!"
+
+"Victoria!" and so forth.
+
+Acting instinctively and mechanically, she made her way to the steamboat.
+
+There seemed to be an unusually large number of people going across.
+
+She saw no one among the passengers, whom she recognized; but still she
+kept her vail folded twice across her face, as she passed to a settee on
+deck.
+
+She was scarcely seated before the boat left the pier.
+
+Wind and tide was against her, and the passage promised to be a slow and
+rough one.
+
+And soon indeed the steamer began to roll and toss amid the short, crisp
+waves of Dover Straits, now whipped to a froth by wind against tide.
+
+Most of the passengers succumbed and went below.
+
+Now, whether intense mental pre-occupation be an antidote to
+sea-sickness, we cannot tell. But it is certain that Salome did not
+suffer from the violent motion of the boat. She was indeed scarcely
+conscious of it.
+
+She sat upon the deck, wrapped in a large shepherd's plaid shawl, with
+her gray vail thickly folded over her face, which was turned toward the
+west, where the setting sun was sinking below the ocean horizon, and
+drawing down after him a long train of glory from over the troubled
+waters.
+
+But it is doubtful if Salome even saw this, or knew what hour, what
+season it was!
+
+A rough night followed. Wrapped in her shawl, absorbed in her dream,
+Salome remained on deck, unaffected by the weather, and indifferent to
+its consequences, although more than once the captain approached and
+kindly advised her to go below.
+
+It was after midnight when the boat reached her pier at Calais.
+
+In the same dream Salome left her seat and landed among the sea-sick
+crowd.
+
+In the same dream she allowed the custom-house officers to tumble out the
+contents of her little valise, and satisfied, without cavil, all their
+demands, and answered without hesitation all the questions put to her by
+the officials.
+
+In the same dream she made her way to a carriage on the railway train
+just about to start for Paris.
+
+There were three other occupants of the carriage, which was but dimly
+lighted by two oil lamps. Salome did not look toward them, but doubled
+her vail still more closely over her face as she sat down in a corner and
+turned toward the window, on the left side of her seat.
+
+The night was so dark that she could see but little, as the train
+flashed past what seemed to be but the black shadows of trees, fields,
+farm-houses, groves, villages, and lonely chateaux.
+
+A weird midnight journey, through a strange land to an unknown bourne.
+
+Occasionally she stole a glance through her thick vail toward her three
+fellow passengers, who sat opposite to her, on the back seat--three
+silent, black-shrouded figures who sat mute and motionless as watchers
+of the dead.
+
+Very terrifying, but very appropriate figures to take part in her
+nightmare dream.
+
+She turned her eyes away from those silent, shrouded, mysterious figures,
+and prayed to awake.
+
+She could not yet.
+
+But as she peered out through the darkness of the night, and saw the
+black shadows of the roadway flying behind her as the train sped
+southward, her physical powers gradually succumbed to fatigue, and her
+waking dream passed off in a dreamless sleep.
+
+She slept long and profoundly. She slept through many brief stoppages and
+startings at the little way stations. She slept until she was rudely
+awakened by the uproar incident upon the arrival of the train at a large
+town.
+
+She awoke in confusion. Day was dawning. Many passengers were leaving the
+train. Many others were getting on it.
+
+She rubbed her eyes and looked around in amazement and terror. She did
+not in the least know where she was, or how she had come there.
+
+For during her deep and dreamless sleep she had utterly forgotten the
+occurrences of the last twenty-four hours.
+
+Now she was rudely awakened, bewildered, and frightened to find herself
+in a strange scene, amid alarming circumstances, of which she knew or
+could remember nothing; connected with which she only felt the deep
+impression of some heavy preceding calamity. She saw before her the three
+silent, black, shrouded forms of her fellow-passengers, but their
+presence, instead of enlightening, only deepened and darkened the gloomy
+mystery.
+
+She pressed her icy fingers to her hot and throbbing temples, and tried
+to understand the situation.
+
+Then memory flashed back like lightning, revealing all the desolation of
+her storm-blasted, wrecked and ruined life.
+
+With a deep and shuddering groan she threw her hands up to her head, and
+sank back in her seat.
+
+"Is Madame ill? Can we do anything to help her?" inquired a kindly voice
+near her.
+
+In her surprise Salome dropped her hands, and at the same time her vail
+fell from before her face.
+
+Suddenly she then saw that the three mute, shrouded forms before her were
+Sisters of Mercy, in the black robes of their order, and knew that they
+had only maintained silence in accordance with their decorous rule of
+avoiding vain conversation.
+
+Even now the taller and elder of the three had spoken only to tender her
+services to a suffering fellow-creature.
+
+The fugitive bride and the Sister of Mercy looked at each other, and at
+the instant uttered exclamations of surprise.
+
+In the sister, Salome recognized a lay nun of the Convent of St. Rosalie,
+in which she had passed nearly all the years of her young life, and in
+which she had received her education, and to which it had once been her
+cherished desire to return and dedicate herself to a conventual service.
+
+In Salome the nun saw again a once beloved pupil, whom she, in common
+with all her sisterhood, had fondly expected to welcome back to her
+novitiate.
+
+"Sister Josephine! You! Is it indeed you! Oh, how I thank Heaven!"
+fervently exclaimed the fugitive.
+
+"Mademoiselle Laiveesong! You here! My child! And alone! But how is that
+possible?" cried the good sister in amazement.
+
+Before Salome could answer the guard opened the door with a party of
+passengers at his back. But seeing the compartment already well filled by
+the three Sisters of Mercy and another lady, he closed the door again and
+passed down the platform to find places for his party elsewhere.
+
+The incident was little noticed by Salome at the time, although it was
+destined to have a serious effect upon her after fate.
+
+In a few minutes the train started.
+
+"My dear child," recommenced Sister Josephine, as soon as the train was
+well under way--"my dear child, how is it possible that I find you here,
+alone on the train at midnight! Were you going on to Paris, and alone?
+Was any one to meet you there?"
+
+"Dear, good Sister Josephine, ask me no questions yet. I am ill--really
+and truly ill!" sighed Salome.
+
+"Ah! I see you are, my dear child. Ill and alone on the night train! Holy
+Virgin preserve us!" said the sister, devoutly crossing herself.
+
+"Ask me no questions yet, dear sister, because I cannot answer them. But
+take me with you wherever you go, for wherever that may be, there will be
+peace and rest and safety, I know! Say, will you take me with you, good
+Sister Josephine?" pleaded Salome.
+
+"Ah! surely we will, my child. With much joy we will. We--(Sister
+Francoise and Sister Felecitie--Mademoiselle Laiveesong,)" said Sister
+Josephine, stopping to introduce her companions to each other.
+
+The three young persons thus named bowed and smiled, and pressed palms,
+and then sat back in their seats, while the elder Sister, Josephine,
+continued:
+
+"We have come up from Fontevrau, and are now going straight on to our
+convent. With joy we will take you with us, my dear child. Our holy
+mother will be transported to see you. Does she expect you, my dear
+child?" inquired the sister, forgetting her tacit promise to ask no more
+questions.
+
+"No, no one expects me," sighed the fugitive, in so faint a voice that
+the good Sister forbore to make any more inquiries for the moment.
+
+The train rushed onward. Day was broadening. The horizon was growing red
+in the east.
+
+The party travelled on in silence for some ten or fifteen minutes, and
+then, Sister Josephine growing impatient to have her curiosity satisfied,
+made a few leading remarks.
+
+"And so you were coming to us unannounced by any previous communication
+to our holy mother? And coming alone on the night train! You possess a
+noble courage, my child, but the adventure was hazardous to a young and
+lovely unmarried woman. The Virgin be praised we met you when we did!"
+said the Sister, devoutly crossing herself.
+
+"Amen, and amen, to that!" sighed Salome.
+
+"Our holy mother will be overjoyed to see you. You are sure she does not
+expect you, my dear child?"
+
+"No, Sister, she does not expect me, unless she has the gift of second
+sight. For I did not expect myself to return to St. Rosalie, to-day, or
+ever. When I took my place in this carriage at midnight, I did not know
+how far I should go, or where I should stop. I took a through ticket to
+Paris; but I did not know whether I should stop at Paris, or go on to
+Marseilles, or Rome, or St. Petersburg, or New York, or where!" moaned
+the fugitive.
+
+"The holy saints protect us, my child! What wild thing is this you are
+saying?" exclaimed Sister Josephine, making the sign of the cross.
+
+"No matter what I say now, good Sister, I will tell our holy mother all.
+Is la Mere Genevieve now your lady superior?" softly inquired the
+fugitive.
+
+"Yes, surely, my child. And she will be transported to behold her best
+beloved pupil again. You are sure that she will be taken by surprise?"
+said the good, simple minded Sister, still innocently angling for a
+farther explanation.
+
+"Yes, I feel sure that I shall surprise our good mother if I do
+_not_ delight her; for, as I told you before, I gave her no
+intimation of any intended visit. I repeat that when I set foot upon this
+train, I had no fixed plan in my mind. I did not know where I should go.
+My meeting with you is providential. It decides me, nay, rather let me
+say, it directs me to seek rest and peace and safety there where my happy
+childhood and early youth were passed, and where I once desired to spend
+my whole life in the service of Heaven. I, too, fervently praise the
+Virgin for this blessed meeting. I too thank the Mother of Sorrows for
+being near me in my sorrow and in my madness!" murmured Salome, in a low,
+earnest tone.
+
+"Holy saints, my child! What can have happened to you to inspire such
+words as these?" exclaimed Sister Josephine in alarm.
+
+"Never mind what, good Sister. You shall hear all in time. I am forced by
+fate to keep a promise that I made and might have broken. That is all."
+
+"Ah, my dear child, I comprehend sorrow and despair in your words; but I
+do not comprehend your words!" sighed Sister Josephine.
+
+"When I left your convent three years ago, I promised did I not, that
+after I should have become of age and be mistress of my fate, I would
+return, dedicate my life to the service of Heaven, and spend the
+remainder of it here? Did I not?" inquired Salome, in a low voice.
+
+"You did, you did, my child. And for a long time we looked for you in
+vain. And when you did not come, or even write to us, we thought the
+world had won you, and made you forget your promise," sighed Sister
+Josephine crossing herself.
+
+The two youthful Sisters followed her example, sighed and crossed
+themselves.
+
+There was a grave pause of a few minutes, and then the voice of Salome
+was heard in solemn tones:
+
+"The world won me. The world broke me and flung me back upon the convent,
+and forced me to remember and keep my promise. I return now to dedicate
+myself to the service of Heaven, at the altar of your convent, if indeed
+Heaven will take a heart that earth has crushed!"
+
+She sighed.
+
+"It is the world-crushed, bleeding heart that is the sweetest offering
+to all-healing, all-merciful Heaven," said Sister Josephine, tenderly
+lifting the hand of Salome and pressing it to her bosom.
+
+Again a solemn silence fell upon the little party.
+
+Salome was the first to break it.
+
+"It seems to me we have come a very long way, since we left the last
+station. Are we near ours?" she inquired, in a voice sinking with
+fatigue.
+
+"We will be at our station in a very few minutes. A comfortable close
+carriage will meet us there to convey us to St. Rosalie," said Sister
+Josephine, soothingly.
+
+Salome sank wearily back in her corner seat. The short-lived energy that
+enabled her to talk was dying out. Her hands and feet were cold as ice.
+Her head was hot as fire. Her frame was faint almost to swooning.
+
+The train sped on. The party in the carriage fell into silence that
+lasted until the train "slowed," and stopped at a little way station.
+
+"Here we are!" said Sister Josephine, rising to leave the carriage with
+her companions.
+
+The guard opened the door.
+
+Sister Josephine led the way out, and then took the hand of the half
+fainting Salome, to help her on.
+
+The two other sisters followed. A close carriage, with an aged coachman
+on the box, awaited them. The old man did not leave his seat; but Sister
+Josephine opened the door and helped Salome into the carriage, and placed
+her comfortably on the cushions in a corner of the back seat, and then
+sat down beside her.
+
+The two younger sisters followed and placed themselves on the front seat.
+
+The aged coachman, who knew his duty, did not wait for orders, but turned
+immediately away from the station, and drove off just as the train
+started again on its way to Paris.
+
+They entered a country road running through a wood--a pleasant ride, if
+Salome could have enjoyed it--but she leaned back on her cushions, with
+closed eyes, fever-flushed cheeks, and fainting frame. The sisters,
+seeing her condition, refrained from disturbing her by any conversation.
+
+They rode on in perfect silence for about a mile, when they came to a
+high stone wall, which ran along on the left-hand side of their road,
+while the thick wood continued on their right-hand side. The road here
+ran between the wood and the wall of the convent grounds.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+SALOME'S PROTECTRESS.
+
+
+"We have arrived. Welcome home, my dear child," said Sister Josephine, as
+the carriage drew up before the strong and solid, iron-bound, oaken gates
+of the convent.
+
+The aged coachman blew a shrill summons upon a little silver whistle that
+he carried in his pocket for the purpose.
+
+The gates were thrown wide open and the carriage rolled into an extensive
+court-yard, enclosed in a high stone wall, and having in its centre the
+massive building of the convent proper, with its chapel and offices.
+
+A straight, broad, hard, rolled, gravelled carriage-way led from the
+gates through the court-yard and up to the main entrance of the building.
+This road was bordered on each side by grass-plots, now sear in the late
+October frosts, and flower-beds, from which the flowers had been removed
+to their winter quarters in the conservatories. Groups of shade trees,
+statues of saints, and fountains of crystal-clear water adorned the
+grounds at regular intervals. In the rear of the convent building was a
+thicket of trees reaching quite down to the back wall.
+
+The carriage rolled along the gravelled road, crossing the court-yard,
+and drew up before the door of the convent.
+
+Sister Josephine got out and helped Salome to alight.
+
+The sun was just rising in cloudless glory.
+
+"See, my child," said Sister Josephine, cheerily pointing to the eastern
+horizon; "see, a happy omen; the sun himself arises and smiles on your
+re-entrance into St. Rosalie."
+
+Salome smiled faintly, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her companion
+as they went slowly up the steps, passed through the front doors, and
+found themselves in a little square entrance hall, surrounded on three
+sides by a bronze grating, and having immediately before them a grated
+door, with a little wicket near the centre.
+
+Behind this wicket sat the portress, a venerable nun, whom age and
+obesity had consigned to this sedentary occupation.
+
+"_Benedicite_, good Mother Veronique! How are all within the house?"
+inquired Sister Josephine, going up to the wicket.
+
+"The saints be praised, all are well! They are just going in to matins.
+You come in good time, my sisters! But who is she whom you bring with
+you?" inquired the old nun, nodding toward Salome, even while she
+detached a great key from her girdle, and unlocked the door, to admit the
+party.
+
+"Why, then, Mother Veronique, don't you see? An old, well-beloved pupil
+come back to see our holy mother? Don't you recognize her? Have you
+already forgotten Mademoiselle Laiveesong, who left us only three years
+ago?" inquired Sister Josephine, as she led Salome into the portress'
+parlor, followed by the two younger sisters, Francoise and Felecitie.
+
+"Ah! ah! so it is! Mademoiselle Salome come back to us!" joyfully
+exclaimed the old nun, seizing and fondling the hands of the visitor,
+and gazing wistfully into her flushed and feverish face. "Yes, yes,
+I remember you! Mademoiselle Laiveesong! Mademoiselle, the rich banker's
+heiress! I am very happy to see you, my dear child! And our holy mother
+will be filled with joy! She has gone to matins now, but will soon return
+to give you her blessing. Ah! ah! Mademoiselle Salome! _Mais Helas!_
+How ill she looks! Her hands are ice! Her head is fire! Her limbs are
+withes! She is about to faint!" added Mother Veronique, aside to Sister
+Josephine.
+
+"She is just off a long and fatiguing journey. She is tired and hungry,
+and needs rest and refreshment. That is all," answered the sister,
+drawing the arm of the fainting girl through her own, and supporting her
+as she led her from the portress' parlor.
+
+"Ah! ah! is this so? The dear child! Take her in and rest and feed her,
+my sisters! And when matins are over, bring her to our venerable mother,
+whose soul will be filled with rapture to see her," twaddled the old nun,
+until the party passed in from her sight.
+
+Sister Josephine led Salome to her own cell, and made her loosen her
+clothes and lie down on the cot-bed, while Sister Francoise and Sister
+Felecitie went to the refectory and brought her a plate of biscuit and
+a glass of wine and water.
+
+Wine was not the proper drink for Salome, in her flushed and feverish
+condition. But she was both faint and thirsty, and the wine, mixed with
+water, seemed cool and refreshing, and she quaffed it eagerly.
+
+But she refused the biscuits, declaring that she could not swallow. And
+so she thanked her kind friends for their attention, and sank back on her
+pillow and closed her eyes, as if she would go to sleep.
+
+The sisters promised to bring the mother abbess to her bedside as soon as
+the matins should be over. And so they left her to repose, and went
+silently away to the chapel to take their accustomed places, and join,
+even at the "eleventh hour," in the morning worship.
+
+But did Salome sleep?
+
+Ah! no. She lay upon that cot-bed with her hands covering her eyes, as if
+to shut out all the earth. She might shut out all the visible creation,
+but she could not exclude the haunting images that filled her mind. She
+could not banish the forms and faces that floated before her inner
+vision--the most venerable face of her dear, lost father, the noble face
+of her once beloved--ah! still too well beloved Arondelle!
+
+The music of the matin hymns softened by distance, floated into her room,
+but failed to soothe her to repose.
+
+At length the sweet sounds ceased.
+
+And then--
+
+The abbess entered the cell so softly that Salome, lying with closed eyes
+on the cot, remained unconscious of the presence standing beside her,
+looking down upon her form.
+
+The abbess was a tall, fair, blue-eyed woman, upon whose serene brow the
+seal of eternal peace seemed set. She was about fifty years of age, but
+her clear eyes and smooth skin showed how tranquilly these years had
+passed. She was clothed in the well-known garb of her order--in a black
+dress, with long, hanging sleeves, and a long, black vail. Her face was
+framed in with the usual white linen bands, her robe confined at the
+waist by a girdle, from which hung her rosary of agates; and her silver
+cross hung from her neck.
+
+The abbess was a lady of the most noble birth, connected with the royal
+house of Orleans.
+
+In the revolution which had driven Louis Philippe from the throne, her
+father and her brother had perished. Her mother had passed away long
+before. She remained in the convent of St. Rosalie, where she was being
+educated.
+
+And when, early in the days of the Second Empire, her fortune was
+restored to her, instead of leaving the cloister, where she had found
+peace, for the world, where she had found only tribulation, she took the
+vail and the vows that bound her to the convent forever, and devoted her
+means to enriching and enlarging the house. The convent had always
+supported itself by its celebrated academy for young ladies. It had also
+maintained a free school for poor children. But now the heiress of the
+noble house of de Crespignie added a Home for Aged Women, an asylum for
+Orphan Girls and Nursery for Deserted Infants. And all these were placed
+under the charge of the Sisters of Mercy.
+
+Of the fifty years of this lady's life, forty had been spent in the
+convent where she had lived as pupil, novice, nun and abbess. Her
+cloistered life had been passed in active good works, if nurturing
+infancy, educating orphans, cheering age, and ordering and governing
+an excellent academy for young ladies, can be called so.
+
+And whatever such a life may have brought to others, it brought to this
+princess of the banished Orleans family perfect peace.
+
+She stood now looking down with infinite pity on the stricken form and
+face of her late pupil. She saw that some heavy blow from sorrow had
+crushed her. And she did not wonder at this.
+
+For to the apprehension of the abbess, the world from which her late
+pupil had returned was full of tribulation, as the convent was full of
+peace.
+
+She stood looking down on her a moment, and then murmured, in tones of
+ineffable tenderness:
+
+"My child!"
+
+"Mother Genevieve! My dear mother!" answered Salome, clasping her hands
+and looking up.
+
+The abbess drew a chair to the side of the cot, sat down, and took the
+hand of her pupil, saying:
+
+"You have come back to us, my child. I thought you would. You are most
+welcome."
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I am _driven_ back to you for shelter from
+a storm of trouble!" exclaimed Salome, in great excitement, her cheeks
+burning, and her eyes blazing with the fires of fever.
+
+"We will receive you with love and cherish you in our
+hearts--_unquestioned_--for, my child, you are too ill
+to give us any explanation now," said the abbess, gently, laying
+her soft, cool hand upon the burning brow of the girl.
+
+"Oh! mother, mother, let me talk now and unburden my heavy heart! You
+know not how it will relieve me to do so to _you_. I could not do so
+to any other. Let me tell you, dear mother, while I may, before it shall
+be too late. For I am going to be very ill, mother; and perhaps I may
+die! Oh Heaven grant I may be permitted to die!" fervently prayed Salome,
+clasping her hands.
+
+"Hush, hush, my poor, unhappy child. I know not what your sorrow has
+been, but it cannot possibly justify you in your sinful petition. Life,
+my child, is the greatest of boons, since it contains within it the
+possibility of eternal bliss. We should be deeply thankful for simple
+_life_, whatever may be its present trials, since it holds the
+promise of future happiness," said the gentle abbess.
+
+"Oh, mother, my life is wrecked--is hopelessly wrecked!" groaned Salome.
+
+"Nay, nay, only storm-tossed on the treacherous seas of the world. Here
+is your harbor, my child. Come into port, little, weary one!" said the
+abbess, with a tender, cheerful smile.
+
+"Oh, mother, your wayward pupil has wandered far, far from your
+teachings! She has become a heathen--an idolator! Yes, she set up unto
+herself an idol, and she worshiped it as a god, until at last, IT
+FELL!--IT FELL! AND CRUSHED HER UNDER ITS RUINS!" said Salome,
+growing more and more excited and feverish.
+
+"It is well for us, my child, when our earthly idols do fall and crush
+us, else we might go on to perdition in our fatal idolatry. Yes, my
+child, it is well that your idol has fallen, even though you lie buried
+and bleeding under its ruins; for our fraternity, like the good Samaritan
+of the parable, will raise you up and dress your wounds, and set you on
+your feet again, and lead you in the right path--the path of peace and
+safety."
+
+"Mother, mother, will you now hear my story, my confession?" said Salome,
+earnestly.
+
+"My child, I would rather you would defer it until you are better able to
+talk."
+
+"Mother, mother, I have the strength of fever on me now; but my mind is
+growing confused. Let me speak while I may!"
+
+"Speak on, then, my dear child, but don't exhaust yourself."
+
+"Mother, though I have failed, through very shame of broken promises, to
+write to you lately, yet you must have heard from other sources of my
+father's tragic death?"
+
+"I heard of it, my child. And I have daily remembered his soul in my
+prayers."
+
+"And you heard, good mother, of how I forgot all my promises to devote
+myself to a religious life, and how I betrothed myself to the Marquis of
+Arondelle, who is now the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"You yielded to the expressed wishes of your father, my child, as it was
+natural you should do."
+
+"I yielded to the inordinate and sinful affections of my own heart, and I
+have been punished for it."
+
+"My poor child!"
+
+"Listen, mother! Yesterday morning, at St. George's church, Hanover
+Square, in London, I was married by the Bishop of London to the Duke of
+Hereward. Yesterday afternoon I received secret but unquestionable proof
+that the duke was an already married man when he met me first, and that
+his wife was living in London!"
+
+"Holy saints, Mademoiselle! What is this that you are telling me?"
+exclaimed the astonished abbess. "Surely, surely she is growing delirious
+with fever," she muttered to herself.
+
+"I am telling you a terrible truth, my mother! Listen, and I will tell
+you everything, even as I know it myself!" said Salome, earnestly.
+
+The abbess no longer opposed her speaking, although it was evident that
+her illness was hourly increasing.
+
+And Salome told the terrible story of her sorrows, commencing with the
+first appointed wedding-day at Castle Lone, and ending with the second
+wedding-day at Elmhurst House, and her own secret flight from her false
+bridegroom, just as it is known to our readers.
+
+The deeply shocked abbess heard and believed, and frequently crossed
+herself during the recital.
+
+As Salome proceeded with what she called her confession, her fever and
+excitement increased rapidly. Toward the end of her recital her thoughts
+grew confused and wandered into the ravings of a brain fever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+THE BRIDEGROOM.
+
+
+According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Hereward
+returned to Elmthorpe House to make his report.
+
+He found the dowager waiting for him where he had left her, in the back
+drawing-room.
+
+He greeted her only by a silent bow, and she questioned him only by a
+mute look.
+
+"I have placed the case in the hands of Setter, confidentially, of
+course. He will commence secret investigations to-night," he said.
+
+"This morning, you mean, Duke. It is now two o'clock," remarked the
+dowager.
+
+"Is it, indeed, so late?"
+
+"So early you should say. Yes, it is. But what thinks the detective of
+this affair?"
+
+"He is inclined to think as we do, that our dear Salome has been decoyed
+away by some tale of extreme distress, and for purposes of robbery,"
+answered the young duke, pressing his white lips firmly together in
+his effort to control all expression of the anguish that was secretly
+wringing his heart.
+
+"And what does he think of the chances of finding her soon and finding
+her safe?" inquired the dowager.
+
+The duke slowly shook his head.
+
+"Well, and what does that mean?" asked the lady.
+
+"It means that Detective Setter cannot form an opinion, or will not
+commit himself to the expression of one at present. And now, dear Lady
+Belgrade, as it is after two o'clock, I must bid you good-night--"
+
+"Good-morning, rather," interrupted the dowager.
+
+"And return to my lodgings," continued the duke, passing his hand across
+his forehead, like one "dazed" with trouble.
+
+"I beg you will do nothing of the sort, Duke," said Lady Belgrade,
+hastily interposing. "You have left your lodgings for a wedding tour. You
+are not expected back there. Your people think that you are far from
+London with your bride. In the name of propriety, let them think so
+still. Do not go back there to-night, and wake them all up, and start
+a nine days' wonder of scandal. Stay where you are, Duke, quietly,
+until we recover our Salome. When we do, you can both leave for Paris.
+All the world will know nothing of this distressing affair, which, if it
+were to come to their knowledge, would be exaggerated, perverted, turned
+and twisted out of all its original shape, into some horrid story of
+scandal. Remember now, how few people know anything about it--only you,
+I, the detective necessarily taken into your confidence, and the
+servants, for whose discretion I can answer. Remain quietly here,
+therefore, that all gossip may be stopped."
+
+The duke resumed his seat, but did not immediately answer.
+
+"Do you not think my counsel good?" inquired the lady.
+
+"Very good. Thanks, Lady Belgrade. I will follow your advice. There is
+another reason why I should do so, but with which you are not acquainted.
+In the absorption of my thoughts with the subject of our Salome, I
+totally forgot to tell you that I have just been subpoenaed as a witness
+for the crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts and Rose Cameron
+for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison. The case will come on at the
+Assizes at Banff on Thursday next. I must leave for Scotland to-morrow,"
+said the young duke.
+
+"Why--you surprise me very much! When was the subpoena served upon you?"
+inquired the dowager.
+
+"In a chance recounter at the police-office, where I went to find the
+detective, and where I also found a sheriff's officer holding a subpoena
+for me, which he was about to send across the channel by a special
+messenger--supposing me to be in Paris. So you see, my dear Lady
+Belgrade, my wedding tour would have been stopped at Paris, if not
+nearer."
+
+"That is well; for now, if the wedding tour is delayed, it will be known
+to be a legal necessity, which in no way reflects upon the wedding party.
+And now, my dear Duke, since you consent to stay all night, let me advise
+you to retire to rest. You will find your valet waiting your orders in
+the cedar suite of rooms, to which I had your dressing case and boxes
+taken."
+
+"Thanks, Lady Belgrade. Your ladyship anticipates everything."
+
+"I certainly anticipated the necessity of your remaining here all night,
+as soon as I found that you could not leave London. And now, Duke, I must
+really send you to bed. I am exhausted. I must lie down, even if I do not
+sleep," said the dowager, as she arose and touched the bell.
+
+The Duke of Hereward raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and left the
+room.
+
+Lady Belgrade followed his example.
+
+And the weary groom of the chambers entered, in answer to the bell, to
+turn off the gas and fasten up the rooms.
+
+The young duke knew where to find the cedar suite--a sumptuous set of
+apartments finished and fitted up in the costly and fragrant wood which
+gave them their name.
+
+He found his servant waiting in the dressing-room.
+
+His grace's valet was no fine gentleman from Paris, as full of
+accomplishments as of vices; but a simple and honest young man from the
+estate. The extra gravity which young James Kerr put into his manner of
+waiting, alone testified of the reverential sympathy he felt for his
+beloved master.
+
+The duke threw off the travelling coat that he had assumed for his
+journey and had worn up to this moment; and he took the wadded silk
+dressing gown, handed him by his valet, and having put it on, he dropped
+into an easy resting-chair, and ordered Kerr to lower the gas and then
+leave the room for the night.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward did not retire to bed that night. As soon as
+he found himself alone in the half-darkened rooms, he arose from his
+chair and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor, relieving the
+pent-up anguish of his bosom by such deep groans as had required all his
+self-control to suppress while he was in the presence of others.
+
+Thus walking and groaning in great agony of mind, he passed the few
+remaining dark hours of the morning.
+
+At daylight he sank exhausted into his easy-chair. But even then he
+neither "slumbered nor slept," but passed the time in waiting and longing
+for the rising sun, that he might go out and renew his search for his
+lost bride.
+
+The sun had scarcely risen when he rang for his valet.
+
+The young man appeared promptly.
+
+The duke made a hasty toilet, and then called his servant to attend him
+down stairs.
+
+None of the household were yet astir.
+
+But, by the direction of the duke, Kerr unlocked, unbolted and unbarred
+the street door to let his master out.
+
+"Close and secure the house after me, James, for it will be hours yet
+before the household will be up," said the duke, as he passed out.
+
+It was a clear October day for London. The sun was not more than twenty
+minutes high, and it shone redly and dully through a morning fog. The
+streets were still deserted, except by milkmen, bakers, costermongers,
+and other "early birds."
+
+He walked rapidly to the Church Court police station.
+
+Detective Setter was not there. But the Duke left word for him to call at
+Elmthorpe as soon as he should return.
+
+He left the police station and went on toward Elmthrope. But he did not
+enter the house. He could not rest. He walked up and down the sidewalk in
+front of the iron railings until he thought Lady Belgrade might have
+risen.
+
+Then he went up the steps and rang the bell.
+
+The hall porter opened the door and admitted him.
+
+"Has Lady Belgrade come down yet?" was his first question.
+
+"My lady has, your grace. My lady is waiting breakfast for your grace,"
+respectfully answered the footman.
+
+He longed to ask if any news had been heard of the missing one, but he
+forbore to do so, and hurried away up-stairs to the breakfast parlor.
+
+There he found Lady Belgrade, dressed in a purple cashmere robe, and
+wrapped in a rich India shawl, reclining in a rocking-chair beside a
+breakfast-table laid for two.
+
+"Good morning, madam. I fear I have kept your ladyship waiting," said the
+duke, as he entered the room.
+
+"Not a second, my dear duke. I have but just this instant come down,"
+answered the dowager, politely, and unhesitatingly telling the
+conventional lie, as she put out her hand and touched the bell.
+
+"I fear that it is useless to ask you if there is any news of our missing
+girl," said the duke, in a low tone.
+
+"I have heard nothing. And you? Of course, you have not, or you would not
+have asked me the question. But, good Heaven, Duke, you are as pale as a
+ghost! You look as if you had just risen from a sick bed! You look full
+twenty years older than you did yesterday. What have you been doing with
+yourself? Where have you been?" inquired the dowager.
+
+The duke answered her last question only.
+
+"I have been to Church Court to look up Detective Setter. I left orders
+for him to report here this morning. I expect him here very soon. I must
+do all that I can do in London to-day, as it is absolutely necessary for
+me to leave town by the night express of the Great Northern Railroad, in
+order to attend the trial for which I am subpoenaed as a witness,
+to-morrow."
+
+"I see! Of course, you must go. There is no resisting a subpoena. But who
+is to co-operate with Setter in the search for Salome?"
+
+"_You_ must do so, if you please, Lady Belgrade, until my return. Of
+course, I will hurry back with all dispatch."
+
+"No fear of that. The only fear is that you will hurry into your grave.
+But here is breakfast," said her ladyship, as a footman entered with a
+tray.
+
+Mocha coffee, orange pekoe tea, Westphalia ham, poached eggs, dry toast,
+muffins, rolls, and so forth, were arranged upon the table to tempt the
+appetite of the two who sat at meat.
+
+Lady Belgrade made a good meal. She was at the age of which physicians
+say, "the constitution takes on a conservative tone," and which poets
+call "the time of peace." In a word, she was middle-aged, fat, and
+comfort-loving; and so she was not disposed to lose her rest, or food,
+or peace of mind for any trouble not personally her own.
+
+She was vexed at the unconventionality of Salome's disappearance, fearful
+of what the world would say, and anxious to keep the matter as close as
+possible. That was all, and it did not take away her appetite.
+
+But the anxious young husband could not eat. A feverish and burning
+thirst, such as frequently attends excessive grief or anxiety, consumed
+him. He drank cup after cup of tea almost unconsciously, until at length
+Lady Belgrade said:
+
+"This makes four! I am your hostess, duke; but I am also your aunt by
+marriage, and upon my word I cannot let you go on ruining your health in
+this way! You shall not have another cup of tea, unless you consent to
+eat something with it."
+
+The young duke smiled wanly, and submitted so far as to take a piece of
+dry toast on his plate and crumble it into bits.
+
+Meanwhile, the dowager, having finished her breakfast, took up the
+_Times_ to look over.
+
+Presently she startled the duke by exclaiming:
+
+"Thank Heaven!"
+
+"What is it?" hastily inquired the duke, setting down his cup and gazing
+at the silent reader. "Any news of Salome?" he added, and then nearly
+lost his breath while waiting for the answer.
+
+"Oh, yes, news of Salome! But scarcely authentic news. Listen! Here
+is a full account of the wedding--with a description of the bride
+and bridesmaids, and their dresses and attendants, and of the ceremony
+and the officiating clergy, and the attending crowd, and the
+wedding-breakfast, speeches, presents, and so on, all tolerably
+correct for a newspaper report. But now listen to this--"
+
+Her ladyship here read aloud:
+
+"Immediately after the wedding-breakfast, the happy pair left town, by
+the London and South Coast Railway, _en route_ for Dover, Paris and
+the Continent."
+
+"There! what do you think of that?" inquired Lady Belgrade, looking up.
+
+"I think it is not the first occasion upon which a paper has anticipated
+and described an expected event that some unforeseen accident prevented
+from coming off," answered the duke, with a sigh.
+
+"I thank fortune for this! Now you have really started on your wedding
+tour in the belief of all London, and all outside of London who take the
+_Times_; and all _our_ world _do_ take it. And now, if any
+rumor of this most inopportune disappearance of our bride _should_
+get out, why, it will never be believed! That is all! For has not the
+departure of the 'happy pair' been published in the _Times_? Yes,
+I am very glad of the news reporter's indiscreet precipitancy on this
+occasion, at least," concluded Lady Belgrade, as she turned to other
+"fashionable intelligence."
+
+At that moment a footman entered the breakfast parlor and handed a
+business-looking card to the duke, saying, with a bow:
+
+"If you please, your grace, the person is waiting in the hall."
+
+"By your leave, Lady Belgrade?--Sims! show the man into the library, and
+tell him I will be with him in a few moments.--It is Detective Setter,"
+said the duke, as he arose and left the breakfast parlor.
+
+He found that officer awaiting him in the library.
+
+"Any news?" inquired the duke, as he sank into a chair and signed to the
+visitor to follow his example.
+
+"None, your grace. I have made diligent and careful investigations, in
+the neighborhoods mentioned by the lady's maid, but have found no trace
+of any Mrs. White or Brown that answered the rather vague description
+given. I shall, however, resume my search there," answered the man.
+
+"There must be no cessation of the search until that woman is found.
+I need not caution you to use great discretion," said the duke,
+earnestly, but wearily, like a man breaking down under an intolerable
+burden of mental anxiety.
+
+"Discretion is the very spirit of my business, your grace."
+
+"What is to be your next step?"
+
+"If your grace will permit me, I should like to examine the rooms of the
+lost lady, and I should like to question, singly and privately, the
+servants of the house."
+
+"A thorough search has been made of the premises, including the
+apartments of the duchess. And every domestic on the premises has been
+examined and cross-examined."
+
+"I do not doubt, your grace, that all this has been done as effectually
+as it could be done by any one, except a skillful and experienced
+detective; but if you will pardon me, I should like to make an
+examination and investigation in person."
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Setter. Every facility shall be afforded you," said the
+duke, touching the bell.
+
+A footman entered.
+
+The duke drew a card from his pocket and wrote upon it:
+
+"Detective Setter wishes to search the premises and cross-examine the
+servants. What does your ladyship say?"
+
+The duke then placed the card in the hand of the footman, saying:
+
+"Be so good as to take this to Lady Belgrade, and wait an answer."
+
+The servant bowed and left the room.
+
+"You are aware, Mr. Setter, that I am under the necessity of leaving
+London to-night, to attend the trial of Potts and Cameron to-morrow."
+
+"As a witness for the Crown. I am, your grace."
+
+"I shall get back to London as soon as possible. In the meantime, I wish
+you to pursue your investigations with the utmost diligence, sparing no
+expense. Report in person every morning and evening to Lady Belgrade
+in this house, and by telegraph to me at Lone, in Scotland. Use great
+discretion in wording your telegrams. Avoid the use of names, or titles,
+or, in fact, any terms, in referring to the duchess, that may identify
+her. I hope you understand me?"
+
+"Perfectly, your grace. I also understand how to speak and write in
+enigmas. It is a part of my profession to do so," answered Mr. Setter.
+
+The duke then drew out his portmonaie, opened it, selected two notes of
+fifty pounds each and put them in the hands of Setter, saying:
+
+"Here are one hundred pounds. Spare no expense in prosecuting this
+search. Draw on me if you have occasion."
+
+The detective bowed.
+
+At the same moment the footman re-entered the room, bringing a card on
+a silver waiter, which he handed to the duke.
+
+The duke took it and read:
+
+"Your grace surely forgets that, as the husband of the heiress, you are
+the absolute master of the house, and your will is law here. Do as you
+think proper."
+
+"You may go," said the duke to the messenger, who immediately retired.
+
+"Now, Mr. Setter, do you wish to search the premises, or examine the
+servants first?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Examine the servants first, your grace; as I may thereby gain some clew
+to follow in my search."
+
+"Very well," said the duke, again touching the bell.
+
+The prompt footman re-appeared.
+
+"Whom do you wish called first?" inquired the duke.
+
+"The lady's maid," answered the detective.
+
+"Go and tell the duchess's maid that she is wanted here immediately,"
+said the duke.
+
+The footman bowed and went away on his errand.
+
+A few minutes passed, and the lady's maid entered.
+
+"This is--I really forget your name, my good girl," said the duke,
+apologetically.
+
+"Margaret, sir; Margaret Watson," said the lady's maid, with a courtesy.
+
+"Ay. This is Margaret Watson, the confidential maid of her grace, Mr.
+Setter. Margaret, my good girl, Mr. Setter wishes to put some questions
+to you, relating to the disappearance of your mistress. I hope you will
+answer his inquiries as frankly and fearlessly as you have answered
+ours," said the duke, as he took up a paper for a pretext and walked to
+the other end of the library, leaving the detective officer at liberty to
+pursue his investigations alone.
+
+It is needless for us to go over the ground again. It is sufficient to
+say that Detective Setter questioned and cross-questioned the girl with
+all the skill of an old and experienced hand, and at the end of half an
+hour's sharp and close examination, he had obtained no new information.
+
+The girl was dismissed, with a warning not to talk of the affair. And she
+was followed by the housekeeper, with no better result.
+
+Thus all the domestics of the establishment were called and examined
+singly; but without success.
+
+When the last servant was done with, and sent out of the room, the
+detective walked up to the duke.
+
+"Well, Mr. Setter?" inquired the latter.
+
+"Your grace, I have learned nothing from the servants but what you have
+already told me."
+
+"Do you still wish to search the premises?"
+
+"If your grace pleases. And I wish to begin with the apartments of the
+duchess."
+
+"Then follow me. I myself will be your guide," said the duke, leading the
+way from the library.
+
+It would be useless to accompany the detective in this third search.
+Let it be sufficient to say that this search was thorough, complete,
+exhaustive, and--unsuccessful.
+
+It was late in the day when it was finished, and the duke and the
+detective returned to the library.
+
+"You now perceive Mr. Setter, that a day has been lost in these repeated
+searchings and questionings, and no new information, no sign of a clew to
+the fate of the duchess has been gained. In an hour I must leave the
+house to catch the Great Northern Night Express. I leave--I am
+_forced_ for the present, to leave the fate of my beloved wife in
+your hands. In saying that, I say that I leave more than my own life in
+your keeping. Use every means, employ every agency, spend money freely,
+the day you bring her safely to me, I will deposit ten thousand pounds in
+the Bank of England to your account."
+
+"Your grace is munificent. If the duchess is on earth, I will find
+her;--not for the reward only, though it is certainly a very great
+inducement to a poor man with a large family; but for the love and honor
+I bear your grace and the late Sir Lemuel Levison," said the detective,
+earnestly, as he bowed and took leave.
+
+The first dinner-bell rang.
+
+The duke hastened to his own room, not to dress for dinner, but to
+prepare for his night journey to Scotland.
+
+He ordered his valet to pack a valise with all that would be necessary
+for a few days' absence, and then sent him to call a close cab.
+
+By this time the second dinner-bell rang, and the duke went down, not to
+dine, but to take leave of Lady Belgrade.
+
+He found her ladyship in the drawing-room.
+
+"Give me your arm to dinner, if you please, Duke," she said, rising.
+
+"I hope you will excuse me; but I have only come to say good-by. I have
+but time to catch the train. Kerr has already put my luggage in the cab,
+which is waiting for me at the door. Good-by, dear Lady Belgrade. You
+will co-operate with Setter in all things necessary to a successful
+search, I know. Setter has my orders to report to you--"
+
+"You take my breath away!" gasped the dowager.
+
+"Write to me by every mail. Keep me informed of events--"
+
+"You will kill yourself, Duke! flying off without your dinner, and
+looking fitter for going to bed than on a journey!" panted the dowager.
+
+"Now then, good-by in earnest, dear Lady Belgrade, and God bless you,"
+concluded the duke, raising her hand to his lips and bowing.
+
+And before the dowager could say another word he was gone.
+
+"Well, if he lives to be as old as I am, he will take things easier.
+Though, if he goes on at this rate, he won't live to be old," mused the
+old lady, as she slowly waddled into the dining-room, and took her seat
+at the table to enjoy her solitary green turtle soup.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+AT LONE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward went out to the close cab that was waiting for him
+before the door.
+
+He found his valet standing by it, with a pair of railroad rugs over his
+arm.
+
+He directed the man to mount to a seat beside the cabman, and gave the
+latter orders where to drive.
+
+Then he entered the cab and closed all the doors and windows, that he
+might not be seen by any chance acquaintance.
+
+He was supposed by all the world of London to be away on his wedding
+tour, and he was willing to let them continue to believe so, until they
+should be enlightened by a report of the great trial, when they would
+learn the fact and the explanation at once, and thus be prevented
+from making undesirable conjectures and speculations concerning his
+presence at such a time in England.
+
+He leaned back on his seat, and the cabman, having received directions
+from the valet, drove rapidly off toward the Great Northern Railway
+Station at Kings Cross.
+
+An hour's fast drive brought them to their destination.
+
+The duke dispatched his valet to the ticket office to engage a coupe on
+the express train, so that he might be entirely private.
+
+And he remained in the cab with closed doors and windows until the
+servant had secured the coupe, and conveyed all the light luggage into
+it.
+
+Then he left the cab, and passed at once into the coupe, leaving his
+servant to pay and discharge the cab, and to follow him on the train.
+
+James Kerr, after performing these duties, went to the door of his
+master's little compartment to ask if he had any further orders, before
+going to take his place in the second-class carriages.
+
+"No, Kerr, but come in here with me. I want you at hand during the
+journey," replied the duke, who, much as he confided in the young man's
+devotion and loyalty, could not quite trust his discretion, and therefore
+desired to keep him from talking.
+
+The valet bowed and entered the coupe, taking the seat that his master
+pointed out.
+
+The train moved slowly out of the station, but gaining speed as it left
+the town, soon began to fly swiftly on its northern course.
+
+The October sun was setting as the train flew along the margin
+of the "New River," as Sir Hugh Myddellen's celebrated piece of
+water-engineering is called.
+
+The October evening was chill, and the swift flight of the train drawing
+a strong draught that could not be kept out, increased the chilliness.
+
+The duke leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
+
+The valet attentively tucked the railway rug around his master's knees.
+
+The sun had set. The long twilight of northern latitudes came on.
+
+At the first station where the express stopped, the guard opened the door
+and offered to light the lamps, but the duke forbade him, saying that he
+preferred the darkness.
+
+The guard closed the door and retired, and the train started again, and
+flew on northward through the deepening night.
+
+It stopped only at the largest towns and cities on its route--at
+Peterboro', at York, at Newcastle, and Edinboro'.
+
+It was sunrise when the train reached Lone, the only small station at
+which it stopped on the route.
+
+The guard opened the door of the coupe, and the young duke got out,
+attended by his valet.
+
+The train stopped but one minute, and then shot out of the station and
+flew on toward Aberdeen.
+
+The distance between the railway station and the "Hereward Arms," was
+very short, so the duke preferred to walk it, followed by his valet and
+a railway porter carrying his light luggage.
+
+The sun had risen indeed, although it was nowhere visible.
+
+A Scotch mist had risen from the lake, and settled over the mountains,
+vailing all the grand features of the landscape.
+
+Early as the hour was, the hamlet, as they passed through it, seemed
+deserted by all its male inhabitants. None but women and children were
+to be seen, and even they, instead of being at work, were loitering about
+their own doors or gossiping with each other.
+
+Though the duke and his servant were the only passengers that got off
+the train at Lone, the whole force of the "Hereward Arms,"--landlord,
+head-waiter, hostler, boots and stable boys--turned out to meet them.
+
+"Your grace is unco welcome to the 'Hereward Arms,'" said Donald Duncan,
+the worthy host, bowing low before his distinguished guest.
+
+And all his underlings followed his example by pulling their red
+forelocks and scraping their right feet backwards.
+
+"Your hamlet seems to be deserted to-day, landlord. What fair or what
+else is going on?" inquired the young duke, as he followed the bowing
+host to the neat little parlor of the inn.
+
+"Ah! wae's the day! Dinna your grace ken! It will be the trial at
+Banff--the trial of yon grand villain, Johnnie Potts, for the murder
+of his master."
+
+"Oh, yes, I know the trial will be commenced to-day; but I did not think
+that the people here would take so much interest in it as to leave their
+work and go such a distance to see it," remarked the duke.
+
+"Would they nae? They'd gae to the North Pole to see it, if necessary,
+and they'd gae farrer still to see the murtherer weel hanggit! Ay, your
+grace, and what will make it a' the mair exciting, is the rumor whilk
+goes round to the effect that the ne'er-do-well, hizzie, Rose Cameron,
+hae turnit Crown's evidence to save her ain life, and will gie up all her
+accomplices. Sae we are a' fain to hear the mystery of the murther
+cleared up."
+
+"Indeed! Is that so? The girl has turned Crown's witness? Then, we
+_shall_ get at the truth!" exclaimed the duke, with more interest
+than he had hitherto shown.
+
+"It is a' true, your grace! And your grace may weel ken how the report
+drawed the heart of the hamlet out to gae to Banff, and hear a' aboot the
+murther."
+
+"Yes, yes," murmured the duke to himself.
+
+"And now, will your grace please to have a room? And what will your grace
+please to have for breakfast?" inquired the landlord, remembering his
+duty, and again bowing to the ground.
+
+"You may show me to a bed-room, where I may get rid of this railway dust,
+and--for breakfast, anything you please, so that it is quickly prepared.
+Also, landlord, have a chaise at the door, with a good pair of horses. I
+must start for Banff within half an hour," said the traveller.
+
+"Save us and sain us! Your grace, also! A' the warld seem ganging to
+Banff!" cried honest Donald Duncan.
+
+"I am summoned there as a witness on the trial, landlord."
+
+"Ay, to be sure. Sae your grace maun be. For it is weel kenned that your
+grace was amung the first to discover the dead body of the murthered man,
+Heaven rest him! And noo, your grace, I will show ye till your room,"
+said the landlord, leading the way to a neat bedchamber on the same
+floor.
+
+"Be good enough to send my servant here with my luggage," said the duke.
+
+The landlord bowed and went out to deliver the message.
+
+And in another minute the valet entered the room with the valise,
+dressing-case, and so forth.
+
+The duke made a rapid morning toilet, and then returned to the parlor,
+where the little breakfast table was already laid--coffee, rolls,
+oat-meal cake, broiled haddock, broiled black cock, and Dundee marmalade,
+formed the bill of fare.
+
+The duke forced himself to partake of some solid food in addition to the
+two cups of coffee he hastily swallowed.
+
+And then, as the chaise was announced, he arose to depart.
+
+"I desire to keep these rooms until further notice, landlord. I shall
+return here this evening, and stop here during my attendance upon the
+trial at Banff," said the duke, as he got into the chaise, followed by
+the valet.
+
+The driver cracked his whip and the horses started.
+
+"Aweel," said the landlord to himself, as he watched the chaise winding
+its way up the mountain-pass. "Aweel, I waur e'en just confounded to see
+the dook here away without the doochess; and I just after reading in the
+_Times_ how they were married o' the day before yesterday, and gane
+for their wedding trip to Paris! Aweel, I suppose, it will be this
+witness business as hae broughten him back. But where's the young
+doochess? Ay, to be sure, he hae left her in her grand toon house in
+London. He wad na be bringing her here at siccan a painfu' time and
+occasion as the trial of her ain father's murtherer. Nae, indeed! that
+is nae likely," concluded honest Donald Duncan, as he returned into his
+house.
+
+Banff was but ten miles north-east of Lone. But the mountain road was
+difficult; and now that the morning mist lay heavy on the landscape, it
+was necessary for our travelers to drive slowly and carefully to avoid
+precipitating themselves over some rocky steep, into some deep pool or
+stony chasm.
+
+They were, thus, an hour in getting safely through the mountain-pass.
+
+At the end of that time, they came out upon a good road, through a forest
+of firs, covering a hilly country.
+
+Then the mist began to roll away before the bright beams of the advancing
+sun.
+
+And another hour of fast driving brought them into the town of Banff.
+
+The duke directed the driver to turn into the street where was situated
+the town-hall, where the court was being held.
+
+The very looks of the street must have informed any stranger that some
+event of unusual interest was then transpiring. The sidewalks were filled
+with pedestrians, whose steps were all bent in one direction--toward the
+town hall.
+
+As our travellers drew up before the front of the building, the duke
+alighted and beckoned to a bailiff to come and clear the way for his
+passage into the court-room.
+
+The officer hurried to the duke, and using his official authority, soon
+made a narrow path through the dense crowd that choked up every avenue
+into the edifice.
+
+So, elbowing, pushing and wedging his way, the bailiff led the duke into
+the court-room, which was even more closely packed than the ante-rooms.
+Pressing through this solid mass of human beings, the bailiff led him to
+a seat directly in front of the bench of judges, and there left him.
+
+The duke bowed to the Bench, sat down and looked around upon the strange
+and painful scene.
+
+The famous Scotch judge, Baron Stairs, presided. On his right and left
+sat Mr. Justice Kinloch and Mr. Justice Guthrie.
+
+Quite a large number of lawyers, law officers, and writers to the seal
+were present.
+
+Mr. James Stuart, Q.C., was the prosecutor on the part of the crown. He
+was assisted by Messrs. Roy and McIntosh.
+
+Mr. Keir and Mr. Gordon, two rising young barristers from Aberdeen, were
+counsel for the prisoner.
+
+John Potts, alias Peters, the accused man, stood alone in the prisoner's
+dock.
+
+He was a tall, gaunt, dark man, whose pallid face looked ghastly in
+contrast with his damp, lank, black hair, that seemed pasted to his
+cheeks by the thick perspiration, and with his black coat and pantaloons
+that hung loosely on his emaciated form.
+
+The young duke thought he had never seen a man so much broken down in so
+short a time.
+
+While the duke was looking at him, the poor wretch turned caught his eye
+and bowed. And then he quickly grasped the front railing of the dock with
+both his hands, as if to keep himself from falling.
+
+The young duke turned away his eyes. The sight was too painful. He looked
+around him over the densely packed crowd, in which he recognized many of
+his old friends and neighbors, a great number of his clansmen and nearly
+all the old servants of his family.
+
+Although the month was October, and the weather cool in that northern
+climate, the atmosphere of such a packed crowd would have been unbearable
+but for the fact that the six tall windows that flanked the court-room
+on each side were let down from the top for ventilation.
+
+The duke turned his attention to the Bench.
+
+There seemed to be some pause in the proceedings. The judges were sitting
+in perfect silence. The prosecuting counsel were arranging papers and
+occasionally speaking to each other in low tones.
+
+The duke turned to a gentleman, a stranger, who was sitting on his left,
+and inquired:
+
+"I have heard that the girl Cameron is not to be arraigned. I have also
+heard that she is held as a witness for the crown. Can you inform me
+whether it is so?"
+
+"Yes, sir, it is so. You perceive that she is not in the dock with the
+other prisoner. She is in custody, however, in the sheriff's room. The
+prosecution cannot afford to arraign her, because they cannot do without
+her testimony," answered the stranger.
+
+A buzz of conversation passed like a breeze through the impatient crowd.
+
+"Silence in the court!" called out the crier.
+
+And all became as still as death.
+
+Mr. Roy, assistant counsel for the crown, arose and read the indictment,
+charging the prisoner at the bar with the willful murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison, at Castle Lone, on the twenty-first day of June, Anno Domini,
+so and so. Without making any comment, the prosecutor sat down.
+
+The Clerk of Arraigns then arose, and demanded of the accused--
+
+"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty of the crimes with
+which you stand indicted?"
+
+Potts, who stood pale and trembling and clutching the rails in front of
+the dock, replied earnestly though informally:
+
+"Not guilty, upon my soul, my lords and gentlemen, before Heaven, and as
+I hope for salvation."
+
+And overpowered by fear, he sank down on the narrow bench at the back of
+the dock.
+
+The trial proceeded.
+
+Queen's Counsel, Mr. James Stuart, took the indictment from the hands of
+his assistant, and proceeded to open it with a short, pithy address to
+the judges and the jury, and closed by requesting that Alexander McRath,
+house-steward of Castle Lone, in the service of the deceased, should be
+called.
+
+The venerable, gray-haired old Scot, being duly called, came forward and
+took the stand.
+
+Mr. McIntosh, assistant Queen's Counsel, conducted his examination.
+
+Being duly sworn, Alexander McRath testified as to the facts within his
+own knowledge relating to the case, and which have already been laid
+before our readers--briefly, they referred to the finding of the dead
+body of the late Sir Lemuel Levison in his bed-chamber, to which no one
+except his confidential valet, the prisoner at the bar, had a pass-key,
+or could have gained admittance during the night.
+
+The witness was cross-examined by Mr. Keir of the counsel for the
+prisoner, but without having his testimony weakened.
+
+Other domestic servants were called, who corroborated the evidence given
+by the last one as to the finding of the dead body, and the intimate and
+confidential relations which had subsisted between the deceased and the
+prisoner at the bar, who always carried a pass-key to his master's
+private apartments.
+
+Then the boy, Ferguson, a saddler's apprentice from the village of Lone,
+was called to the stand; and being sworn and examined, testified to the
+meeting and the conspiracy at midnight before the murder, under the
+balcony, near Malcolm's Tower, at Castle Lone, to which he had been an
+eye and ear-witness.
+
+This witness was subjected to a very severe cross-examination, which
+rather developed and strengthened his testimony than otherwise.
+
+McNeil, the ticket agent of the railway station at Lone, was next called,
+sworn, and examined. He testified to having sold a ticket just after
+midnight on the night of the murder to a vailed woman, who carried a
+small but very heavy leathern bag, which she guarded with jealous care.
+His description corresponded with that given by young Ferguson of the
+vailed woman, and the bag he had seen given to her by the balcony at
+Castle Lone on the same night.
+
+This witness, also, was sharply cross-examined without effect.
+
+"Now, my lords and gentlemen of the jury," began Queen's Counsel Stuart,
+speaking more gravely than he had ever done before, "I shall proceed to
+call a witness whose testimony will assuredly fix the deep guilt in the
+case we are trying where it justly belongs. Let Rose Cameron be placed
+upon the stand."
+
+There was a great sensation in the court-room. The dense crowd was
+stirred with emotion as thick forest leaves are stirred with the wind.
+
+"Silence in the court!" called out the crier.
+
+And silence fell like a pall upon the crowd.
+
+A door was opened on the left of the Judge's Bench, and the handsome
+Highland girl was led in by a sheriff's officer. She was dressed in a
+dark-blue merino suit, with a black felt hat and blue feather to match,
+and dark-blue gloves. Her long light hair flowed down her shoulders, a
+cataract of gold. She stepped with an elastic and imperial step as
+natural to her as to the reindeer. A very Juno of stately beauty she
+seemed as she rolled her large, fearless eyes over the crowded
+court-room, until, at length, they fell on the form of the young Duke
+of Hereward, seated on a front seat.
+
+She started and flushed. Then recovered herself, caught his eyes, and
+fixed them with her bold, steady gaze, smiled a vindictive, deadly smile,
+and so passed with stately steps to her place on the witness stand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+A STARTLING CHARGE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward was quite unable to account for the look of
+vindictive and deadly hatred and malice cast on him by Rose Cameron. He
+could only suppose that she mistook him for some one else, or that she
+unreasonably resented his active share in the prosecution of the search
+for the murderers of Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+He sat back in his seat and watched her while she stepped upon the
+witness-stand and turned to face the jury.
+
+Every pair of eyes in the court-room were also fixed upon her. For it was
+believed that she had been an accomplice in the murder, as well as in the
+robbery, at Castle Lone, and that she had turned Queen's evidence in
+order to escape the extreme penalty of the law. And all there who looked
+upon her were as much dazzled by her wondrous beauty, as appalled by her
+awful guilt.
+
+The Clerk of the Court administered the oath. The assistant Queen's
+Counsel proceeded to examine her.
+
+"Your name is Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Na! I'm nae Rose Cameron. I'm Rose Scott, and an honest, married woman,"
+said the witness, turning a baleful look upon the Duke of Hereward, and
+letting her large, bold, blue eyes rove defiantly, triumphantly over the
+sea of human faces turned toward her. She never blenched a bit under the
+fire of glances fixed upon her. These glances would have pierced like
+spears any finer and more sensitive spirit. They never seemed to touch
+hers.
+
+"What a handsome quean it is!" said some.
+
+"What a diabolical malignity there is in her looks. Eh, sirs! The vera
+cut of her 'ee wad convict her, handsome as she is!" whispered another.
+
+"Ay, she looks as if she could ha ta'en a hand in the murther as well as
+in the robbery," muttered a third. And so on.
+
+These comments were made in so low a tone that they did not in the least
+disturb the decorum of the court.
+
+"Your name is Rose Scott, then?" proceeded Counsellor Keir.
+
+"Ay, it is."
+
+"What is your age?"
+
+"Twenty-six come next Michael-mas."
+
+"Your residence?"
+
+"Are ye meaning my hame?"
+
+"Yes, your home."
+
+"I dinna just ken. It used to be Ben Lone on the Duk' o Harewood's
+estate, when I waur a lass. Sin I hae been a guid wife I hae bided in
+Westminster Road, Lunnun."
+
+At the mention of Westminster Road, the Duke of Hereward started
+slightly, and bent forward to give closer attention to the words of
+the witness.
+
+"With whom did you live in Westminster Road?" proceeded the examiner.
+
+"Wi' my ain guid man, ye daft fule!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, in a rage.
+"Wha else suld I bide wi'? And noo, ye'll speer nae mair questions anent
+my ain preevit life, for I'll nae answer any sic. A woman maunna gie
+testimony in open coort against her ain husband, I'm thinking."
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Sae I thocht!" said Rose Cameron, cunningly. "And sae ye'll speer nae
+mair questions anent my ain preevit affair; but just keep ye to the
+point, and it please ye! I am here to tell all I ken anent the murther
+and robbery at Castle Lone! Ay! and I will tell a' hang wha' it may!" she
+added, with a most vindictive glare at the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"The witness is right so far. We have nothing whatever to do with her
+domestic status. Proceed with the examination, and keep to the point,"
+interposed the judge.
+
+"We will, my lord. We only wished to prove the fact that the witness was
+living on the most intimate terms with one of the parties suspected of
+the murder."
+
+"I waur living wi' my ain husband, as I telt ye before, ye born idiwat!
+An' I'm no ca'd upon to witness for or against him. Sae I'll tell ye a' I
+ked anent the murther and the robbery at Castle Lone; but de'il hae me
+gin I tell ye onything else!" exclaimed Rose Cameron.
+
+"The witness is quite right in her premises, though censurable in her
+manner of expressing them. Proceed with the examination," said the judge.
+
+The assistant Q.C. bowed to the Bench and turned to the witness.
+
+"Tell us, then, where you were on the night of the murder."
+
+"I waur in the grounds o' Castle Lone."
+
+"At what time were you there?"
+
+"Frae ten till twal o' the clock."
+
+"Were you alone?"
+
+"For a guid part of the time I waur my lane i' the castle court."
+
+"What took you out on the castle grounds alone at so late an hour?"
+
+"I went there to keep my tryste with the Markis of Arondelle," answered
+the witness, with a sly, malignant glance at the young nobleman whose
+name she thus publicly profaned!
+
+The Duke of Hereward started, and fixed his eyes sternly and inquiringly
+upon the bold, handsome face of the witness.
+
+Her eyes did not for an instant quail before his gaze. On the contrary,
+they opened wide in a bold, derisive stare, until she was recalled by the
+questions of the examiner.
+
+"Witness! Do you mean to say, upon your oath, that you went to Castle
+Lone at midnight to meet the Marquis of Arondelle?"
+
+"Aye, that I do. I went to the castle to keep tryste wi' his lairdship,
+the Marquis of Arondelle. He wha was troth-plighted to the heiress o'
+Lone. Ae wha is noo ca'd his grace the Duk' o' Harewood!" said the
+witness, emphatically, triumphantly.
+
+The statement fell like a thunderbolt on the whole assembly.
+
+When Rose Cameron first said that she went to the castle to keep tryste
+with the Marquis of Arondelle, those who heard her distrusted the
+evidence of their own ears, and turned to each other, inquiring in
+whispers:
+
+"What did she say?"
+
+Or answering in like whispers:
+
+"I don't know."
+
+But now that she had reiterated her statement with emphasis and with
+triumph, they asked no more questions, but gazed in each other's faces
+in awe-struck silence.
+
+And as for the Duke of Hereward! What on earth could a gentleman have
+to say to a charge as absurd as it was infamous, thus made upon him by
+a disreputable person in open court?
+
+Why, to notice it even by denial would seem to be an infringement of his
+dignity and self-respect.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, after his first involuntary start and stare of
+amazement, controlled himself absolutely, and sat back in his chair,
+perfectly silent and self-possessed under this ordeal.
+
+Not so the senior counsel for the defence.
+
+Rising in his place, he addressed the bench:
+
+"My lord, we object to the question put to the witness, which, while it
+tends to compromise a lofty personage of this realm, can, in no manner,
+concern the case in hand. My lord, we are not trying his grace the Duke
+of Hereward."
+
+"The bench has already instructed the counsel for the Crown to keep to
+the point at issue while examining the witness," said the presiding
+judge.
+
+"Ou, ay! Ye are nae trying the Duk' o' Harewood, are ye nae? Aweel, then,
+I'm thinking ye'll be trying him before a's ower!" put in Rose Cameron,
+spitefully.
+
+"Witness, tell the jury what occurred, within your own knowledge, while
+you were in the grounds of Castle Lone," said Mr. Keir.
+
+"And how will I tell onything right gin I am forbid to name the name o'
+him wha wur maistly concernit?" demanded Rose Cameron.
+
+"You are to give your own testimony in your own way, unless otherwise
+instructed by the bench," said Mr. Keir.
+
+"Aweel, then, first of a', I went to the castle by appointment to meet
+Laird Arondelle, as he was then ca'd. I walked about and waited fu' an
+hour before his lairdship cam' till me."
+
+"At what hour was that?"
+
+"I heard the castle clock aboon Auld Malcom's Tower strike eleven when I
+cam' under the balcony o' the bride's chamber, whilk is nigh it. I waited
+fu' half an hour there before his lairdship cam' stealing through the
+shrubbery--De'il hae him, wha ha brocht a' this trouble on me!" exclaimed
+the witness, vehemently, as her eyes, fairly blazing with blue fire,
+fixed themselves on the face of the young duke.
+
+The Duke of Hereward bore the searching glare quite calmly. He simply
+leaned back in his chair, with folded arms and attentive face, on which
+curiosity was the only expression.
+
+"Mr. Keir," said the venerable Counsellor Guthrie, of the defence, "is
+all this supposed to concern the case before the jury?"
+
+"Ay, does it!" cried Rose Cameron, before the lawyer addressed could
+reply. "Ay, does it, as ye will sune see, gin ye will gie me leave to
+speak."
+
+Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward took out his note-book and wrote these
+lines:
+
+"_Pray let the witness proceed without regard to her use of my name.
+I think the ends of justice require that she be suffered to give her
+testimony in her own way_. HEREWARD."
+
+He tore this leaf out and passed it on to Mr. Guthrie, who read it with
+some surprise, and then waved his hand to Mr. Keir, and sat down with the
+air of a man who had complied with an indiscreet request, and washed his
+hands of the consequences.
+
+"The time of the court is being unnecessarily wasted. Let the examination
+of the witness go on," said the presiding judge.
+
+"It shall, my lord," answered the Queen's Counsel, with an inclination of
+his white-wigged head. Then turning to the bold blonde on the stand, he
+proceeded:
+
+"Witness, tell the jury what occurred that night under the balcony of
+Miss Levison's apartments at Castle Lone."
+
+Rose Cameron threw another vindictive glance at the Duke of Hereward, and
+commenced her narrative.
+
+Now, as her story was substantially the same that has been already given
+to the reader, it is not necessary to recapitulate it here. Only in one
+respect it differed from the stories she had hitherto told to her
+landlady or housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, of Westminster Road; as on this
+occasion she reserved all allusion to any real or fancied marriage
+between herself and the nobleman she claimed as her lover, and then
+accused as the accomplice of thieves and assassins, in the murder and
+robbery at Castle Lone, on the night preceding the day appointed for his
+own marriage with its heiress!
+
+It would be impossible to describe the effect of this terrible testimony
+on the minds of all who heard it.
+
+The Bench, the Bar, and the Jury, whom, it would seem, nothing in this
+world had power to startle, astonish, or discompose, sat like statues.
+
+Scarcely less immovable was the young Duke of Hereward, the subject
+of this awful charge, who sat back in his seat with an air of grave
+curiosity, and with the composure of a man who was master of the
+situation.
+
+But the crowd which filled the court-room seemed utterly confounded by
+what they heard. Upon the whole, they either disbelieved this witness, or
+distrusted their own ears. Their young laird, as she called the present
+duke, was their model of all wisdom, goodness, magnanimity. Truly, they
+had heard a rumor of some little love-making between the young laird and
+a handsome shepherdess at Ben Lone, probably this same Rose Cameron; even
+these rumors they did not fully credit; but that the noble young Duke of
+Hereward should be the accomplice of thieves and murderers in the robbery
+at Castle Lone, and the assassination of Sir Lemuel Levison, on the very
+night preceding the morning appointed for his marriage with Sir Lemuel's
+daughter!
+
+Oh! the charge was too preposterous, as well as too horrible, to be
+entertained for an instant.
+
+Finally the prevailing opinion settled into this: that the young laird
+had probably admired the handsome shepherdess a little, and had left her
+for the heiress; and that, from jealousy and for revenge, the girl was
+now perjuring herself to ruin her late lover.
+
+Would her testimony be believed? Would it have weight enough to cause the
+arrest of the young duke?
+
+"Eh, sirs! what an awfu' event the like o' that wad be!" whispered one
+gray-haired clansman to another.
+
+And all bent eager ears to hear the remainder of the testimony which was
+still going on.
+
+After relating the history of her journey to London, with the stolen
+treasure in charge, she proceeded to tell of the abrupt flight of "the
+duke," with the bulk of the treasure in his possession, and of her own
+subsequent arrest with the stolen jewels found in her apartments.
+
+She was cross-examined by the defence, but without effect.
+
+Her testimony, if it could be established, would ruin the Duke of
+Hereward, but could in no way affect the prisoner at the bar.
+
+When the prosecution perceived this, they realized that they had been, in
+common parlance, "sold."
+
+They were to be sold again.
+
+"You may stand down," said Mr. Keir, sharply.
+
+"Na, I hanna dune yet. I hae mair to say," persisted the witness.
+
+"Say it, then."
+
+"I ken it is nae lawfu' for a wife to gie testimony against her ain
+husband," said Rose Cameron, with a cunning leer that marred the beauty
+of her fine blue eyes.
+
+"Certainly not. What has that to do with this case?"
+
+"It hae a' things to do with it."
+
+"Explain yourself, witness; and remember that you are on your oath."
+
+"Ay, I weel ken the solemnity of an aith. And I hae telt the truth under
+aith; nathless, maybe my teestimony suld na be received."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why no'? Why, gin a wife maunna teestify agin her ain husband, I suld na
+hae teestified agin the Duk' o' Harewood, who is my ain lawfu' husband!"
+said Rose Cameron, purposely raising her voice to a clear, ringing tone
+that was distinctly heard all over the court-room.
+
+Had a shell fallen and exploded in their midst, it could scarcely have
+caused greater consternation.
+
+"What said the lass?" questioned many.
+
+"I dinna just ken," answered many others.
+
+They certainly did not believe the report of their own ears on this
+occasion.
+
+As for the Duke of Hereward, who was then engaged in writing a few lines
+on the fly-leaf of his note-book, he just looked up for a moment and was
+surprised into the first smile that had lighted his grave face since the
+opening of the trial.
+
+The cool counsel who was conducting the examination of the witness,
+and whom nothing on earth could throw off his track, now proceeded to
+inquire:
+
+"Witness! Do we understand you to say that you are the wife of his grace
+the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Ay, just!" replied Rose Cameron, pertly. "Gin ye hae ony understanding
+at a', and gin ye are na the auld daft idiwat ye luke, ye'll understand
+me to say I am the lawfu' wedded wife o' the Duk' o' Harewood. Him as
+was marrit o' Tuesday last to the heiress o' Lone! Gin ye dinna believe
+me, I hae my marriage lines, gie me by the minister o' St. Margaret's
+Kirk, Weestminster, where he marrit me! Ou, ay! and I wad hae tell ye a'
+this in the beginning, only I kenned weel, if I _did_, ye wad na hae
+let me gae on gie' ony teestimony agin me ain husband. De'il hae him! But
+noo, as ye hae heerd the truth anent the grand villainy up in Castle
+Lone, I dinna mind telling ye wha I am. Ay, and ye may set aside my
+witness, gin ye like! But the whole coort hae noo heard it. Ay, and the
+whole warld s'all hear it, or a' be dune! And noo I am thinking ye'll een
+let the puir mon in the dock just gae free; and pit my laird, his greece,
+the nubble duk', intil the prisoner's place. Ye'll no hae to seek him
+far," added the woman, suddenly whisking around and facing the young Duke
+of Hereward, with a perfectly fiendish look of malice distorting her
+handsome face. "There he sits noo! he wha marrit me and afterwards marrit
+the heiress o' Lone! he wha betrayed me intil a prison, and wad hae
+betrayed me to the gallows, gin I had na been to canny for him! There he
+is noo, and he can na face me and deny it!"
+
+The Duke of Hereward did not deign to deny anything. He passed the fly
+leaf, upon which he had written some lines, on to the old lawyer,
+Guthrie, who looked over it, nodded, and then rising in his place,
+addressed the Bench:
+
+"My lord, we desire that the witness, who is now transcending the duties
+and privileges of the stand, be ordered to sit down."
+
+"Oh! I'll sit down!" pertly interrupted Rose Cameron. "I hae had my ain
+way, and I hae said my ain say, and now I'll e'en gae--gin this auld fule
+be done wi' me."
+
+"We have done with you; you can stand down," replied Mr. Keir, in
+mortification and disgust.
+
+Rose Cameron stepped down from the stand with the air of a queen
+descending from her throne. In look and motion she was graceful and
+majestic as the antelope. You had to hear her speak to learn how really
+low and vulgar she was.
+
+She darted one baleful blast of hatred from her blue eyes, as she passed
+the Duke of Hereward, and was then conducted back to the sheriff's room,
+where she was to be detained in custody until the conclusion of the
+trial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+THE VINDICATION.
+
+
+Mr. Guthrie now requested that the witness Ferguson might be recalled.
+
+The order was given. And the Lone saddler's red-headed apprentice took
+the stand.
+
+Mr. Guthrie referred to the notes that had been passed to him by the Duke
+of Hereward, and then said:
+
+"Witness, you told the jury that on the night before the murder of Sir
+Lemuel Levison, you were employed in your master's service up to a late
+hour."
+
+"Ay, your honor; but I waur fain to see the wedding decorations, for a'
+that," said the boy.
+
+"Precisely. But now tell the jury what was the service upon which you
+were employed to so late an hour that night."
+
+"It wad be a bit wedding offering to our laird, wha hae always favored
+his ain folks wi' his custom. It waur a Russia leather traveling
+dressing-bag for his lairdship, the whilk the master had ta'en unco guid
+care suld be as brawa bag as ony to be boughten in Lunnen town itsel',
+whilk mysel' was commissioned, and proud I waur, to tak', wi' my master's
+duty, to his lairdship."
+
+"Doubtless. Now tell the jury at what hour you took this wedding offering
+to Lord Arondelle."
+
+"Aweel, it wad be about half-past nine o'clock. I went wi' the
+dressing-case to the Arondelle Arms, where his lairdship and his
+lairdship's feyther, the auld duk' were biding. The hostler telt me that
+his lairdship had gane for a walk o'er the brig to Castle Lone. Sae I
+were fain to wait there for him."
+
+"How long did you wait?"
+
+"Na lang. I was na mair than five minutes before I saw his lairdship
+coming o'er the brig toward the house. And sune his lairdship came into
+the inn, and I made my bow, and offered his lairdship the wedding-gift,
+wi' my maister's respectful guid wishes. His lairdship smiled pleasantly,
+and tauld me to fetch it after him up to his chamber. I followed my laird
+up-stairs to his ain room, where his lairdship's valet, Mr. Kerr, was
+waiting on him. His lairdship wrote a braw note of acknowledgements
+to my maister, and gie it me to take away. My laird also gie me a
+half-sovereign, for mysel'. I dinna tak' the note just then to my
+maister. I saw by the clock on the mantel that it only lacked a quarter
+to ten o'clock, sae I e'en made my duty to his lairdship and run down
+stairs, ran a' the way o'er to Castle Lone, for I war fain to see the
+decorations. I got to Malcolm's Tower just in time to hear the auld clock
+in the turret strike eleven, and to see the mon and the woman meet
+thegither in the shadows."
+
+"Are you sure that you could not identify that man or woman?"
+
+"Anan?"
+
+"Would you know either of them again?" inquired Mr. Guthrie, changing the
+manner of his question.
+
+"Na! I tauld ye sae before. They were half hidden i' the bushes."
+
+"You say it was a quarter to ten when you left Lord Arondelle in his room
+at the inn?"
+
+"Ay, war it."
+
+"And that it was eleven o'clock when you witnessed the meeting between
+the man and the woman at Castle Lone!"
+
+"Ay, war it. And I had to run a' the way to do it in that time. It waur
+guid rinning."
+
+"You left his lordship's valet with him, do you say?"
+
+"Ay, I did. And the head waiter o' the Arondelle Arms, too, wha was just
+gaeing in wi' his lairdship's supper."
+
+"That will do. You may now stand down," said Mr. Guthrie.
+
+The shock-headed apprentice, who had done such good service to his Grace
+the Duke of Hereward, and such damage to the false witness against him,
+now left the stand and made his way through the crowd to his distant
+seat.
+
+Mr. Guthrie once more got upon his feet to address the Bench, and said:
+
+"May it please the Court, I move that the testimony of the Crown's
+witness, Rose Cameron, alias Rose Scott, be set aside as totally
+unreliable; and, further, that she be indicted for perjury."
+
+Upon this motion of Mr. Guthrie there followed some discussion among the
+lawyers.
+
+Finally it was decided to put the duke's valet, the hotel waiter, and
+other witnesses, on the stand, who would be able to corroborate or rebut
+the evidence given by the lad Ferguson, and thereby break down or
+establish the testimony offered by Rose Cameron.
+
+James Kerr was, therefore, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.
+
+He said that he had been in the service of the duke's family ever since
+he was nine years of age, first as page to the late duchess, but for the
+last three years as valet to the present duke; that he was with his
+master at the "Arondelle Arms" on the night of the murder; that the duke,
+who was then the Marquis of Arondelle, left the inn at half-past eight
+o'clock, to walk over the bridge to Castle Lone; that he returned at
+half-past nine, accompanied to his room by the boy Ferguson, who brought
+a handsome Russia leather travelling-case; that the marquis sat down to
+his writing-table, wrote a note and gave it to the boy, who immediately
+left the house.
+
+"At what hour was this?" inquired Mr. Guthrie.
+
+"It was a few minutes before ten. The clock struck very soon after the
+boy left. I remember it well, because his lordship's supper had been
+ordered for ten, and the waiter just entered to lay the cloth when the
+lad left, and his lordship sat down to supper at ten precisely. After the
+supper-service had been removed, his lordship went to his writing-desk
+and wrote for an hour, and then sealed and dispatched a packet directed
+to the _Liberal Statesman_. I took it myself to the Post-Office, to
+ensure its being in time for the midnight mail. It was then about
+half-past eleven o'clock. I was gone on my message for about five
+minutes. On my return I found my master where I had left him, sitting at
+his writing-desk, arranging his papers. But when I entered he locked his
+desk and said he would go to bed. I waited on him at his night toilet.
+And then, as the inn was very much crowded, I slept on a lounge in my
+master's bed-room. The house was full of noise; so many of the Scots
+were present, making merry over the approaching marriage of their
+chieftain's son. Neither my master nor myself rested well that night.
+I arose early to see my master's bath. The marquis arose at eight
+o'clock."
+
+Such was the substance of James Kerr's testimony, which perfectly
+corroborated that of the lad Ferguson, and greatly damaged that of Rose
+Cameron.
+
+The hotel waiter happened to be among those who had cast all their
+worldly interests to the winds, abandoned their callings of whatever
+sort, and come at all risk of consequences to be present at the trial.
+He was found in the court-room, called to the witness-stand, sworn and
+examined.
+
+His testimony corroborated that of the two last witnesses, and utterly
+broke down that of Rose Cameron.
+
+There was further consultation between the Bar and the Bench. Finally the
+testimony of the Crown's witness was set aside, and a warrant was made
+out for the arrest of Rose Cameron, otherwise Rose Scott, upon the
+charge of perjury.
+
+The warrant was sent out to the sheriff's room, to which, after leaving
+the witness-stand, Rose Cameron had been conducted.
+
+And now the crowd in the court-room, composed chiefly of neighbors,
+friends, kinsmen, and clansmen of the young Duke of Hereward, breathed
+freely.
+
+The thunder-cloud had passed.
+
+Their hero was vindicated. Truly they had never for an instant doubted
+his integrity, much less had they suspected him of a heinous, an
+atrocious crime. Still, it was an immense relief to have the black shadow
+of that bloody charge withdrawn.
+
+There was but one more witness for the prosecution to be examined; that
+witness was no less a person than the young Duke of Hereward himself.
+
+He was called to the stand, and sworn.
+
+Every pair of eyes in the court-room availed themselves of the
+opportunity afforded by the elevated position of the witness-stand,
+to gaze on the man who had so recently been the subject of such a
+terrible accusation; and all admired the calmness, self-possession,
+and forbearance of his conduct during the fearful ordeal through which
+he had just passed.
+
+He simply testified as to the finding of the dead body, the position of
+the corpse, the condition of the room, and so forth. He was not subjected
+to a cross-examination, but was courteously notified that he was at
+liberty to retire.
+
+He resumed his former seat.
+
+The case for the prosecution was closed.
+
+Mr. Kinlock, junior counsel for the prisoner, arose for the defence. He
+made a short address to the jury, in which he spoke of the slight grounds
+upon which his unhappy client had been charged with an atrocious crime,
+and brought to trial for his life. The law demanded a victim for that
+heinous crime, which had shocked the whole community from its centre to
+its circumference, and his unfortunate client had been selected as a sin
+offering. He reminded the jury how the very esteem and confidence of the
+master and the fidelity and obedience of the servant had been most
+ingeniously turned into strong circumstantial evidence, to fix the
+assassination of the master upon the servant. The deceased, had entirely
+trusted the prisoner; had given him a pass-key with which he might enter
+his chambers at any hour of the day or night; and hence it was argued
+that the prisoner, being the only one who had the entree to the
+deceased's apartments, must have been the person who admitted the
+murderer to his victim. The prisoner had faithfully obeyed his master's
+orders for the day, in declining to enter his rooms before his bell
+should ring; and thence it was argued that he only delayed to call his
+master because he knew that master lay murdered in his room, and he
+wished to give the murderers, with whom he was said to be confederated,
+time to make good their escape. He was sure, he said, that a just and
+intelligent jury must at once perceive the cruel injustice of such
+far-fetched inferences. In addition he would call witnesses who would
+testify to the good character of the accused, and prove that the great
+esteem and confidence in which he had been held by his late master was
+abundantly justified by the excellent character and blameless conduct of
+the servant.
+
+Mr. Kinlock then proceeded to call his witnesses.
+
+They were the fellow-servants of the accused. Some of them were the very
+same witnesses that had been called by the prosecution, and were now
+re-called for the defence. One and all, in turn, testified to the uniform
+good behavior of the valet while in the service of Sir Lemuel Levison,
+deceased.
+
+The presiding judge, Baron Stairs, summed up the evidence in a very few
+words.
+
+The evidence against the prisoner at the bar was circumstantial only. It
+had appeared in evidence that some servant of the family had admitted the
+assassin to the house. It did not appear who that servant was. The valet
+John Potts, was the only one who had the pass-key to the apartments of
+the deceased. That circumstance had fixed suspicion upon him; had brought
+him to trial; the trial had brought out no new facts; the witness
+principally relied on by the prosecution had not only failed to give any
+testimony to convict the prisoner, but had certainly perjured herself to
+shield the real criminal, whoever he was, and to accuse a noble
+personage, whose high character and lofty station alike placed him
+infinitely above suspicion. On the other hand, many witnesses had
+testified to the good character and conduct of the prisoner, and the
+estimation in which he had been held by his late master. Such was the
+evidence, pro and con.
+
+His lordship concluded by saying that the jury might now retire and
+deliberate upon their verdict, remembering that in all cases of
+uncertainty they should lean to the side of mercy.
+
+The jury arose from their seats, and, conducted by a bailiff, retired to
+the room provided for them.
+
+Many of the people now left the court-room to get refreshments.
+
+But as the judges remained upon the bench, the Duke of Hereward kept his
+seat. He felt sure that the jury would not long deliberate before
+bringing in their verdict.
+
+Meanwhile he turned to glance at the prisoner.
+
+John Potts looked like a man without a hope in the world. We have already
+seen that an awful change had come over him since the day of his arrest,
+three months before. Now, as he leaned forward where he sat, and rested
+his head upon his skeleton hands, that clasped the top of the railing of
+the dock, his face, or what could be seen of it, was ghastly pale with
+agony, while his emaciated frame trembled from head to foot. _He looked
+like a guilty man._ And his looks were now, as they had been from the
+moment in which the dead body of his master had been discovered, the
+strongest testimony against him.
+
+For all that, you know, they cannot hang a man merely because he looks as
+if he ought to be hung.
+
+After an absence of about fifteen minutes, the jury, led by a bailiff,
+returned to the court-room.
+
+The prisoner looked up, shivered, and dropped his head upon his clasped
+hands again.
+
+The dead silence of breathless expectation in the court-room was now
+broken by the solemn voice of the Clerk of Arraigns, inquiring, in
+measured tones:
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"
+
+"We have," answered the foreman, a jolly, red-headed, round bodied Banff
+baker.
+
+"Prisoner at the bar, stand up and look upon the jury," ordered the
+clerk.
+
+The poor, abject, and terrified wretch tottered to his feet and stood,
+pallid, shaking, and grasping the front rails of the dock for support.
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner. How say you, is the
+prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the felony herewith he stands
+charged?" demanded the clerk.
+
+"We find the charge against the prisoner to be--NOT PROVEN,"[A]
+answered the foreman, speaking for the whole in a strong, distinct voice,
+that was heard all over the court-room.
+
+[Footnote A: "Not Proven"--a Scotch verdict in uncertain cases.]
+
+On hearing the verdict which saved him from death, even if it did not
+vindicate him, John Potts let go the rails of the dock and fell back in
+his chair in a half-fainting condition.
+
+"The prisoner is discharged from custody. The Court is adjourned," said
+the presiding baron, rising and leaving his seat.
+
+While one of the bailiffs was kindly supporting the faltering steps of
+the released prisoner, in taking him from the dock, and while the crowd
+in the court-room were pouring out of the front doors, the presiding
+judge, Baron Stairs, came down to the place where the young Duke of
+Hereward still sat. He had known the duke's father, and had also known
+the duke himself from boyhood. He now held out his hand cordially,
+saying:
+
+"I am very glad to see your grace, though the occasion is a painful one.
+Let me congratulate you on your marriage, I wish you every good thing in
+life. You have already got the _best_ thing--a good wife. I knew
+Miss Levison. A finer young woman never lived. I congratulate you with
+all my heart, Duke!"
+
+"I thank you very much, Lord Stairs," said the bridegroom, warmly
+returning the greeting of the judge.
+
+"But I fear I must condole with you also. It was really too bad to have
+your honeymoon eclipsed at its rising, by a summons to attend as a
+witness on a criminal trial!--too bad! However, fortunately, the trial
+was a short one. And you are now at liberty to fly to your bride! I hope
+the duchess is well," added his lordship.
+
+"She has never been quite well, I grieve to say, since the catastrophe at
+Lone," answered the duke, evasively.
+
+"Ah, no! ah no! It cannot be expected that she should be so yet. It will
+take time! It will take time! By the way, where are you stopping, my dear
+Duke? I am at the 'Prince Consort!' Will you come home with me and dine?"
+heartily inquired the baron.
+
+"Many thanks, my lord. But I am not staying in town. I must hurry back to
+Lone this evening in order to secure the midnight express to London. The
+most important business demands my immediate presence there," gravely
+replied the young duke.
+
+"Ah, of course! of course! the bride! the duchess! Certainly, my dear
+duke. I will not press you further," said the baron, laughing cordially.
+
+Neither of the gentlemen made the slightest allusion to the testimony
+given by the crown's evidence which had cast so foul and false an
+aspersion on the character of the duke.
+
+By this time the court-room was nearly emptied.
+
+The duke and the baron walked out together.
+
+The crowd had dispersed from before the court-house.
+
+The duke and the baron shook hands and parted on the sidewalk.
+
+"Give my warm respects to the duchess. Tell her grace that I shall hope
+to meet her and present my congratulations in person, on her return from
+the Continent. That will be in time for the meeting of Parliament, I
+presume," said his lordship, as he was about to step into his carriage.
+
+"Thanks, my lord. Yes, I hope so," answered his grace, as he lifted his
+hat and turned away.
+
+The baron's carriage drove off to his hotel.
+
+The duke walked rapidly to the inn, where he had ordered his post-chaise
+to be put up.
+
+He partook of a light luncheon while his horses were being harnessed, and
+then entered the chaise, attended by his valet, and ordered the coachman
+to drive as fast as possible, without hurting the horses, to Lone.
+
+He was most anxious to reach the "Arondelle Arms," to see if any telegram
+from Detective Setter had reached the office for him.
+
+So long as the road ran through the Firwood, and was comparatively smooth
+and level, the coachman kept his horses at their best speed; but when it
+entered the mountain pass of the chain running around Loch Lone, he was
+compelled to drive slowly and carefully.
+
+The sun set before they emerged from the pass, and it was nearly dark
+when the chaise drew up before the Arondelle Arms.
+
+The duke got out of the chaise, and passed through the little assemblage
+of villagers who were standing there discussing the verdict of the jury.
+He hurried at once to the bar-room to inquire if any letter or telegram
+had come for him.
+
+"Na, naething o' the sort," replied the landlord, who, seeing the
+disappointment expressed upon the duke's face, added: "But, under favor,
+your grace, there's time eneuch yet. Your grace hae na been twenty-four
+hours awa' fra Lunnun."
+
+Without waiting to answer the host, the young duke hurried out, and
+walked rapidly off to the telegraph office, which was at the railway
+station.
+
+"Ye see yon lad?" said the landlord to his wife. "He hanna been a day fra
+his bride, and yet he expects to hae a letter or a message frae her every
+minute. Aweel we hae a' been fules in our time!"
+
+So saying the philosophical host of the Arondelle Arms gave his mind to
+the service of his numerous customers, who had come from the trial at
+Banff very hungry and thirsty, and now filled the bar-room with their
+persons, and all the air with their complaints.
+
+They were not at all satisfied with the verdict. They had had a murder,
+and they had a right to have a hanging. They had been defrauded of their
+prospect of this second entertainment, and they were not well pleased.
+
+Meanwhile, the duke hurried off to the telegraph office, to see if by any
+chance a telegram had been received there for him and detained.
+
+When he entered the little den, he found the operator at work. He
+forebore to interrupt the man until the clicking of the wires ceased.
+Then he asked:
+
+"Can you tell if there is any message here for me?--the Duke of
+Hereward," added his grace, seeing the puzzled look of the operator,
+who was a stranger in the country.
+
+"Yes, your grace. It has only just now come," respectfully answered the
+young man, as he drew out a long, narrow strip of thick, white paper,
+upon which the message had been stamped by the instrument, and proceeded
+to select an official envelope in which to inclose it.
+
+"Never mind that. Give it to me at once," said the duke, taking the strip
+from the hand of the operator and hastily perusing it.
+
+The message ran thus:
+
+"OLD CHURCH COURT, KENSINGTON, LONDON,
+
+"October 31st, 3 P.M.
+
+"To HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, Arondelle Arms, Lone, N.B.
+She is found. Pray come to London immediately. It is important.
+
+"J.A. SETTER."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+WHO WAS FOUND!
+
+
+"She is found."
+
+"Who is found? The lost bride, or that mysterious messenger who was with
+the fugitive an hour before her flight, who was suspected to have lured
+her away, and who might be able to give a clew to her whereabouts? Good
+Heaven! why could not the detective have sent a definite message?"
+thought the duke, as he studied the telegram.
+
+Suddenly his face lighted up as he said to himself. "It is Salome who is
+found! Of course it must be Salome, since no one else was really lost. It
+is Salome, and that is the very reason why Setter spoke so indefinitely;
+for I remember now that I instructed him to avoid using the name of the
+duchess in any telegram. Salome is found! Ah! I thank Heaven! She is
+found! But--" he reflected with a sudden re-action of feeling--"how,
+where, when, by whom, under what circumstances was my bride found? Is she
+well or ill? Can she give any satisfactory explanation of her absence?"
+were the next anxious, soul-racking questions that chased each other
+through his mind.
+
+"Oh, for the strong pinions of the eagle, that I might fly to her at once
+and satisfy all these anxious doubts," he breathed.
+
+It was now but six o'clock in the afternoon. The first train for London
+would not stop at Lone until midnight, and would not reach London until
+eight o'clock the next morning--fourteen hours of suspense!
+
+He could not bear that.
+
+The telegraph operator was about to close the office.
+
+The duke stopped him by saying:
+
+"I wish to send a telegram to London."
+
+"It is after hours, your grace," answered the operator, very
+deferentially.
+
+"I will pay you whatever you may demand for your extra services, over and
+above your usual fee," said the duke.
+
+The operator hesitated.
+
+"That is to say, if there is no rule in your office to forbid it," added
+the duke.
+
+"There is no rule to prevent it, your grace. My time is up, and I was
+about to go home to supper, that was all. I will send your grace's
+message, if you please," the operator explained, as he took his seat
+again.
+
+The duke hastily dashed off the following message:
+
+"LONE, N.B., October 31st, 6 P.M.
+
+"To J.A. SETTER, Police Station, Old Church Court, Kensington,
+London: Shall leave for London by this midnight express-train. Is she
+quite well? Answer immediately. HEREWARD."
+
+The operator took the message with a bow. The click of the instrument was
+soon heard, as the message, with the speed of light, flew on its errand.
+
+"Will you remain here until I can receive an answer?" inquired the duke,
+as soon as the sound ceased.
+
+"I should be happy to accommodate your grace; but if there should be no
+answer, say up to twelve o'clock?" suggested the young man.
+
+"In that case I should not ask you to remain; as you must know by my
+telegram that I am to take the train for London at that hour."
+
+"Certainly, your grace; but I thought it possible that you might wish the
+message taken to some other person in the event of your absence."
+
+"Not at all. I want it for myself alone. If it does not come before
+twelve I shall have no use for it."
+
+"Then I will remain here until midnight, if necessary; but it may not be
+necessary."
+
+"And you shall set your own price upon your time," said the duke.
+
+"Thanks, your grace; I am happy to be able to accommodate you; and would
+prefer to leave all other considerations to yourself," said the young
+man, very politely and--politicly.
+
+Even while they spoke, a warning vibration of the wires was perceived,
+followed by the _click, click, click_, of the instrument.
+
+"There is a message coming--most probably an answer to yours, though it
+is very soon to get one," said the operator, as he turned to give his
+whole attention to his work.
+
+The duke looked on with breathless eagerness.
+
+As soon as the sound ceased, the operator drew off the message and handed
+it to the duke, who seized it and hastily read;
+
+"LONDON, October, 31st, 7 P.M.
+
+"TO THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, LONE, N.B.: She is perfectly well.
+
+"J.A. SETTER."
+
+"Thank Heaven! I breathe freely now!" said the young duke to himself, as
+he arose from his seat.
+
+He liberally rewarded the telegraph operator, and then left the office
+and walked back to the inn.
+
+The Arondelle Arms was all alive with excitement. More travellers had
+come down from Banff, and the inn was crowded, principally by men of the
+Clan Scott. Every room was filled, every window lighted up. The bar
+and the tap room reeked.
+
+The duke was making his way through the crowd as best he might, when he
+was met by the landlord, who bowed, and apologized, and finally offered
+to conduct his grace by a private entrance to the parlor connected with
+the duke's own reserved suit of apartments.
+
+"An' noo, what will your grace hae to your supper?" hospitably inquired
+the host, as soon as his guest was comfortably seated in his arm-chair
+before the fire.
+
+"Anything at all, so that it is cleanly served, for which I can, of
+course, trust the Arondelle Arms," said the duke, smiling.
+
+The landlord bowed and went out.
+
+The duke leaned back in his chair, and stretched his feet to the genial
+warmth of the fire.
+
+He was feeling very happy. An immense load of anxiety was lifted from his
+heart. She was found! She was perfectly well! In twelve hours he would
+see her, and hear her own explanation of her very strange conduct. Her
+explanation would be perfectly satisfactory. So great was his confidence
+in her that he felt sure of this.
+
+She was found. She was perfectly well. There was nothing to prevent them
+from starting on their wedding tour as soon as they might wish to do so.
+They would, therefore, leave London by the tidal train for Dover on the
+next afternoon. The world would take it for granted that the wedding tour
+had been interrupted and delayed only by the trial. The world would never
+suspect Salome's strange escapade.
+
+While these thoughts were passing through the mind of the duke, the
+waiter came in and laid the cloth for supper.
+
+And soon the landlord himself entered, bearing a tray on which was
+arranged a choice bill of fare, the principal item of which was a roasted
+pheasant.
+
+The duke who had scarcely tasted food during the twenty-four hours of his
+terrible anxiety, now that his anxiety was relieved, felt his appetite
+return, demanding refreshment at the rate of compound interest.
+
+He sat down to the table. The landlord waited on him.
+
+The honest host of the Arondelle Arms was "dying," so to speak, for a
+confidential conversation with his noble guest. For some little time his
+respect for the Duke of Hereward held his curiosity in check; but at
+length curiosity conquered respect, and he burst forth with:
+
+"That wad be an unco impudent claim, the hizzie Rose Cameron tried to set
+up agin your grace, as I hear all the folk say out by--the jaud maunn be
+clear daft."
+
+"It would be charitable to suppose that she is 'daft,' as you call it,
+landlord. It would be well if a jury could be persuaded to think so, as,
+in that case, it would save her from the penalty of perjury. But we will
+speak no more of the poor girl. Take away the service, if you please,"
+said the duke, quietly.
+
+The landlord, balked of his desire to gossip, bowed, and cleared the
+table.
+
+It was not yet nine o'clock. There were more than three hours to be
+passed before the express-train for London would reach Lone.
+
+The duke, refreshed by his supper, felt no sense of weariness, no
+disposition to lie down and sleep away the three remaining hours of his
+stay. His mind was in too excited a condition to think of sleep. Neither
+could he read.
+
+So, soon after he was left alone by the landlord, he arose and sauntered
+out through the private entrance into the night air.
+
+The streets of the village were very quiet, for the reason that on this
+night the men were all collected at the Arondelle Arms, discussing the
+events of the day; and at this hour the women were all sure to be in
+their houses, putting their children to bed, setting bread to rise, or
+"garring th' auld claithes luke amaist as guid as the new."
+
+The hamlet was very still under the starlit sky.
+
+The Arondelle Arms, lighted up and musical, was the only noisy spot about
+it.
+
+The mountains stood, grand and silent, like gigantic sentinels around it.
+
+The lake, the island, and the castle of Lone lay beneath it.
+
+A sudden impulse seized the duke to cross the bridge, and re-visit once
+more the home of his youth, the scene of his family's disaster, the stage
+of that frightful tragedy which had shocked the civilized world.
+
+He went down to the beach, and stepped upon the bridge. Now, no floral
+wedding decorations wreathed the arches. All was bare and bleak beneath
+the last October sky.
+
+He crossed the bridge and entered on the grounds of the castle. All here
+was sear under the late autumnal frosts. He did not approach the castle
+walls. He would not disturb the servants at this hour. He walked about
+the grounds until he heard the clock in Malcolm's Old Tower strike ten.
+Then he turned his steps toward the hamlet.
+
+Just before he reached the bridge, he overtook the tall, dark figure of a
+man, clothed in a long, close overcoat, in shape not unlike a priest's
+walking habit. The man tottered and stumbled as he walked, so that the
+duke was soon abreast to him. And then he discovered the wanderer to be
+John Potts, valet to the late Sir Lemuel Levison.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward shrunk from this man. He could not bring
+himself to speak with one whom he could not, in his own mind, clear from
+suspicion.
+
+He passed the valet, walking quickly, and gaining the bridge.
+
+Then he heard footsteps rapidly following him, and the voice of the
+ex-valet excitedly calling after him:
+
+"My Lord Arondelle! oh! I beg pardon! Your grace! Your grace! For the
+love of Heaven, let me speak to you!"
+
+Thus adjured, the Duke of Hereward paused, and permitted the ex-valet to
+come up beside him.
+
+The wretched man was out of breath, pale, panting, trembling, ready to
+faint. He tottered toward the bulwarks of the bridge, grasped them, and
+leaned on them for support.
+
+"What do you want of me, Potts?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Oh, your grace! only to speak to you!" gasped the man.
+
+"What can you have to say to me?" sternly demanded the duke.
+
+"_This_, your grace!" said the man, suddenly springing forward and
+falling on his knees at the feet of the duke. "_This_ I have to say,
+your grace! Although the Court has not cleared me, I am innocent of my
+master's blood! I am! I am! I am! as the Heaven above us hears and
+knows! Oh! say you believe me, my lord duke!" cried the poor wretch,
+wringing his hands.
+
+"Your words and manner are very impressive; nevertheless, I cannot place
+confidence in them," said the duke, coldly.
+
+"Oh, my lord! my lord! Oh, my lord! my lord!" groaned the valet, lifting
+both his hands to heaven, as if in appeal from a great injustice.
+
+The duke was moved.
+
+"If you _are_ guiltless, why should you care whether I, or any other
+fallible mortal, should consider you guilty?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh," cried the man, clasping his hands with the energy of
+despair--"because _every_ body thinks me guilty! _No_ one
+believes me innocent, though I am guiltless of my master's blood, so help
+me Heaven!"
+
+"The circumstances, though not enough to convict you in a court of law,
+where every doubt must go in favor of the accused, were still strong
+enough to lay you under suspicion, and open to a second arrest and trial
+for your life, should new evidence turn up," quietly replied the duke.
+
+"I know it! I know it, your grace. But no new evidence against me can
+turn up! Lord grant that evidence in my favor might do so! But that
+cannot happen either. The circumstances that accused, but could not
+convict, nor acquit me, leave me still under the ban! Yes! under the ban
+I must remain! But do not _you_, my lord duke, believe me guilty of
+my master's death! Guilty of much I am! Guilty of neglect of duty, but
+not of my master's death! The Heavens that hear me know it! Oh, pray,
+pray try to believe it, my lord duke!" pleaded the wretch, still
+kneeling, still lifting his clasped hands in an agony of appeal.
+
+"Get upon your feet, Potts. Never kneel to any man. To do so is to
+degrade yourself and the man to whom you kneel. Get up, before I speak
+another word to you," said the duke.
+
+The miserable creature struggled to his feet and stood leaning against
+the bulwarks of the bridge, for support.
+
+"Now, then, if you are not guilty, if your conscience acquits you in the
+sight of Heaven of all complicity in your late master's death, why should
+you feel and show such extreme distress--distress that has worn your
+frame to a skeleton, and stricken your life with old age?" gravely
+demanded the duke.
+
+"Why?--oh, your grace! I loved my master as a son his father! He was more
+like a father than a master to me. And he was cut off suddenly by a
+bloody death! In the midst of my grief for his loss I was arrested and
+accused of murdering him--my beloved master. I have seen the gallows
+looming before me for the last three months. I have been shut in prison,
+with no companions but my own awful thoughts. I have been put on trial
+for my life. And though the jury could not convict me, it would not
+acquit me! though I am set at large for the present, I am subject to
+re-arrest and trial for death, if new evidence, however false, should
+arise against me. Meanwhile, no one believes me innocent. All believe me
+guilty. No one will ever speak to me. They made the inn too hot to hold
+me. My life is ruined--my heart is broken! Is not all that enough, lord
+duke, to have worn my body to a skeleton and turned my hair gray, without
+remorse of conscience?" impetuously demanded the man.
+
+"No, Potts, it is not. Nothing but remorse, it seems to me, could so
+reduce a man," gravely replied the duke.
+
+"Oh, your grace! you still believe me guilty of my good master's murder!"
+passionately exclaimed the man. "Ah, Heaven! what will become of me? I
+shall die unless I can have the stay of _some_ one's faith in me!"
+
+"Potts," said the duke, in a softened tone, "I do not now think that you
+had any active or conscious share in the foul murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison. But not the less do I see that you are suffering from remorse.
+_You are still keeping something back from me!_" he added, very
+solemnly.
+
+The valet groaned, but made no answer.
+
+"That is the reason why I have no confidence in you," said his grace.
+
+The valet wrung his gaunt hands, but continued silent.
+
+"Now I do not ask you to confide in me; but I will give you this
+warning--so long as you hold in your bosom a secret which, if revealed,
+would bring the real criminal to justice, so long you will yourself
+remain the object of suspicion from others and the victim of remorse
+in yourself. Now, Potts, I must leave you; for I must get to Lone in time
+to catch the London express. Good-night," said the duke, as he moved
+away.
+
+"One moment more, oh, my lord duke! for the love of Heaven! One moment to
+do a piece of justice," pleaded the ex-valet, tottering after the young
+nobleman.
+
+"Well, well, what is it now?" inquired the latter, pausing and turning
+back.
+
+"That poor, misguided girl, Rose Cameron," said the valet.
+
+"Well, what of _her_, man?" impatiently demanded the young nobleman.
+
+"Listen, my lord duke! You saw her committed to prison on the charge of
+perjury."
+
+"A charge that she was self-convicted of."
+
+"My lord duke, she was not guilty of perjury!" sighed the valet.
+
+"What! What is that you say?" quickly demanded the duke.
+
+"I say, Rose Cameron, poor misguided girl that she was, did not, however,
+perjure herself--_intentionally_ I mean," repeated John Potts.
+
+"Is she _mad_, then? The victim of a monomania?" gravely inquired
+the duke, fixing his eyes upon the troubled face of the valet.
+
+"No, your grace, she was never more in her right senses."
+
+"What do you mean? Do you _dare_--"
+
+"My lord duke, I dare nothing. I never was a daring man; if I had been,
+the daring would have been taken out of me by the troubles of this last
+quarter of a year! But, my lord duke, I am right. Rose Cameron did not
+intentionally perjure herself, neither is she mad. Rose Cameron believes
+in her heart every word of the statement she made under oath in the open
+court this morning."
+
+While the man thus spoke, the duke looked fixedly at him in perfect
+silence, in the forlorn hope of hearing some solution to the enigma.
+
+"Rose Cameron was deceived, my lord duke--grossly, cruelly, basely
+deceived--not in one respect only, but in many. She was, first of all,
+deceived into the idea of being the wife of a gentleman of high rank,
+when, in fact she is nobody's wife at all. Next she was deceived into
+becoming an accomplice in a robbery and murder, of which she was as
+ignorant and as innocent as--as _myself_. She could not have been
+more so!"
+
+"Who was her deceiver?" sternly demanded the duke.
+
+"I beg pardon. I know no more than your grace! I only presumed to speak
+about it, so as to explain the strange conduct of that poor girl, and
+clear her of intentional penury in your sight," said the valet, meekly.
+
+"Potts, you know much more than you are willing to divulge. You have,
+however, unwittingly given me a clew that I shall take care to follow up.
+Once more let me warn you to get rid of sinful secrets, and amend your
+life, if you wish to be at peace. Good-night."
+
+So saying, the duke walked rapidly away to make up for the time lost in
+talking with the ex-valet.
+
+It was after eleven o'clock when he reached the Arondelle Arms, yet the
+little hostel gave no signs of closing. The windows were all still ablaze
+with light, and the bar and the tap-room were uproarious with fun.
+Evidently the Clan Scott had been drinking the health of the duke and
+duchess until they had become--
+
+        "Glorious!
+O'er all the ills of life victorious!"
+
+The duke slipped in at the private entrance and gained his own apartment,
+where he found his valet engaged in packing his valise.
+
+He sent the man out to pay the tavern bill.
+
+In a few minutes Kerr returned, accompanied by the landlord, who brought
+the receipt, and inquired if his grace would have a carriage.
+
+"No," the duke said; as the distance was short, he preferred to walk to
+the station.
+
+In a few moments he left the inn, followed by his valet carrying his
+valise.
+
+They caught the train in good time, having just secured their tickets
+when the warning shriek of the engine was heard, and it thundered up to
+the station and stopped.
+
+The duke, followed by his servant, entered the coupe he had secured for
+the journey.
+
+Three nights of sleeplessness, anxiety and fatigue had prostrated the
+vital forces of the young nobleman, and so, no sooner had the train
+started, than he sat himself comfortably back among his cushions, and,
+being now in a great measure relieved from suspense, he fell into a
+deep and dreamless sleep. This sleep continued almost unbroken through
+the night, and was only slightly disturbed by the bustle of arrival when
+the train reached a large city on its route. He awoke when it arrived at
+Peterborough; but fell asleep again, and slept through the long twilight
+of that first day of November.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+OFF THE TRACK.
+
+
+It was eight o'clock in the morning of a dark and cloudy day, when the
+duke was finally aroused by the noise and confusion attending the arrival
+of the Great Northern Express train at King's Cross Station, London.
+
+He shook himself wide awake, adjusted his wrap, and sprang out of his
+coupe, while yet his servant was but just bestirring himself.
+
+The first man he met in the station was Detective Setter.
+
+"_How_ is she?" eagerly inquired the traveller, hastening to meet
+the officer.
+
+"She is perfectly well, and expresses herself as not only willing, but
+anxious to see your grace," replied the detective.
+
+"_Not only willing!_ that is a strange phrase, too! But I presume I
+shall understand it all when I see her. _Where_ is she?" demanded
+the duke.
+
+"At the house on Westminster Road. The address _was_ Westminster,
+and not Blackfriars Road."
+
+"At the house on Westminster Road! Did you find her there?"
+
+"I did your grace."
+
+"But why, in the name of propriety, and good sense, does she not return
+home?"
+
+"Your grace, she is at home," said the perplexed detective.
+
+"Just now you told me that she was at the house on Westminster Road!"
+said the bewildered duke.
+
+"Beg pardon, your grace, but the house on Westminster Road _is_ her
+home. She has no other that I know of."
+
+The duke stared at the detective a moment, and then hastily demanded:
+
+"Who _are_ you talking of?"
+
+"Beg pardon again, your grace, but I am afraid there is some
+misunderstanding."
+
+"_Who_ are you talking about?"
+
+"I am talking of the woman who came to the duchess just before she
+disappeared," answered the detective.
+
+"Good Heaven!" exclaimed the duke, with such a look of deep
+disappointment that the detective hastened to deprecate his displeasure
+by saying:
+
+"I am very sorry, your grace, that there should have been any
+misapprehension."
+
+"You idiot!" were the words that arose spontaneously to the duke's lips;
+but they were not uttered. The "princely Hereward" habitually governed
+himself.
+
+"Why did you not tell me in your telegram _who_ was found?" he
+demanded.
+
+"I certainly thought that your grace would have understood. In the
+telegram dispatched at nine o'clock yesterday morning, I told your grace
+that I had a clew to the woman who had called at Elmthorpe House on
+Tuesday. In the telegram sent at three in the afternoon, I said--'She is
+found.' I certainly thought your grace would understand that the woman to
+whom I had gained the clew was found. I grieve to know how much mistaken
+I was," sighed Mr. Setter.
+
+"Ah! that accounts for everything. I never received that first telegram."
+
+"Your grace never received it?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Then my messenger was false to his trust. I was so indiscreet as to send
+it to the office by a ticket porter, believing the fellow would do his
+duty faithfully, after having been paid in advance. The more fool I. I am
+certainly old enough to have known better!" said the detective, with a
+mortified air.
+
+"Well Mr. Setter, it is useless to regret that mistake now. Be so good as
+to call a cab. We will go at once to Westminster Road and see this Mrs.
+Brown. What information has she given you?"
+
+"None whatever, except this, which we knew before--that she visited the
+bride on the afternoon of the wedding day. She declines to tell _me_
+the nature of her business with the duchess; but says that she will
+explain it to you; she further denies all knowledge of the present abode
+of the duchess."
+
+"Then we must lose no time in going to the woman," said the duke.
+
+As he spoke, the cab which had been signalled by the detective drove up,
+and the cabman jumped down and opened the door.
+
+The duke entered it and sat down on the back cushions.
+
+His grace's servant, Kerr, came up to the window for orders.
+
+"Take my luggage home to Elmthorpe House. Give my respects to Lady
+Belgrade, and say that I will join her ladyship this afternoon," said the
+duke.
+
+The servant touched his hat and withdrew.
+
+"To Number ----, Westminster Road," ordered Mr. Setter, as he mounted to
+the box-seat beside the cabman.
+
+The latter started his horses at a good rate of speed, so that a drive of
+about forty minutes brought them to their destination.
+
+The detective jumped down and opened the door, saying,
+
+"Excuse me, your grace; but, I think, perhaps I ought to go in first to
+ensure you an interview with the woman?"
+
+"By all means go in first, officer. I will remain here in the cab until
+you return to summon me," answered the duke.
+
+Detective Setter went up to the door and knocked, and then waited a few
+seconds until the door was opened, and he was admitted by an unseen hand.
+
+A few minutes elapsed, and then detective Setter reappeared, and came up
+to the cab and said:
+
+"She will see you at once, early as it is, your grace, I do not know what
+in the world possesses the old woman; but she is chuckling in the most
+insane manner in the anticipation of meeting you 'face to face,' as she
+calls it."
+
+"Well, we shall soon see," said the duke, as, with a resigned air, he
+followed Mr. Setter into the house.
+
+The detective led him up stairs to the gaudy parlor which had once been
+Rose Cameron's sitting-room.
+
+There was no one present; but the detective handed a chair to the duke,
+and begged him to sit down and wait for Mrs. Brown's appearance.
+
+The duke threw himself into the chair, and gazed around him upon the
+garish scene, until a chamber door opened, and Mrs. Brown, in her
+Sunday's best suit, sailed in. The duke arose.
+
+Mrs. Brown came on toward him, courtesying stiffly, and saying:
+
+"Good morning to you, Mr. Scott! It is a many months since I have had the
+pleasure of seeing you in this house."
+
+The duke was not so much amazed at this greeting as he might have been,
+had he not heard the astounding testimony of Rose Cameron. So he answered
+quietly:
+
+"I do not think, madam, that you ever 'had the pleasure' of seeing me 'in
+this house' or, in fact, anywhere else. I have never seen _you_ in
+my life before."
+
+"Oh! oh! oh! here to the man! He would brazen it out to my very face!"
+exclaimed Mrs. Brown.
+
+The duke started and flushed crimson as he stared at the woman.
+
+"Oh, I am not afeard of you! Deuce a bit am I afeard of you! You may
+glare till your eyes drop out, but you'll not scare me! And you may be
+the Markiss of Arondelle and the Duke of Hereward, too, for aught
+I know, or care either! But you were just plain Mr. John Scott to me, and
+also to that poor, wronged lass whom you have betrayed into prison, if
+not unto death! And now, Mr. John Scott, as you wished to see me (and
+I can guess why you wished to see me,) and as I have no objection to see
+you, besides having something of importance to tell you, perhaps you will
+send that man off," said Mrs. Brown pointing to the detective.
+
+"No. I prefer that Mr. Setter should stay here, and be a witness to all
+that passes between us," answered the duke.
+
+"All right. It is no business of mine, and no _shame_ of mine. Only
+I thought as you mightn't like a stranger to hear all your secrets, and
+I wish to spare your feelings," said the woman.
+
+"I beg you will not consider my feelings in the least, madam," answered
+the duke, with a slight smile of amusement; "and I hope you will allow
+Mr. Setter to remain," he added.
+
+"Oh, in course! _I_ have no objection, if _you_ have none."
+
+"Pray go on and say what you have to say," urged the duke.
+
+"Then, first of all, I have to tell you that I know why you have come
+here. You have come to inquire about Miss Salome Levison, the great
+banker's heiress."
+
+"You are speaking of the Duchess of Hereward, madam," interrupted the
+duke, in a stern voice.
+
+"No, I'm not. I am speaking of Miss Salome Levison. She is not the
+Duchess of Hereward. I don't know but one Duchess of Hereward, and _her
+you are ashamed to own_," spitefully added Mrs. Brown.
+
+"You are a woman, aged and insane, and therefore entitled to our utmost
+indulgence," said the duke, putting the strongest control upon himself.
+"But tell me now, what was your business with the Lady of Lone, upon whom
+you called at Elmthorpe House on Tuesday afternoon?"
+
+"I went from your true wife, whom you had betrayed into prison, to your
+false wife, to let her know what you were, and to tell her that there was
+but one step between herself and ruin!"
+
+"Good Heaven! you did that!" exclaimed the duke, utterly thrown off his
+guard.
+
+"Yes, I did! And I showed the young lady your real wife's marriage lines,
+all regularly signed and witnessed by the rector of St. Margaret's and
+the sexton, and the pew-opener! I did! And there were letters in your own
+handwriting, and photographs, the very print of you, which I took along
+with the marriage lines, to prove my words when I told her that you had
+been married for over a year, and had lived in my house with your wife
+all that time!"
+
+"Heaven may forgive you for that great wrong, woman; but I never can!
+And--the lady believed you?"
+
+"Of course she did! How could she help it, when she saw all the proofs?
+It almost killed her. Indeed, and I think it _did_ quite craze her!
+But she saw her duty, and she had the courage to do it! She knew as she
+ought to leave you, before the false marriage could go any further. So
+she left you. I do really respect her for it!"
+
+"In the name of Heaven, _where_ did she go? Tell me that! Tell me
+where to find her, and I may be able to pardon the great wrong you have
+done us under some insane error," said the husband of the lost wife,
+striving to control his indignation.
+
+"Indeed, then," exclaimed Mrs. Brown, defiantly, "I am not asking any
+pardon at all from you, Mr. Scott. It ain't likely as I'll want pardon
+from Heaven for doing my duty, much less from _you_, Mr. John Scott.
+Oh, yes! I know you are called the Duke of Hereward; and no doubt you are
+the Duke of Hereward; but I knew you as Mr. John Scott, and nobody else;
+and I knew a deal too much of you as _him_. But as to wanting your
+pardon--that's a good one!"
+
+"Will you be good enough to tell me where my wife, the Duchess of
+Hereward, has gone?" demanded the duke, putting a strong curb upon his
+anger.
+
+"_You_ know where _she_ is well enough. _She_ is in the _trap_ you set
+for her!" spitefully answered the woman.
+
+In truth, the duke needed all his powers of self-control to enable him to
+reply calmly:
+
+"I ask you to tell me where is the Lady of Lone, to whom you went on
+Tuesday afternoon, with a story which has driven her from her home, and
+driven her, perhaps, to madness, or to death. I charge you to tell me,
+where is she?"
+
+"Ah! where is Miss Salome Levison, the heiress of Lone, you ask! Exactly!
+That is what you would give a great deal to know, wouldn't you! You want
+to follow and join her, and live with her abroad, because you have got a
+wife living in England. You're a noble duke, so you are! Well, if
+_this_ is what the nobility are a coming to, the sooner them
+Republicans have it all their own way the better, I say!" exclaimed Mrs.
+Brown, throwing herself back in her chair and folding her arms.
+
+Detective Setter here joined the Duke of Hereward, and deferentially drew
+him away to the other end of the room, and whispered:
+
+"I beg your grace not to remain here, subjected to the insolence of this
+mad woman, whose every second word is treason or blasphemy, or worse, if
+anything can be worse. Leave me to deal with her. A very little more, and
+I shall arrest her on the grave charge of conspiracy."
+
+"No, Setter, do nothing of the sort. Use no violence; utter no threats.
+_Now_, if ever--here, if anywhere--is a crisis, at which we must be
+not only 'wise as serpents, but _harmless_ as doves,' if we would
+gain any information from this woman," answered Salome's husband, as he
+walked back and rejoined Mrs. Brown.
+
+"Will you tell me, _on any terms_, where the Lady of Lone is to be
+found?" he inquired.
+
+"Humph! I like that! Aren't you a sharp? You _can't_ call her the
+duchess, and you _won't_ call her Miss Levison, so you call her the
+Lady of Lone, anyway!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, with a chuckling laugh.
+
+"But, will you, _for any price_, tell me where she has gone?"
+repeated the duke.
+
+"As to where Miss Salome Levison has gone, I would not tell you to save
+your life, even if I could. I could not tell you, even if I would. I left
+her sitting in her bed-chamber at Elmthorpe House, on that Tuesday
+afternoon after her false marriage. She was sitting clothed in her deep
+mourning travelling suit, as she had put on again for her father directly
+the wedding breakfast was over. She looked the very image of sorrow and
+despair. She did not tell me where she was going. I don't believe she
+even knew herself. There, that's all that I have got to tell you, even if
+you had the power to put me on the rack, as you used to have in the bad
+old times!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, once more folding her arms and settling
+herself in her chair.
+
+The Duke of Hereward walked toward the detective officer.
+
+"There is nothing more to be learned from the woman, at present, Setter.
+We have already gained much, however, in the knowledge of the base
+calumny that drove the duchess from her home. It is a relief to be
+assured that she has not fallen among London thieves. She has probably
+gone abroad. You must inquire, discreetly, at the London Bridge Railway
+Stations, for a young lady, in deep mourning, travelling alone, who
+bought a first-class ticket, on Tuesday evening. There, Setter! There
+is a mere outline of instructions. You will fill it up as your discretion
+and experience may suggest," concluded the duke, as he drew on his
+gloves.
+
+"I would suggest, your grace, that we go to St. Margaret's Old Church,
+where this strange marriage, in which they try to compromise you, is said
+to have taken place, and which is close by," said the detective.
+
+"By all means, let us go there and look at the register," assented the
+duke.
+
+They took leave of Mrs. Brown, and left the house.
+
+Five minutes drive took them to Old St. Margaret's.
+
+They were fortunate as to the time. The daily morning service was just
+over, and the curate who had officiated was still in the chancel.
+
+The Duke of Hereward went in, and requested the young clergyman to favor
+him with a sight of the parish register.
+
+The curate complied by inviting the two visitors to walk into the vestry.
+
+He then placed two chairs at the green table, requested them to be
+seated, and laid before them the brass-bound volume recording the births,
+marriages and deaths of this populous, old parish.
+
+The Duke of Hereward turned over the ponderous leaves until he came to
+the page he sought.
+
+And there he found, duly registered, signed and witnessed, the marriage,
+by special license, of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott and Rose Cameron,
+both of Lone, Scotland.
+
+"The mystery deepens," said the duke as he pointed to the register.
+
+"It is incomprehensible," answered the detective.
+
+"That is my name," added the duke.
+
+"Some imposter must have assumed it," suggested the officer.
+
+"Then the imposter, in taking my name, must have also taken my face and
+form, voice and manner, for though, upon my soul, I never married Rose
+Cameron, there are two honest women who are ready to swear that I did!"
+whispered the duke, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes; for there were
+moments when the absurdity of the situation overcame its gravity.
+
+The duke then thanked the curate for his courtesy and left the church,
+attended by the detective.
+
+"Where shall I tell the cabman to drive?" inquired Setter, as he held the
+door open after his employer had entered the cab.
+
+"To Elmthorpe House, Kensington. And then, get in here, with me, if you
+please, Mr. Setter. I have something to say to you," answered his grace.
+
+The detective gave the order and entered the cab.
+
+The duke then made many suggestions, drawn from his own intimate
+knowledge of the tastes and habits of the duchess, to assist the
+detective in his search.
+
+"You may safely leave the whole affair in my hands, sir. I will act with
+so much discretion that no one in London shall suspect that the Duchess
+of Hereward is missing. For the rest, I have no doubt that we shall soon
+find out the retreat of her grace. A young lady, dressed in elegant deep
+mourning, and travelling unattended, would be sure to have attracted
+attention and aroused curiosity, even in the confusion of a crowded
+railway station. We are safe to trace her, your grace," said Detective
+Setter, confidently.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+IN THE CONVENT.
+
+
+Salome was tenderly nursed by the nuns during the nine days in which her
+fever raged with unabated violence.
+
+At the end of that time, having spent all its force, the fever went off,
+leaving her weak as a child, in mind as well as in body.
+
+As soon as she was convalescent the abbess had her carefully removed from
+the infirmary in which she had lain ill, to a spacious chamber, with
+windows overlooking the convent garden--a gloomy outlook now, however,
+with its seared grass and withered foliage, shivering under the dreary
+November sky.
+
+The room was very clean and very scantily furnished; the walls were
+whitewashed and the floor was painted gray. The two windows were shaded
+with plain white linen; the cot bedstead, which stood against the wall
+opposite the windows, was covered with a coarse, white, dimity spread.
+
+Between the windows stood a small table, covered with a white cloth, and
+furnished with a white, earthen-ware basin and ewer. On each side of this
+table sat two wooden chairs, painted gray.
+
+In one corner of the room stood a little altar, draped with white linen,
+and adorned with a crucifix, surrounded with small pictures of saints and
+angels.
+
+In the opposite corner stood a small, porcelain stove, which barely
+served to temper the coldness of the air.
+
+There were few articles of comfort, and none of luxury, in the room--a
+strip of gray carpet, laid down beside the bed, an easy-chair with soft,
+padded back, arms, and seat, covered with white dimity, drawn up to
+the window nearest the stove, and a footstool of gray tapestry on the
+floor before it. These comforts were allowed to none but invalids.
+
+The abbess came in to see her every day.
+
+One morning Salome said to her visitor:
+
+"Mother, I have left this affair with the Duke of Hereward incomplete.
+I must complete it, that I may have peace."
+
+"I do not understand you, my child," said the abbess, in some uneasiness.
+
+"I have left him as in duty bound. I must write to him to let him know
+_why_ I left him; but I must not let him know the place of my
+retreat. I think I heard you say that our father-director was going to
+Rome this week?"
+
+"Yes, my child."
+
+"Then I will write to the Duke of Hereward for the last time, and bid him
+an eternal farewell. I will not date my letter from any place; but I will
+give it to the father-director that he may post it from Rome. You shall
+read my letter before I close it, dear mother. And now, on these terms,
+will you let me have writing materials?"
+
+"Certainly, my child. I will send them to you; or rather I will bring
+them," answered the meek lady-superior, as she arose and left the room.
+
+In a very few minutes she returned with the required articles.
+
+Salome wrote her letter, and then submitted it to the perusal of the
+abbess, who accorded it her full approval.
+
+"Now, dear mother, if the father-director will take that with him and
+post it from Rome, all will be over between the Duke of Hereward and
+myself! We shall be dead to each other," said Salome, as the abbess took
+the letter and left the room.
+
+Then the invalid sank back, exhausted, in her easy-chair.
+
+In this easy-chair by the window, with her feet upon the footstool,
+Salome sat day after day of her convalescence; sometimes for hours
+together, with her hands clasped upon her lap, and her eyes fixed upon
+the floor, in a sort of stupor; sometimes with her sad gaze turned upon
+the sear garden, as she murmured to herself:
+
+"Withered like my life!"
+
+Some one among the nuns was always with her; but she took no notice of
+her companion, seeming quite unconscious of the sister's presence.
+
+The abbess had taken care to have books of devotion laid upon her little
+table, but Salome never opened one of them.
+
+Apathy, lethargy, like a moral death, had fallen upon her.
+
+The story of her sorrows, known only to the abbess, to whom she had
+confided it on the eve of her illness, was never alluded to.
+
+Salome seemed to have buried it in silence. The abbess feared to raise it
+from the dead.
+
+Not one in the convent suspected the real circumstances of the case.
+
+All the sisterhood knew Miss Salome Levison, the young English heiress,
+who had been educated within their walls; all knew that in leaving the
+convent, three years before she had declared her intention to return at
+the end of three years and take the vail. She had returned, according to
+her word, and no one was surprised. Her sickness they considered purely
+accidental. They had no knowledge of her marriage. She was to them still
+Miss Salome Levison, who had once been their pupil, and was now soon to
+be their sister.
+
+No newspapers were taken in at the convent, or the nuns might have seen
+repeated notices of her approaching marriage before it took place, as
+well as a long account of the ceremony and the breakfast, after they had
+come off.
+
+The abbess tried many gentle expedients to arouse Salome from her moral
+torpor, but all her efforts were fruitless.
+
+Salome had once been an enthusiast in music, and a very accomplished
+performer on several instruments. Her favorite had always been the harp,
+and next to that the guitar.
+
+She was not yet strong enough to play on the former, but she might very
+well manage the latter.
+
+So the abbess caused a light and elegant little guitar to be placed in
+her room.
+
+Salome never even noticed it; but sat with her eyes fixed on her clasped
+hands that lay on her lap.
+
+So November and a good part of December passed, with very little change.
+
+The abbess, whose rule was absolute in her own house, had most solemnly
+warned the whole sisterhood that they were not to speak of "Miss
+Levison's" presence in the convent to any visitor, or pupil, or any other
+person whatever, or to write of it to any correspondent. The nuns had
+obeyed their abbess so well, that not a whisper of Salome's presence in
+the house had been heard outside its walls.
+
+At length Christmas drew near.
+
+The academy was closed for the season, and the pupils all went home to
+spend their holidays.
+
+After the departure of their young charges, the sisterhood were very busy
+in making preparations to celebrate the joyous anniversary of our Lord's
+birth.
+
+There were so many delightful little duties to be done; the chapel to be
+decorated with evergreens and exotics; the shrines of the saints to be
+decked; extra dainties to be made for the sick in the Infirmary; presents
+to be got up for the aged men and women of the "Home" attached to the
+convent; entertaining books to be selected and inscribed with the names
+of the boys and girls of their Orphan Asylum; doll-babies to be dressed
+and toys to be chosen for the infants of their Foundling; and, finally,
+a great Christmas-tree to be mounted and decorated for the delight of the
+whole community within their walls.
+
+The sisterhood took so much pleasure in all these preparations for
+Christmas, that it occurred to the abbess she might be able so far to
+interest her unhappy guest in the work as to arouse her from that fearful
+lethargy which seemed to be destroying both her mind and body.
+
+Salome Levison, while she had been a pupil in the convent, had never
+performed any services for the charities of the community except by
+giving liberally from her ample means.
+
+Gladly would she have ministered in person to the needs of old age,
+illness, or infancy; but for her to have done so would have been against
+the rules of the establishment. The pupils of the academy were not
+permitted to hold any intercourse whatever with the inmates of the
+charitable institutions of the convent. This was a concession to the
+prudence of parents, who feared all manner of contaminations from any
+communication between their children and such _miserables_.
+
+The convent was so planned as to effect a complete separation between the
+academy and the asylums.
+
+The buildings were erected around a hollow square. They measured a
+hundred feet on each side, and arose to a height of four stories.
+
+In the centre of the front, or northern, face, stood the chapel, a
+beautiful little Gothic temple, surmounted by a steeple and a gilded
+cross; on each hand, in a line with the chapel, stood the buildings
+containing the cloisters, dormitories, and refectories of the nuns and
+novices.
+
+On the east front stood the Foundling for abandoned infants; the Asylum
+for orphan boys and girls, and the Home for aged men and women.
+
+On the south end were the offices, kitchens, laundries, store-houses,
+gas-house, and so forth, for the whole establishment.
+
+Finally, on the west front, farthest removed from the asylums, were the
+academy buildings, containing school and class-rooms, dormitories and
+refectory for the accommodation of pupils.
+
+It was in these west buildings that Salome had lived and learned during
+the years she had spent at the Convent of St. Rosalie. She had never
+entered any other part of the establishment except the chapel, and on the
+north front, which was reached by a long passage running with an angle
+from the school-hall to the chapel aisle.
+
+The square courtyard within the enclosure of these buildings was paved
+with gray flag-stones, and adorned in the centre by a marble fountain.
+But no footstep ever crossed it except that of some lay sister
+occasionally sent from the cloisters to the office, on some household
+errand. So no opportunity was afforded of making the courtyard a place
+of meeting between the "young ladies" of the academy and the poor little
+children of the asylums.
+
+The academy opened from its front upon its own gardens, lawns,
+shrubberies, and other pleasure-grounds, the resort of its pupils during
+their hours of recreation.
+
+Thus Salome Levison, with all her school-mates, had been completely cut
+off from all intercourse with the objects of the convent's charity during
+the whole period of her residence at the academy, which, indeed, covered
+the greater portion of her young life.
+
+Now, however, since her return to the convent, she had been domiciliated
+in the nun's house on the right of the chapel, and possessed, if she
+pleased to exercise it, the freedom of the establishment.
+
+On the Saturday before Christmas (which would also come on Saturday that
+year) the abbess went into the room occupied by her invalid guest.
+
+Salome was seated in the white easy-chair beside the window, and near the
+porcelain stove. She was dressed in a deep mourning wrapper of black
+bombazine, and an inside handkerchief and undersleeves of white linen.
+Her pallid face and plain hair, and the severe, funereal black and white
+of her surroundings, made a very ghastly picture altogether.
+
+The Sister Francoise sat there in attendance on her.
+
+The mother-superior dismissed the nun, took her vacated seat, and looked
+in the face of her guest.
+
+Salome seemed utterly unconscious of the superior's presence. She sat
+with her hands clasped upon her lap and her eyes fixed upon the floor.
+
+"Salome, my daughter, how is it with you?" softly inquired the abbess,
+taking one of the limp, thin hands within her own, and tenderly pressing
+it.
+
+"I am the queen of sorrow, crowned and frozen on my desert throne,"
+murmured the girl, in a trance-like abstraction.
+
+"Salome, my child!" said the mother-superior, gazing anxiously into her
+stony face, whose eyes had never moved from their fixed stare; "Salome,
+my dear daughter, look at me."
+
+"'I am the star of sorrow, pale and lonely in the wintry sky.'"
+
+"My poor girl, what do you mean?"
+
+"I read that somewhere, long ago,--oh, so long ago, when I was a happy
+child, and yet I wept then for that solitary mourner as I am not able to
+weep now for myself, though it suits me just as much," murmured Salome,
+in the same trance-like manner, still staring on the floor, as she
+continued:
+
+"Yes, just as much, just as much, for--
+
+"Never was lament begun
+By any mourner under sun
+That e'en it ended fit but one!"
+
+"Salome, look at me, speak to me, my dear daughter," said the abbess,
+tenderly pressing her hand, and seeking to catch her fixed and staring
+eyes.
+
+Salome slowly raised those woeful eyes to the lady's face, and asked:
+
+"Mother, good mother, did you ever know any one in all your life so
+heavily stricken as I am?"
+
+The abbess put her arms around the young girl and drew her head down upon
+her own pitying bosom, as she replied:
+
+"Have I ever known one so heavily stricken as you? My child, I cannot
+tell. 'The heart knoweth its _own_ bitterness,' and one cannot weigh
+the grief of another. Salome, you have been heavily smitten; but so have
+many others. Daughter! I never do speak of my own sorrows. They are past,
+and 'they come not back again.' But I think it might do you good to hear
+of them now. Child! like _you_, I never knew a mother's love; but
+there were three beings in the world whom I loved, as _you_ love,
+with inordinate and idolatrous affection. They were my noble father, my
+only brother, and my affianced husband. Salome, in the Revolution of '48,
+my father was assassinated in the streets of Paris, as yours was in his
+chamber at Lone. My brother, true as steel to his sovereign, was
+guillotined as a traitor to the Republican party. Last, and hardest to
+bear, my affianced lover--he on whom my soul was stayed in all my
+troubles, as if any one weak mortal could be a lasting stay to another
+in her utmost need--my affianced lover, false to me as yours to you, was
+shot and killed in a duel by the lover, or husband, of a woman, for whom
+he had left his promised bride! Daughter, did I ever know any one who was
+so heavily stricken as yourself?" gravely inquired the abbess, laying her
+hand upon the bowed head of her guest.
+
+"Oh, yes, good mother, you have," murmured the weeping girl, in a voice
+full of tears. "Your fate has been very like my own--you, like me, were
+motherless from your infancy; you, like me, spent your childhood and
+youth in this very convent school. Your father, like mine, met his death
+at the hands of an assassin; your lover, false as mine, abandoned you for
+a guilty love. Ah! your sorrows have been very like mine, only much
+heavier and harder to bear." And Salome drew the caressing hands of the
+abbess to her lips and kissed them over and over again, as she repeated,
+"Oh, yes, good mother, much heavier and harder to bear than mine."
+
+"I do not know that, my daughter; but I do know, if I had set myself down
+a grieving egotist, to brood over my own individual troubles, in a world
+full of troubles, needing ministrations, I should have lost my reason, if
+not my soul."
+
+"But you came back to your convent, as I have come, for refuge," said
+Salome.
+
+"Yes, I came here to give my life to the Lord; not in idle, selfish
+prayers and meditations for my own soul's sake; no, but in an active,
+useful life of work. And I have found deep peace, deep joy. So will you,
+my beloved child, if you take the same way. But you must begin by
+shutting the doors of your soul against the thoughts of your sorrow, and
+especially by banishing the image of your false and guilty lover every
+time it presents itself to your mind."
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I loved him so! I loved him so!" cried Salome,
+bursting into a paroxysm of sobs and tears, the first tears she had been
+able to shed over her awful sorrows.
+
+The abbess was glad to see them; they broke up the fatal apathy as a
+storm disperses malaria. She gathered the weeping girl to her bosom, and
+let her sob and cry there to her heart's content.
+
+When the gust of grief had spent itself, Salome lifted her head and dried
+her eyes, murmuring:
+
+"Yes, I loved him! I loved him! but it is past! it is past! I must forget
+him, henceforth and forever!"
+
+"Yes, daughter, you must forget him, for to remember him would be a
+grievous sin. And you must forgive him, though he meditated against you
+the deepest wrong," said the abbess, solemnly.
+
+"I will try to forgive the wrong-doer and forget the wrong, but oh!
+mother, mother, it will be very hard to overlive it! Oh, I hope, I hope,
+if it be Heaven's will, that I shall not have to live very long," said
+Salome, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"That is the way I felt in the first bitterness of my sorrow: but the
+feeling passed away in duty-doing. And now, although I know that in the
+next life every need and aspiration of the soul will be fulfilled, yet I
+find such peace and joy here, that I am willing, yes and glad, to live in
+this world as long as my Lord has any work for me to do in his vineyard."
+
+"Tell me what I ought to do, and I will try to do it," said Salome, with
+another deep sigh; for her very breathing was sighing now.
+
+"You know that this is Saturday, the last Saturday before Christmas,"
+said the abbess.
+
+"Is it? I did not know, I have taken no note of time."
+
+"And to-morrow is Sunday, the last Sunday before Christmas."
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Daughter, you have not been to chapel once since your arrival among us."
+
+"Ah, no! I came from the infirmary here, and I have not left this room to
+go anywhere since!" sighed Salome.
+
+"That is not because you are not able to do so, but because you are not
+willing. You have allowed yourself to sink into a sinful and dangerous
+lethargy of mind and body in which you have brooded morbidly over your
+afflictions. You must do so no longer. You must rouse yourself from this
+moment. You must go with us to-night to vespers. To-morrow morning you
+will attend high mass. A fellow-countryman of yours, Father F----,
+an Oratorian priest from Norwood, England, will preach. He will do you
+good. Since the days of St. John, the beloved disciple, no wiser, more
+loving, or more eloquent soul ever spoke to sinners," said the abbess.
+
+"But--coming from England!--If he should recognize me!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Why, do you know him?"
+
+"Oh, no, not at all; but then there are sometimes people with whom we
+have no sort of acquaintance, who yet know us by sight from seeing us in
+public places, or meeting us on public occasions."
+
+"That is very true, my child; but you need have no fear of being
+recognized by the officiating priest to-morrow, whoever he may be, for
+you will sit with us behind the screen."
+
+"Thanks, dear mother; I will go with you this very evening."
+
+"You are a good and obedient child. Receive my benediction," said the
+mother-superior, rising.
+
+Salome bent her head, and the abbess solemnly blessed her, and then
+withdrew from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+THE SOUL'S STRUGGLE.
+
+
+That same evening, while the vesper bells were ringing, Salome dressed
+herself, and, leaning on the arm of the mother-superior headed the
+procession of the sisterhood as they marched to the chapel and took their
+seats in the recess behind the screen, which was so cunningly devised,
+that, while it afforded the nuns a full view of the altar, the priests,
+the interior of the pews and the whole congregation, it effectually
+concealed the forms and faces of the sisterhood seated within it.
+
+Father Francois, the confessor of the convent, officiated at the altar.
+
+A rustic congregation of the faithful filled the pews in the body of
+the church. They came from farm-houses and villages in the immediate
+neighborhood of the convent.
+
+The vesper hymn was raised by the nuns.
+
+Salome joined in singing it. She had a rich, sweet, clear soprano voice.
+
+Many were the heads in the rustic assemblage that turned to listen to the
+new singer in the nuns' choir.
+
+Salome saw them, and shrank back as if she herself could have been seen,
+though she was quite invisible to them, for the screen, which was
+transparent to her eyes, was impenetrable to theirs. She remembered this,
+at length, and recovered her composure.
+
+The sweet vesper service soothed her soul, and when it was over, and the
+benediction was given, the "peace that passeth all understanding"
+descended upon her troubled spirit.
+
+She left the chapel, leaning on the mother-superior's arm.
+
+When she reached her room door she kissed the lady's hand in bidding her
+good-night.
+
+"This has done you good, my daughter," said the abbess, gently.
+
+"It has done me good. Thanks for your wise counsel, holy mother. I will
+follow it still. I will go again tomorrow. Bless me, my mother," said
+Salome, bowing her head before the abbess, who blessed her again, and
+then softly withdrew.
+
+Salome entered her room and retired to rest, and slept more calmly than
+she had done for many days and nights.
+
+She arose on Sunday morning refreshed; but it seemed as if her stony
+apathy had passed off, only to leave her more keenly sensitive to her
+cause of grief; for as she dressed herself, a flood of tender memories
+overflowed her soul, and she threw herself, weeping freely, on her cot.
+
+In this condition she was found by the abbess, who was pleased to see her
+weep, knowing that the keenness of sorrow is much softened by tears.
+
+She sat down in silence by the cot, and waited until the paroxysm was
+past.
+
+"Good mother, I could not help it," said Salome, with a last convulsive
+sob, as she wiped her eyes, and arose.
+
+"Nor did I wish you to do so. Thank the Lord for the gift of tears. Have
+you had breakfast, my daughter?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother. Sister Francoise brought it to me before I was up.
+This is the last time I will allow myself such an indulgence. To-morrow
+morning, if you will permit me, I will join you in the refectory."
+
+"I am rejoiced to hear you say so my child. Your recovery depends much
+upon yourself. Every exertion that you make helps it forward. And now I
+came to tell you that in ten minutes we shall go on to the chapel. Will
+you be ready to accompany us?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother, I will come on and join you almost immediately," said
+Salome standing up and shaking down her black robe into shape.
+
+The abbess softly slipped out of the room and left the guest to complete
+her toilet.
+
+In a few minutes Salome passed out and joined the procession of nuns to
+the chapel.
+
+As soon as they were seated in the screened choir, Salome looked through
+the screen, to see if the English priest was at the altar. He was not
+there yet; but the body of the little chapel was filled with an expectant
+crowd of small country gentry, farmers and laborers with their families,
+all drawn together by the fame of the great Oratorian.
+
+Presently the procession entered--six boys, in white surplices, preceding
+a pale, thin, intellectual-looking young man in priestly robes.
+
+The priest took his place before the altar, the boys kneeling on his
+right and left, and the solemn celebration of the high mass was begun.
+
+The nuns sang well within their screened choir; but the new soprano voice
+that sang the solos, and rose elastic, sweet and clear, soaring to the
+heavens in the _Gloria in Excelsis_, seemed to carry all the
+worshipers with it.
+
+"Who is she?" inquired one of another, in hushed whispers, when the
+divine anthem had sunk into silence.
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+No one in the congregation could tell; but many surmised that she must be
+some young postulant of St. Rosalie, just beginning, or about to begin,
+her novitiate.
+
+At length the pale priest passed into the pulpit, and, amid a breathless
+silence of expectancy, gave out his text:
+
+"GOD IS LOVE."
+
+A truth revealed to us by the Divine Saviour, and confirmed to our hearts
+by the teachings of His Holy Spirit.
+
+The preacher spoke of the divine love, "never enough believed, or known,
+or asked," yet the source of all our life, light and joy; he spoke of
+human love, a derivative from the divine, in all its manifestations of
+family affection, social friendship, charity to the needy, forgiveness
+of enemies.
+
+And while he spoke of love, "the greatest good in the world," his tones
+were full, sweet, deep and tender, his pale face radiant, his manner
+affectionate, persuasive, winning.
+
+He was listened to with rapt attention, and even when he had brought his
+sermon to a close, and his eloquent voice had ceased, his hearers still,
+for a few moments, sat motionless under the spell he had wrought upon
+them.
+
+As soon as the benediction had been pronounced, the abbess arose from her
+seat in the choir, drew the arm of her still feeble guest within her own,
+and, followed by her nuns, walking slowly in pairs, left the choir.
+
+She took Salome to the door of her room in perfect silence, and would
+have left her there but that the girl stopped her by saying:
+
+"Holy mother, I wish to speak to you, if you can give me a few minutes,
+before we go to the refectory."
+
+"Surely, my daughter," answered the abbess, kindly, as she followed her
+guest into the chamber.
+
+"Sit down in the easy-chair, good mother," said Salome, drawing the soft,
+white-cushioned seat toward her.
+
+"No, sit you there, poor child," answered the abbess, taking her guest
+kindly and seating her in the easy-chair. "I shall be well enough here,"
+she added, as she sat down on one of the painted, wooden seats. "Now,
+tell me what you wish to say, daughter," she concluded.
+
+"Dear mother, I have been very deeply interested in Father F. this
+morning."
+
+"You should be interested in the message only, not in the messenger, my
+child," gravely replied the elder lady.
+
+"In the message alone I believe I was most concerned; but the message was
+most eloquently delivered by the messenger," said Salome, as her pale
+cheeks flushed.
+
+"Well, my daughter, go on in what you were about to say."
+
+"Holy mother, that message, so earnestly spoken, has moved me to greater
+diligence in what I have purposed to do. You know that I have intended to
+take the vail in this convent, and devote my life and my fortune to
+good works."
+
+"Yes, my child, I know that such has been your pious purpose. What then?"
+
+"I wish to use all diligence in carrying out that purpose. I wish to
+enter upon my novitiate immediately."
+
+"My good daughter, far be it from me to throw any stumbling-block in the
+way of such praise-worthy intentions; but the strict rules of our order
+require that a postulant should remain in the convent twelve calendar
+months, to test her vocation, before she is suffered to bind herself by
+any vows," said the abbess, very gravely.
+
+"As if _my_ vocation had not been sufficiently tested," sighed
+Salome.
+
+"It may have been so, my daughter. This probation may not be necessary in
+your case, yet we can make no exception to our rules even in your favor.
+You will, therefore, if you wish, remain with us for one year, unfettered
+by any vows. At the end of this year of probation, if you shall still
+desire to do so, you may be permitted to take the white vail and commence
+your novitiate. In the meantime you need not, and ought not, to be idle.
+You may be as zealous and diligent in good works while a postulant as you
+possibly could be as a white-vailed novice or a black-vailed nun."
+
+"Show me how I may be so, holy mother, and I will bless you," exclaimed
+Salome.
+
+"I will very gladly be your guide, my child. Listen, Salome. Hitherto,
+you have been very charitable in giving alms. You have given liberally of
+your means; but you have never yet given your personal services to the
+poor and needy. That was not our Lord's way, whose servants we are. He
+gave alms, indeed, and he performed miracles to supply them, as in the
+case of the loaves and fishes; but most of all, better than all, He gave
+His personal ministrations; He taught the ignorant; He anointed the eyes
+of the blind; _He laid His hands on the leper_; He shrank from no
+personal contact with disease, however loathsome; distress, however
+ignominious; nor must we, His children, do so. We must give our personal
+services to the poor."
+
+"Tell me what to do, and how to do it, good mother, and I will gladly
+obey your instructions. Tell me, for I am so very ignorant."
+
+"To-morrow, the Monday before Christmas, you may go with me the rounds
+of our asylums and schools, and see for yourself destitute old age,
+destitute childhood and abandoned infancy; and you may choose your work
+among these poor, needy, helpless ones," said the abbess, gravely.
+
+"And are laborers wanted in that vineyard, mother?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"Then here am I, for one, poor one. I am longing to go to work."
+
+"At first your work shall be a very bright and pleasant labor, dear
+child. This is the joyous week of preparation for the glad, Christmas
+festival. This week we are all, young and old, engaged in the delightful
+recreations of charity. Our Lord Himself, who, in His Divine benignity,
+blessed the marriage feast of Cana with a miracle, smiles on our
+recreations of charity, which with us just now consist in the preparation
+of Christmas gifts to gladden the hearts of our poor these Christmas
+times. To-morrow, if you please, I will take you to our work-rooms, where
+you may choose your own task."
+
+"Oh, how willingly I will do that!" said Salome, earnestly.
+
+A bell had been ringing for a few moments; and so the abbess arose and
+said:
+
+"That is the dinner-bell. You promised to join us in the refectory, and
+I think it is best you should do so, my daughter."
+
+"I will follow your counsels in everything, holy mother," answered
+Salome, sweetly, as she arose and put her hand on the offered arm of her
+friend.
+
+The abbess led her protegee down a long passage and deep flights of
+stairs to the refectory, where, at each side of a very long table,
+running down the length of the room, stood about fifty nuns waiting for
+their mother-superior.
+
+The abbess gave her guest a seat next to her own, then crossed herself
+and sat down.
+
+The nuns all made the sign of the cross upon their breasts, and seated
+themselves at the table.
+
+This was the first occasion upon which Salome sat down at the nuns'
+table; but it was not the last, for from this day she regularly appeared
+there, and, though she was given to frequent and violent fits of weeping,
+her health and spirits steadily improved under the regimen of the abbess.
+
+On Monday morning the lady-superior took Salome through all the asylums
+on the east side of the convent.
+
+They went first into the aged men's home, where, in a large, clean,
+well-warmed and well-lighted hall, furnished with arm-chairs, tables, and
+many plain and cheap conveniences, were gathered about thirty gray-haired
+or bald-headed patriarchs, whose ages ranged from seventy to a hundred
+years. Yet not one of them was idle. They were all engaged in plaiting
+chip-mats, baskets, hampers and other useful articles that could be made
+out of reeds or cane. The oldest man among them, a centenarian, was
+employed in plaiting straw for hats.
+
+"They look very happy and busy," said Salome, after she had responded to
+their respectful nods and smiles of welcome.
+
+"Yes, and they nearly half pay expenses by their handicrafts. Even they,
+aged and infirm as they are, can half support themselves if they have
+only shelter, protection and guidance."
+
+"And there seems to be no sick among them," said Salome.
+
+"Ah, yes," answered the abbess, gravely, "there are five in the infirmary
+connected with this home; but we will not go there now. Let us pass on to
+the aged women's home."
+
+They entered the next house, where, in a large, warm, light room, plainly
+furnished, about twenty old women, from sixty to ninety years of age,
+were collected. They were neatly dressed in gray stuff gowns, white
+aprons, white kerchiefs, and white Normandy caps. And all were busy--some
+knitting, some sewing, some tatting.
+
+They bowed and smiled a welcome to the visitor, who responded in the same
+manner.
+
+"These, also, half support themselves by their work," said the abbess;
+"but the proportion of sick among them is greater than among the men.
+There are ten in the infirmary."
+
+They went next to the orphan boys' asylum, where fifty male children of
+ages from three to twelve years were lodged, fed, clothed, and educated.
+
+"What becomes of these when they leave here?" inquired Salome.
+
+"We send them out as apprentices to learn trades; and we find homes for
+them," answered the abbess.
+
+"Can you always find good homes and masters for them?"
+
+"Yes, always. We do it through the secular clergy. Now let us go into the
+girls' asylum," said the abbess, leading the way to the next institution.
+
+The orphan girls' asylum was, in many respects, similar to the boys'
+home.
+
+"Do you wish to know what becomes of these, when they leave here?"
+inquired the abbess, anticipating the question of her companion. "I will
+tell you. The greater number of them are sent out to service as cooks,
+chambermaids, seamstresses, or nursery governesses. Some few, who show
+unusual intelligence, are educated for teachers. If any one among their
+number evinces talent for any particular art, she is trained in that art.
+My child, we have sent out more than one artist from our orphan girls'
+asylum," said the abbess.
+
+"How much good you do!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Let us go into the Foundling," said the mother-superior, leading the way
+to the last house of the eastern row of buildings.
+
+Ah! here was a sight sorrowful enough to make the "angels weep!"
+
+The abbess led her companion into a long room, clean, warm, light and
+airy, with about thirty narrow little cots, arranged in two rows against
+the walls, fifteen on each side, with a long passage between them.
+About half a dozen of these cots were empty. On the others lay about
+twenty-four of the most pitiable of all our Lord's poor--young infants
+abandoned by their unnatural parents. All these were under twelve months
+old, and were pale, thin, and famished-looking. Some were sleeping, and
+seemingly, ah! so aged and care-worn in their sleep; some were clasping
+nursery-bottles in their skeleton hands, and sucking away for dear life;
+one little miserable was wailing in restless pain, and sending its
+anguished eyes around in appealing looks for relief.
+
+Four women of the sisterhood were on duty here, and each one sat with a
+pining infant on her lap, while there was no one to attend to the wants
+of that wailing little sufferer on the bed.
+
+"Oh, merciful Father in Heaven! what a sight!" cried Salome, overcome
+with compassionate sorrow.
+
+"Yes, it is piteous! most piteous!" said the mother-superior, in a
+mournful tone. "We do the very best we can for these poor, deserted
+babes; but young infants, bereft of their mother's milk, which is their
+life, and of their mother's tender love and intuitive care, suffer more
+than any of us can estimate, and are almost sure to perish, out of
+_this_ life, at least. With all our care and pains, more than
+two-thirds of them die."
+
+"Is there no help for this?" sadly inquired the visitor.
+
+"No help within ourselves. But the peasant women in our neighborhood have
+Christian spirits and tender hearts. When any one among them loses her
+sucking child, she comes to us and asks for one of our motherless babes.
+We select the most needing of them and give it to her, and the nurse
+child has then a chance for its life; but even then, if it lives, it is
+because some other child has died and made room for it."
+
+"Oh, it is piteous! it is piteous, beyond all words to express! Destitute
+childhood, destitute old age, are both sorrowful enough, Heaven knows!
+But they have power to make their sufferings known, and to ask for help!
+_But destitute infancy!_ Oh! look here! look here! Can anything on
+earth be so pathetic as this?
+
+"They are so innocent; they have not brought their evils on themselves.
+They are so helpless! They have not even words to tell their pain, or ask
+for relief! Mother! You said that I might choose my work! I have chosen
+it. It is here. And I begin it from this moment," said Salome.
+
+And she threw off her hat and cloak, and drew her gloves and cast them
+all on a chair, and went and took up the wailing infant from the cot.
+
+The abbess sat down and watched her.
+
+She soothed the baby's plaints upon her bosom as she walked it, up and
+down the floor, singing a sweet, nursery song in a low and tender voice,
+until it fell asleep. Then she came and laid it sleeping on its cot.
+
+"My dear daughter," said the abbess, gravely, "before you select this
+field of duty, I must warn you that it is, and it _must needs_ be,
+of all charitable administrations, the most laborious and trying."
+
+"It may be so; but it is also the most divine," said Salome, with a
+grave, sweet smile. "Listen, dear mother. I know not how it is, but--with
+all its pathos--the sphere of this room is heavenly. And while I held
+that baby to my bosom and soothed it to sleep, its little, soft form
+seemed to draw all the fever and soreness from my own aching heart as
+well. Here is my earthly work, dear mother! Nay, rather, here is my
+heavenly mission and consolation. Leave me here."
+
+The mother-superior took the votaress at her word, and left her then and
+there.
+
+In the course of the same day a small closet, communicating with the
+infants' dormitory, was fitted up as a sleeping berth for Salome, and her
+few personal effects were conveyed from the convent and arranged within
+her new dwelling.
+
+Salome had not mistaken her vocation. To serve these forsaken and
+suffering children was to her a labor of love; to relieve them, a work
+of joy.
+
+She never left her charge, except to go to chapel, or to her meals, which
+she took at the nuns' table, in their refectory.
+
+On Christmas Eve, as she returned from dinner, Sister Francoise invited
+her to look into the work-room and see the Christmas presents in process
+of preparation.
+
+To please the kind sister, she followed her into a long hall, furnished
+with little tables, at each of which sat two or three of the nuns at
+work.
+
+As Salome, with her conductor, walked down the room, she saw that on one
+table was a pile of children's illustrated books of great variety to suit
+little ones, from three years old to thirteen. The two nuns seated at the
+table were busy writing in the books the names of those for whom they
+were intended.
+
+Another table was piled with woolen scarfs, socks, gloves, and night-caps
+for the aged men and women, which the two nuns seated there were employed
+in rolling up into separate little parcels, and labeling with the names
+of the intended recipients.
+
+Still another, and a longer table, was bright and gay with party-colored
+scraps of silk, satin, velvet, ribbon, muslin, lace and linen, with which
+half a dozen young nuns seated there were cheerfully engaged in making
+dresses for a basket full of dolls, for the Christmas gifts to the
+infants.
+
+The blooming young nun Felecitie presided at this table. Seeing Salome
+approach with Sister Francoise, she accosted her:
+
+"Our holy mother told us that you would come in and help us dress these
+dolls."
+
+"And so I would have done, only I found some living and suffering dolls
+to dress and feed," said Salome, smiling.
+
+"Yes, I know, the babies of the Foundling. Well, we are dressing these
+dolls for your babies," said the smiling sister.
+
+"But do you suppose my tiny little ones will care for dolls?" inquired
+Salome.
+
+"Be sure they will; from six months old, up, boys or girls, sick or well,
+babies will love dolls. I have seen a sick baby hug her doll, just as I
+have seen a sick mother clasp her child," answered the sister.
+
+"These are the recreations of charity the holy mother told me of," said
+Salome, as she passed out of the work-room and went back to her own
+sphere of duty.
+
+On Christmas morning after matins, the Christmas gifts were distributed
+in every one of the asylums, and every inmate was made happy by an
+appropriate present.
+
+At ten o'clock high mass was celebrated in the chapel of the convent, and
+all the sisterhood assembled in their screened choir.
+
+Three priests in their sacerdotal robes, and a dozen boys in white
+surplices, were expected to serve at the altar. The chapel was profusely
+decorated with holly, and the shrines were dressed with flowers. The pews
+were filled with a congregation of a rather better social position than
+usually assembled there in the convent chapel.
+
+The services had not yet commenced. Salome bent forward with all the
+interest and curiosity of a recluse, to look, for a moment, upon the
+strangers.
+
+She gave but one glance through the screen, and then suddenly, with a low
+cry, she sank back upon her seat.
+
+"What is the matter, my daughter? Are you ill?" inquired the
+mother-superior, in a whisper.
+
+Salome lifted up a face ashen pale with dismay, and gasped:
+
+"I have seen him! I have seen him! He is there--there in the congregation
+below!"
+
+"Who?" inquired the abbess, in vague alarm.
+
+"My husband?--yet, no; oh, Heaven! not my husband, but the Duke of
+Hereward!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+THE STRANGER IN THE CHAPEL.
+
+
+"The Duke of Hereward in the congregation?" echoed the abbess, with a
+troubled look.
+
+"Yes, there in the middle aisle, in the third pew from the altar,"
+replied Salome, in trembling tones.
+
+"No matter. _You_ have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be
+protected. _He_ has everything to fear; he is a felon before the
+law, and he may be prosecuted. Compose yourself, my child, and give your
+mind to heavenly subjects. See, the priest is coming in," murmured the
+abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in
+devotion.
+
+Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to
+falling, followed the mother-superior's example, and tried to concentrate
+her mind in worship.
+
+The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel--the priests
+in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes. The
+officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his assistants
+on each side. And the impressive celebration of the high mass commenced.
+
+But, ah! Salome could not confine her attention to the service! Her eyes,
+guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward
+the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew
+front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future,
+or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with
+that stranger.
+
+Father F----, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the
+text: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to
+men." He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by
+the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the
+cloistered nuns and all the common congregation--by all within the sound
+of his voice, perhaps, except one--the most sorrowful one on that glad
+day. Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.
+
+But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of
+relief she heaved when it was all over.
+
+As soon as the benediction was pronounced, the nuns arose to leave their
+screened choir, and the congregation got up to go out from the chapel.
+
+Salome lingered behind the sisterhood, and watched the handsome stranger
+in the third pew front--a stranger to every one present except herself.
+
+He also lingered behind all his companions, and turned and looked
+intently up into the screened choir.
+
+Salome saw his full face for the first time since his appearance
+there--and she saw that it was deadly, ghastly pale, with white lips and
+glassy eyes. He gazed into the screened choir as into vacancy.
+
+Salome knew that he could see nothing there, yet she shrank back and
+stood in the deepest shadow, until she saw him pick up his hat and glide
+from the chapel, the last man that went out.
+
+"Ah, what could have changed him so?" she thought--"love, fear,
+remorse--what?"
+
+He had nothing to fear from her. If no one should take vengeance on him
+until she should do so, then would he go unpunished to his grave, and his
+sin would never have found him out in this world. Nay, sooner than to
+have hurt him in life, liberty, honor, or estate, she, herself, would
+have borne the penalty of all his crimes. Yet of those crimes what an
+unspeakable horror she had, though for the criminal what an unutterable
+pity--what an undying love.
+
+While she stood there, gazing through the choir-screen upon the spot
+whence the stranger had disappeared, her bosom, torn by these conflicting
+passions of horror, pity, love, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder,
+and turning, saw the mother-superior at her side.
+
+"My daughter, why do you loiter here?" she tenderly inquired.
+
+Salome's pale face flushed, as she replied:
+
+"Oh, mother, I was watching him until he left the church."
+
+"My daughter, it was a deadly sin to do so!" gravely replied the abbess.
+
+"He could not see me, mother," sighed Salome, in a tremulous voice.
+
+"That was well. Come now to your own room, daughter, and do not tremble
+so. You have nothing to fear, except from your own weak and sinful
+nature," said the abbess, as she drew the girl's arm within her own
+and led her from the choir.
+
+"Am I so weak and sinful, mother?" inquired Salome, after a silence which
+had lasted until the two had reached the door of the Infants' Asylum,
+where Salome now lodged.
+
+"As every human being is! and especially as every woman is in all affairs
+of the heart," gravely returned the abbess.
+
+"Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? Will you come in and let me
+talk to you a little while? Have you time? I want to talk to you. Oh!
+I wish we had mother-confessors for women--for girls, I mean, instead of
+father-confessors. Can you come in and let me talk to you, mother, for
+a little while?"
+
+"Surely, daughter," said the abbess, gently as with her own hand she
+opened the door and led her votaress into the room.
+
+Salome offered the one chair to the lady-superior, and then took the
+foot-stool at her feet, and laid her head upon her knees.
+
+"Now speak to me freely, child. Tell me what you wish and how I can help
+you," said the abbess, kindly.
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! I wish to be rid of the sin of loving him, for I
+love him still. In spite of all, I love him still!" exclaimed Salome,
+breaking down in a passion of tears and sobs.
+
+The abbess laid her hands upon the bowed young head, and kept them so in
+silence until the storm of grief had passed. Then she said:
+
+"Child you must fast and pray, and so combat the 'inordinate and sinful
+affections of the flesh.' Bethink you what you do in suffering them. You
+make an idol of that monster of iniquity who was an accomplice in the
+murder of your father--"
+
+Salome uttered a low cry, and hid her face in her hands. The abbess went
+on steadily, almost pitilessly:
+
+"A man who, having already a living wife, of whom he had grown tired and
+ashamed, married you, and so would have ruined you in soul and body."
+
+Salome groaned deeply, and then suddenly broke forth in passionate
+exclamations:
+
+"I know it! I know it? I know it from the evidence of my own senses, no
+less than from the testimony of others! I _know_ it, but I cannot _feel
+it_, mother! I cannot feel it? My _mind_ adjudges him _guilty_; my _mind
+condemns_ him upon unquestionable proof; but my _heart_ holds him
+_guiltless_; in the face of all the proofs, my _heart acquits_ him! I
+_know_ him to be a criminal; but I _feel_ him to be one of the greatest,
+best and noblest of mankind! In spite of all I have heard and seen with
+my own ears and eyes, corroborated by the testimony of others--in spite
+of everything past, I _feel_, I _feel_ that if he should now come and
+take my hand in his, and whisper to me, I should believe all that he
+might tell me, and go with him whithersoever he might choose to lead me!
+Mother, _save me from myself_!"
+
+The abbess laid her hands again upon the throbbing head that lay on her
+lap, as she answered, mournfully:
+
+"Said I not that you have nothing to fear except from your weak and
+sinful self. Child, you have nothing else on earth to dread. You are to
+be protected from yourself alone."
+
+"And from _him_! Oh, mother, keep the great temptation from me!"
+
+"He shall be kept from you, if, indeed, he should presume to seek you
+here," said the abbess.
+
+"He will seek me, mother! He came to seek me, and for nothing else. He
+has by some means found out my retreat, and he has come to seek me! Be
+sure that he will present himself here to-morrow, if not to-day."
+
+"In that case, we shall know how to deal with him, even though he is the
+Duke of Hereward; for he has, and can have, no lawful claim on you. So
+far from that, he is in deadly danger from you. He is liable to
+prosecution by you; for you are not his wife; you are only a lady whom he
+entrapped by a felonious marriage ceremony, and sought to ruin. It is
+amazing," added the abbess, reflectively, "that a nobleman of his exalted
+rank and illustrious fame should have stooped _so_ low as to stain
+his honor with so deep a crime, and to risk the infamy and destruction
+its discovery must have brought upon him."
+
+"It is amazing and incredible! That is why, in the face of the evidence
+of my own eyes and ears, the testimony of other eye and ear witnesses,
+and of my own certain knowledge, based upon proof as sure as ever formed
+the foundation of any knowledge, I still feel in my heart of heart that
+he is guiltless, stainless, noble, pure and true as the prince of
+noblemen should be," sighed Salome, adding word upon word of eulogy, as
+if she could not say enough.
+
+"In the face of all positive proof, and of the convictions of your
+judgment, your _heart_ tells you that this criminal is innocent,"
+said the abbess, incisively.
+
+"In the face of all, my heart assures me that he is pure, true, and
+noble!" exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Do you believe your heart?" gravely inquired the elder lady.
+
+"No; for is it not written: 'The heart is deceitful, and desperately
+wicked.' No, I do not believe my weak and sinful heart, which I know
+would betray me into the hands of my lover, if I should be so unfortunate
+as to meet him."
+
+"You shall not meet him; you shall be saved from him," answered the
+abbess.
+
+At that moment a bell was heard to ring throughout the building.
+
+"That calls us to the refectory--to our happy Christmas festival. Come,
+my daughter," said the lady, rising.
+
+"I cannot go! Oh, indeed I cannot go, mother. I am utterly unnerved by
+what has happened. I hope you will pardon and excuse me," pleaded Salome.
+
+"What! Will you not join us at our Christmas feast?" kindly persisted the
+abbess.
+
+"Indeed, it is impossible! I will rest on my cot for a few minutes, and
+then I will go and take my poor little Marie Perdue on my bosom and rock
+her to sleep. I hear her fretting now; and when I hush her cries, she
+also soothes my heartache."
+
+"I will send you something; and I will come to you, before vespers," said
+the abbess, kindly, as she glided away from the room.
+
+Salome lay alone on the cot, with closed eyes and folded hands, praying
+for light to see her duty and strength to do it.
+
+She expected, in answer to her earnest prayers, that scales should fall
+from her eyes, and impressions pass from her heart, and that she should
+see her love in monstrous shape and colors, and be able to thrust him
+from her heart. Instead of which, she saw him purer, truer, nobler, than
+ever before. With this perception came a sweet, strange peace and trust
+which she could not comprehend, and did not wish to cast off.
+
+She arose and went into the infants' dormitory, and took up the youngest
+and feeblest of the babes--the one which, on her very first visit, had so
+appealed to her sympathies, and which she had adopted as her own.
+
+This child, like many others in the asylum, had no known story.
+
+A few days before Christmas, late in the evening, a bell had been rung at
+the main door of the Infants' Asylum.
+
+The portress who answered it found there a basket containing an infant a
+few weeks old. It was cleanly dressed and warmly wrapped up in flannel;
+but it had no scrap of writing, no name, nor mark upon its clothing by
+which it might ever be identified.
+
+The portress took it into the dormitory, where it was tenderly received
+and cared for by the sisters on duty there.
+
+The case was too common a one to excite more than a passing interest.
+
+On the next day after the arrival of the infant, it happened that the
+mother-superior brought Salome there on her first visit, when the misery
+of the motherless and forsaken infant so moved the sympathies of the
+young lady that she immediately took it to her own bosom.
+
+Subsequently, since she had devoted herself to the care of these deserted
+babies, she took an especial interest in this youngest and most helpless
+of their number.
+
+She named it Marie Perdue, and stood godmother at its baptism.
+
+It lay in her arms often during the day, and slept at her bosom during
+the night. It had grown to know its nurse, and to recognize her presence
+and caresses by those soft, low sounds, half cooing and half complaining,
+with which very young babes first try to utter their emotions or their
+wants.
+
+Now, as she took little Marie Perdue from the cot, the child greeted her
+with sweet smiles and soft coos, and nestled lovingly to her bosom. And
+peace deepened in Salome's heart.
+
+She sat down in a low nursing-chair, fed the child with warm milk and
+water until it was satisfied, and then rocked it and sang to it in a low,
+melodious voice, until it fell asleep.
+
+She was still rocking and singing when the rosy-cheeked and cheery young
+Sister Felecitie came in.
+
+"Our holy mother was going to send your dinner in here, Miss Levison; but
+I think it must be so dismal to eat one's dinner alone on Christmas day,
+so I pleaded to be allowed to plead with _you_ that you will come
+and dine with us young sisters at the second table, which is just as
+good as the first, I assure you, only it is served an hour later. Will
+you come? Say yes!" urged the merry and kind-hearted girl.
+
+"I will come, thank you; though I did too moodily decline the invitation
+of the abbess," said Salome, rising and placing her sleeping charge upon
+its little cot.
+
+"Now! what did I tell you about the children and the dolls! Look there!"
+gleefully exclaimed Sister Felecitie, pointing to a row of cots where
+about a dozen infants lay asleep, clasping their dolls tightly.
+
+"Yes, the tiny mimic mothers really do love their doll babies," Salome
+confessed with a smile.
+
+As they went out of the dormitory they passed into the children's
+day-room, where about twenty infants, from one to two years old, were at
+play--some sitting on mats or creeping on all fours, because they could
+not yet stand; some walking around chairs and holding on to support
+themselves; and some running here and there, in full possession of the
+use of their limbs.
+
+All rejoiced in the possession of little dolls.
+
+"Look at them!" exclaimed Sister Felecitie, gleefully.
+
+"We tried the least little ones with other toys: but, bless you, nothing
+else pleases them so well as dolls. We once tried the little yearlings
+with rattles, which we thought, it being noisy nuisances, would please
+them better; but save us! If any one doubts the doctrine of original sin
+and total depravity, they should have seen the three year-old babies
+fling down their rattles in a passion and go for the other babies' dolls,
+to seize and take them by force and violence; and the corresponding rage
+and resistance of the latter."
+
+"All that was very natural," said Salome, with a smile.
+
+"Oh, yes, natural, and perhaps something else too, beginning with a 'd.'
+They call children 'little angels.' Yes. I know they are, when they are
+sound asleep," exclaimed the sister, laughing.
+
+"If they are not angels, they have angels with them. I feel they have,
+for when I am in their sphere, I possess my soul in peace."
+
+As the young lady said this, the children noticed her presence for the
+first time, and all who could walk ran to her, clustered around her and
+thrust their dolls upon her, for inspection and approval.
+
+All this Salome bestowed freely with many caresses and gentle, playful
+words.
+
+Then the children sitting on the mats reached out their dolls at
+arm's-length, and screamed to have them noticed.
+
+Salome made her way to these little sitters, while all the other
+children, clinging to her skirt, attended her, impeding her progress.
+
+It was a great confusion.
+
+The merry little sister laughed aloud.
+
+"Now!" she said, gayly. "You are in their sphere, do you possess your
+soul in peace?"
+
+"Something even better. My soul goes out to them, delighting in their
+innocent delight!" answered Salome.
+
+And after she had patted their heads and praised their dolls, and pleased
+them all with loving notice, she followed her conductress from the
+children's play-room through the long rectangular passage that led to the
+nun's refectory.
+
+The sisterhood, abstemious nearly all the days of the year, feasted on
+certain high holidays.
+
+The Christmas dinner, laid for the young nuns in the refectory, would
+have satisfied the most fastidious epicure. But I doubt if any epicure
+could have enjoyed it half as well as did these abstemious young women,
+whose appetites were only let loose on certain high days and holidays.
+
+Salome wondered at herself, who but two hours before had given way to a
+storm of passionate sobs and tears, yet now felt a strange peace of mind
+that enabled her to enter sincerely into the happiness of those around
+her.
+
+In the afternoon, the convent was visited by a large number of benevolent
+people in the neighborhood, who brought their Christmas offerings to the
+poor and needy of the house.
+
+These visitors were shown through all the various departments of charity,
+and left their offerings in each before they went away.
+
+"I do wish _one_ thing," said little Sister Felecitie, as she
+lingered near Salome, after the departure of the visitors.
+
+"What do you wish, dear?" inquired the latter.
+
+"Why, then, that the good people who give to our poor, whatever else they
+give, would _always_ give the children dolls and the old people tobacco.
+The children _never_ can have _too many_ dolls, nor the old people
+_enough_ tobacco."
+
+"But is not the use of tobacco a vicious habit?"
+
+"I _hope_ not. It makes the poor old souls so happy."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+THE HAUNTER.
+
+
+The vesper bell called them to the chapel, and the conversation ceased.
+
+Salome joined the procession and entered the choir.
+
+As soon as she had taken her seat she looked through the screen upon the
+congregation assembled in the public part of the church. A great dread
+seized her that she should see again the man whose presence had so
+disturbed her in the morning.
+
+Heaven! he was there!--not where he sat before, but in one of the end
+pews, facing the choir, so that she had a full view of his ghastly face
+and glassy eyes.
+
+A sudden superstitious fear fell upon her. She almost thought the figure
+was his ghost, or was some optical illusion conjured up by her own
+imagination.
+
+She wished to test its reality by the eyes of another. She wished to
+whisper to the abbess, and point him out, and ask her if she, too, saw
+him; but she dared not do this. The vesper hymn was pealing forth from
+the choir, and all the sisterhood, except herself, were singing.
+
+She was their soprano, and she had to join them. She began first in a
+tremulous voice, but soon the spell of the music took hold of her, and
+carried her away, far, far above all earthly thoughts and cares, and she
+sang, as her hearers afterward declared, "like a seraph."
+
+At the end of the service she whispered to the abbess, calling her
+attention to the pallid stranger in the end pew; but when both turned
+to look, the man had vanished!
+
+"Mother, I do not know whether that ghostly figure was a real man, after
+all!" whispered Salome, in an awe-stricken tone.
+
+"My good child, what do you mean?" inquired the abbess, uneasily.
+
+"Mother, I feel as if I were haunted!" said Salome, with a shudder.
+
+"Come! your nerves have been overtasked. You must have a composing
+draught, and go to bed," said the superior, decisively.
+
+"It may be that I am nervous and excitable, and that I have conjured up
+this image in my brain--such a ghastly, ghostly image, mother! It could
+not have been real, though I thought nothing else this morning than that
+it was real. But this evening--oh! madam, if you had seen it, with its
+blanched face and glazed eyes, like a sceptre risen from the grave!"
+
+"I have not seen the man yet, either this morning or this evening," said
+the elder lady, as she drew the younger's arm within her own.
+
+"No, you have never seen him. I have no one's eyes but my own to test the
+matter. You have never seen him, and that is another reason why I think
+of the man as ghostly or unreal," whispered Salome.
+
+They were now in the long passage leading from the chapel to the cells.
+
+"I will take you again to your own little room in the Infants' Asylum,"
+murmured the lady, as she turned with her protegee into the rectangular
+passage leading to the asylums.
+
+She took Salome to the door of the house, gave her a benediction, and
+left her.
+
+"Out there I have trouble, here I shall have peace," muttered the young
+woman, as she entered the children's dormitory, where every tiny cot was
+now occupied by a little, sleeping child.
+
+Salome prepared to retire, and in a few moments she also was at rest,
+with her little Marie Perdue in her arms.
+
+Christmas had come on Saturday that year. The next day being Sunday,
+there was another high mass to be celebrated in the chapel.
+
+Salome, as usual, joined the nuns' procession to the choir, where the
+sisterhood, as was their custom, took their seats some few minutes before
+the entrance of the priest and his attendants.
+
+With a heart almost pausing in its pulsations, Salome bent forward to
+peer through the screen upon the congregation, to see if by any chance
+the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) sat among them.
+
+With a half-suppressed cry, she recognized his form, seated in the
+opposite corner of the church, from the spot he had last occupied.
+
+"He shifts his place every time he appears," she said to herself.
+
+And now, being determined that other eyes should see him as well as her
+own, she touched the abbess' arm and whispered:
+
+"Pray look before the priest enters. There is the Duke of Hereward (or
+his ghost) sitting quite alone in the corner pew, on the left hand side
+of the altar. Do you see him now?"
+
+The abbess followed the direction with her eyes, and answered:
+
+"No, I do not see any one there."
+
+"Why, he is sitting alone in the left hand corner pew. Surely, you must
+see him now?" said Salome, bending forward to look again at the stranger.
+
+The next instant she sank back in her seat, nearly fainting.
+
+The pew was empty!
+
+"There is really no one there, my child. Your eyes have deceived you,"
+murmured the abbess, gently.
+
+"He was there a moment since, but he has vanished! Oh! mother, what is
+the meaning of this?" gasped the girl, turning pale as death.
+
+"The meaning is that your nervous system is shattered, and you are the
+victim of optical illusions. Or else--if there was a man really in that
+pew--he may have passed out through that little corner door leading
+to the vestry. But hush! here comes the priest," said the abbess, as the
+procession entered the chancel, preceded by the solemn notes of the
+organ.
+
+Since "Miss Levison" was obliged to keep her place in the choir, it was
+well that she was an enthusiast in music, and thus able to lose all sense
+of care and trouble in the exercise of her divine art.
+
+But for the music she would scarcely have got through the morning
+service.
+
+And very much relieved she felt when the benediction was at length
+pronounced, and she was at liberty to leave the chapel.
+
+"Oh, madam, this mystery is killing me! I have seen, or fancied I have
+seen, the Duke of Hereward in the church three times; yet no one else has
+been able to see him! If it was the duke, he has come here for some
+fixed purpose. He has, probably, by means of those expert London
+detectives, traced me out, and discovered my residence under this sacred
+roof. He has followed me here to give me trouble!" said Salome, as soon
+she found herself alone with the superior.
+
+"My child," said the lady, "I must reiterate that _you_ have
+nothing--_he_ has everything to fear! I do not know, of course, for
+even you are not sure that you have really seen him. If you have, he is
+in this immediate neighborhood. If he is, why, then, the fact must be
+known to nearly every one outside the convent walls. The Duke of Hereward
+is not a man whose presence could be ignored. To-morrow, therefore, I
+will cause inquiries to be made, and we shall be sure to find out whether
+he is really here or not."
+
+"Thanks, good mother, thanks. It will be a great relief to have this
+question decided in any way," said Salome, gratefully.
+
+The mother-superior smiled, gave the benediction, and retired.
+
+At vespers that evening, Salome looked all over the church in anxious
+fear of seeing the form that haunted her imagination; but her "ghost" did
+not appear, and, after all, she scarcely knew whether she was relieved or
+disturbed by his absence.
+
+The next day, Monday, the abbess set diligent inquiries on foot to
+discover whether the Duke of Hereward, or any other stranger of any name
+or title whatever, had been seen in the neighborhood of St. Rosalie's
+for many days. Winter was not the season for strangers there.
+
+After this, the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) was seen no more in the
+chapel.
+
+Every time Salome accompanied the sisterhood to the chapel, she peered
+through the choir-screen, in much anxiety as to whether she should see
+the duke, or his apparition, among the congregation below; but she
+never saw him there again, nor could she decide, in the conflict between
+her love and her sense of duty, whether she most desired or deplored his
+absence.
+
+So the days passed into weeks, and nothing more was heard or seen of the
+Duke of Hereward.
+
+The Christmas holidays came to an end after Twelth-Day; the pupils
+returned to the school, and the academy buildings grew gay with the
+exuberance of young life.
+
+Salome, who, during many years of her childhood and youth, had shared
+this bright and cheery school-life, now saw nothing of it.
+
+The academy buildings, as has been explained before this, were situated
+on the opposite side of the court-yard from the asylums and entirely cut
+off from communication with them.
+
+Salome, devoted to her duties in the Infants' Asylum, was more completely
+secluded from the world than even the cloistered nuns themselves; for the
+nuns were the teachers of the academy, and in daily communication with
+their pupils and frequent correspondence with their patrons, saw and
+heard much of the busy life without.
+
+So the weeks passed slowly into months, and the winter into spring, yet
+nothing more was seen or heard of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+Salome lost the habit of looking for him, and gradually recovered her
+tranquility. In the work to which she had consecrated herself--the care
+of helpless and destitute infancy--she grew almost happy.
+
+Already she seemed as dead to the world as though the "black vail" had
+fallen like a pall over her head. No newspapers ever drifted into the
+asylum, nor did any visitor come to bring intelligence of the good or
+evil of the life beyond the convent walls.
+
+Her year of probation was passing away. At its close she would take the
+white vail and enter upon the second stage of her chosen vocation--her
+year of novitiate--at the end of which she would assume the black vail
+of the cloistered nun, which would seal her fate.
+
+She knew that before taking that final step she must make some
+disposition of that vast inheritance which, in her flight from her home,
+she had left without one word of explanation or instruction. She was
+assured that her fortune was in the hands of honest men, and there she
+was content to leave it for the present. She had in her possession about
+a thousand pounds in money and several thousand pounds in diamonds--ample
+means for self-support and alms-giving.
+
+And so she was satisfied for the present to leave her financial affairs
+as they were, until the time should come when it would be absolutely
+necessary for her to give attention to them.
+
+Meanwhile, had she forgotten him who had once been the idol of her
+worship?
+
+Ah, no! however diligently her eyes, her hands, her feet were employed in
+the service of the little children she loved so tenderly, her thoughts
+were with him. She loved him still! It seemed to her at once the sin and
+the curse of her life that she loved him still. She prayed daily to be
+delivered from "inordinate and sinful affections," but in this case
+prayer seemed of little use; for the more she prayed the more she loved
+and trusted him. It was a mystery she could not make out.
+
+So the spring bloomed into summer, and the world outside became so
+disturbed and turbulent with "wars and rumors of wars," that its tumult
+was heard even within the peaceful convent sanctuary.
+
+The news of the abdication of Her Most Catholic Majesty, Isabella II of
+Spain, fell like a thunderbolt upon the little community of the faithful
+in the convent; and nowhere, in the political conclaves of Prussia or of
+France, was the Spanish succession discussed with more intensity of
+interest than among the simple sisterhood of St. Rosalie.
+
+Who would now fill the throne of the Western Caesars, left vacant by the
+abdication of their daughter, the Queen Isabella?
+
+These were the topics which filled the minds and employed the tongues of
+the quiet nuns, whenever and wherever their rules permitted them to
+indulge in conversation.
+
+No sound of this disturbance however penetrated the peaceful sphere of
+the Infants' Asylum, which, indeed, seemed to be the innermost retreat,
+or the holy of holies in the sanctuary.
+
+Salome lived within it, the chief ministering angel, dispensing blessings
+all around her, and growing daily into deeper peace, until one fatal
+morning, when a great shock fell upon her.
+
+It was a beautiful, bright morning near the end of June, and the day in
+regular rotation on which the mother-superior of the convent made her
+official rounds of inspection in the Infants' Asylum.
+
+She arrived early, and, accompanied by Salome, went over every department
+of the asylum, from attic to cellar, from dormitory to recreation
+grounds, and found all well, and approved and delighted in the
+well-being.
+
+After her long walk she sat down to rest in the children's play-room, and
+directed Salome to take a seat by her side.
+
+The room was full of little children. Not seated in orderly rows, as we
+have too often seen in Infant Asylums on exhibition days; but moving
+about everywhere as freely as their little limbs would carry them, and
+making quite as much noise as their health and well-being certainly
+required.
+
+Among them was little Marie Perdue, now a bright, fair, blue-eyed cherub
+of seven months old, seated on a mat, and tossing about with screams of
+delight a number of small, gay-hued India-rubber balls.
+
+The abbess was watching the children with pleased attention, when one of
+the lay sisters entered and put a card in her hands, saying that the
+gentleman and lady were waiting at the porter's wicket, and desired
+permission to see the interior of the Infant Asylum.
+
+"Certainly, they are welcome," said the abbess. "Go and tell Sister
+Francoise to be their guide."
+
+The lay sister left the room, and the abbess gave her attention again
+to the children, making occasional remarks on their health, beauty,
+playfulness, and so forth, which were all sympathetically responded to
+by Salome, until they heard the sounds of approaching voices and
+footsteps, and the visiting party, escorted by Sister Francoise.
+
+Then the abbess and her companion ceased speaking, and lowered their eyes
+to the floor until the strangers should pass them.
+
+But the strangers lingered on their way, noticing individual children for
+beauty, or brightness, or some other trait which seemed to attract.
+
+The gentleman, speaking French with an English accent, asked questions in
+too low a tone to reach the ears of the abbess and her companion; but the
+lady kept silence.
+
+At length, as the visitors drew nearer, they came upon little Marie
+Perdue, sitting on her mat, engaged in tossing about her gay-colored
+balls, and laughing with delight.
+
+"Whose child is that?" asked the gentleman, in a voice that thrilled to
+the heart of Salome.
+
+She forgot herself, and looked up quickly, but the form of Sister
+Francoise, standing, concealed the figure of the speaker, who seemed
+to be stooping over the child.
+
+"Ay! wha's bairn is it?" inquired another voice, that fell with ominous
+familiarity on her ear, as she turned her head a little and saw the
+female visitor, a tall, handsome blonde, with bold, blue eyes and a
+cataraet of golden hair falling on her shoulders.
+
+Sister Francoise did not understand the language of the woman, and turned
+with a helpless and appealing look to the gentleman, who still speaking
+French with the slightly defective English accent, replied:
+
+"Madame asks whose child is that?"
+
+"Oh, pardon! We do not know, Monsieur. It was left at our doors on the
+eighteenth of December last," replied Sister Francoise.
+
+"A very fine child! Its name?"
+
+"Marie Perdue."
+
+"'Marie Perdue?' What? 'Marie Perdue?' What's 'Perdue?'" querulously
+inquired the tall, blonde beauty.
+
+"'Thrown away,' 'lost,' 'abandoned,'" answered the gentleman, in a low
+voice.
+
+As he spoke he stood up and turned around.
+
+Salome uttered a low, half-suppressed cry, and covered her face with both
+hands.
+
+The abbess impulsively looked up to see what was the matter, and--echoed
+the cry!
+
+There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then Salome lifted
+up her head and cautiously looked around.
+
+The visitors had gone, and the children, who with child-like curiosity
+had suspended their play to gaze upon the strangers, were now
+re-commencing their noise with renewed vehemence.
+
+Salome still trembling in every limb, turned toward her companion.
+
+The abbess sat with clasped hands, lowered eyelids, and face as pale as
+death.
+
+Salome, too much absorbed in her own emotion to notice the strange
+condition of the abbess, touched her on the shoulder and eagerly
+whispered:
+
+"Mother, did you observe the visitors?"
+
+"Yes," breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her
+eyelids.
+
+"Did you notice--_the man_?" Salome continued.
+
+"I did," murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she
+devoutly made the sign of the cross.
+
+"Do you know who he was?"
+
+"_I do._"
+
+"He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of
+Hereward!"
+
+"Nay," said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. "He was not the Duke of
+Hereward. He was one whom I had reckoned as numbered with the dead full
+twenty years ago!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+THE ABBESS' STORY.
+
+
+"'Not the Duke of Hereward!'" echoed Salome, astonishment now overcoming
+every other emotion in her bosom.
+
+The abbess bowed her head in grave assent.
+
+"'One whom you thought numbered with the dead, full twenty years ago?'"
+continued Salome, quoting the lady's own words, and gazing on her face.
+
+"Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still," murmured the
+abbess.
+
+"This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood
+twenty-five years ago."
+
+"He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be;
+but he is not young."
+
+"And he is not the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward."
+
+"Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, _who_ is he?"
+demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement.
+
+"He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who
+forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman," gravely
+replied the abbess.
+
+"Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?"
+exclaimed Salome, in consternation.
+
+"Yes, sure of it," answered the abbess, slowly bending her head.
+
+"But--pardon me--I thought that _he_ had been killed in a duel by
+the lover of the woman whom he had won."
+
+"Even so thought I. The news of his falsehood and of his death at the
+hands of the wronged lover, came to me in my convent retreat at the same
+time, and I heard no more of him from that day to this, when I have again
+seen him in the flesh. The saints defend us!"
+
+"And you are absolutely certain that he was Count Waldemar?"
+
+"I am absolutely certain."
+
+"Mother Genevieve, did you know the woman who was with him?"
+
+"No, not at all. I never saw or heard of her before. She seems to belong
+to the _demi-monde_, for she dresses like a princess, and talks like
+a peasant. Let us not speak of her," said the lady, coldly.
+
+"We _must_ speak of her, for I think I know who she is."
+
+"You recognize her, then?"
+
+"I cannot say that I do; at least, not by her person. I never saw her
+face before; but I have heard her voice under circumstances that rendered
+it impossible for me ever to forget its tones; and from her voice I
+believe her to be Rose Cameron, a Highland peasant girl of Ben Lone."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed the mother-superior, suddenly raising her hand. "You do
+not mean to intimate that _she_ is the girl whom you overheard
+talking with the young Duke of Hereward at midnight, under your balcony,
+on the night before the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison?"
+
+"She is the very same woman, as he is the very same man, who _planned_,
+if they did not perpetrate the robbery--who _caused_, if they did not
+commit, the murder; and their names are John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and
+Rose Cameron."
+
+"My daughter, in regard to the girl you may be quite right; but in
+respect to the man you are utterly wrong."
+
+"Should I not know my own betrothed husband?" demanded Salome,
+impatiently.
+
+"Should _I_ not know _mine_?" inquired the abbess, very
+patiently.
+
+Salome made a gesture of desperate perplexity, and then there was a
+silent pause, during which the two women sat gazing in each other's faces
+in silent wonder.
+
+Suddenly Salome started up in wild excitement and began pacing the narrow
+cell with rapid steps, exclaiming:
+
+"There have been strange cases of counterparts in persons of this world
+so exact as to have deceived the eyes of their most intimate friends. If
+this should be a case in point! Great Heaven, if it should! If this
+Count Waldemar de Volaski should be such a perfect counterpart of the
+Duke of Hereward as to have deceived even my eyes and ears! Oh, what joy!
+Oh, what rapture! What ecstacy to find 'the princely Hereward' as
+stainless in honor as he is noble in name; and this most unprincipled
+Volaski the real guilty party! But--the marriage certificate in
+Hereward's own name! The letters to his so-called 'wife,' Rose Cameron,
+in Hereward's own handwriting! Ah, no! there is no hope! not the faintest
+beam of hope! And yet--"
+
+She suddenly paused in her wild walk, and looked toward the abbess.
+
+That lady was still sitting on the stool, at the foot of the cot, with
+her hands folded on her lap, and her eyes cast down upon them as in deep
+thought or prayer.
+
+Salome sat down beside her, and inquired in a low tone:
+
+"Mother Genevieve, was the Count Waldemar de Volaski ever in Scotland?
+Has he been there within the last twelve months?"
+
+The lady lifted her eyes to the face of the inquirer, and slowly replied:
+
+"My daughter, how should I know? Have I not said that, until this day,
+when I have seen him in the flesh standing in this room, I had believed
+him to have been in purgatory for twenty-five years or more?"
+
+"True! true!" sighed Salome.
+
+The abbess folded her hands, cast down her eyes, and resumed her
+meditations or prayers.
+
+"You heard that he was killed in a duel, you say?" persevered Salome.
+
+"Yes; the news of his treachery, and the news of his death at the hands
+of the Duke of Hereward reached me at the same moment in this convent,
+where I was then passing the first year of mourning for my parents. It
+was that news which decided me to take the vail and devote my life and
+fortune to the service of the Lord," said the lady, reverently bending
+her head.
+
+Salome sat staring stonily as one petrified. She was absolutely
+speechless and motionless from amazement for the space of a minute
+or more. Then suddenly recovering her powers, she exclaimed:
+
+"Mother! Mother Genevieve! For Heaven's sake! Did I understand you? From
+_whose_ hand did you hear Count Waldemar received his death in a
+duel?"
+
+"From the hand of the deeply injured husband, of course."
+
+"But--who was he? Who? You mentioned a name!" wildly exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Did I mention a name? Ah! what inadvertence! I never intended to let
+that name slip out. I am very sorry to have done so. _Mea Culpa! Mea
+Culpa! Mea maxima culpa!_" muttered the abbess, bending her head and
+smiting her bosom.
+
+"Mother Genevieve! Oh, do not trifle with me! _do_ not torture me!
+I heard a name! Did I hear aright? Oh, I hope I did not! What name did
+you murmur? Tell me! tell me! WHO met Count Waldemar in a
+duel?" demanded Salome.
+
+"I have no choice but to tell you now, though I would willingly have kept
+the fact from you. It _was_ the Duke of Hereward, the late duke of
+course, the deeply-wronged lover of that fair woman, who met, and, as I
+heard, killed Count Waldemar de Volaski. But there were wrongs on both
+sides, deep, deadly wrongs on every side!" moaned the lady, clasping her
+hands convulsively and lowering her eyes.
+
+"The Duke of Hereward! Heaven of heavens! the Duke of Hereward! Yes!
+I heard aright the first time; but I could not believe my own ears! The
+father of my betrothed!" murmured Salome, sinking back in her seat.
+
+The abbess gravely bent her head.
+
+"What of the frail woman? She was not--oh! no, she _could not_ have
+been the mother of the present duke?"
+
+"No," murmured the abbess, in a low voice.
+
+"Mother Genevieve!" exclaimed Salome, suddenly, "will you tell me all you
+know of this terrible story?"
+
+"My daughter, my past is dead and buried these many years; so I would
+leave it until the last great day of the Resurrection. Nevertheless, as
+the story of my life is interwoven with that of the princely line in whom
+you feel so deep an interest, I will relate it."
+
+"Thanks, good mother," said Salome, nestling to her side and preparing
+to listen.
+
+"Not here, and not now, my child, can I enter upon the long, sorrowful,
+shameful story--a story of pride, despotism and cruelty on one side; of
+passion, wilfulness and recklessness on the other; of selfishness, sin
+and ruin on all sides! Daughter, in almost every tale of sin and
+suffering you will find that there has always been sin on _one_ side
+and suffering on the _other_; but in this story _all_ sinned
+deeply, all suffered fearfully!"
+
+"Except yourself, sweet mother. You never sinned," said Salome, taking
+the thin, pale hand of the lady and pressing it to her lips.
+
+"_Mea culpa!_ I sin every hour of my life!" cried the abbess,
+crossing herself.
+
+"We all do; but you did not sin _there_," said the girl.
+
+"I had no part--no active part, I mean--in that tale of guilt and woe.
+I was a pupil here in this convent then, waiting to be brought out and
+married to my betrothed. No, I had no part in that tragedy."
+
+"Except the passive part of suffering."
+
+"Ay, except the passive part of suffering; but hark, my child! the vesper
+bell is ringing; it calls us to our evening worship: let us go to the
+choir, and there forget all our earthly cares and seek the peace of
+Heaven," said the pale lady, slowly rising from her seat.
+
+"When will you tell me the story, good mother?" pleaded Salome, in a low
+and deprecating tone.
+
+"The vesper bell is ringing. The rules of the house must not be disturbed
+by your individual necessities. After the evening service comes the
+evening meal. Then, for me, my hour of rest in my cell; and for you, the
+duty of seeing your infant charge put to bed. When all these matters have
+been properly attended to, come to me in my cell. You will find me there.
+We shall be uninterrupted until the midnight mass; and in the interim I
+will tell you the story of a life that 'was lost, but is found, was dead,
+but is alive'--_Benedicite_, my daughter!" said the abbess,
+spreading her hands upon the bowed head of the girl, and solemnly
+blessing her.
+
+Then she glided away.
+
+Salome soon followed her, and joined the procession of nuns to the
+chapel.
+
+As soon as she took her seat in the choir, she looked through the screen
+over the congregation below, to see if the strangers were in the chapel;
+but she saw them not.
+
+When the vesper service was over, she took her tea with the nuns in their
+refectory; and then returned to the play-room in the Infants' Asylum.
+
+The nurses were engaged in giving the little ones their supper, and
+putting them to bed.
+
+Salome took up her own little Marie Perdue, to undress her.
+
+As she divested the child of her little slip, something rolled out of its
+bosom and dropped upon the floor.
+
+One of the nurses picked it up and handed it to Salome.
+
+It was a small, hard substance, wrapped in tissue paper.
+
+Salome unrolled it and found a ring, set with a large solitaire diamond.
+With a cry of surprise and pain, she recognized the jewel. It was her
+late father's ring! While she gazed upon it in a trance of wonder, the
+paper in which it had been wrapped, caught by a breeze from the open
+window, fluttered under her eyes. She saw that there was writing on the
+paper, and she took it up and read it.
+
+"The ring must be sold for the benefit of the child and of the house that
+has protected her. She must be educated to become a nun."
+
+There was no signature to this paper.
+
+Salome rolled it around the ring again, and put it in her bosom, then she
+sent one of the nurses to call Sister Francoise.
+
+When the old nun came into her presence, she inquired:
+
+"Sister Francoise, you showed a lady and gentleman through the asylum,
+this afternoon; they came into this room; they stopped and noticed little
+Marie Perdue particularly. Did they ask any questions or make any remarks
+concerning her? I have an especial reason for asking."
+
+"Oh, yes, sister! they did ask many questions--when she came, how long
+she had been, who took care of her, what was her name, and many more; and
+as I answered them to the best of my knowledge, I could not help seeing
+that they knew more about the child than I did," answered the nun,
+nodding her head.
+
+"Did the gentleman or lady give anything to the child?"
+
+"Not that _I_ saw, which I thought unkind of them, considering all
+the interest they showed in _words_; for, as I say of all the fine
+ladies who come here and fondle the infants, what's the use of all the
+fondling if they never put a sou out, or a stitch in?"
+
+"That will do, sister; I only wanted to know," answered the young lady,
+as she determined to keep her own counsel, and confide the news of the
+surreptitiously offered ring to the abbess only.
+
+When she had rocked her child to sleep, laid it on its little cot, and
+placed two novices on duty to watch over the slumbers of the children,
+she left the dormitory by the rectangular passage that led to the nuns'
+house, and repaired at once to the cell occupied by the abbess.
+
+It was a plain little den, in no respect better than those tenanted by
+her humble nuns, twelve feet long, by nine broad, with bare walls, and
+bare floor, and a small grated window at the farther end, opposite the
+narrow, grated door by which the cell was entered. It was furnished
+poorly with a narrow cot bed, a wooden stool, and a small stand, upon
+which lay the office-book of the abbess, and above which hung the
+crucifix.
+
+As Salome entered the cell, the abbess arose from her knees and signed
+for her visitor to be seated.
+
+Salome sat down on the foot of the cot, and the abbess drew the stool and
+placed herself near.
+
+Then Salome saw the lady-superior was even paler and graver than usual;
+and anxious as the young lady felt to hear the abbess' story, she thought
+she would give her more time to recover, and even assist her in doing
+so, by diverting her thoughts to the new incident of the ring, which she
+produced and laid upon the mother's lap, saying:
+
+"That was found by me in the bosom of little Marie Perdue's dress. It was
+donated to the house, for the benefit of the child. Here is the scrap of
+writing in which it was rolled."
+
+The abbess silently took up the ring and the paper, and examined the
+first and read the last, saying:
+
+"Such mysterious donations to the children are not uncommon, and are
+generally supposed to be offered by the unknown parents. This, however,
+is by far the most valuable present that has ever been made by any one to
+the institution, and must be worth at least a thousand Napoleons. It was
+made by the visitors of this morning, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, madam, it was."
+
+"I see, I understand. Take charge of it, my daughter, until we can
+deliver it to the sister-treasurer," directed the lady-superior, as she
+replaced the ring in its wrapper and returned both to Salome.
+
+"But, mother, I wish myself to become the purchaser of this ring. I have
+a thousand pounds with me. I will give them for the ring."
+
+"My daughter!" exclaimed the abbess in surprise. "Why should you wish to
+possess this bauble? It can be of no use to you in the life you are about
+to enter, even if the rules of our order would permit you to retain it,
+which you know they would not."
+
+"Mother! it was my father's ring! It was a part of the property stolen
+from him on the night of his murder," solemnly answered Salome.
+
+"Holy saints! can that be true?" exclaimed the abbess.
+
+"As true as truth. I know the ring well. He always wore it on his finger.
+Inside the setting is his monogram, 'L.L.,' and his crest, a falcon,"
+answered Salome, once more unwrapping the ring and offering it to the
+inspection of the lady-superior.
+
+"I see! I see! It is so. Ah, Holy Virgin! that it should have been
+offered by Count Waldemar, or by him whom you overheard conspiring with
+his female companion under the windows on the night of your father's
+murder!" cried the abbess, covering her face with a fold of her black
+vail.
+
+"Count Waldemar, or the duke of Hereward, I know not which, I know not
+whom. Oh! mother, this mystery grows deeper, this confusion more
+confounded."
+
+"Take back your ring, my child, and keep it without price. It was your
+father's, and it is yours. We cannot receive stolen goods even as alms
+offered to our orphans," said the abbess, dropping her vail and returning
+the jewel.
+
+"I will take it and keep it because it was my dear father's; but I will
+give a full equivalent for its value. No one could object to that," said
+Salome, as she replaced the ring in her bosom. "And now, Mother
+Genevieve, will you tell me the promised story? It may possibly throw
+some light even upon this dark mystery."
+
+The pale abbess bowed assent, and immediately began the narrative, which,
+for the Sake of convenience, we prefer to render in our own words.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+THE DUKE'S DOUBLE.
+
+
+First it is necessary to revert to the history of the Scotts of Lone,
+Dukes of Hereward.
+
+He who married Salome Levison was the eighth of his princely line. Any
+one turning to Burke's Peerage of the preceding year, might have read
+this record of the late duke:
+
+"Hereward, Duke of, (Archibald-Alexander-John Scott) Marquis of Arondelle
+and Avondale in the Peerage of England, Earl of Lone and Baron Scott in
+the Peerage of Scotland; born, 1st of Jan., 1800; succeeded his father as
+seventh duke, 1st Feb., 1840; married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie,
+only daughter of Constantine, Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov, 1st,
+1844; married, secondly, July 15th, 1845, Lady Katherine-Augusta, eldest
+daughter of the Earl of Banff, and has a son--Archibald-Alexander-John,
+Marquis of Arondelle, born 1st of May, 1846."
+
+A whole domestic tragedy is comprised in one line of this record:
+
+"Married, first, March 15th, 1843, Valerie, only daughter of Constantine,
+Baron de la Motte; divorced, Nov. 1st, 1844."
+
+Now as to this poor, unhappy first wife:
+
+Some few years before this first fatal marriage, the Baron de la Motte,
+one of the most illustrious French statesmen, was dispatched by his
+sovereign as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the
+Court of France to the Court of Russia.
+
+The baron, with his suite, proceeding to St. Petersburg, accompanied by
+the baroness, a handsome Italian woman, and by their only child, Valerie,
+a beautiful brunette of only seventeen summers.
+
+Valerie de la Motte was first introduced to the world of fashion at a
+great court ball, given by the Czar, in honor of the French Ambassador,
+in the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff.
+
+On this occasion the dark, brilliant beauty of Mademoiselle de la Motte,
+inherited from her Italian mother, was the more admired from its rarity
+and its perfect contrast to the radiant fairness of the Russian blondes.
+Here Valerie de la Motte met, for the first time, Waldemar de Volaski,
+the second son of the Polish Count de Volaski, and a captain of the Royal
+Guards, stationed at the palace. He was but twenty years of age, yet a
+model of fair, manly beauty. He was even then called "the handsomest man
+in all the Russias."
+
+There was a Romeo and Juliet case of love at first sight between the
+young Russian officer and the youthful French heiress.
+
+During the first season, the beauty's hand was sought by some among the
+most princely of the nobles that surrounded the throne of the Czar; but,
+to the disappointment of her ambitious parents, she refused them every
+one.
+
+Certainly the French father might have followed the custom of his class
+and country, and coerced his young daughter into the acceptance of any
+husband he might have chosen for her; but he did not feel disposed to
+use harsh measures with his only and idolized child; he rather preferred
+to exercise patience and forbearance toward her, until she should have
+outlived what he called her childish caprices.
+
+It was, however, no childish caprice that governed the conduct of Valerie
+de la Motte, but the unfortunate and fatal passion, inspired by the
+handsome young captain of the Royal Guards, whom she had waltzed with
+about a half a dozen times at the court balls.
+
+Waldemar de Volaski was indeed as beautiful as the youthful god, Apollo
+Belvidere, and in his radiant blonde complexion a perfect contrast to the
+dark, splendid style of the lovely brunette, Valerie de la Motte; but he
+was only a younger son, with no hope or prospect of succession to his
+father's title or estates.
+
+He did not dare openly to seek the hand of Mademoiselle de la Motte, for
+he knew that to do so would only be to have himself banished forever from
+her presence, by her ambitious father; but, loving her with all the
+passion of his heart, he sought secretly to win her love, and he
+succeeded.
+
+It would seem strange that the carefully shielded daughter of the French
+minister should have been exposed to courtship by the young captain of
+the Royal Guards; but love is fertile in devices, and full of expedients,
+and "laughs," not only "at locksmiths," but at all other obstacles to its
+success.
+
+The willful young pair loved each other ardently from the first evening
+of their meeting, and they could not endure to think of such a
+possibility as their separation. They found many opportunities, even in
+public, of carrying on their secret courtship. In the swimming turn of
+the waltz, hands clasped hands with more impassioned earnestness than the
+formula of the round dance required: in the casual meetings in the
+fashionable promenades of the beautiful summer gardens in Aptekarskoi
+Island--
+
+"Eyes looked love to eyes that spake again.
+And all went merry as a marriage bell,"
+
+so long as they could see each other every day.
+
+As the summer passed, the young captain, grown more confident, wrote
+ardent love letters to his lady, which were surreptitiously slipped into
+her hands at casual meetings, or conveyed to her by means of bribed
+domestics; and these the willful beauty answered in the same spirit,
+as opportunity was offered her by the same means. But--
+
+"A change came o'er the spirit of their dream."
+
+The French minister was recalled home by his sovereign, and only awaited
+the arrival of his successor to take an official leave of the Czar.
+
+About this time a letter from Volaski to Valerie was sent by the
+captain's faithful valet, and put in the hands of the lady's confidential
+maid, who secretly conveyed it to her mistress. This letter, which was
+fiery enough to have set any ordinary post-bag in a blaze, declared,
+among other matters, that the lady's answer would decide the writer's
+fate, for life or for death.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte sat down and wrote a reply which she sent by her
+confidential maid, who placed it in the hands of the captain's faithful
+valet, to be secretly carried to his master.
+
+Whether the answer decided the fate of the lover for life or for death,
+it certainly controlled his action in an important matter. Immediately on
+its receipt he hastened to the Hotel de l'Etat Major, the headquarters of
+the army department, and solicited a month's leave of absence to visit
+his father's family.
+
+As it was the very first occasion upon which the young officer had asked
+such a favor, it was promptly granted him.
+
+Of course no one suspected that the cause of the young captain's action
+had been the announcement that the French minister had been recalled by
+his government, and was about to return to Paris.
+
+The next day Waldemar de Volaski left St. Petersburg, ostensibly to visit
+his father's estates in Poland.
+
+And the next week the French minister, having presented his successor to
+the Czar, and received his own conge, left the court and the city, and
+set out for France.
+
+The ministerial party travelled by the new railway from St. Petersburg to
+Warsaw, a distance of nearly seven hundred miles.
+
+At the capital of Poland they designed to stop a few days to rest the
+baroness, whose health was suffering.
+
+One day while in that city the baroness, her daughter, and the lady's
+maid, went out together, shopping for curiosities in the Marieville
+Bazaar, a square in the midst of the city, surrounded by many gay
+arcades.
+
+The square was full of visitors, and every arcade was crowded with
+customers.
+
+The baroness became somewhat interested in her purchases, and from moment
+to moment turned to consult her daughter, who seemed ever ready so assist
+her choice.
+
+At length, however, in speaking to Mademoiselle de la Motte, her mother
+failed to receive an answer.
+
+Turning to rebuke the inattention of her daughter, the baroness
+discovered that Valerie was missing.
+
+Thinking only that she had got mixed up with the crowd, yet feeling very
+much annoyed thereat, Madam de la Motte called her maid and instituted a
+search, only to find, with dismay, that Mademoiselle was nowhere in the
+square.
+
+Believing then that the young girl must have taken the extraordinary
+and very reprehensible proceeding of returning to the hotel alone and
+resolving to give her daughter a severe reprimand for her imprudence,
+the baroness returned to their temporary home, only to learn that
+Mademoiselle de la Motte had not been seen there by any one since she
+had left the house in company with her mother, attended by her maid.
+
+Fearing then that her daughter, in rashly attempting to return home
+alone, had lost herself in the streets of Warsaw, the baroness sent
+messengers in every direction to seek for her and guide her back.
+
+Meanwhile the Baron de la Motte, who had been to inspect the fine gallery
+of paintings preserved in the old villa of Stanislaus Augustus, returned
+to his hotel, and was informed by the now half distracted baroness of the
+disappearance of their daughter.
+
+The Baron, struck with dismay, inquired into the circumstances of the
+case, and was told of the shopping expedition to the Marieville Bazaar,
+where Valerie was first missed.
+
+"It was at her own earnest solicitation that I took her there, to pick up
+some of the curiously carved jewelry and trinkets. First, she wished, in
+consideration of my health, to go there attended only by her maid; but I
+would not allow any such indiscretion. I took her there myself, and even
+while I was talking with her before one of the arcades, she vanished like
+a spirit! One moment she was there, the next moment she was gone! We
+looked for her immediately, but found no trace of her."
+
+The baron replied not one word to this explanation, but took his hat and
+walked out to join the search for the missing girl, while the baroness
+remained in her rooms, a prey to the most poignant anxiety.
+
+It was near midnight when the baron returned, looking full ten years
+older than he did when he went forth.
+
+No trace of the missing girl had been found, and whether her
+disappearance was a flight or an abduction no one could even conjecture.
+
+The condition of the agonized mother became critical; she could not be
+persuaded to lie down, or to cease from her restless walking to and fro
+in her chamber.
+
+At length, a physician was summoned, who administered a potent sedative,
+which conquered her nervous excitement, and laid her in a blessed sleep
+upon her bed.
+
+The next morning the search, which had not been quite abandoned even
+during the night, was renewed with great vigor, stimulated by the large
+rewards offered by the afflicted father for the recovery of his lost
+child; but still no trace of Valerie de la Motte could be found, no news
+of her be heard.
+
+And so, without any change a week passed away, and then, while the
+baroness lay in extreme nervous prostration, hovering between life and
+death, and the baron crept about her bed like a man bowed down by the
+infirmities of age, and all hope seemed gone, a letter arrived from
+Mademoiselle de la Motte to her parents.
+
+It was written from San Vito, a small mountain hamlet in the northern
+part of Italy. By this letter she informed them that she was safe and
+happy as the wife of Captain Waldemar de Volaski, who had long possessed
+her heart, and to whom she had just given her hand. She begged her
+father and mother to pardon her for having sought her happiness in her
+own way, and assured them, notwithstanding her seemingly unfilial
+conduct, she still cherished the strongest sentiments of love and honor
+toward them both, and ever remained their dutiful and affectionate
+daughter--VALERIE DE LA MOTTE DE VOLASKI.
+
+The mother, who under any other circumstances, would have been
+overwhelmed with mortification and sorrow at this _mesalliance_ of
+her daughter, was now so glad to know that Valerie was alive in health,
+even though as the bride of a poor young captain of the Guards, that she
+thanked Heaven earnestly, and rejoiced exceedingly.
+
+But the baron who would as willingly have never heard of his lost
+daughter, as that she had so degraded herself, left his wife's
+bed-chamber abruptly, and went off to his smoking-room, where he could
+vent his feelings by cursing and swearing to his heart's content.
+
+The next day the Baron de la Motte, breathing maledictions, set out for
+Italy, accompanied by the baroness, who had wonderfully rallied in health
+and strength since she had received news of her missing daughter.
+
+The proud baroness was, in one respect, like the poor Hebrew mother of
+the Bible story. She preferred to give up her child to another claimant
+rather than lose that beloved child by death.
+
+The baron's party traveled day and night, without pause or rest, until
+they crossed the northern frontier of Italy, and halted at the little
+hamlet of San Vito, at the foot of the Apennines.
+
+Here they found the fugitive pair living a sort of Arcadian life: and
+here they learned the facts which they had not hitherto even suspected.
+
+Captain Waldemar de Volaski and Mademoiselle Valerie de la Motte had
+loved each other from the first moment of their meeting at the ball given
+in honor of the French minister, at the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff,
+and had betrothed themselves to each other during the first month of
+their acquaintance. They had kept their betrothal a secret, only because
+they felt assured it would meet with the most violent opposition from the
+young lady's haughty parents; but they had carried on a constant
+epistolary correspondence through the instrumentality of the lover's
+valet and the lady's maid; but they had not intended to take any decisive
+step, until, at length, they were both startled by the recall home of
+the French minister.
+
+When the announcement of this event reached the ears of Waldemar de
+Volaski, he was filled with despair at the prospect of parting from his
+betrothed.
+
+He instantly dashed off a hasty letter to Valerie de la Motte, earnestly
+entreating her to save his life, and his reason, and secure their
+happiness, by consenting to an immediate marriage.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, closing her ears to the voice of conscience and
+discretion, and listening only to the pleadings of a reckless and fatal
+passion, wrote a favorable answer.
+
+They knew that their plan would be exceedingly difficult of execution;
+but this did not deter them.
+
+They made their arrangements with more tact than could have been expected
+of so youthful a pair of lovers.
+
+He obtained leave of absence and left St. Petersburg, as has been stated,
+upon the pretext of visiting his father's estate in Poland; but really
+with the intention of preceding the minister's party to Warsaw, where, he
+had learned, they would break their journey and remain for a few days to
+recruit the strength of the baroness.
+
+There, disguised as a peasant, and concealed in the suburban cottage
+of a faithful retainer of his family, Waldemar de Volaski waited for
+the arrival of the baron's party.
+
+Then, through the instrumentality of the lover's valet and the lady's
+maid, a meeting was arranged between the imprudent young pair, at the
+Marieville Bazaar.
+
+There Mademoiselle de la Motte found her lover watching for her.
+
+Taking advantage of a few minutes during which her mother was engaged in
+the examination of some curious malachite ornaments, Valerie de la Motte
+slipped into the thickest of the crowd, joined her lover, and escaped
+with him to the suburban hut of the old retainer, where she changed her
+clothes, and from whence, in the disguise of a page, and carrying her
+female apparel in a small valise, she finally fled with him to Italy.
+
+They stopped at the little mountain hamlet of San Vito, where she resumed
+her proper dress, and where, by a lavish expenditure of money, and a
+liberal disbursement of fair words, Waldemar de Volaski prevailed on
+a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between himself and Valerie de
+la Motte.
+
+When this was done, the reckless pair took lodgings at a vine-dresser's
+cottage in the neighborhood of the hamlet, to spend their honeymoon, and
+wait for "coming events."
+
+The coming events came. The parents arrived, and found the lovers living
+carelessly and happily in their Arcadian home. Here the outraged and
+infuriated father thundered into the ears of the newly-married pair
+the terrible truth that their marriage was no marriage at all without
+his consent, but was utterly null and void in the law.
+
+At this astounding revelation, Valerie, overwhelmed with humiliation,
+fainted and fell, and was tenderly cared for by her mother; but the
+gallant captain very coolly replied that he knew the fact perfectly well,
+and had always known it, although Mademoiselle de la Motte had not even
+suspected it; and he ventured to represent to the haughty baron, that
+their illegal marriage only required the sanction of his silent
+recognition to render it perfectly legal, and that for his daughter's
+own sake he was bound to give it such recognition.
+
+This aroused the baron to a perfect frenzy of rage. He charged Volaski
+with having traded in Mademoiselle de la Motte's affections and honor,
+from selfish and mercenary motives alone, and swore that such deep,
+calculating villainy should avail the villain nothing. He would not
+ratify his daughter's marriage with such a caitiff, but would use his
+parental power to tear her from her unlawful husband's arms, and immure
+her in the living tomb of an Italian convent.
+
+He finished by dashing his open hand with all his strength full into the
+mouth of the bridegroom, inflicting a severe blow, and covering the
+handsome face with blood.
+
+Valerie de la Motte, in a fainting condition, was placed in the cart
+of a vine-dresser, the only conveyance to be found, and carried to a
+neighboring nunnery, where she lay ill for several weeks, tenderly nursed
+by her sorrowful mother and by the compassionate nuns.
+
+The Baron de la Motte remained in the village, awaiting a challenge from
+Waldemar de Volaski; but when a week had passed away without such an
+event, the furious old Frenchman, bent upon his enemy's destruction,
+dispatched a defiance to Captain Volaski, couched in such insulting and
+exasperating language as compelled the young officer, much against his
+will, to accept it.
+
+They met to fight their duel in a secluded glade of the forest, lying
+between the hamlet and the foot of the mountains.
+
+At the first fire, Volaski, who was resolved not to wound the father of
+his beloved Valerie, discharged his pistol in the air, but instantly
+fell, shot through the lungs by the Baron de la Motte!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE.
+
+
+The Baron de la Motte, leaving Captain de Volaski stretched on the
+ground, to be cared for by the seconds and the surgeon in attendance,
+went back to the hotel and made preparations to leave San Vito.
+
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, still very weak from recent illness, was placed
+in a carriage at the risk of her life, and compelled to commence the
+journey back to France.
+
+Madame de la Motte, grieved with the grief and anxious for the health of
+her daughter, dared not show the sufferer any pity or kindness.
+
+Monsieur de la Motte was no longer the tender and affectionate father he
+had hitherto shown himself: for, in his bitter mortification and fierce
+resentment, his love seemed turned to hatred, his sympathy to antipathy.
+
+The attenuated form, the pale face, and the sunken eyes of his once
+beautiful child, failed to move his compassion for her. He told her with
+brutal cruelty that he had slain her lover in the duel, and left him dead
+upon the ground; and that she must think no more of the villain who had
+dishonored her family.
+
+On arriving in Paris, the baron established his household in the
+magnificent Hotel de la Motte, in the most aristocratic quarter of the
+city; and here began for Valerie a life that was a very purgatory on
+earth.
+
+At home, if her purgatory could be called her home, she was studiously
+and habitually treated with scorn and contempt, as a creature unworthy to
+bear the family name, or share the family honors; until at length the
+child herself began to look upon her fault in the light her father wished
+her to see it, and with such exaggerating eyes, withal, that she came to
+think of herself as a dishonored criminal, unworthy even to live. Her
+grief sank to horror, and her depression to despair.
+
+She was treated as an outcast in all respects but one, and this exception
+was an additional cruelty; for she was introduced into the gay world of
+fashion, and compelled to mix in all its festivities, at the same time
+being sternly warned that if this same world should suspect her fault,
+she would not be received in any drawing-room in Paris.
+
+Valerie was too broken-spirited to answer by telling the truth, that the
+world and the world's favor had lost all attraction for her, who would
+willingly have retired from it forever.
+
+Valerie was presented to society as Mademoiselle de la Motte, and nothing
+was said of her stolen marriage with the young Russian officer.
+
+That season was perhaps the gayest Paris had ever known during the
+quiet reign of the citizen king and queen. Brilliant festivities in
+honor of the Spanish marriages were the order of the days and nights.
+Representatives from every court in Europe were present, as special
+messengers of congratulation--or expostulation; for it will be remembered
+the Spanish marriages were not universally popular with the sovereigns of
+Europe.
+
+Among the representatives of the English Court, present at the Tuileries,
+was the seventh Duke of Hereward, recently come into his titles and
+estates.
+
+It was at a ball at the Tuileries that Valerie de la Motte first met the
+Duke of Hereward, then a very handsome man of middle age, of accomplished
+mind and courtly address. The beautiful, pale, grave brunette at once
+interested the English duke more than all the blooming and vivacious
+beauties at the French capital could do. At every ball, dinner, concert,
+play, or other place of amusement where Mademoiselle de la Motte appeared
+with her parents, the Duke of Hereward sought her out; and the more he
+saw of her, the more interested he became in her; and it must be
+confessed that the conversation of this handsome and accomplished man of
+middle age pleased the grave, sedate girl more than that of younger and
+gayer men could have done.
+
+The duke, on his part, was not slow to perceive his advantage, and he
+would willingly have paid his addresses to Mademoiselle de la Motte in
+person, and won her heart and hand for himself, before speaking to her
+father on the subject; but as such a proceeding would not have been in
+accordance with the customs of the country, no opportunity was allowed
+him to do so; for whereas in England, or America, a suitor must win the
+favor of his lady before he asks that of her parents, in France the
+process is precisely the reverse of all this, and the lover must have the
+sanction of the father or mother, or both, before he may dare to woo the
+daughter; and this rule of etiquette holds good in all cases except in
+those of stolen marriages, which are illegal and disreputable.
+
+It was not long, therefore, before the Duke or Hereward called at the
+Hotel de la Motte, and requested a private interview with the baron,
+which was promptly and politely accorded.
+
+The duke then and there made known to the baron the state of his
+affections, and formally solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Valerie
+de la Motte in marriage.
+
+The "mad duke" was not then mad; he had not squandered his princely
+fortune; his dukedom was one of the wealthiest as well as one of the
+oldest in the United Kingdom; the marriage he offered the baron's
+daughter was one of the most brilliant (under royalty) in Europe.
+
+The baron did not hesitate a moment, but promptly accepted the proposals
+of the duke in behalf of his daughter.
+
+The Duke of Hereward hurried away, the happiest man in Europe.
+
+The Baron de la Motte went and informed his daughter that she must
+prepare to receive the middle-aged suitor as her future husband.
+
+Now, Valerie, in a languid way, liked the Duke of Hereward better than
+any one else in the whole world except her mother, but she did not like
+him in the character of a husband. The idea of marriage even with him was
+abhorrent to her. In her first surprise and dismay at the announcement of
+the duke's proposal for her hand, and her father's acceptance of that
+proposal, she betrayed all the unconquerable antipathy she felt to the
+contemplated marriage; but in vain she wept and pleaded to be left in
+peace; to be left to die; to be sent to a convent; to be disposed of in
+any way rather than in marriage!
+
+The baron was no longer a tender and compassionate father, but a ruthless
+and implacable tyrant.
+
+Valerie's life had been a purgatory before, it was a hell now. She was
+covered with reproach, contumely and threats by her father; she was
+lectured and mourned over by her mother; and when her mother at length
+took sides with her father, in urging her to this marriage, the very
+ground seemed to have slidden from beneath her feet; she had not a friend
+in the world to whom to turn in her distress.
+
+Meanwhile the Duke of Hereward was impatiently awaiting the promised
+summons to the Hotel de la Motte to meet Mademoiselle Valerie as his
+future wife.
+
+Valerie believed that her young lover-husband had been slain in the duel
+with her father; and that she was free to bestow her hand, if she could
+not give her broken heart; she was worn out with the ignominious
+reproaches heaped upon her by her father; by the tears and sighs lavished
+upon her by her mother; by all the humiliation and degradations of her
+daily life, and by the dreariness and desolation of her home. She longed
+for peace and rest; she would gladly have sought them in a convent had
+she been permitted to do so, or in the grave, had she dared.
+
+I repeat that she did not dislike the Duke of Hereward; but on the
+contrary, she liked him better than any one else in the world except her
+mother, and so it followed that at length she began to look upon a
+marriage with him as the only possible refuge from the horrors of her
+home.
+
+What wonder, then, that, goaded and taunted by her father, implored by
+her mother, solicited by the handsome duke, believing her young lover to
+be dead, slain by the hands of her father, longing to escape from the
+persecutions of her family, prostrated in body and mind, broken in heart
+and in spirit, Valerie at last succumbed to the pressure brought to bear
+upon her, and accepted the refuge of the Duke of Hereward's love,
+although the very next moment, in honor of herself and him, she
+would willingly have recalled her decision, if she could have done so.
+
+From the moment that her acceptance of the duke's proposal was announced
+to her parents, the domestic sky cleared; her ruthless tyrant became
+again her tender father; her weeping mother brightened into smiles;
+she herself was once more the petted daughter of the house, and her lover
+showed himself the proudest and happiest of men; and Valerie de la Motte
+would have been at peace but for her consciousness of the secret that
+they were all keeping from the duke.
+
+"Mamma, he ought to be told, he is so good, so noble, so confiding. I
+feel like a wretch in deceiving him; he ought to be told of my fault
+before he commits himself by marrying me," she pleaded with her mother.
+
+"Valerie, you frighten me half to death! Do not dream of such a folly as
+telling the duke anything about your mad imprudence in running away with
+the young Russian! It would make a great and terrible scandal! Your
+father would kill you, I do believe! Besides, for that fault, committed
+while you were in our keeping and under our authority, you are
+accountable only to me and to your father. Your betrothed husband has
+nothing to do with it. No good would come of your telling it; no harm can
+come of your keeping it. The wild partner of your imprudence is dead and
+buried, the saints be praised! and so he can never rise up to trouble
+your peace. While you are here with us, and under our authority, you must
+obey us, and hold your peace, and keep your secret," said the baroness.
+
+"Come weal, come woe, my honor requires that this secret should be told
+to the noble and confiding gentleman who is about to make me his wife,"
+murmured Valerie.
+
+"Your honor, Mademoiselle, is in the keeping of your father, until, by
+giving you in marriage, he passes it into the keeping of your husband.
+You are not to concern yourself about it. If your father should deem that
+your 'honor' demands your secret to be confided to your betrothed
+husband, he will divulge it to him: if he does not divulge it, then rest
+assured honor does not require him to do so. Now let us hear no more
+about it."
+
+Valerie sighed and yielded, but she was not satisfied.
+
+The betrothal was immediately announced to the world, and the marriage,
+which soon followed, was celebrated in the church of Notre Dame with the
+greatest _eclat_.
+
+Directly after the wedding the duke took his bride on a long tour,
+extending over Europe and into Asia; and after an absence of several
+months, carried her to England, and settled down for the autumn on his
+English patrimonial estate, Hereward Hold, (for Castle Lone was then a
+ruin and Inch Lone a wilderness, which no one had yet dreamed of
+rebuilding and restoring.)
+
+The youthful duchess, in her quiet English home, was like Louise la
+Valliere in the Convent of St. Cyr, "not joyous, but content."
+
+She tried to make her noble husband happy, by fulfilling all the duties
+of a wife--_except one_. She knew a wife should have no secrets from
+her husband, yet, in her fear of disturbing the sweet domestic peace, in
+which her wearied spirit rested, she kept from him the secret of her
+first wild marriage.
+
+At the meeting of Parliament in February, the Duke of Hereward took his
+beautiful young wife to London, and established her in their magnificent
+town-house--Hereward House, Kensington.
+
+At the first Royal drawing-room at Buckingham Palace, the young duchess
+was presented to the queen, and soon after she commenced her career as a
+woman of fashion by giving a grand ball at Hereward House.
+
+The Duke of Hereward was very fond and very proud of his lovely young
+bride, whose beauty soon became the theme of London clubs--though
+invidious critics insisted that she was much too pale and grave ever to
+become a reigning belle.
+
+Yes, she was very pale and grave; peaceful, not happy.
+
+Scarcely twelve months had passed since she had been cruelly torn from
+the idolized young husband of her youth and thrown into a convent, where
+the only news that she heard of him was, that he had been killed in a
+duel with her ruthless father. She had mourned for him in secret, without
+hope and without sympathy, and before the first year of her widowhood had
+passed--a widowhood she had been sternly forbidden by her father either
+to bewail or even to acknowledge--she had been driven by a series of
+unprecedented persecutions to give her hand where she could not give her
+broken heart, and to go to the altar with a deadly secret on her
+conscience, if not with a lie on her lips!
+
+Now her persecutions had ceased, indeed; but not her sorrows. Her home
+was quiet and honored, her middle-aged husband was kind and considerate,
+and she loved him with filial affection and reverence; but she could not
+forget the husband of her youth, slain by her father; his memory was a
+tender sorrow cherished in the depths of her heart, the only living
+sentiment there, for it seemed dead to all else.
+
+"If he were a living lover," she whispered to herself, "I should be bound
+by every consideration of honor and duty to cast him out of my heart--if
+I could! But for my dead boy, my husband, slain in the flower of his
+youth for my sake, I may cherish remembrance and sorrow."
+
+Thus, it is no wonder that she moved through the splendor of her first
+London season, a beautiful, pale, grave Melpomene.
+
+But the splendor of that season was soon to be dimmed.
+
+News came by telegraph to the Duke of Hereward, announcing the sudden
+death of the Baron de la Motte, of apoplexy, in Paris.
+
+Now much has been said and written about the ingratitude of children; but
+quite as much might be said of their indestructible affection. The Baron
+de la Motte had shown himself a very cruel father to his only child; he
+had shot down her young husband in a duel; yet, notwithstanding all that,
+Valerie was wild with grief at the news of his sudden death. She
+wondered, poor child, if she herself had not had some hand in bringing
+it on by all the trouble she had given him, although that trouble had
+passed away now more than twelve months since; and the late baron was
+known to have been a man of full habit and excitable temperament, and,
+withal, a heavy feeder and hard drinker--a very fit subject for apoplexy
+to strike down at any moment.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward hastened to Paris, where they found the
+remains of the baron laid in state in the great saloon of the Hotel de la
+Motte, and the widowed baroness prostrated by grief, and confined to her
+bed.
+
+The duke and duchess remained until after the funeral, when the will of
+the late baron was read. It was then discovered for the first time that
+his daughter, Valerie, was not nearly the wealthy heiress she was
+supposed to be.
+
+All the late baron's landed estates went to the male heir-at-law, a young
+officer in the Chasseurs d' Afrique, then in Algiers. All his personal
+property, consisting of bank and railroad stocks, after a deduction as a
+provision for his widow, was bequeathed to his only daughter Valerie,
+Duchess of Hereward. But this property was so inconsiderable, that,
+without other means, it would scarcely have sufficed for the respectable
+support of the mother and daughter.
+
+After the settlement of the late baron's affairs, the duke and duchess
+would have returned immediately to London but for the condition of the
+widowed baroness' health.
+
+Madame de la Motte had for years been a delicate invalid, and she had
+experienced, in the sudden death of her husband, a severe shock, from
+which she could not rally; so that, within a few weeks after the baron's
+remains had been laid in the family vault, she passed away, and hers were
+laid by his side.
+
+Valerie was even more prostrated with sorrow by the loss of her mother
+than she had been by that of her father.
+
+The duke, to distract her grief, telegraphed to New Haven, where his
+yacht, the _Sea-Bird_, was lying to have her brought over to meet
+him at Dieppe, took his duchess down to that little seaport and embarked
+with her for a voyage to Norway.
+
+The season was most favorable for such a northerly voyage. They sailed on
+the first of July, and spent three months cruising about the coasts of
+Norway, Iceland, and down to the Western Isles. They returned about the
+first of October.
+
+The duke left his yacht at Dieppe, and, accompanied by the duchess, went
+up to Paris, to attend to some business connected with the estate of the
+late baron.
+
+As but a third of a year had passed since the death of her parents, and
+the duchess had scarcely passed out of her first deep crape mourning, she
+went very little into society. Nevertheless, she was constrained, at the
+duke's request, to accept one invitation.
+
+There was to be a diplomatic dinner given at the British Legation, at
+which the Prussian, Austrian and Russian ministers, with the higher
+officers of their suites, were to be present.
+
+Valerie, living her recluse life in the city, did not know the names of
+one of these ministers, nor, in the apathy of her grief, did she care to
+inquire.
+
+On the evening appointed for the entertainment, she went to the hotel of
+the British Legation, escorted by her husband.
+
+Dressed in her rich and elegant mourning of jet on crape, glimmering
+light on blackest darkness, and looking herself paler and fairer by its
+contrast, she entered the grand drawing-room, leaning on the arm of her
+husband. She heard their names announced:
+
+"The Duke and Duchess of Hereward."
+
+Then she found herself in a room sparsely occupied by a very brilliant
+company, and stood--not, as she had expected to stand, among
+strangers--but in the midst of her own familiar friends, whom she had
+known in her girlhood at the court of St. Petersburg, or met, in her
+womanhood, in the drawing-rooms of London.
+
+It was while she was still leaning on her husband's arm and receiving the
+courteous salutations of her old friends, that their host, Lord C--n,
+approached with a gentleman.
+
+Valerie looked up and saw standing before her the young husband of her
+girlish love!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+RISEN FROM THE GRAVE.
+
+
+Waldemar de Volaski, left as dead upon the duelling ground by his
+antagonist, the Baron de la Motte, was tenderly lifted by his second and
+the surgeon in attendance, laid upon a stretcher, and conveyed to the
+infirmary of a neighboring monastery, where he was charitably received by
+the brethren.
+
+When he was laid upon a bed, undressed, and examined, it was discovered
+that he was not dead, but only swooning from the loss of blood.
+
+When his wound was probed, it was found that the bullet had passed the
+right lobe of the lungs, and lodged in the flesh below the right shoulder
+blade. To extract it, under the circumstances, or to leave it there,
+seemed equally dangerous, threatening, on the one hand, inflammation
+and mortification, and, on the other, fatal hemorrhage. Therefore, the
+surgeon in charge of the case sent off to the nearest town to summon
+other medical aid, and meanwhile kept up the strength of the patient
+by stimulants. In the consultation that ensued on the arrival of the
+other surgeons, it was decided that the extraction of the bullet would be
+difficult and dangerous; but that in it lay the only chance of the
+patient's life.
+
+On the next morning, therefore, Waldemar de Volaski was put under the
+influence of chloroform, and the operation was performed. His youth and
+vigorous constitution bore him safely through the trying ordeal, but
+could not save him from the terrible irritative fever that set in and
+held him in its fiery grasp for many days there after.
+
+He was well tended by the holy brotherhood, who sent to the
+vine-dresser's cottage for information concerning him, that they might
+find out who and where were his friends, and write and apprise them of
+his condition.
+
+But the vine-dresser could tell the monks no more than this--that the
+young man and young woman had come as strangers to the village, were
+married by the good Father Pietro in the church of San Vito, and had
+come to lodge in his cottage. The young pair had lived as merrily as two
+birds in a bush until the sudden arrival of an illustrious and furious
+signore, who tore the bride from the arms of her husband, and carried her
+off to the convent of Santa Madelena. That was all the vine-dresser knew.
+
+The surgeon supplemented the vine-dresser's story with an account of the
+duel between the enraged baron and the young captain.
+
+The good Father Pietro was next interviewed, and gave the names of the
+imprudent young pair whom he had tied together, as Waldemar Peter de
+Volaski and Valerie Aimee de la Motte; but besides this, who they
+were, or whence they came, he could not tell.
+
+Inquiries were made in the village of San Vito, which only resulted in
+the information that the "illustrious" strangers had departed with their
+daughter no one knew whither.
+
+Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of the duel tossed and tumbled, fumed
+and raved in fever and delirium, that raged like fire for nine days, and
+then left him utterly prostrated in mind and body. Many more days passed
+before he was able to answer questions, and weeks crept by before he
+could give any coherent account of himself.
+
+His first sensible inquiry related to his bride.
+
+"Where is she? What have they done with her?" he demanded to know.
+
+"The illustrious signore has taken the signorita away with him, no one
+knows whither," answered the monk who was minding him.
+
+"I know--so he has taken her away?--I know where he has taken her,--to
+Paris," faltered the victim, and immediately fainted dead away, exhausted
+by the effort of speaking these words.
+
+His next question, asked after the interval of a week, related to the
+length of time he had been ill.
+
+"How long have I lain stretched upon this bed?" he asked.
+
+"The Signore Captain has been here four weeks," answered his nurse.
+
+"Great Heaven! then I have exceeded my month's leave by two weeks! I
+shall be court-martialed and degraded!" cried the patient, starting up
+in great excitement, and instantly swooning away from the reaction.
+
+In this manner the recovery of the wounded man became a matter of
+difficulty and delay; for as often as he rallied sufficiently to look
+into his affairs, their threatening aspect threw him back prostrated.
+
+He recovered, however, by slow degrees.
+
+As soon as he was able to sustain the continued exertion of talking, he
+requested one of the brothers on duty in the infirmary to write two
+letters at his dictation. The first was addressed to the colonel of his
+regiment, informing that officer of the long and severe illness of
+Captain de Volaski, and petitioning for the invalid an extended leave of
+absence. The other was to the Count de Volaski, apprising that nobleman
+of the condition of his son, and imploring him to hasten at once to the
+bedside of the patient.
+
+The next morning Waldemar de Volaski sat up in bed and asked for
+stationery, and wrote with his own weak and trembling hand a short letter
+to his youthful bride--telling her that he had been very ill, but was now
+convalescent, and that as soon as he should be able to travel he would
+hasten to Paris and claim his wife in the face of all the fathers,
+priests and judges in Paris, or in the world. He addressed her as his
+well beloved wife, signed himself her ever-devoted husband, and had the
+temerity to direct his letter to Madame Waldemar de Volaski, Hotel de la
+Motte, Rue Faubourg St. Honore, Paris.
+
+The mail left St. Vito only twice a week, so that the three letters left
+the post office on the same day to their respective destinations; one
+went to St. Petersburg, to the Colonel of the Royal Guards; one to
+Warsaw, to the Count de Volaski; and one to Paris, to Madame de Volaski.
+
+In the course of the next week the writer received answers from all three
+letters. The first came from the colonel of his regiment, enclosing an
+extension of his leave of absence to three months; the second was
+answered in person by the Count de Volaski; the third was only an
+envelope, enclosing his letter to Valerie, crossed with this line:
+
+_"No such person to be found."_
+
+The meeting between the Count de Volaski and his reckless son was not in
+all respects a pleasant one. There was an explanation to be demanded by
+the father a confession to be made by the son. The count was divided
+between his anxiety for his son and indignation at that son's conduct.
+
+"You exposed more than your own life by the escapade, sir!" said the
+elder Volaski, "You abducted a minor, sir; for doing which you might have
+been prosecuted for felony, and sent to the gaol!--a fate so much worse
+than your death in the duel would have been for the honor of your family,
+that, had you been consigned to it, I should have cursed the hour you
+were born and blown my own brains out, in expiation of my share in your
+existence!"
+
+The yet nervous invalid shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+"But even that was not the greatest calamity your rashness provoked! You
+presumed to carry off the French minister's daughter while they were yet
+in the dominions of the Czar! by doing which you might have caused a war
+between two great nations, and the sacrifice of a million of lives!"
+
+"Sir, forbear! I have not yet recovered from the severe illness
+consequent upon my wound. Surely, I have suffered enough at the hands
+of the ruthless Baron de la Motte!" said Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+"The Baron de la Motte, being your enemy, is mine also; yet I cannot but
+admit that he has dealt very leniently with the abductor of his daughter
+by merely shooting him through the lungs, and laying him on a bed of
+repentance, when he might have prosecuted him as a felon, and sent him to
+penal servitude!" said the count, severely. "But there," he exclaimed, "I
+will say no more on that subject. As you say, you have suffered enough
+already to expiate your fault. You have nearly lost your life, and you
+have quite lost your love; for, of course, you know that your fooling
+marriage with a minor was no marriage at all, unless her father had
+chosen to make it so by his recognition. And if you ever had a chance of
+winning the girl, you have lost it by your imprudence. You must try to
+get up your strength now, so as to go with me back to Warsaw."
+
+So saying, the count left the bedside of his son, and went into the
+refectory of the monastery, where a substantial repast had been prepared
+to regale the traveler.
+
+The young man wrote yet another letter to his love, enclosing it on this
+occasion in an envelope directed to the lady's maid, who had once
+assisted the lovers in carrying on their correspondence; but as the maid
+had been long discharged from the service of her mistress, it was
+impossible that the letter should have reached her. The lover wrote again
+and again without receiving an answer to letters which it is certain his
+lost bride never received.
+
+Captain de Volaski's three months' extended leave of absence had nearly
+expired before he was in a condition to travel; and even then he had to
+go by slow stages, riding only during the day and resting at night, until
+they reached Warsaw.
+
+He spent a week at his father's castle, watched and wept over by his
+mother, who had not a reproach for her son, nor anything to offer him but
+her sympathy and her services. Six months had now passed away since his
+parting with his stolen bride; and it was the day before his expected
+return to his regiment that a packet of newspapers arrived for him,
+forwarded from St. Petersburg.
+
+He tore the envelopes off them. They were English, French and German
+papers. He threw all away except the French papers. He eagerly examined
+them, in the hope of seeing the name of the Baron de la Motte, and
+forming thereby some idea of the movements of the family, and the
+whereabouts of Valerie.
+
+The first paper he took up was _Le Courier de Paris_, and the first
+item that caught his eye was this--
+
+"MARRIED.--At the Church of Notre Dame, on Tuesday, March 1st, by the
+Most Venerable, the Archbishop of Paris, the Duke of Hereward, to
+Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la Motte."
+
+With the cry and spring of a panther robbed of its young, Volaski bounded
+to his feet. His rage and anguish were equal, and beyond all power of
+articulate or rational utterance. He strode up and down the floor like
+a maniac; he raved; he beat his breast, and tore his hair and beard; and
+finally, he rushed into the parlor where his father and mother were
+seated together over a quiet game of chess, and he dashed the paper down
+on the table before them, smote his hand upon the fatal marriage notice,
+and exclaimed in a voice of indescribable anguish:
+
+"See! see! see! see!"
+
+"It is just as I thought it would be," said the count, as he calmly
+read over the item, and passed it to his amazed wife. "The baron has
+wisely taken the first opportunity of marrying off his wilful girl--the
+best thing he could have done for her. I am sure I am glad she is no
+daughter-in-law of mine! She who could so lightly elope from her father
+might as lightly elope from her husband also."
+
+Waldemar made no reply, but stood looking the image of desolation, until
+his mother having read through the notice, and grasped the situation,
+arose and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming in a burst of
+sympathy:
+
+"Oh, my son! my son! my son! my son! forget her! forget the heartless
+jilt! she was unworthy of you!"
+
+A burst of wild and bitter laughter answered this appeal and frightened
+the good lady half out of her wits.
+
+"Let him go back to his regiment and be a man among men, and not lose his
+time whimpering after a silly girl, who has not sense enough even to take
+care of herself. The man to be most pitied is that husband of hers! Upon
+my word and honor, I am sorry for that English duke! Yes, _that_ I
+am!" said the count, heartily.
+
+The next day Waldemar de Volaski returned to his regiment at St.
+Petersburg.
+
+As his brother officers happily knew nothing of his elopement with the
+minister's daughter, and the duel that followed it; but supposed that his
+long absence had been occasioned by a long illness, he escaped all that
+exasperating chaff that might, under the circumstances, have half
+maddened him.
+
+He threw himself, for distraction, into all the wildest gayeties of the
+Russian capital, and led the life of a reckless young sinner, until he
+was suddenly brought to his senses by a domestic calamity. He received a
+telegram announcing the sudden death of his father and his elder brother,
+both of whom were instantly killed by an accident on the St. Petersburg
+and Warsaw Railroad, while on their way to the Russian capital.
+
+Stricken with grief, and with the remorse which grief is sure to awaken
+in the heart of a wrong-doer not altogether hardened, Waldemar de Volaski
+hastened down to Warsaw to support his almost inconsolable mother through
+the horrors of that sudden bereavement and that double funeral.
+
+By the death of his father and elder brother, he became the Count
+Volaski, and the heir of all the family estates; and there were left
+dependent on him his widowed mother and several younger brothers and
+sisters.
+
+At the earnest request of his mother he resigned his commission in the
+Royal Guards, and went down to reside with the family on the estate,
+during their retirement for the year of mourning.
+
+Before that year was half over, however, the young Count de Volaski
+received a summons to the court of his sovereign.
+
+He obeyed it immediately by hurrying up to St. Petersburg.
+
+On his arrival, he presented himself at the Annitchkoff Palace to receive
+the commands of the Czar, and he was appointed Secretary of Legation to
+the new Russian Embassy about to proceed to Paris.
+
+To Paris! to the home of Valerie de la Motte! The order agitated him to
+the profoundest depths of his being. He would have declined the honor
+about to be thrust upon him, could he have done so with propriety; but he
+could not, so there was no alternative but to kiss his sovereign's hand,
+express his sense of gratitude, and obey.
+
+The embassy left St. Petersburg for the French capital almost
+immediately.
+
+On the arrival at Paris they were established in the splendid Maison
+Francoise in the Champs Elysees.
+
+As soon as he was at leisure, the Count de Volaski drove to the Rue
+Faubourg St. Honore, and to the Hotel de la Motte. He found the house
+shut up, and upon inquiry of a gend'arme, learned, with more surprise
+than regret, that the Baron and Baroness de la Motte had both been dead
+for some months; the baron, who was a free liver, had been suddenly
+stricken down by apoplexy, and the baroness, whose health had long been
+feeble, could not rally from the shock, but soon followed her husband.
+
+"And,--where is their daughter, Madame la Duchesse d'Hereward?"
+hesitatingly inquired the Count de Volaski.
+
+The gend'arme could not tell; he did not know; but supposed that she was
+living with her husband, Monsieur le Duc, on his estates in England.
+
+No, clearly the gend'arme did not know; for, in fact, the Duke and
+the Duchess of Hereward were at that time living very quietly in the
+closed-up house at which the count and the gend'arme stood gazing while
+they talked.
+
+Count de Volaski re-entered his carriage and returned to the Maison
+Francoise in time to attend the official reception of the embassy by the
+citizen-king at the Tuileries.
+
+After the act of national and official etiquette, the embassy were free
+to enter into the social festivities of the gayest capital in the world.
+
+Among other entertainments, a great diplomatic dinner was given at the
+English Legation, then the magnificent Hotel Borghese, once the residence
+of the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, but now the seat of the
+British Embassy. Among the invited guests were the Russian minister and
+his Secretary of Legation, Count de Volaski.
+
+The count came late and found the splendid drawing-room honored with a
+small, but brilliant, company of ladies and gentlemen, the former among
+the most celebrated beauties, the latter the most distinguished statesmen
+of Europe.
+
+Nearly every one in the room were strangers to the Russian count; but his
+English host, with sincere kindness and courtesy, took care to present
+him to all the most agreeable persons present.
+
+"And now," whispered Lord C--n, in conclusion, "I have reserved the best
+for the last. Come and let me introduce you to the most interesting woman
+in Paris."
+
+Count de Volaski suffered himself to be conducted to the upper end of the
+room, where a tall and elegant-looking woman, dressed in rich mourning,
+stood, leaning on the arm of a stately, middle-aged man.
+
+Her face was averted as they approached; but she turned her head and he
+recognized the beautiful, pale face and lovely dark eyes of his lost
+bride.
+
+And while the floor of the drawing-room seemed rocking with him, like the
+deck of a tempest-tossed ship, he heard the words of his host whirling
+through his brain:
+
+"Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski of St. Petersburg;
+Count, the Duchess of Hereward."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+FACE TO FACE.
+
+
+"Madame, permit me to present to you Count de Volaski, of St.
+Petersburg--Count, the Duchess of Hereward," said Lord C., with old-time
+courtesy and formality.
+
+The gentleman bowed low; the lady courtesied; nothing but the close
+compression of his lips beneath the golden mustache, and the paler shade
+on her pale cheeks, betrayed the "whirlwind of emotion" which swept
+through both their hearts; and these indications of disturbance were too
+slight to attract any attention.
+
+Neither spoke, neither dared to speak. It was as much as each could do to
+maintain a conventional calmness through the terrible ordeal of such an
+introduction.
+
+Lord C., happily unconscious of anything wrong, did the very best thing
+he could have done under the circumstances. Scarcely allowing the count
+and the duchess time to exchange their bow and courtesy, he turned to her
+companion and said:
+
+"Duke, the Count de Volaski. Count, the Duke of Hereward."
+
+Both gentlemen bowed; but _one_, the count, quivered from head to
+foot in the presence of his unconscious but successful rival.
+
+"By the way, Count," said the duke, pleasantly, "the duchess, when
+Mademoiselle de la Motte, passed a year at the court of St. Petersburg
+with her parents. It is a wonder that you have not met before. Although,
+indeed, you may have done so," he added, as with an after-thought.
+
+"We have met before," replied the Count de Volaski, in a low and measured
+tone.
+
+"Of course! Of course! You are quite old friends," said the duke, gayly.
+
+Fortunately, then a diversion was made. The heavy, purple satin curtains
+vailing the arch between the drawing-rooms and dining saloon were drawn
+aside by invisible hands, and a very dignified and officer-looking
+personage, in a powdered wig, clerical black suit, and gold chain,
+appeared, and with a low bow and with low tones, said:
+
+"My lord and lady are served."
+
+"Count, will you take the duchess in to dinner?--Duke, Lady C. will thank
+you for your arm," said the host, as, with a nod and a smile, he moved
+off in search of that particular ambassadress whom custom, or etiquette,
+or policy, required him to escort to the dining-room.
+
+The Duke of Hereward with a polite wave of the hand, left his duchess in
+the charge of her appointed attendant, and went to meet Lady C., who was
+advancing toward him.
+
+Count Volaski bowed, and silently offered his arm to the young duchess.
+
+She did not take it; she could not; she stood as one paralyzed.
+
+He was stronger, firmer, calmer; perhaps because he really felt less than
+she did. He took her hand and drew it within his own, and led her to her
+place in the little procession that was going to the dining-room.
+
+He placed her in her chair at the table, and took his seat at her side.
+
+Then the self-control of their order, the self-control instilled as a
+virtue by their education, and standing now in the place of all virtues,
+enabled them to maintain a superficial calmness that conducted them
+safely through the trying ordeal of this dinner-table.
+
+Count de Volaski entered freely into the conversation of the guests. The
+Duchess of Hereward spoke but little; hers was a passive self-control,
+not an active one; she could force herself to be, or seem, composed;
+she could not force herself to talk; but her deep mourning dress was a
+good excuse for her extreme quietness, which was naturally ascribed to
+her recent and double bereavement.
+
+The dinner was a long, long agony to her; the courses seemed almost
+endless in duration and numberless in succession; but at length the
+hostess arose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire and leave
+the gentlemen to their wine and politics.
+
+The gentlemen all stood up while the ladies passed out to the
+drawing-room.
+
+Valerie would willingly have gone off to hide herself in some bay-window
+or other nook or corner of the vast drawing-room, and taken up a book or
+a piece of music as an excuse for her reserve; but as they passed through
+the curtained archway leading from the dining-saloon to the drawing-room,
+Lady C., with the kindest intentions toward the supposed mourner, and
+with the motherly grace for which her ladyship was noted, drew Valerie's
+arm within her own and began a conversation, to draw her mind from the
+contemplation of her bereavements.
+
+"What do you think of the young Russian count who brought you in to
+dinner, my dear?" inquired Lady C.
+
+"I--he is a Pole," answered Valerie, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, I am aware that he is a Pole by birth; but he is a thorough Russian
+in politics and principles; has been in the service of the Czar since the
+age of fifteen.--Here, my love, sit beside me," added her ladyship, as
+she sank gracefully down upon a sofa and drew her young guest to her
+side.
+
+Valerie submitted in silence.
+
+"Oh, by the way, however, I think I heard some one say that you had met
+the count at the court of St. Petersburg?" pursued Lady C.
+
+"I--have met him," answered Valerie, in the same level tone.
+
+"I am boring you, I fear, with this young Russian, my dear, but--"
+
+"Oh no," softly interrupted Valerie.
+
+"I was about to explain that I feel some interest in him from the fact
+that he is betrothed to my niece--"
+
+"Betrothed! Your niece!" exclaimed Valerie, surprised out of the apathy
+of her despair.
+
+"Yes, my love. Is there anything wonderful in that? It is a way these
+continental people have of doing things, you see. The Count Waldemar and
+my niece were betrothed to each other in their childhood. There is a very
+great attachment between them--at least on her part. The child seems to
+think that there is but one man in the world and his name is Waldemar de
+Volaski."
+
+"But--I did not know--I thought--I did not think--the count had ever been
+in England," incoherently murmured Valerie.
+
+"Nor has he; but what has that to do with it?" smiled her ladyship.
+
+"Your niece--"
+
+"Oh, I see! Because I am an Englishwoman my niece must be one, you
+think. You are mistaken, dear; she is French. My sister Anne married
+a Frenchman, the Marquis de St. Cyr. They had two children--Alphouse,
+a colonel in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, now in Algiers; and Aimee, now in
+the Convent of St. Rosalie. It was when the late Count de Volaski was
+here as the minister from Russia, that the acquaintance between the two
+families commenced and ripened into intimacy and the intimacy into
+friendship. Then Waldemar and Aimee were betrothed."
+
+"How many years ago was that?" faintly inquired Valerie.
+
+"Oh, about six--the young man was then about fifteen; the girl not more
+than twelve."
+
+"They could not have known their own minds at that age," murmured
+Valerie.
+
+"Oh, that was not at all necessary in a French betrothal," laughed the
+lady; "but, however, Aimee, child as she was, certainly knew her mind.
+The love of her betrothed husband was, and is, the religion of her life.
+I presume that Count Waldemar is equally constant; and that he will now
+press for a speedy marriage. My brother-in-law is down on his estates in
+Provence, just now; but I shall write and ask his permission to withdraw
+Aimee from her convent, in anticipation of her marriage, for of course
+she will be married from this house."
+
+"But--her mother?"
+
+"Oh! I should have told you; her mother, my dear sister Anne, passed
+away about a year after the betrothal of her daughter. The marquis took
+her loss very much to heart, and has never married again. The motherless
+girl has passed her life in a convent; but I hope to have her out soon.
+Here, my love, is an album containing portraits of my sister and
+brother-in-law and their children, taken at various times. You cannot
+mistake them, and they may interest you," said Lady C., taking a
+photographic volume from a gilded stand near, and laying it upon her
+guest's lap.
+
+Valerie received it with a nod of thanks, and the lady glided away to
+give some of her attention to her other guests.
+
+"The young English duchess is lovely, but too sad," said an embassadress,
+as the hostess joined her.
+
+"Ah! yes, poor child! lost her father and mother within a few weeks of
+each other," answered Lady C.
+
+"But that was six months ago; she ought to have recovered some
+cheerfulness by this time," remarked old Madame Bamboullet, who was a
+walking register of all the births, deaths and marriages of high life
+in Paris for the last half century.
+
+"Well, you see she has not done so; but here come the gentlemen,"
+observed Lady C., as a rather straggling procession from the dining-room
+entered.
+
+The host, Lord C., went up to the embassadress to whom it was his cue to
+be most attentive.
+
+The Duke of Hereward sought out his hostess, and entered into a bantering
+conversation with her.
+
+Count Waldemar de Volaski came directly up to Valerie where she sat alone
+on the sofa in a distant corner of the room. The little gilded stand
+stood before her, and the photographic album lay open upon it. Her eyes
+were fixed upon the album, and were not raised to see the new-comer; but
+the sudden accession of pallor on her pale face betrayed her recognition
+of him.
+
+He drew a chair so close to her sofa that only the little gilded stand
+stood between them. His back was toward the company; his face toward her;
+his elbows, with unpardonable rudeness, were placed upon the stand, and
+his hands supported his chin, as he stared into her pale face with its
+downcast eyes.
+
+"Valerie," he said.
+
+She did not look up.
+
+"Valerie de Volaski!" he muttered.
+
+_"My wife!"_
+
+She shuddered, but did not lift her eyes.
+
+She shrank into herself, as it were, and her eyes fell lower than before.
+
+"Is it thus we two meet at last?" he demanded, in low, stern, measured
+tones, pitched to meet her ear alone. "Is it thus I find you, after all
+that has passed between us, bearing the name and title of another man
+who calls himself your husband, oh! shame of womanhood!"
+
+"They told me our marriage was not legal, was not binding!" she panted
+under her breath.
+
+"It should have been religiously, sacredly binding up on you as it was
+upon me, until we could have made it legal. It is amazing that you could
+have dreamed of marriage with another man!" muttered Volaski.
+
+"But they told me you were dead. They told me you were dead!" she gasped,
+as if she were in her own death throes.
+
+"Even if they had told you truly--even if I had been dead--dead by the
+hand of your father--could that circumstance have excused you for rushing
+with such indecent haste to the altar with another man? It was but a poor
+tribute to the memory of the husband of your choice (if he had been dead)
+to marry again within six months."
+
+"Oh, mercy! Oh, my heart! my heart! They forced me into that marriage,
+Waldemar! They forced me into that marriage! I was as helpless as an
+infant in the hands of my father and my mother!" she panted, in a voice
+that was the more heart-rending from half suppression.
+
+"Valerie! love! wife!" murmured Volaski, in low and tender tones, as he
+essayed to take her hand.
+
+But she snatched it from him hastily, gasping:
+
+"Do not speak to me in that way! Do not call me love or wife!"
+
+"No man on earth has a better right to speak to you in this way than I
+have. No _other_ man in the world has the right to call you love or
+wife but me! You _are_ my wife!" grimly answered the young count.
+
+"I am the wife of the Duke of Hereward. Oh, Heaven, that I were a corpse
+instead!" gasped Valerie.
+
+"'The wife of the Duke of Hereward!' Have you then forgotten our
+betrothal at St. Petersburg? Our flight from Warsaw to St. Vito? Our
+marriage at the little chapel of Santa Maria? Our short, blissful
+honeymoon in the vine-dresser's cottage under the Apennines?" he
+inquired, bitterly.
+
+"I have forgotten nothing! Oh, Heaven! Oh, earth! Oh, Waldemar! that
+I could die! that I could die!" she wailed in low, heartbroken tones.
+
+It was well for her that the corner sofa stood in the shade, far removed
+from the seats of the other guests in that long drawing-room.
+
+"Valerie! love! wife!" he murmured again.
+
+"Oh, Waldemar, if I were your wife, as I truly believed myself then to
+have been, oh, why did you not defend and protect me from all the world,
+even from my father--even from myself? Oh, why did you suffer me to be
+torn from your protection, to be deceived with a false story of your
+death, and forced into this marriage? Oh, Waldemar! if I were indeed and
+in truth your lawful wife, as I believed myself to be, why, oh why did
+you permit all these evils to happen to me? Ah, what a position is mine!
+What a position! I cannot bear it! I will not bear it! I will not live!
+I will kill myself! I _ought_ to kill myself! It is the only way out
+of this!" she wailed, wringing her hands.
+
+"I will kill that Duke of Hereward!" hissed Volaski, through his clenched
+teeth.
+
+"Hush! For mercy's sake, hush! Put away such thoughts from your heart!
+I, the only wrong-doer, should be the only victim! Whatever wrong has
+been done, the Duke of Hereward has been blameless. He knew nothing of
+my former marriage; if he had, I do not believe he would have married me,
+even if I had been a princess."
+
+"He was deceived, then?" coldly inquired the count.
+
+"He was; but not willingly by me. I was forced to be silent about my
+marriage."
+
+"You were 'forced' from my protection! 'forced' to conceal the fact of
+your marriage with me! and 'forced' to marry the Duke of Hereward under
+false colors. Could force on one side, and feebleness on the other, be
+carried any further than this?" muttered Volaski, between his teeth.
+
+"I knew how helpless, in the hands of my parents, I was," wailed Valerie.
+
+"Well, you are a duchess! Do you love the Duke of Hereward?"
+
+"Oh, mercy! what shall I say? He deserves all my love, honor, and duty!"
+
+"Does he _get_ his deserts?" mockingly inquired Volaski.
+
+"Ah! wretch that I am, why do I live?--I give him honor and duty; but
+love! _love is not mine to give!_" she murmured, in almost inaudible
+tones.
+
+Their conversation--if an interview so emotional, so full of "starts and
+flaws" could be called so--had been carried on in a very low tone, while
+the count turned over the leaves of the photographic album, as if
+examining the portraits, but really without seeing one.
+
+They were, however, so absorbed that neither perceived the approach of a
+footman until the man actually set down a small golden tray with two
+little porcelain cups of tea on the stand between them, and retired.
+
+Valerie looked up with a sudden shudder of terror. Had the company, or
+any one of their number, overheard any part of the fatal interview? No,
+the company were drinking tea, at the other end of the room.
+
+And now the Duke of Hereward, with a tea-cup in his hand, sauntered
+toward them, saying, as he reached the stand:
+
+"Lady C. has just been telling me that you are showing the duchess some
+interesting family pictures there--among the rest, those of your _belle
+fiancee_. When shall I congratulate you, Count?"
+
+"Not yet; I will advise your grace of my marriage," answered the count,
+gravely.
+
+"Something gone wrong in that direction," thought the duke, but his good
+humor was invincible.
+
+"If you have no engagement for to-morrow evening, I hope you will come
+and dine with us _en famille_, for we do not see much company, the
+duchess and myself."
+
+Valerie cast an imploring look on the count, silently praying him to
+decline the invitation; but Volaski did not understand the meaning of
+the look, or did not care to do so, for he immediately accepted the
+invitation in the following unequivocal terms:
+
+"I have no engagement for to-morrow; and I shall be very happy to come
+and dine with you."
+
+"So be it then," said the duke, frankly. "Now, Valerie, my love, bid the
+count good-evening. It is time to go."
+
+The young duchess arose wearily from the sofa, and slightly courtesied
+her adieux.
+
+The count stood up and bowed with a profound reverence that seemed
+ironical to her sensitive mind.
+
+The guests were now all taking leave of their host and hostess.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were among the last to go.
+
+"I am very sorry that I brought you out this evening, love. I
+saw--indeed, every one saw, and could not help seeing--that this
+dinner-party has been a great trial to you. It will not bear an encore.
+You must have time to recover your cheerfulness, dearest, before you are
+again brought into a large company," said the duke, kindly, as soon as
+they were seated together in their carriage.
+
+"Did people attribute my dullness to--to--to--," began Valerie, by way of
+saying something, but her voice faltered and broke down.
+
+"To your recent double bereavement?--certainly they did, my love. They
+knew
+
+        'No crowds
+Make up for parents in their shrouds,'
+
+and were not cruel enough to criticise your filial grief, my Valerie."
+
+"I am glad of that; but I am very sorry you have invited the Count de
+Volaski to dinner to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, why?"
+
+"Because I do not like company."
+
+"He is only one guest and will dine with us quietly. He will amuse you."
+
+"No, he will not; he will bore me. I wish you would write and put him
+off."
+
+"Impossible, my dear Valerie! What earthly excuse could I make for such
+an unpardonable piece of rudeness?"
+
+"Tell him that I am ill, out of spirits, anything you like so that you
+tell him not to come."
+
+"My dearest one, you certainly are ill and out of spirits, and very
+morbid besides. So much the more reason why you should be gently aroused
+and amused. Dinner parties weary and distress you; but the count's visit
+will relieve and amuse you."
+
+"Oh! I _do_ think I _ought_ to know what is good for me and
+what I want better than any one else," exclaimed Valerie, speaking
+impatiently to the duke for the first time during their married life.
+
+"But you don't, love; that is all. The count is coming to dine with us
+to-morrow. That is settled. Now, here we are at home," said the duke,
+as the carriage rolled through the massive archway and entered the
+court-yard of the magnificent Hotel de la Motte.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+A GATHERING STORM.
+
+
+After a night of sleeplessness and anguish, Valerie arose to a day of
+duplicity and terror.
+
+The anticipation of the evening was intolerable to her; the prospect of
+sitting down at her own table between the Duke of Hereward and the Count
+de Volaski overwhelmed her with a sense of horror and loathing.
+
+Faint, pale, and trembling, she descended to the breakfast-room, where
+she found the duke already awaiting her.
+
+Shocked at her aspect, he hastened to meet her and lead her to an
+easy-chair on the right of the breakfast-table.
+
+"You are not able to be out of your bed, Valerie. You should not have
+attempted to rise," he said, as he carefully seated her.
+
+"I told you last night that I was very ill," she answered coldly, as she
+sank wearily back on the cushion.
+
+"That infernal dinner party! It has prostrated you quite. I am so
+grieved; I will not suffer you to be so severely tried again!" said the
+duke, vehemently.
+
+"And you will write this morning and put off the count's visit," pleaded
+Valerie.
+
+"No, my dear, I cannot," answered the duke, regretfully.
+
+"Then I cannot come down to dinner. That is all," she said, sullenly
+closing her eyes.
+
+"I shall be sorry for that; but we must do the best we can without you
+for the count, having been invited, must be permitted to come."
+
+She languidly drew up to the table, and touched the bell that summoned
+the footman with the breakfast-tray.
+
+When it was placed upon the table, she poured out two cups of coffee,
+handed one to the duke, and took the other herself.
+
+When she had drained it, she arose, excused herself, and went back to her
+own room.
+
+She closed and locked the door, and threw herself upon the bed, groaning:
+
+"Oh! how could Waldemar accept that invitation? How can he bear to sit
+down with me at the Duke of Hereward's table? Has he no delicacy? No
+pity? Ah, mercy, what a state is mine! And yet I was not to blame for
+_this_! I have not deserved it! I have not deserved it! One of us
+three must die; I, or Waldemar, or the Duke of Hereward; and I am the
+one; for, _I hate myself_ for the position I am in! I _hate,_
+LOATHE and utterly ABHOR myself! I do. I do. I wish the
+lightning would strike me dead! dead, before I have to meet one of them
+again!" she moaned, rolling and grovelling on the bed.
+
+There came a soft rap at the door, followed by the kind voice of the
+duke, saying:
+
+"Valerie, Valerie, my love! How are you? Do you want anything? May I come
+in?"
+
+"No! I want rest! I do not want you!" she answered, so sharply as to
+astonish the duke, who spoke again however, deprecatingly and soothingly.
+
+"Is there anything that I can do for you outside, then, my dear?"
+
+"You can go away and let me alone, or you can stand there chattering
+until you drive me crazy!" she answered, ungratefully.
+
+"Good morning, my love; I will not trouble you again soon," muttered the
+duke, as he walked away from the duchess' door.
+
+"I never knew such a change as this that has come over her. She is as
+cross as a catamount! There may be a cause for it. There may--I will send
+for a physician," he added, as he went down stairs.
+
+Valerie kept her room all day.
+
+Count de Volaski came to dinner at eight o'clock and was received by the
+duke alone.
+
+He smiled grimly when his host apologized for the absence of the duchess,
+by explaining the delicate condition of her health since the death of her
+parents, and the injury she had received from the fatigue and excitement
+of the dinner-party on the preceding evening.
+
+The duke and the count dined _tete-a-tete_, and sat long over their
+wine, although they drank but little. After dinner they played chess
+together all the evening, and then parted, apparently the best of friends
+on both sides, really good friends on the duke's.
+
+The next morning a letter was handed Valerie, while she sat at breakfast
+with the duke.
+
+She recognized the handwriting of Count de Volaski, and put it in her
+pocket to read when she was alone.
+
+The duke was not suspicious or inquisitive. He asked no questions.
+
+As soon as the duchess found herself alone in her chamber, she locked the
+door to keep out intruders, and sat down and opened the letter.
+
+Its contents were sufficiently startling. They were as follows:
+
+"RUSSIAN LEGATION, RUE ST. HONORE.
+
+"VALERIE: You avoid me in vain! You cannot shake me off. I
+accepted the duke's invitation to dinner last evening for the sake of
+seeing you again, and for the chance of having a final explanation with
+you; but you kept away from the dinner. Such expedients will not avail
+you.
+
+"I write now to assure you that I must and will see you, to make an
+arrangement with you. I write openly, at the risk of having this letter
+fall into the hands of the duke; for I do not care if it does so fall.
+I would just as willingly say to him what I now say to you. I am quite
+willing to provoke a crisis. The present state of things maddens me. I
+wonder it does not _kill_ you! When you married the Duke of Hereward
+within six months after my supposed death by the hands of your father,
+you acted cruelly, but not criminally; now that you know I am living, you
+must also know that every hour you continue to live under the roof of the
+Duke of Hereward you are a criminal. I do not require you to come to
+_me_. I do not wish to live with you again, although I love you;
+but I _do_ require you to leave the Duke of Hereward and go away by
+yourself. I know you now, Valerie. You are as weak as water. You cannot
+go to the noble gentleman who has been so deeply deceived by you and your
+parents and tell him the secret that you have kept from him so long. You
+have not the moral courage to do so. But you can leave him. It is to
+arrange for your flight and for your future safety that I now demand and
+_insist_ upon a private interview with you.
+
+"Write to me at the _poste-restante_, and tell me when and where I
+can see you alone. Should you refuse to grant me this interview, I will
+myself go to the Duke of Hereward and tell him the whole story. He may
+not resent your former marriage; but he will never forgive you, living,
+or your parents in their graves, for the deception that has been
+practiced upon him. I will wait twenty-four hours for your answer, and
+then if I fail to receive it, or fail to get a favorable one, I shall
+come immediately to the Hotel de la Motte and seek an explanation with
+the duke. I shall direct this letter by the name and title you now bear,
+so as to prevent mistakes; but it is the last time I shall so address
+you. And I sign myself, for all eternity,
+
+"Your true husband, WALDEMAR DE VOLASKI."
+
+Valerie read the cruel letter to its close, then dropped it on her lap,
+and sank back in her chair, helpless, breathless, almost lifeless.
+Minutes crept into hours, and still she sat there in the same position,
+without motion, thought, or feeling--stricken, spell-bound, entranced.
+
+She was aroused at length by a rap at her chamber-door.
+
+She started, shuddering, to her feet, and spasm after spasm shook her
+galvanized frame, as she picked up her letter, found a match, drew it,
+set fire to the paper, threw it, blazing, down upon the marble hearth,
+and watched it until it was consumed to a little heap of light ashes.
+
+"There! That can never fall into the Duke of Hereward's hands
+_now_!" she said with a bitter laugh.
+
+Meanwhile the rapping continued.
+
+"Well! well! well! well! Can't you be patient!" she exclaimed, very
+_im_patiently, as she tottered tremblingly across the room and
+opened the door.
+
+Her dressing-maid, Mademoiselle Desiree, was there.
+
+"_Pardonnez moi, madame_; but you ordered me to come to dress you
+for a drive at twelve. The clock has just struck, madame," said the girl
+deprecatingly.
+
+Valerie put her hand to her head in a bewildered way, and stared at the
+speaker a full minute before she could recollect herself sufficiently to
+reply.
+
+"Yes--yes--yes--yes--I believe so. You can come in."
+
+The girl entered and stood waiting for orders. Receiving none, she
+ventured to inquire:
+
+"What dress shall madame wear?"
+
+"My--my writing desk! Bring it here to me," answered the lady, as she
+sank into a chair, and drew a little ivory stand before her.
+
+"I wonder if madame indulges in absinthe in the morning?" was the secret
+thought of the discreet Mademoiselle Desiree, as she brought the elegant
+little malachite writing-desk, and placed it before her mistress.
+
+Valerie opened it, took out a piece of note-paper and wrote:
+
+"I cannot write much. I am stricken. I am dying. I hope you are right
+in what you say. Come here tomorrow at twelve, noon. I will give you the
+interview you seek."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This note was without date, address or signature, or any word to guide a
+strange reader to its true meaning. She put it into a sealed envelope,
+and directed it to _Count de Volaski, Poste Restante_.
+
+Then she sat back in her chair, exhausted from the slight exertion.
+
+The maid watched her mistress for a little while, and then said:
+
+"Pardon, madame; but it is half-past twelve."
+
+"Yes! I must dress," said Valerie rising.
+
+"What costume will madame wear?"
+
+"Any. It does not signify."
+
+The maid indulged in an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, and laid
+out an elegant black rep silk, heavily trimmed with black crape and jet,
+with mantle, bonnet and vail to match.
+
+"White or black gloves, madame?"
+
+"Black, of course. It is not a wedding reception."
+
+"Pardon, madame," said the girl; and she added the black gloves to the
+costume.
+
+Valerie was soon dressed, and then the maid said:
+
+"The carriage waits, madame."
+
+Valerie took the note she had prepared and went down stairs, entered her
+barouche, and ordered the coachman to drive to the British Legation,
+Hotel Borghese, Rue Faubourg St. Honore.
+
+When the carriage rolled through the archway into the courtyard, and drew
+up before the magnificent palace, interesting from having been built for
+and occupied by the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, Valerie
+alighted and handed her letter to the footman, with directions to go
+and post it while she was making her call.
+
+The man knocked at the door for his mistress, and then hurried away to do
+her errand.
+
+It was the conventional "dinner call" that brought Valerie to the Hotel
+Borghese.
+
+An English footman admitted the visitor, conducted her to the private
+drawing-room of Lady C., and announced her.
+
+Several other ladies, whom Valerie had met at the dinner party, were
+there on the same duty as herself.
+
+Lady C. advanced from among them to receive the new comer, kissed her on
+both cheeks, inquired affectionately after her health and then made her
+sit down in the most comfortable of the easy-chairs at hand.
+
+After courteously saluting the ladies present, Valerie subsided into a
+dull silence, from which she could not arouse herself; but her voice was
+not missed, since every visitor seemed anxious to talk rather than
+listen, and therefore kept up a chattering that would have carried off
+the palm in a contest with a village sewing-circle or aviary full of
+excited magpies.
+
+Valerie, the last to enter, was also the first to rise, but Lady C.
+detained her by a slight signal, and she sat down again, and relapsed
+into dullness and silence.
+
+One by one the visitors arose and took leave, chattering to the very
+last.
+
+As soon as the two ladies were left alone together, Lady C. took
+Valerie's hand, and gazing earnestly in her face, said:
+
+"What is the matter with you, my child? You look pale and ill. Although
+I am so glad to see you, under any circumstances, I am half inclined to
+scold you for coming out at all."
+
+For a moment Valerie felt inclined to open her oppressed and suffering
+heart to this sweet, matronly friend, and tell her the whole, bitter
+truth, and seek her wise counsel; but again the want of moral courage,
+which had always been so fatal to her welfare, sealed her lips.
+
+"Well," said Lady C., after a short pause for that answer that never
+came, "I will not press the question. 'The heart knoweth its own
+bitterness.'"
+
+"Yes," murmured Valerie, in a very low voice. Then, not to seem
+indifferent or unsocial, and also, if the truth must be told of her,
+to gratify a gnawing curiosity, she inquired:
+
+"How goes the expected marriage of your niece, madame?"
+
+"I cannot tell you dear. I have been daily expecting some communication
+on the subject from de Volaski: but as yet he has made none. After coming
+to Paris for the purpose, (for of course his office in the embassy is a
+mere sinecure and a plausible excuse,) he betrays the bashfulness of a
+girl in pressing his suit; but some men, some of the best and purest of
+men, are just that way--in love affairs as shy women," said her ladyship.
+
+Valerie smiled bitterly. She thought she understood the reason why the
+Count de Volaski was in no hurry to press the suit for marriage with a
+dreaming girl, to whom he had been arbitrarily contracted when he was a
+boy of fifteen, and she a child of twelve.
+
+"I shall, however, write again to her father. I will not have my sister's
+daughter wasting her youth in a convent, while waiting for a tardy
+suitor."
+
+Valerie smiled again, and then arose to take her leave.
+
+Lady C. kissed her affectionately, and promised soon to visit her at the
+Hotel de la Motte.
+
+"But--how long will you remain there?" inquired her ladyship.
+
+"I do not know. Until some business connected with my father's will shall
+be arranged, I think. We are there on sufferance only. My cousin, Louis,
+the present baron, wrote from Algiers, very kindly asking us to occupy
+the Hotel de la Motte at any time when business or pleasure should call
+us to Paris. The house was the home of my childhood, and I prefer to live
+in it as long as I may. The duke, though he would rather live at the
+'_Trois Freres_,' yields to my whim, and so we occupy the Hotel de
+la Motte, but I do not know for how long a time."
+
+"Until you leave Paris, I presume?"
+
+"Yes, probably," answered Valerie, as with another kiss, she took leave
+of her kind friend.
+
+"Shall I ever see her sweet face, hear her sweet voice again?" murmured
+the young duchess, as she passed out to her carriage.
+
+"You posted my letter?" she inquired of the footman who opened the
+carriage-door.
+
+"Yes, your grace."
+
+"That will do. Home."
+
+The footman repeated the order to the coachman, who drove back to the
+Hotel de la Motte.
+
+As Valerie entered her morning-room after laying off her bonnet and
+wrappings, she found the Duke of Hereward there, reading the papers.
+
+He arose and placed a chair for her, saying kindly:
+
+"I hope your drive has done you good, dear; if it has not been so long as
+to fatigue you."
+
+"I have only been to the Hotel Borghese to call on Lady C.," replied
+Valerie, sinking into the chair and leaning back.
+
+"Now that I look well at you, I see that you are tired. A very little
+exertion seems to fatigue you now, Valerie. I do not understand your
+condition. It makes me anxious. I have asked Velpeau to call and see you.
+He will look in this afternoon."
+
+"Thanks, you are very kind--too kind to me, as fretful and miserable as
+I am," replied Valerie, with a momentary compunction--only a momentary
+one, for the deep fear, horror and despair which had seized her soul
+left her little sensibility to comparative trifles.
+
+"My poor child," said the duke, looking compassionately on her pale, worn
+face, "do you not know that I can make all allowance for you? You are
+suffering very much. I hope Velpeau will be able to do something for you.
+You know he stands at the head of the medical profession in Paris, which
+is as much as to say, in the world."
+
+"Yes, I know," said Valerie, indifferently. Then, with sudden
+earnestness, she exclaimed: "I wish _you_ would do something for
+me."
+
+"Why, my poor girl, I would do anything in the world for you. Tell me
+what you want me to do."
+
+"I know you cannot leave Paris now, and so you cannot, yourself, take
+me to England; but I wish to go there; I wish you to send me there to
+Hereward Hold, where we passed so many peaceful months."
+
+"To send you there _alone_, Valerie?" inquired the duke, in surprise.
+
+"No, but with my personal attendants, and with any discreet old lady you
+may choose to appoint as my companion, if, like an old Spanish husband,
+you think your young wife may require watching when she is out of your
+sight," she added, with a relapse into her irritable mood.
+
+"Valerie! you wrong me and yourself by such a thought," said the duke,
+gravely.
+
+"I know I do, and I know I am a wretch! but I want to go to England.
+I want to get away from everybody, and be by myself. You promised to do
+what I wanted done. That is what I want done."
+
+"Do you wish 'to get away' from _me_, Valerie?"
+
+"Yes, from you and from _everybody_, except from my servants, who
+are not my companions, and therefore don't bore me."
+
+"It must be as I thought," said the duke to himself; "all this
+eccentricity, this nervous irritability has a natural cause, and not
+an alarming one, and it must be humored."
+
+"Will you keep your promise?" she testily inquired.
+
+"Certainly, my dear child. Anything to please you. You will see Velpeau
+this afternoon. If after consulting him you still think it necessary to
+leave Paris for Hereward Hold, I will send you there under proper
+protection. By the by, you succeed very well in getting away from your
+friends I think. The Count de Volaski called here while you were away
+this forenoon. He seemed disappointed in not seeing you. He looks ill.
+I never saw a man change so within the last few days. I should not wonder
+if he were on the very verge of a bad fever. I wish you had seen him. He
+was quite a friend of yours in St. Petersburg, I believe."
+
+"I used to see him every day in the public assemblies to which we were
+always going. I wish you wouldn't talk about him," gasped Valerie, with
+a nervous shudder, as she arose and left the room.
+
+"What a little misanthrope she has grown to be; but it is only a
+temporary affliction. She will get over it in a few weeks," said the
+duke to himself, as he resumed the reading of his newspaper.
+
+The next day Valerie arose at her usual hour, and breakfasted
+_tete-a-tete_ with the duke. She knew that this day must decide her
+fate, and she tried to nerve herself to bear all that it might bring her,
+even as the frailest women sometimes brace themselves to bear torture and
+death.
+
+At eleven in the forenoon, the duke left the house to go to the Hotel de
+Ville to keep an appointment that would detain him until three in the
+afternoon.
+
+Valerie knew all about this appointment, and had therefore fixed the hour
+of noon as the safest time for her interview with the count.
+
+Twelve o'clock, therefore, found her dressed in her deepest mourning, and
+seated in her private drawing-room, awaiting the advent of her most
+dreaded visitor, Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+A SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.
+
+
+Valerie, in an agony of terror, waited for her expected visitor.
+
+Did she love him, then?
+
+Ah, no! Horror at the position in which she found herself so filled her
+soul as to leave no room for any softer emotion. She loved no one in the
+world, not even herself; she wished for nothing on earth but death, and
+only her religious faith, or her superstitious fears, restrained her from
+laying sacrilegious hands upon her own life.
+
+While watching for her dreaded guest she bitterly communed with herself.
+
+"No one ever really loved me," she moaned. "Every one connected with me
+loved only himself, or herself, and sacrificed me. My father and my
+mother cared only for themselves and their own ambitions, and so they
+immolated me, their only child, to their gratification; my suitors loved
+only themselves and their passions, and immolated me! And I--I love no
+one and hate myself! hate the creature they have all combined to make me!
+If it were not for that which comes after death I would not exist an hour
+longer--I would die!"
+
+As she muttered this the little ormolu clock on the mantlepiece struck
+twelve.
+
+"The hour has come. He will be here in another moment! Oh, why could
+he not leave me in peace? Oh, what shall I do?" she exclaimed, in her
+excitement rising from her seat and beginning to pace up and down the
+room with wild, disordered steps.
+
+Sometimes she stopped to listen, but without hearing any sound that might
+herald the approach of a visitor; then resumed her wild and purposeless
+walk, until the clock struck the quarter, when she suddenly threw herself
+down in the chair, muttering:
+
+"Fifteen minutes late! I do not want to see him! But since he is to come,
+I wish he had come, and this was all over."
+
+Another quarter of an hour passed, and her visitor had not arrived.
+
+Again in her anxiety she arose and began to walk the floor and to look
+out occasionally at a window which commanded the approach to the house.
+
+No one, however, was in sight.
+
+She sat down again, muttering:
+
+"This seems an intentional affront, an insult. He treats me with no
+consideration. Well, perhaps I deserve none. Oh! I wish I knew to whom my
+duty is due! I wish I had some one of whom I dared to ask counsel! I
+certainly did wed Waldemar. I certainly did believe him to be my lawful
+husband, and _then_ my duty was clearly due to him. But my parents
+came and tore me away from him, and told me that my marriage was not
+lawful, and that Waldemar de Volaski was not my husband. Then they took
+me to Paris, and told me that I must forget the very existence of my
+lover. Still, I should never have dreamed of another marriage while
+I thought Waldemar lived; for I loved him with all my heart, and only
+wished to live until I should be of an age to contract a legal marriage
+with him, with whom I had already made a sacramental one. But they told
+me that Waldemar was _dead_, slain by the hand of my father! and
+they bade me keep the secret of my first marriage, and to contract a
+second one with the Duke of Hereward! Oh, if I had but known that
+Waldemar still lived, the tortures of the Inquisition should not have
+forced me into this second marriage! But believing Waldemar to be dead,
+I suffered myself to be persecuted, worried and _weakened_ into this
+marriage! Oh! that I had been strong enough to bear the miseries of my
+home; to resist the forces brought to bear against me! Oh, that I had
+been brave enough to tell the whole truth of my marriage with Waldemar de
+Volaski to the Duke of Hereward before he had committed his honor to my
+keeping by making me his wife! That course would have saved me then with
+less of suffering than I have to bear now. But I weakly permitted myself
+to be forced, with this secret on my conscience, into a marriage with
+the Duke of Hereward. And now I dare not tell him the truth! And now my
+first husband has come back and hates me for my inconstancy, and my
+second husband knows nothing about it! Now to whom do I rightly belong!
+To whom do I owe duty? To Waldemar? To the duke? Who knows? Not I! One
+thing only is clear to me, that I must not live with either of them as
+a wife, henceforth! Heaven forgive those who forced me into this
+position, for I fear that I never can do so!"
+
+While these wild and bitter thoughts were passing through her tortured
+mind the clock struck one and startled her from her reverie.
+
+"Ah! something has prevented his coming," she said to herself, as she
+once more looked out of the window. Then she relapsed into her sad
+reverie.
+
+"I can never, never be happy in this world again--never! But if I only
+knew my duty I would do it. I don't know it. I only know that I must go
+clear away from both these--" She shuddered and left the sentence
+incomplete even in her thoughts.
+
+Just then a footman entered with a note upon a little silver tray.
+
+She took it languidly, but all her languor vanished as she recognized the
+handwriting of Waldemar de Volaski.
+
+"Who brought this?" she inquired of the servant.
+
+"Un garcon from the Hotel de Russe, madame."
+
+"Is he waiting for an answer?"
+
+"Oui, madame."
+
+She had asked these questions partly to procrastinate the opening of the
+note she dreaded to read. Now slowly and sadly she drew it from its
+envelope, unfolded and read:
+
+"HOTEL DE RUSSE, Tuesday Morning.
+
+"UNFAITHFUL WIFE--An engagement at the Tuileries, for the very
+hour you named, prevents me from meeting you at your appointed time.
+Write by the messenger who brings this, and tell me when you can see me.
+
+"Your wronged husband, VOLASKI."
+
+While reading this, she shivered as with an ague. When she had finished
+she crushed it up in her hand and put it in her pocket with the intention
+of destroying it on the first opportunity.
+
+Then she went to a little ornamental writing-desk that stood in the
+corner of the room, and took a pencil and a sheet of note paper and wrote
+these words, without date or signature:
+
+"I was ready to see you this noon. I cannot at this instant tell at what
+hour I can be certain to be alone; but will find out and let you know in
+the course of this day."
+
+She placed this note in an envelope, sealed it with a plain seal, and
+sent it down by the footman to Count Waldemar's messenger.
+
+Then she hurried up to her own bedchamber, rang for her maid, changed her
+dress for a white wrapper, and threw herself down, exhausted, upon a
+lounge.
+
+She was almost fainting.
+
+"This must be something like death! Oh, if it were only death!" she
+sighed, as she closed her eyes.
+
+An hour later she was found here by the Duke of Hereward, who showed no
+surprise at finding her reclining there, but only said that Doctor
+Velpeau was below stairs and would like to see her.
+
+"Let him come up, then," coldly answered Valerie.
+
+And the duke himself went to conduct the physician to his patient.
+
+He left them together for an hour, at the end of which Doctor Velpeau
+came down and reported to the anxious husband that his wife was not
+seriously out of health that her malady was more of the mind than the
+body, and that amusement and society would be her best medicines.
+
+"Just what I cannot prevail on her to take," said the duke, with an
+impatient shrug. "She will go nowhere, will see nobody; but shuts herself
+up and mopes. Now, to-day, I have received intelligence concerning the
+rather intricately embarrassed affairs of the late Baron de la Motte,
+which will oblige me to start for Algiers, for a personal interview with
+his heir-at-law, an officer in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, who cannot get
+leave of absence to come to me. Now the question is, Doctor, shall I take
+the duchess with me, or leave her here? Is she well enough to be left, or
+strong enough to travel?"
+
+"Both! She is both. I assure you she is not at all ill in body. Put the
+question to herself. If she should be willing to go, take her. The trip
+will do her good. If she prefers to stay, leave her. She is in no danger
+of illness or death."
+
+"But I should be gone, probably, a fortnight. Could I, with safety to
+herself, take her so far away, for so long a time, from the best medical
+advice? or could I, on the other hand, leave her here for so distant a
+bourne and so long an absence?"
+
+"With perfect safety; barring, of course, the human possibilities to
+which even the most fortunate, the most healthful and the best-guarded
+among us are more or less subject. But again I counsel you to leave it to
+the duchess, whether she shall remain here or accompany you to Algiers.
+She is equally fit for either plan," said the great physician, as he drew
+on his gloves.
+
+"I will take the duchess with me, if she will go. If not, I will leave
+here under your charge, Doctor," said the duke.
+
+"Much honored, I am sure, in attending her grace," replied the French
+physician, with the extravagant politeness of his countrymen.
+
+As soon as Doctor Velpeau had gone, the Duke of Hereward went up stairs
+to see his wife, and, sitting by the lounge on which she still reclined,
+he told her of the urgent business that required his immediate departure
+for Algiers.
+
+"Algiers! Why, that is in Africa! another quarter of the globe! a long,
+long way off!" she exclaimed, starting up with an eagerness that the duke
+mistook for alarm and distress.
+
+"Oh, no, dear, it is not. It only _sounds_ so. It is about eight
+hundred miles nearly due south of Paris. We go by train to Marseilles in
+a few hours, and by steamer to Algiers in a couple of days. You will go
+with me, dear. The change will do you good," said the duke, gayly.
+
+"I! Oh, no, I could not think of such a thing! Pray, pray, do not ask me
+to do so!" exclaimed Valerie, in a tone of such genuine terror that the
+duke hastened to say:
+
+"Certainly not, if you do not wish it, my love. I should be happier to
+have you with me, and I think the trip would benefit your health, but--"
+
+"Did that horrid doctor advise you to take me to Algiers?" testily
+interrupted the young duchess.
+
+"He said the change would do you good if you should like to go; but not
+otherwise. He said that you should be left to decide for yourself."
+
+"Then he has quite as much judgment as the world gives him credit for,
+and that is not the case with every one."
+
+"Now you are left to your own choice, to go or not to go."
+
+"Then I choose not to go, most decidedly."
+
+"Very well," said the duke, with a disappointed air; "then there is no
+need that I should delay my departure for another day. I shall leave for
+Marseilles by the night's express, Valerie."
+
+"As you please," she wearily replied.
+
+"I may be gone a fortnight, Valerie, and I may not be gone more than ten
+days; the length of my absence will depend upon contingencies; but I
+shall hurry back with all possible dispatch."
+
+"Yes, I am sure you will," she answered, because she did not know what
+else to say.
+
+"And I will write to you every day."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Will you write to me every day?"
+
+"Certainly, if you wish me to do so."
+
+"Of course I wish you to do so, my love," said the duke, as he stooped
+and pressed his lips on the pale cheek of his "wayward child," as he
+sometimes called her.
+
+He then left the room to give orders to his valet and groom to pack up
+and be ready to attend him on his journey.
+
+As soon as she found herself alone, Valerie arose, slipped on a
+dressing-gown, sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote the following
+note, as usual, without name, date, or signature:
+
+"Come to me at noon to-morrow; or, if you cannot do so, write and
+fix your own hour, any time will suit me equally well, or rather,
+_ill_."
+
+She put this note in an envelope, sealed it, and directed it to Monsieur
+Le Count de Volaski, Russian Embassy.
+
+Then she rang for her maid, and sent her out to post the letter.
+
+Valerie made an effort to dress for dinner that evening, and dined with
+the duke for the last time--yes, for the very last time in this world.
+
+After the Duke had risen from the table and pressed a parting kiss upon
+her lips before leaving her to enter the carriage that was to take him to
+the railway station, she never saw his face again--nay more--though she
+honored and revered him, she never even wished or intended to see him
+again.
+
+She witnessed his departure with tearful eyes, yet with a sense of
+infinite relief. _One of them was gone!_ Oh, how she wished that
+the other would go also!
+
+She loved neither of them. She had lost the power of loving. Her love, by
+her awful position, was frightened into its death-throes. All she desired
+to do, was to get away from them both, and like a haunted hare, or
+wounded bird, creep into some safe hiding-place to die in peace.
+
+She retired early that evening, and, for the first time for several days,
+slept in peace.
+
+The next day she arose, and, contrary to her custom in the morning,
+dressed herself to receive company.
+
+She waited all the forenoon in expectation of receiving a note from the
+Count de Volaski, either accepting her appointment or arranging another
+one; but when the clock struck the hour of noon without her having heard
+from him, she naturally concluded that he meant to answer her note in
+person, by coming at the hour named. So she went down into the small
+drawing-room to be ready to receive him.
+
+She was right in her conclusions; for she had scarcely been seated five
+minutes when a footman entered and presented the count's card.
+
+"Show the gentleman up," she said in a voice that she vainly tried to
+render steady.
+
+A few minutes passed, the door opened, and Count de Volaski entered the
+room.
+
+She arose to receive him, but did not advance a single step to meet him.
+
+He came on, and bowed low--much lower than any ceremony required.
+
+She bent her head, and silently pointed to a chair at a short distance.
+
+He sat down.
+
+Up to this time not a word had passed between them.
+
+A monk and a nun, who keep their vows, could not have met more coldly
+than this pair who had once plighted their hands and hearts in marriage
+before the altar of the Church of St. Marie.
+
+Valerie was the first to speak.
+
+"Well, you insisted upon this interview. Now you have it. What do you
+want of me?"
+
+"I want you to leave the Duke of Hereward," he answered, sternly.
+
+"You are right, so far. But the Duke of Hereward has saved me the trouble
+of taking the initiative step. He has left me. I shall never see him,
+more."
+
+"How! What!" exclaimed de Volaski, starting up.
+
+"The Duke of Hereward left for Algiers last night. I shall not remain
+here to receive him when he returns."
+
+"You told him, then, and he has left you? Good!"
+
+"No, I have not told him; he knows nothing--not even that he has left me
+forever. Business of a financial nature connected with his duties as
+executor of my father's estates, takes him to Algiers for a few weeks.
+During his absence I shall make arrangements for leaving this house
+forever."
+
+"Valerie, where will you go?" he inquired, in a more softened tone.
+
+"I do not know--_not with you that is certain_. You were quite right
+when you said that I could not live with either--that a single life was
+the only possible one for me. I feel that it is so, and I hope that it
+will be a short one."
+
+"Valerie, do not say so. You are very young yet. The duke is an elderly
+man; he will die and leave you free."
+
+"I shall not be free _while_ EITHER of _you live_! nor
+can I build any hope in life _on death_! Oh! I have been cruelly
+wronged, and I am very miserable, but I am not selfish or wicked,
+Waldemar."
+
+"How soon do you propose to leave this house?"
+
+"I do not know. I only know that I must go before the duke's return."
+
+"What should hinder your going at once?"
+
+"I must make some provision for the miserable remnant of life left me.
+I must collect and sell my jewels and my shawls and laces, and invest the
+money in some safe place, where it will bring me interest enough to live
+cheaply in some remote country neighborhood. Wretched as I am, soon as I
+hope to die, I do not wish to be dependant on _you_, Waldemar."
+
+"No, nor do I wish anything but independence and honor for _you_,
+Valerie. But you must let me assist you in realizing capital from your
+personal property, and in making other necessary arrangements for your
+removal. You cannot do this for yourself. You are more ignorant of the
+world than a child. So you must let me see you safely through this trial.
+You have no alternative, Valerie. You have no one else to consult with
+but me, and you may confide in me, for I will endeavor to forget that I
+ever called you wife, and will treat you with the reverential tenderness
+due to a dear sister. When I once have seen you safely lodged in a secure
+retreat, I will leave you there, never to intrude upon you again."
+
+"Thanks! thanks! that is the kindest course you could pursue toward me."
+
+"You accept all my service then?"
+
+"Yes, on the condition that I shall seem to you only as a sister. But,
+oh! Waldemar! you, who are so kind and considerate _now_, how could
+you have _ever_ written to me so cruelly--calling me an unfaithful
+wife--calling yourself a wronged husband? I never was consciously
+unfaithful to any one in my life. I never voluntarily wronged any
+creature since I was born. How could you have written so cruelly,
+Waldemar?"
+
+"Forgive me, Valerie! I was crazed with the contemplation of
+you,--_you_ whom I considered as my own wife, living here as
+the Duchess of Hereward. Only since I have learned that the duke is
+gone--and gone forever from you, have I come to my senses. Do you
+understand me, and do you forgive me?"
+
+"Yes, both; but now, do not think me rude or unkind; but you must go. It
+is not well that you should stay too long."
+
+"Good-morning, Valerie," he said immediately preparing to obey her.
+
+She held out her hand. He took it, pressed it lightly, dropped it, turned
+and left the room.
+
+After this day the Count de Volaski came daily to the Hotel de la Motte
+on some errand connected with the duchess' financial business. These
+interviews were as coldly formal as the most severe etiquette would have
+required.
+
+Valerie received frequent letters from the Duke of Hereward, in which
+he spoke of the protracted business that still kept him an unwilling
+absentee from her side; promised as speedy a return as possible;
+expressed great anxiety concerning her health, and besought her to
+write often.
+
+She complied with his request: she wrote daily as she had promised to do,
+but she could not write deceitfully; she told him of her health, which
+she described as no better and no worse than it had been when he left
+Paris; she told him any little political news or rumor that happened
+to be stirring, and any social gossip that she thought might interest
+or amuse him; but she deluded him by no expressions of affection or
+devotion.
+
+The duke's absence, that was expected to last but two weeks, was
+prolonged to six.
+
+Still Valerie delayed leaving the Hotel de la Motte. She shrank from
+taking the final step, until it should seem absolutely necessary.
+
+At length, after an absence of nearly seven weeks, the Duke of Hereward
+wrote to his young wife that he was about to return home, and would
+follow his letter in twenty-four hours.
+
+This letter threw her into a state of excessive nervous excitement, and
+when her daily visitor entered her room a few hours after its reception,
+he found her in this condition.
+
+"Why, what is the matter, Valerie? What on earth has happened?" he
+inquired, in much anxiety.
+
+"The hour has come! I must go!" she answered, trembling.
+
+"Well, so much the better. You are ready to go. You have been ready for
+weeks past! Do not falter now that the time is at hand."
+
+"I do not falter in resolution, only in strength."
+
+"The sooner it is over the better. I will take you away this afternoon,
+if you wish."
+
+"Yes, yes, take me away as soon as possible!"
+
+"Have you thought of where you would like to go first?"
+
+"Yes! I have thought and decided! I want you to take me to Italy--to St.
+Vito, where we were married, and to the vine-dresser's cottage, in the
+Apennines, where we passed the first days of our marriage, and the
+happiest days of our lives."
+
+"It will be very sad for you there," said Waldemar, compassionately.
+
+"Yes! I know it will be so without you! for of course I must live without
+you! and though I do not love you as I used to do, because love has
+perished out of my soul, still, I know, there in that place where we
+were so happy in our honeymoon, I shall be always comparing the happy
+days that _were_ with the sorrowful days that _are_!"
+
+"But still, if that is so, why do you go there?"
+
+"Oh, Waldemar, it is the only place for me! I cannot go among entire
+strangers. I am such a coward. I am afraid in my loneliness: I should be
+driven to despair or to insanity, or worse than all, to the unpardonable
+sin of suicide! I dare not go among strangers, nor dare I go among people
+who know me as the Duchess of Hereward, or knew me as Valerie de la
+Motte, for they would scorn and abhor me, and their company would be far
+worse than the very worst solitude. No! I must go to the vine-dresser's
+cottage in the Apennines. Good Beppo and Lena knew me only as your wife
+and loved me dearly, and wept bitter tears when my father tore me away
+from you. They will be glad to see poor Valerie again! And the good
+Father Antonio, who married us! He loved us both! He will comfort and
+counsel me. Yes, Waldemar! St. Vito is my City of Refuge, and the
+vinedresser's cottage my only possible home. Take me there and leave
+me in peace."
+
+"I believe you are right, Valerie. By what train would you like to leave
+Paris? There is an express that starts at seven. Could you be ready for
+that?"
+
+"Yes! yes! thanks! I can be ready for that!"
+
+"Shall you take your maid with you?"
+
+"No. I shall pay her and discharge her with a present."
+
+"Then I shall have to secure only two seats. I will get a coupe, if it be
+possible."
+
+"Anything you like! Go now, Waldemar!"
+
+Count de Volaski pressed her hand and withdrew; but before leaving the
+room he turned back and inquired:
+
+"Shall I come here for you, or shall I meet you at the station?"
+
+"Meet me at the station, of course! Spare my poor name as long as it can
+be spared! In twenty-four hours it will be in everybody's mouth, and the
+worst that can be said of it will seem too good! And yet they will all
+be wrong, and I shall not deserve their condemnation."
+
+Count de Volaski waved his hand, and hurried from the room and the house,
+for he had many hasty preparations to make for the sudden journey.
+
+As soon as he had gone Valerie set about making her final arrangements.
+She paid off her maid and discharged her with a handsome present, but
+without a word of explanation. She sent off her luggage to the
+railway-station, and ordered the carriage to take her to the same point.
+She took in her hand a small bag containing her money, jewels, and other
+small valuables, when she seated herself in her carriage and gave the
+order to her coachman. And so she left her own magnificent home forever.
+
+The wondering servants, who had been too well trained even to look any
+comment in their mistress' hearing, let loose their tongues as they
+watched the carriage roll away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+THE STORM BURSTS.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward arrived at home the next morning. When the
+fiacre that brought him from the railway station rolled through the
+porte-cochere into the court yard and drew up before the main entrance
+of the Hotel de la Motte, he sprang out with almost boyish eagerness, and
+ran up the stairs, and rang and knocked with vehemence and impatience.
+
+The gray-haired porter opened the door.
+
+"How is the duchess, Leblanc? Has she risen? Send some one to let her
+know that I have arrived," he exclaimed, hurriedly.
+
+_"Helas!_ Monseigneur!" answered the venerable old servant, in
+a distressed tone.
+
+"What do you mean? Is the duchess ill? I got a letter from her yesterday,
+in which she said she was quite well. It met me at Marseilles. She
+continues well. I hope? Why don't you speak?" impatiently demanded
+the duke.
+
+"_Mille pardons_. Monseigneur; but madame has gone," sadly replied
+Leblanc.
+
+"What do you say?" exclaimed the duke, discrediting the evidence of his
+own ears.
+
+"_Mille pardons_, Monsieur le Duc, Madame la Duchesse has gone."
+
+"Gone! the duchess gone!" exclaimed the duke, in amazement, not unmixed
+with incredulity.
+
+"Oui; Monseigneur."
+
+"Gone! the duchess gone! Where?"
+
+"_Miserable_ that I am, Monseigneur, I do not know. I cannot tell.
+Will Monsieur le Duc deign to consult the coachman who drove Madame la
+Duchesse in the carriage when she left the house last night, not to
+return. He can probably give Monseigneur some information," respectfully
+suggested the old porter.
+
+"Send Dubourg to me in the library, then," said the duke, as he strode
+down the hall, full of vague alarm, but far from suspecting the fatal
+truth.
+
+Soon the coachman came to him in the library, and in answer to his
+questions told how he had driven the duchess alone to the railway station
+to catch the night express for Marseilles.
+
+"The night express for Marseilles! Then the foolish child was going to
+meet me, and must have passed me on the road!" said the duke to himself,
+with a strange blending of flattered affection and anxious fears.
+
+"That will do, Dubourg. The duchess went down to the seaport to meet me
+on the steamer, and we have missed each other on the road. It is a pity,
+but it cannot be helped!" said the duke dismissing his coachman by a wave
+of his hand.
+
+The man bowed and retired.
+
+"Silly child, to go and do such an absurd and indiscreet thing as that!
+I would go down after her by the next train only I should be sure to pass
+her on the road again; for she will hasten immediately back when she
+finds that I have arrived at Marseilles and left for Paris," said the
+duke to himself, as he rang for his valet and retired to his own room to
+dress for breakfast.
+
+But there, on the bureau, he found a letter addressed to him in the
+handwriting of Valerie.
+
+At the moment he picked it up his valet entered the room in answer to his
+ring.
+
+Some intuition warned the duke to send the man away while he should read
+his letter.
+
+"Have a warm bath ready for me at nine o'clock, Dubois, and order
+breakfast at half-past," he said.
+
+The man bowed and left the room.
+
+The duke dropped into a chair, and with a strange, vague foreboding of
+evil, opened the letter.
+
+Well might he shrink from the dread perusal of the story--the story of
+her cowardice and folly, and of his own humiliation and despair.
+
+It was Valerie's full confession, the revelation of her woeful history as
+it is known to the reader, with one single reservation--the name of her
+lover.
+
+The Duke of Hereward had wonderful powers of self-control. He read the
+fatal letter through to the bitter end. Then he folded it up carefully,
+and locked it up in a cabinet for safe-keeping.
+
+And when, fifteen minutes later, his valet came to tell him that it was
+nine o'clock, and his bath was ready, no one could have guessed from his
+looks that a storm had passed through his soul.
+
+He was rather pale, certainly; but that might well be explained by the
+fatigue of a long night's journey, and his gray mustache and beard
+concealed the close compression of his lips. He went through his morning
+toilet and his breakfast with apparently his usual composure.
+
+After breakfast, however, he instituted a cautious but close
+investigation of the circumstances attending the flight of the duchess.
+
+The servants, having nothing to gain from concealment and nothing to fear
+from communication, spoke freely of the daily visits of the Count de
+Volaski, continued through the seven weeks of the duke's absence.
+
+Then the dreadful light of conviction burst full upon his startled
+intelligence. Count Waldemar de Volaski had been her acquaintance at the
+Court of St. Petersburg! He it was, then, who had been the hero of her
+foolish love story and mad marriage, before the duke had ever seen her.
+He it was who had been her constant visitor during the duke's absence.
+He it was who was the companion of her flight!
+
+The duke did not believe Valerie's solemn declaration, that she left
+Paris only to isolate herself from every one and live a single, lonely
+life. Valerie had deceived him once, by keeping a fatal secret from him,
+and he would not trust her now. He believed that she had gone away with
+the Russian count to remain with him. The duke's rage and jealousy were
+roused and burning against them both.
+
+He was determined to find out the place of their retreat, and to take
+immediate and signal vengeance.
+
+He put the case in the hands of the most expert detectives, with
+instructions to use the utmost caution and secrecy in their
+investigations.
+
+He permitted his first theory of the duchess' absence, made in good faith
+at the time it was first stated--that she had gone down to Marseilles to
+meet him, and had missed him on the way--to prevail in the household,
+and penetrate through that medium to the world of Paris.
+
+He left the Hotel de la Motte, which he had only occupied in right of his
+wife's family, and saying that he should not return until the arrival of
+the duchess, he took up his residence at "_Meurice's_."
+
+He shut himself up in his apartments, and never left them. He refused to
+see all visitors except the detectives in his employment. Thus he escaped
+the annoyance of having to answer questions and to make explanations.
+
+He had remained at "_Meurice's_" about five days, when Villeponte,
+the chief detective, came to him and told him that they had succeeded in
+making out the facts connected with the flight of the duchess.
+
+The duke, controlling all manifestations of excitement, directed the
+officer to proceed with the story at once.
+
+Villeponte then related that on the Wednesday of the preceding week,
+madame, the Duchess of Hereward, had left Paris in company with Monsieur
+the Count de Volaski; that they took a coupe on the evening express for
+Marseilles, traveling alone together without servants or attendants; that
+they were now domiciliated at a vine-dresser's cottage in the little
+village of San Vito, at the foot of the Appenines.
+
+Having concluded his information, Monsieur Villeponte asked for further
+instructions.
+
+The duke told the detective that he had no further orders to give; but
+thanked him for his zeal, congratulated him on his success, paid him
+liberally, and bowed him out.
+
+That evening the Duke of Hereward, unattended by groom or valet, took a
+coupe on the night express train for the south of France, and started for
+Marseilles, en route for Italy.
+
+On the evening of the third day after leaving Paris he reached his
+destination--the little hamlet of San Vito at the foot of the Appenines.
+
+He stopped at the small hotel.
+
+Coming alone and unattended, carrying a small valise in his hand, and
+looking weary, dusty, and travel-stained, the Duke of Hereward was not
+intuitively recognized as a person of distinction, and therefore escaped
+the overwhelming amount of attention usually lavished upon English
+tourists of rank and wealth by continental hosts.
+
+He was shown to a little room blinded by clustering vines, and there left
+to his own devices.
+
+He ordered a bottle of the native wine, and sent for the landlord.
+
+The latter came promptly--a thin, little, old man, with a skin like
+parchment, hair and beard like a black horse's mane, and eyes like
+glowworms.
+
+He saluted the shabby stranger with courtesy, but without obsequiousness;
+for how should he know that the traveler was a duke?
+
+"Pray sit down. I wish to ask you some questions," said the Duke of
+Hereward, with a natural, courteous dignity that immediately modified the
+landlord's estimate of his value.
+
+"Non, signor; but I will answer questions," he declared, as he bowed
+deferentially, and remained standing.
+
+"Did a gentleman and lady arrive here about ten days ago!"
+
+"Si, signor--a grand milord, and a beautiful miladi. But they have been
+here before, signor, about two years ago."
+
+"Ah! Where are they now?"
+
+"At their old lodgings, signor--at the cottage of Beppo, the
+vine-dresser. The signor is a good friend of the young milord and
+miladi?" questioned the landlord, deferentially, but very anxiously; for
+just then it flashed upon his memory that two years previous another
+grand "signor," of reverend age like this one, had come inquiring about
+the young pair, and had ended in breaking up their union for the time.
+
+"I have known the lady for about a year, or a little longer; the
+gentleman only a few months; but I can scarcely lay claim to so an
+intimate a relation to them as 'friendship' would imply," answered the
+duke, evasively, and putting a severe constraint upon himself.
+
+The landlord was completely deceived and thrown off his guard.
+
+"How far from the village does this vine-dresser live?" inquired the
+duke.
+
+"Just on the outside, signor--just at the foot of the mountain--about
+three miles from this house."
+
+"Can I have a carriage to take me there this evening."
+
+"Si, signor, assuredly; but will not the signor refresh himself before he
+leaves?" inquired the host.
+
+"No; I will refresh myself after I come back. Let me have the carriage as
+soon as possible."
+
+"Si, signor," said the landlord, bowing himself out.
+
+The duke, unable to rest, even after a long and fatiguing journey, walked
+up and down the floor of his little room, until the landlord re-appeared
+and announced the carriage.
+
+The duke caught up his rough traveling-cap, clapped it on his head,
+hurried out and entered the rustic vehicle, dignified with the name
+of a carriage.
+
+And in another moment he was rolling off in the direction of the
+Vine-dresser's cottage at the foot of the mountain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+THE RIVALS.
+
+
+The sun was setting behind the western ridge, and throwing a deep shadow
+over the valley, as the rustic vehicle conveying the Duke of Hereward
+drew up before the vinedresser's cottage, nestled almost out of sight
+amid thick foliage and deep shade.
+
+It was the hour of rest, and Beppo, the vine-dresser, sat at the gate,
+strumming an old, dilapidated lute; his red jacket and white shirt making
+the only bits of bright color in the sombre picture.
+
+As the rude carriage stopped before the gate, Beppo arose and put aside
+his lute, and stood with a look of expectancy on his dark face.
+
+The duke did not alight, but put his head out of the carriage window and
+beckoned the man to approach him.
+
+Beppo came up, curiosity expressing itself in every feature of his
+speaking countenance.
+
+"You have a young gentleman and lady--a young married couple--staying
+with you?" said the duke, but speaking in the Italian language.
+
+"No, Excellenzo. The signora is here. The signor went away on the same
+day on which he brought the signora," deferentially answered the peasant,
+with a profound bow.
+
+"The man has gone!" exclaimed the duke, losing his caution and his
+politeness in the phrenzy of baffled vengeance.
+
+"Si, signer, the man has gone!" with another deep bow.
+
+"Where, then, has he gone?"
+
+"To Paris, signor; but the signora is still here. Will the signor deign
+to come into my poor house and see the signora, then?"
+
+"See _her_! No!" vehemently exclaimed the duke. Then recollecting
+himself, he inquired:
+
+"Are you sure the man has gone to Paris?"
+
+"Si, signor; I drove him myself, in my little cart, to San Stephano,
+where he took the train."
+
+"You say that he left on the same day in which he brought the lady here?"
+inquired the duke, with more interest.
+
+"Si, signor. They arrived in the afternoon, and he went away again in the
+evening."
+
+"Hum. Why did he go so soon?"
+
+"Affairs, signor. It is not to be thought he would have left the signora
+so sick if it had not been for affairs."
+
+"The lady is sick, then?"
+
+"Very sick, signor."
+
+"What is the matter with her?"
+
+"We do not know, signor. She will not have a doctor, but sits and pines."
+
+"Ah! no doubt," said the duke to himself.
+
+"Will the signor condescend to honor our poor shed by coming under its
+roof, where he may for himself see the signora?" said the vine-dresser,
+with much courtesy.
+
+"Thanks, no. Back to the hotel!" he added, to the driver, who immediately
+turned his horse's head to the village.
+
+With a parting nod to the courteous vine-dresser, the duke sank back on
+his seat, closed his eyes, and gave his mind up to thought.
+
+Volaski had gone back to Paris. Why had he left Valerie and gone there?
+To resign his position in the embassy? To settle up business previous to
+taking up his permanent abode in Italy? Or had he returned so quickly to
+Paris only to conceal his crime and deceive the world into the opinion
+that he had not been out of Paris.
+
+The duke did not know what his motive for so sudden a return could be;
+but judged the last-mentioned theory of causes to be the most probable.
+
+"I do not know what _else_ the caitiff has gone back for; but I know
+one thing--he has gone there to give me satisfaction," said the duke,
+grimly, to himself.
+
+The horse, with the prospect of stall and fodder before him, made much
+better time in going home than in coming away, and so, in less than half
+an hour, the rumbling vehicle drew up before the little hotel.
+
+The landlord himself came out to meet the returning traveler.
+
+"I hope the illustrious signor found the excellent signor and the
+beautiful signora in good health," said the polite host, as he opened
+the carriage-door for his guest.
+
+"The beautiful signora is sick and the excellent signor is gone," said
+the duke, grimly, as he got out.
+
+"_Misericordia!_" cried the host, with a look of unutterable
+woe.
+
+"That will do. Now let me have some supper as soon as you can get it, and
+when it is ready to be served, come yourself and tell me why I was not
+informed of the young man's departure before taking that useless drive
+to the vine-dresser's," said the duke, gravely.
+
+"Pardon, illustrissimo, if I tell you now. We did not know the young
+signor had gone. He did not come this way. He must have taken another
+route and got his train at San Stephano," humbly replied the host.
+
+"Ah! yes! the vine-dresser did tell me he had driven the man over to San
+Stephano. Well, then, hurry up my supper," said the duke, passing on to
+his room.
+
+The landlord looked after him, muttering to himself:
+
+"Ah! so not finding the excellent young signor, he has turned his back on
+the beautiful young signora. I know it! The _other_ ancient and
+illustrious signor, who raised the devil in Beppo's cottage last year,
+and carried off the bride, was her father; but this illustrissimo is
+_his_ father, wherefore he cares not to bring away the lovely
+signora."
+
+The host then gave the necessary orders for the duke's supper to be
+prepared, and when it was ready he took it up to his guest.
+
+The duke had no more questions to ask, and only two orders to
+give--breakfast at seven o'clock on the next morning, and a conveyance
+to take him to the railway station at half-past seven.
+
+The next day the duke set out on his return to Paris, and on the fourth
+evening thereafter found himself re-established at his comfortable
+quarters at Meurice's.
+
+He changed his dress, dined, and ordered the files of English and French
+newspapers for the past week to be brought to him.
+
+He was interested only in political affairs when asking for the papers,
+and so he was quite as much astonished as grieved when his eyes fell upon
+this paragraph in the _Times_:
+
+"A painful rumor reaches us from Paris. It is to the effect that a
+certain young and lovely duchess, who made her _debut_ in English
+society as a bride only twelve months since, has left her home under the
+protection of a certain Polish count, attached to the Russian Embassy."
+
+Stricken to the soul with shame, the unhappy duke sank back in his chair
+and remained as one paralyzed for several minutes; then slowly recovering
+himself he took up other papers, one by one, to see if they too recorded
+his dishonor.
+
+Yes! each paper had its paragraph devoted to the one grand sensation of
+the day--the flight of the beautiful Duchess of Hereward with the young
+Russian count; and very few dealt with the deplorable case as delicately
+as the _Times_ had done.
+
+"So my dishonor is the talk of all Paris and London!" groaned the duke,
+dropping his head upon his chest. "If all the civilization of the
+nineteenth century had power to stay my arm in its vengeance, it has lost
+it now! And nothing is left for me to do but to kill the man and divorce
+the woman."
+
+There was a certain Colonel Morris, of the Tenth Hussars, staying at
+Paris on leave.
+
+The duke sat down at his writing-table and dashed off a hasty note to
+this compatriot, asking him to come to him immediately.
+
+Then he rang the bell and gave the note to his own groom, saying:
+
+"Take this to Colonel Morris, at the _Trois Freres_, and wait an
+answer."
+
+The man took the message, bowed and hurried away.
+
+The duke sank back in his chair with a deep sigh, and covered his face
+with his hands, and so awaited the return of his messenger.
+
+Half an hour crept slowly by, and then the groom came back, opened the
+door, and announced:
+
+"Colonel Morris."
+
+The gallant colonel entered the room, looking as little like the dead
+shot and notorious duellist he was reported to be, as any fine gentleman
+could.
+
+He was a tall, slight, fair and refined looking young man, exquisite in
+dress, soft in speech, and suave in manners.
+
+"You have guessed the reason why I have sent for you, Morris?" said the
+duke, advancing to meet him, and plunging into the middle of his subject.
+
+"Yes," murmured the colonel, sinking into the seat his host silently
+offered him.
+
+"You can go, Tompkins. I will ring when I want you," said the duke,
+throwing himself into his own chair.
+
+When the man had bowed himself out, and the duke and his visitor were
+left alone, the former said:
+
+"You know why I have sent for you here. Now what do you advise?"
+
+"You must blow out the man's brains and break the woman's heart," softly
+and sweetly replied the dandy duellist.
+
+"The question arises whether the man has any brains to blow out, or the
+woman any heart to break," grimly commented the duke. "However," he
+added, "you are right, Morris, I must kill the man--divorce the woman.
+You are with me?"
+
+"To the death," answered the _elegant_, in the same easy tone in
+which he ever uttered even the most ferocious words.
+
+"You will take my challenge?"
+
+"With much pleasure."
+
+"I wonder where the fellow is to be found. At the Russian Embassy,
+I suppose," observed the duke, as he turned to his writing-table.
+
+"No, not there. The Count de Volaski has withdrawn or been dismissed from
+the Embassy. It is not certainly known which. He is, meanwhile, at the
+Trois Freres. He has the honor of being my fellow-lodger," suavely
+observed the colonel.
+
+"There," said the duke, as he folded and directed his note, "no time
+should be lost in an affair of this sort. It is not yet ten o'clock. You
+may even deliver this challenge to-night, if you will be so kind."
+
+"Certainly," murmured the graceful colonel rising.
+
+"I leave everything absolutely in your hands. Make every arrangement you
+may think proper; I will agree to it all; and many thanks," said the
+duke, striving to maintain a calm exterior, while his spirit was troubled
+within him.
+
+"Expect me back to-night. I may be late, but I shall certainly report
+myself here," were the parting words of Colonel Morris as he left the
+room.
+
+The duke walked slowly up and down the floor for nearly half an hour, and
+then he sat down to his desk and employed some hours in writing letters
+to his family, friends and men of business in England.
+
+When he had completed his task he sealed and directed all these letters
+and locked them in his desk.
+
+At a quarter past twelve the colonel returned to the hotel, and
+immediately presented himself at the duke's apartments.
+
+He entered with a soft smile, and gently sank into a seat.
+
+"Well?" inquired the duke.
+
+"Well," cheerfully responded the second; "everything is pleasantly
+arranged. I had the good fortune of finding the count 'with himself,'
+as they say here. I explained my errand and delivered your missive. He
+read it and expressed his gratification at its reception, declaring that
+you had anticipated him by but a few hours, as he should certainly have
+called you out immediately upon hearing of your arrival in Paris."
+
+"The diabolical villain!" hotly exclaimed the duke.
+
+"He claimed the first right to the lady in question, and affirmed that it
+was your grace who had appropriated his wife--"
+
+"_O-h-h-h!_ when shall I have the opportunity of shooting him!"
+cried the duke.
+
+"By and by," soothingly responded the colonel. "He referred me to his
+friend, Baron Blowmonozoff, then staying at the same house."
+
+"Blowmonozoff! Yes, I know him. A very good fellow."
+
+"A gentleman, I think. Of course I went directly from the presence of the
+count to that of the baron, who received me with much politeness, and was
+so kind as to express the pleasure he should feel in negotiating with me
+the terms of so interesting a meeting."
+
+"And the terms, Colonel! What are they?"
+
+"I am coming to them. The meeting is to take place at sunrise in the wood
+of Vincennes. We are to leave here an hour before dawn, in order to be on
+the spot in time. The weapons are to be pistols; the distance ten paces.
+Other minor details will be arranged on the spot. We shall each take a
+surgeon. I have engaged Doctor Legare. We will call and pick him up on
+our way to the ground. And now all we have got to do is to ring for the
+English waiter here, and get him to send us some coffee before we go out.
+I will see to that also, as I have taken a room in the house, and intend
+to stay here to-night, so as to be up in time in the morning."
+
+"Thanks very much. You are really very good to take so much trouble,"
+said the duke, with some emotion.
+
+"No trouble, I assure you, duke; quite a pleasure," serenely answered the
+colonel.
+
+"My friend, I have left half a dozen letters locked up in my
+writing-desk. I shall hand the key of that desk to you as we go out.
+If I should fall, I hope you will take charge of the desk and see to
+the delivery of the letters at their proper addresses," said the duke,
+more gravely than he had spoken before.
+
+"Certainly, with much pleasure. Have you also made your will?" cheerfully
+inquired the colonel.
+
+"No," shortly replied the duke.
+
+"Then permit me to say that I think you should do so, by all means."
+
+"There is no need. My estates are all entailed. My personal property is
+not worth winning. The--duchess is provided by her own dower, which came
+out of her own property, I am thankful to say. No, there is no need of a
+will."
+
+"Then allow me to suggest that we ought to go to bed. It is now two
+o'clock. We must be up at five. We have just three hours to sleep,
+and--if you have no other commissions for me--I will retire," said the
+colonel, smoothly.
+
+"Many thanks. I believe there is nothing more to be said or done
+to-night," responded the duke, in a desponding tone--for it _cannot_
+be an exhilarating anticipation to have to get up in the morning and
+stand up to murder, or be murdered, even where the duellist is the
+bravest of men, backed by the serenest of seconds.
+
+"Then, since there is no further use for me this evening, I will say
+good-night and pleasant dreams," said the colonel, suavely, as he slid
+from the room.
+
+Good-night and pleasant dreams to a duellist on the eve of a duel!
+Was it a sarcasm on the colonel's part? By no means; it was only the
+manifestation of his habitual smooth politeness.
+
+The duke, left to himself, walked up and down the floor for a few
+minutes, and then rang for his valet to attend him, and retired to bed,
+leaving orders to be called at five o'clock in the morning.
+
+Though left in quietness, he could not compose himself to sleep, but
+tossed and tumbled from side to side, spending the most wakeful and the
+most miserable night he had ever known in the whole course of his life.
+The time seemed stretched out upon a rack of torture, until the four
+hours extended to forty; for from the moment he had lain down he had not
+slept an instant, until he was startled by a rap at his bedroom door, and
+the voice of his valet calling:
+
+"If you please, your grace, the clock has struck five; the coffee is
+ready, and the cab is at the door."
+
+"Then come in and dress me quickly," answered the duke, rising, as the
+prompt servant entered and handed a dressing-gown.
+
+The toilet of the duke was quickly made.
+
+When he passed into the next room, he found the breakfast table laid and
+the colonel waiting for him.
+
+"Good-morning, Duke. I hope you slept well. The day promises to be
+delightful. We have no time to lose, however, if we are to be on the
+ground at sunrise. Shall we have our coffee?" serenely inquired the
+second.
+
+"Certainly--Tompkins, touch the bell," replied the duke.
+
+The obedient valet rang, and a waiter entered with the breakfast-tray,
+which he set upon the table and proceeded to arrange.
+
+"Take this case of pistols down very carefully, and place it in the cab,
+and put in a railway rug also," quietly directed the colonel, after the
+waiter had completed the arrangement of the breakfast table.
+
+"What possible use can we make of a railway rug on such a mild morning as
+this?" gloomily inquired the duke.
+
+The colonel looked calmly at the questioner, and quietly replied:
+
+"To cover the body of the fallen man, whoever he may happen to be. I am
+so used to these affairs that I know what will be wanted beforehand.
+Shall we sit down to breakfast?"
+
+Now the duke was a courageous man, but he shuddered at the coolness of
+his second, as he assented.
+
+They sat down to the table and drank their coffee in silence.
+
+Then with the assistance of the obsequious Mr. Tompkins, they drew on
+light overcoats suitable to the autumnal morning, and went down stairs,
+caps and gloves in hand, and entered the carriage that was to take them
+to the appointed place.
+
+On their way they stopped at the Rue du Bains and took the surgeon who
+had been engaged to attend them.
+
+Dr. Legare was a young graduate who had just commenced practice, and was
+eager for the fray.
+
+He came into the carriage, bringing a rather ostentatious looking case of
+instruments and roll of bandages.
+
+On being introduced by the second, he bowed to the duke and took his
+seat.
+
+The carriage started again.
+
+It was yet dark.
+
+After an hour's ride they reached a quiet, solitary glade in the wood of
+Vincennes.
+
+The carriage drove up under some trees on one side.
+
+It was yet earliest morning, and the glade lay in the darksome, dewy
+freshness of the dawn. There was no living creature to be seen.
+
+"We are the first on the ground, as I always like to be," remarked
+Colonel Morris, as he alighted from the carriage, bearing the pistol-case
+in his hands.
+
+He was followed by the duke, who slowly came out, stood by his side and
+looked around.
+
+The young surgeon remained in the carriage in charge of his very
+suggestive and alarming instruments and appliances.
+
+"The sun is just rising," said the duke, as the first rays sparkled up
+above the rosy line of the eastern horizon.
+
+"And look, with dramatic precision, there are our men," cheerfully
+remarked the colonel, as a second carriage rolled into the glade and
+drew up under the trees at a short distance from the first.
+
+The carriage door was thrown open and the Russian Baron Blomonozoff came
+out--a thin, ferocious-looking little man, with a red face, encircled by
+a red beard and red hair, of all of which it would be difficult to say
+which was reddest.
+
+He was followed by the beautiful Adonis, the Count de Volaski, looking
+very fair and dainty, very languid and melancholy.
+
+The four gentlemen simultaneously raised their hats in courteous
+greeting; but no words passed between them then.
+
+The seconds advanced toward each other, and went apart to settle the
+final details of the meeting. They divided their duties equally.
+
+The colonel gave the pistol-case to the baron, who opened it and examined
+the weapons. The colonel stepped off the ten paces of ground, and the
+baron marked the positions to be taken by the antagonists.
+
+Then each went after his man and placed him in position. Then the Colonel
+took the case of pistols and placed it in the hands of the baron, who
+carried it to his principal, that the latter might take his choice of the
+pair of revolvers, in accordance with the terms of the meeting.
+
+The count took the first that came to hand. The baron carried back the
+case to the colonel, who placed the remaining weapon in the hands of the
+duke.
+
+The antagonists stood opposite each other in a line of ten paces running
+north and south, so that the sun was equally divided between them. The
+seconds stood opposite each other, in a line of six paces running east
+and west, across the line of their principals; so that the positions of
+the four men, as they stood, formed the four points of a diamond.
+
+They stood prepared for the mortal issue.
+
+A fatal catastrophe is always sudden and soon over.
+
+The final question was asked by the duke's second:
+
+"Gentlemen, are you ready?"
+
+"We are," responded both principals.
+
+"One--two--three--FIRE!" intoned the Russian baron.
+
+Two flashes, a simultaneous report, and the Count de Volaski leaped into
+the air and fell down, with a heavy thud, upon his face!
+
+The seconds hastened to raise the fallen man. The duke stood
+panic-stricken for an instant, and then followed them.
+
+The unfortunate count lay in a tumbled, huddled, shapeless heap, with his
+head bent under him. Not a drop of blood was to be seen on his person or
+clothing. The Russian baron raised him up. There was a gasp, a momentary
+flutter of the lips and eyelids, and all was still.
+
+The colonel hurried off to the carriage to call the surgeon.
+
+The duke stood gazing on his murdered foe, aghast at his own deed and
+feeling the brand of Cain upon his brow, notwithstanding that he had
+acted in accordance with the "code of honor."
+
+The surgeon came in haste with his box of instruments in his hands, and
+the roll of linen under his arm.
+
+He put these articles on the ground, and knelt down to examine his
+subject; for the body of the count was only a subject now, and not a
+patient.
+
+After a careful investigation, the surgeon arose and pronounced his
+verdict.
+
+"Shot through the heart: quite dead."
+
+The Duke of Hereward groaned aloud. None of his wrongs could have been
+such a calamity as this! None of his sufferings could have equalled in
+intensity of agony this appalling sense of blood-guiltiness!
+
+"Can _nothing_ be done?" he inquired, not with the slightest hope
+that anything could, but rather in the idiocy of utter despair.
+
+"Nothing. No medical skill can raise the dead," solemnly answered the
+surgeon.
+
+"One of you fellows can bring the railway rug out of our carriage. I knew
+it would be needed," said the serenely practical colonel.
+
+The count's servant started to obey.
+
+The duke groaned and turned away from the body of his fallen foe, upon
+which he could not endure longer to gaze.
+
+The Russian baron came up to him, and with the knightly courtesy of his
+caste and country, said:
+
+"Monseigneur may rest tranquil. Everything has been conducted in
+accordance with the most rigid rules of honor. The result has been
+unfortunate for my distinguished principal, but Monseigneur has nothing
+with which to reproach himself."
+
+"Thanks, Baron. You are kind to say so. Yet I would that I had never
+lived to see this day; or the worthless woman who has caused this
+catastrophe!" exclaimed the duke, as he walked hurriedly away and
+hid himself and his remorse in the inclosure of his own carriage.
+
+There he was soon joined by his serene second, who entered the carriage
+and gave the order to the coachman;
+
+"Drive to the Depot St. Lazare."
+
+"Why to the depot?" gloomily inquired the duke, as the coachman closed
+the door and remounted to his box.
+
+"Because we must get out of Paris--yes, and out of France also," calmly
+replied the colonel, sinking back in his seat as the cab drove off.
+
+"Who is looking after--after--"
+
+"The body? I left Legare to help Blomonozoff and his servant to remove
+it. We must get away. An arrest would not be pleasant."
+
+"No, no, certainly not; yet not on that account, but for the peace of my
+own spirit, I would to Heaven this had not happened!" exclaimed the duke.
+
+"Why? Everything went off most agreeably. Indeed, this was one of the
+most satisfactory meetings at which I ever assisted," said the colonel,
+comfortably.
+
+"I wish to Heaven it had never taken place! I would give my right hand to
+undo its own deed to-day--if that were possible!" groaned the homicide.
+
+"Why should you disturb yourself?--but perhaps this is your first affair
+of the kind?" calmly inquired the colonel.
+
+"My first and last! I do not know how any one can engage in a second one
+after feeling what it is to kill a man."
+
+"You feel so because it _is_ your first affair. You would not mind
+your second, and you would rather enjoy your third," suavely observed the
+colonel, who then drew a railway card from his pocket, examined it,
+looked at his watch, and said:
+
+"We shall be in time to catch the morning's express to Calais, and we may
+actually eat our dinners in London. When we arrive you can get some of
+your people to send a telegram to Tompkins, to order him to pay your
+hotel bill and bring your effects to London, or wherever else you may
+think of stopping."
+
+"Thanks for your counsel. I leave myself entirely in your hands," said
+the duke, with a half-suppressed sigh.
+
+They caught the express to Calais, connected with the Dover boat, and
+crossed the channel the same day. They ran up to London by the afternoon
+train, and arrived in good time for a dinner at "Morley's."
+
+Two telegrams were dispatched to Paris--one to the respectable Mr.
+Tompkins, with orders to pay bills and return with his master's effects;
+the other to the estimable Mr. Joyce, the groom of the colonel, with
+orders to perform the same services in behalf of his own employer.
+
+Then the principal and his second separated--the duke to go to his
+town-house in Piccadilly and the colonel to join his regiment, then
+stationed at Brighton.
+
+And as the extradition treaty had not at that day been thought of, both
+were perfectly safe.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+AFTER THE STORM.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward only remained in town until the arrival of his
+servants with his effects from Paris.
+
+He avoided looking at the newspapers, which, he knew, must contain
+exaggerated statements of the duel and its causes, if, indeed, any
+statement of such horrors could be exaggerated.
+
+On the third day after his arrival in London, he went down to Greencombe,
+a small family estate in a secluded part of Sussex, near the sea.
+
+Here he hid himself and his humiliations from the world.
+
+The primitive population around Greencombe had never seen the duke,
+or any of his family, who preferred to reside at Hereward Hold, in
+Devonshire, or their town-house in Piccadilly, leaving their small
+Sussex place in charge of a land-steward and a few old servants.
+
+They had never even heard of the marriage of the duke in Paris, much less
+the flight of the duchess, or the duel with Volaski.
+
+This neglect of his poor people at Greencombe had hitherto been a matter
+of compunction to the conscientious soul of the duke, but he now was
+satisfied with the course of conduct which had left them in total
+ignorance of himself and his unhappy domestic history.
+
+The duke and his fine servants were received with mingled deference,
+gladness and embarrassment by the aged and rustic couple who acted as
+land-steward and housekeeper at Greencombe, and who now bestirred
+themselves to make their unexpected master and his attendants
+comfortable.
+
+The duke gave orders that he should be denied to all visitors, though
+there was little likelihood of any calling upon him, except perhaps the
+vicar of Greencombe church.
+
+Here the duke vegetated until the meeting of Parliament, when he went up
+to London to institute proceedings for a divorce.
+
+At that time there was no divorce court, and little necessity for one.
+Divorces were to be obtained by act of Parliament only.
+
+The duke commenced proceedings immediately on his arrival in London. His
+case was a clear and simple one; there was no opposition; consequently he
+was soon, matrimonially considered a free man.
+
+The Duke of Hereward was now nearly fifty years of age. Life was
+uncertain, and the laws of succession very certain.
+
+If the present bearer of the coronet of Hereward should die childless,
+the title would not descend to the son of his only and beloved sister,
+but would go to a distant relative whom the duke hated.
+
+A speedy marriage seemed necessary.
+
+The duke looked around the upper circle of London society, and fixed upon
+the Lady Augusta Victoria McDugald, the eldest daughter of the Earl of
+Banff, and a woman as little like his unhappy first wife as it was
+Possible for her to be.
+
+"The daughter of an hundred earls" was tall and stately, cold and proud,
+embodying the child's or the peasant's very ideal of "a duchess."
+
+"Dukes," like monarchs, "seldom woo in vain."
+
+After a short courtship the duke proposed for the lady, and after a
+shorter engagement, married her.
+
+The newly-wedded pair went on a very unusually extended tour over Europe,
+into Asia and Africa, and then across the ocean and over North and South
+America.
+
+After twelve months spent in travel, they returned to England only that
+the anticipated heir of the dukedom might be born on the patrimonial
+estate of Hereward Hold.
+
+There was the utmost fulfillment of hope. The expected child proved to be
+a fine boy, who was christened for his father, Archibald-Alexander-John,
+by courtesy styled Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+Had the duke's mind been as free from remorse for his homicide as
+his heart was free from regret for his first love, he would have
+been as happy a man as he was a proud father; but ah! the sense of
+blood-guiltiness, although incurred in the duel, under the so-called
+"code of honor," weighed heavily upon his conscience, and over-shadowed
+all his joys.
+
+His duchess was a prolific mother, and brought him other sons and
+daughters as the years went by; but, as if some spell of fatality hung
+over the family, these children all passed away in childhood, leaving
+only the young Marquis of Arondelle as the sole hope of the great ducal
+house of Hereward.
+
+So the time passed in varied joys and sorrows, without bringing any
+tidings, good or bad, of the poor, lost girl who had once shared the
+duke's title and possessed his heart.
+
+He believed her to be as dead to the world as she was to him. And so he
+gradually forgot even that she had ever lived! She had long been "out of
+mind" as "out of sight."
+
+Fifteen years of married life had passed over the heads of the Duke and
+Duchess of Hereward.
+
+The duchess at thirty-five was still a very beautiful woman, a reigning
+belle, a leader of fashion, a queen of society.
+
+The duke at sixty-five was still a very handsome, stately and commanding
+old gentleman, with hair and beard as white as snow. He was a great
+political power in the House of Lords. Their son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle, was a fine boy of fourteen.
+
+It was very early summer in London. Parliament was in session, and the
+season was at its height.
+
+The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were established in their magnificent
+town-house in Piccadilly.
+
+The Marquis of Arondelle was pursuing his studies at Eton.
+
+A memorable day was at hand for the duke.
+
+It was the morning of the first of June--a rarely brilliant and beautiful
+day for London.
+
+The duchess had gone down to a garden party at Buckingham Palace.
+
+The duke sat alone in his sumptuous library, whose windows overlooked the
+luxuriant garden, then in its fullest bloom and fragrance.
+
+The windows were open, admitting the fine, fresh air of summer, perfumed
+with the aroma of numberless flowers, and musical with the songs of many
+birds.
+
+The duke sat in a comfortable reading-chair, with an open book on its
+rotary ledge. He was not reading. The charm of external nature, appealing
+equally to sense and sentiment, won him from his mental task, and
+soothed him into a delicious reverie, during which he sat simply resting,
+breathing, gazing, luxuriating in the lovely life around him.
+
+In the midst of this clear sky a thunderbolt fell.
+
+A discreet footman rapped softly, and being told to enter, glided into
+the room, bearing a card upon a tiny silver tray, which he brought to his
+master.
+
+The duke took it, languidly glanced at it, knit his brows, and took up
+his reading-glass and examined it closely. No! his eyes had not deceived
+him. The card bore the name: ARCHBALD A. J. SCOTT.
+
+"Who brought this?" inquired the duke.
+
+"A young gentleman, sir," respectfully answered the footman.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"I showed him into the blue reception room, your grace."
+
+The duke paused a moment, gazing at the card, and then abruptly demanded:
+
+"What is the young man like?"
+
+"Most genteel, your grace; most like our young lord, and about his age,
+and dressed in the deepest mourning, your grace; and most particular
+anxious to see your grace."
+
+"I do not know the boy at all; do not know where he came from, nor what
+he wants; but he bears the family name, and looks like Arondelle," mused
+the duke, gazing at the card and knitting his brow.
+
+"I will see the young man. Show him up here," at length he said,
+abruptly.
+
+The footman bowed and withdrew.
+
+A few moments passed and the footman re-entered and announced:
+
+"Mr. Scott," and withdrew.
+
+The duke wheeled his chair around and looked at the visitor, who stood
+just within the door, bowing profoundly.
+
+The newcomer was a youth of about fifteen years of age, tall, slight and
+elegant in form; fair, blue-eyed and light-haired in complexion; refined,
+graceful and self possessed in manner; and faultlessly dressed in deep
+mourning; but! how amazingly like the duke's own son, the young Marquis
+of Arondelle.
+
+The duke's short survey of his visitor seemed so satisfactory that he
+arose and advanced to meet him, saying kindly:
+
+"You wished particularly to see me, I understand, young gentleman. In
+what manner can I serve you?"
+
+The youth bowed again with the deepest deference, and said:
+
+"Thanks, your grace. I bring you a letter of introduction."
+
+"Sit down, young sir, sit down, and give me your letter," said the duke,
+pointing to a chair, and resuming his own seat. "Good Heaven, how like
+this boy's voice was to the voice of the young Marquis of Arondelle! Who
+could he be?" mused the duke, as he sat and waited the issue.
+
+The youth seated himself as directed, and seemed to hesitate, as if
+respectfully referring to his host's convenience.
+
+"Your letter of introduction, now, if you please, young sir," said the
+duke, at length.
+
+"Thanks; your grace. It's from my mother. She--" Here the boy's voice
+faltered and broke down; but he soon, recovered it and resumed: "She
+wrote it on her death-bed--on the very day she died. Here it is, your
+grace."
+
+The duke took the letter and held it gravely in his fingers while he
+gazed upon the orphaned boy with sympathy and compassion in every
+lineament of his fine face, saying, slowly and seriously:
+
+"Ah! that is very, very sad. You have lost your mother, my boy; and if I
+judge correctly from the circumstance of your coming to me, you have lost
+your father also. I hope, however, I am wrong."
+
+"Your grace is right. I have lost my father also. I lost him first, so
+long ago that I have no memory of him. I have no relatives at all. That
+is the reason why my dear mother, on her death-bed, gave me that letter
+of introduction to your grace, who used to know her, so that I might not
+be without friends as well as without relatives," modestly replied the
+youth.
+
+"Ah! I see! I see! And she wrote this letter on her death-bed, which
+gives it a grave importance. I must therefore pay the more respect to it.
+The wishes of the dying should be considered sacred," said the duke, as
+he adjusted his glass and looked at the letter, wondering who the writer
+could be and what claims she could possibly have on him; but feeling too
+kindly toward the orphan-boy to let such thought betray itself.
+
+He scrutinized the handwriting of the letter. He could not recognize the
+faint, scratchy, uncertain characters as anything he had ever seen
+before. After all, the whole thing might be an imposture, and he himself
+an exceedingly great dupe, to suffer his feelings to be enlisted by a
+perfect stranger, merely because that stranger happened to be a
+counterpart of his own idolized boy Arondelle.
+
+Still dallying with the note, he looked again at the youth, and as he
+looked, his confidence in him revived. No boy of such a noble countenance
+could possibly be an impostor. He might have satisfied himself at once,
+by opening the note and reading the signature; but from some occult
+reason that even he could not have given, he held it in his hands for
+a few moments longer, as if it contained some oracle he dreaded to
+discover. At length he broke the seal and looked at the signature.
+It was a faint maze of scratches, so difficult to decipher that he gave
+it up in despair, and turning to the boy, said:
+
+"Your name is Scott, young sir?"
+
+"Yes, your grace--a very common name," modestly replied the youth.
+
+"It is ours also" added the duke with a smile.
+
+"I beg your grace's pardon," said the boy, with some embarrassment.
+
+"No offence, young sir. Your mother's name was also Scott, I presume?"
+
+"Yes, your grace; my mother never re-married."
+
+"Ah," said the duke, and he turned the letter for the first page, and
+commenced its perusal.
+
+And then--
+
+Reader! If the Duke of Hereward's hair had not already been white with
+age, it must have turned as white as snow with amazement and horror as he
+read the astounding disclosures of that dying woman's letter!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+FATHER AND SON.
+
+
+The first part of the letter was written in a much clearer chirography
+than the latter, where it grew fainter and more irregular as it
+proceeded, until at last, in the signature, it was so nearly illegible
+as to baffle the ingenuity of the reader to decipher it; as if, in the
+course of her task, the strength of the dying writer had grown weaker and
+weaker, until at the end the pen must have fallen from her failing hand.
+
+The Duke of Hereward, who could not make out the name at the bottom of
+the letter, at once recognized the handwriting at the top, and knew that
+his correspondent from the dead was his lost wife, Valerie de la Motte.
+
+He grew cold with the chill of an anticipated horror; but with that
+supreme power of self-control which was as much a matter of constitution
+as of education with him, he suppressed all signs of emotion, and
+courteously apologized to his visitor, saying:
+
+"Excuse me, young sir; my eyes are not so good as they were some twenty
+years ago, and I must turn to the light," and he deliberately wheeled his
+chair around so as to bring his face entirely out of range of his
+visitor's sharp vision, while he should read the fatal letter, which
+was as follows:
+
+"SAN VITO, ITALY, MARCH 1st, 18--
+
+"DUKE OF HEREWARD: This paper will be handed you by
+Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, my son and yours.
+
+"This news will startle you, if you have not already been sufficiently
+startled by the living likeness of the boy to yourself, and by the
+electric chain of memory which will bring before you the weeks
+immediately preceding our separation, when you yourself had suspicions
+of my condition, and hopes of becoming a father. Those fond hopes were
+destined to be fulfilled by me, but doomed to be ruined by you.
+
+"Yes, Duke of Hereward, your son stands before you, strong, healthy,
+beautiful, perfect as ever wife bore to her husband; yet denied,
+delegalized, and defrauded by you, his father!
+
+"If you are inclined still to deny him, turn and look upon him, as he
+stands, and you can no longer do so. If you want further proof, find it
+in these circumstances: That this letter is written, and these statements
+are made by a dying woman, with the immediate prospect of eternity and
+its retribution before her.
+
+"But on one point be at ease before you read farther; the boy does not
+know who his father is, and therefore does not know how grievously, how
+irretrievably you wronged him by divorcing his mother and delegalizing
+him before his birth. I would not put enmity between father and son by
+telling him anything about it. _He_ thinks that his father is dead,
+and I have never undeceived him. He has heard of you only as one who was
+a friend of his mother, and who, for her sake, may become the friend of
+her son. It must be for you to decide whether to leave him in this
+ignorance or to tell him the truth.
+
+"Perhaps you will ask why I have concealed your son's existence from you
+up to this time. I will tell you; but in order to do so clearly, I must
+refer to those last few weeks spent with you in Paris before our
+separation.
+
+"Remember the ball at the British Embassy, to which you persuaded me to
+go, and where I met, unexpectedly the Count de Volaski, my secretly
+married husband, supposed to be dead; remember my illness that followed!
+and how earnestly I tried to avoid him, an effort that was totally
+useless, because he, considering that he possessed the only rightful
+claim to my society, constantly sought me, and you, ignorant of all his
+antecedents, constantly helped him to see me.
+
+"My position was degrading, agonizing, intolerable. I found myself,
+though guiltless of any intentional wrong-doing, in the horrible dilemma
+of a wife with two living husbands.
+
+"Yes, by the laws of love and nature, justice and the church, I was the
+wife of Waldemar de Volaski; by the laws of France and England, I was the
+wife of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"The discovery shocked, confused, and, perhaps, unsettled my reason. At
+first I knew not what to do. I prayed for death. I contemplated suicide.
+At length, I thought I saw a way out of my dreadful dilemma. It was to
+escape and to live apart from both forever.
+
+"So also thought the Count de Volaski. I consulted with him. I dared not
+confess to you the secret that my parents had compelled me to conceal so
+long. Volaski would have told you, but I would not consent that he should
+do so, until I should be safe out of the house; for I could not have
+borne, after such confession, to have met you again; and again, under any
+circumstances, I preferred that I myself should be your informant. I
+determined to leave yon, and to live apart from both, as the only life of
+peace and honor possible for me, and to write you a letter confessing the
+whole truth, as an explanation of my course of conduct. I thought that
+you would understand and pity me, and leave me to my fate.
+
+"I did _not_ think that you would disbelieve my statement, publish my
+flight, and blast my reputation by a divorce.
+
+"I was never false to you in thought, word or deed.
+
+"Volaski was not my lover; he was my sternest mentor. He came to the
+house during your absence; not for the pleasure of seeing me, for he took
+no pleasure in my society; he came to arrange with me the programme of my
+departure; an angel of purity or a demon of malice might have been
+present at our interviews, and seen nothing to grieve the first or please
+the last.
+
+"I was ill and nervous and fearful; I could not travel alone, and
+therefore Volaski went with me, and took care of me; but it was the
+care a pitiless gend'arme would have taken of a convicted criminal. It
+was a care that only hurried me to my destination, my chosen place of
+exile--San Vito--and which left me on the day of my arrival there. I have
+never seen him since. And now let me say and swear on the Christian faith
+and hope of a dying woman--that--from the moment I met Count Waldemar de
+Volaski at the British embassy, to the moment I parted with him at San
+Vito, he never once came so near me as even to kiss my hand--a courtesy
+that any gentleman might have shown without blame. You may not believe me
+now; that you did not believe me before was your great misfortune, and
+mine, and our son's.
+
+"A week after Volaski had left me you followed us and traced us to San
+Vito. I heard of your visit and trembled; for, though really guiltless,
+I felt that to meet your eye would seem worse than death. Fortunately
+for us both, perhaps, you declined to see me and went away.
+
+"The next news that I heard was of the duel in which you had killed
+Volaski. I should scarcely have believed in his death this time, had not
+a packet been forwarded to me, through his second. This packet contained
+a letter that he had written to me on the eve of the duel, and with a
+presentiment of death overshadowing him. In this letter he said that in
+death he claimed me again as his wife, and bequeathed to me, as to his
+widow, all that he had the power to leave, his personal property, and he
+took a last solemn farewell of me.
+
+"In the packet, besides, was his will and other documents necessary to
+put me in possession of his bequest, and also a great number of valuable
+jewels.
+
+"These, together with my own small dower, have made me independent for
+life.
+
+"It will show how perfectly palsied was my heart when I tell you that
+I could not feel either horror of crime, grief for Volaski's death, or
+gratitude for his bequest.
+
+"I could feel nothing.
+
+"Days and weeks passed in this apathy of despair, from which I was at
+length painfully aroused by a most shocking discovery.
+
+"Madelena, my hostess, who tenderly watched over my health had her
+suspicions aroused, and put some motherly questions to me, and when I had
+answered them she startled me with the announcement that in a very few
+months I should become a mother.
+
+"This news, so joyful to most good women, only filled my soul with
+sorrow and dismay. It seemed to complicate my difficulties beyond all
+possibility of extrication.
+
+"Lena, poor woman, who had never heard of my marriage with the Duke of
+Hereward, but had known me as the wife of the Count de Volaski, believed
+that all my distress was caused by the prospect of becoming the mother of
+a fatherless child, and bent all her energies to try to comfort me with
+the assurance that this motherhood would be the greatest blessing of my
+lonely life.
+
+"Ah! how willing would I have confided the whole truth to this good woman
+if I had dared to do so! It will show how timid I had grown when I assure
+you that I, a faithful daughter of the church, had not even ventured to
+go to confession once since my arrival in Italy.
+
+"Now, Duke of Hereward, attend to my words! Had you been less bitterly
+incredulous of my statements, less cruel in your judgment of me, less
+murderous in your vengeance upon one much more sinned against than
+sinning, I should have ventured to write to you of my condition and my
+prospect of giving you an heir to your dukedom, in time to prevent your
+rash and fatal act by which you unconsciously delegalized your own
+lawful son!
+
+"But your murderous cruelty had left me in a state of stupor from which
+I could not rally.
+
+"Night after night I resolved to write to you. Day after day I tried to
+carry my resolution into effect. Time after time I failed through fear
+of you!
+
+"At length I persuaded myself that there was no immediate necessity for
+action on my part. I might defer writing to you until the arrival of my
+child. That child might prove to be a girl, who could not be your heir,
+and, therefore, could not be an object of momentous importance to you; or
+it might die. Either of which circumstance would relieve me from the
+painful duty of opening a correspondence with you; or I myself might
+perish in the coming trial, when the duty of communicating the facts to
+you would devolve upon some one whom I would appoint with my dying
+breath.
+
+"These were the causes of my fatal delay in writing to you.
+
+"At length the time arrived. On the fifth of April, just five months
+after our separation. I became the mother of a fine, healthy, beautiful
+boy. He brought with him the mother-love that is Heaven's first gift to
+the child. I loved my son as I never loved a human being before. I _had_
+prayed for death; but as I clasped my first-born to my bosom, I asked
+pardon for that sinful prayer, thanked the Lord that I had lived through
+my trial, and besought him still to spare my life for my boy's sake. From
+that day forth I was able to pray and to give thanks. I resolved that my
+first act of recovery should be to go to the church and make my
+confession to the good father there, gain my absolution, and then write
+and inform you of the birth of your heir, the infant Earl of Arondelle,
+for such I knew was even then the baby boy's title! With these fond hopes
+I rapidly recovered. "Perfect love casteth out fear." Mother-love had
+cast out from my soul all fear of you. I thought that you would feel so
+rejoiced at the news of the birth of your son, your heir, and so fine a
+boy, that even for his sake you would forgive his mother, supposing that
+you should still think you had anything to forgive.
+
+"In the midst of my vain dreaming a thunderbolt fell upon me!
+
+"My boy was six weeks old. I had not yet left the house to carry out any
+of my happy resolutions, when my good Madelena entered my room and
+brought two large parcels of English papers, such as were sent me monthly
+by my London correspondent. She told me that the first parcel had arrived
+during my confinement to my bed, and that she had laid it away and
+forgotten all about it until this day, when the arrival of the second
+parcel had reminded her of it, and now she had brought them both, and
+hoped I would excuse her negligence in not having remembered to bring the
+first parcel sooner. I readily and even hastily excused her, for I was
+anxious to get rid of my good hostess and read my files of papers.
+
+"As any one else would have done under the like circumstances, I opened
+the last parcel first, and selected the latest paper to begin with. It
+was the London _Times_ of April 7th. As I opened it, a short, marked
+paragraph caught my eyes.
+
+"Judge of my consternation when I read the notice of your marriage with
+the Lady Augusta McDugald!
+
+"The letters ran together on my vision, the room whirled around with me,
+all grew dark, and I lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses I
+found myself in bed, with Madelena and several of her kind neighbors in
+attendance upon me. Many days passed before I was able to look again at
+the file of English newspapers.
+
+"You had married again! you had married just one week before the birth of
+my son! But under what circumstances had you married? Did you suppose me
+to be dead, and that my death had set you free? Or--oh, horror! had you
+dragged my name before a public tribunal, and by lying _facts_--for
+facts do often lie--had you branded me with infidelity, and repudiated me
+by divorce?
+
+"Such were the questions that tormented me, until I was able to examine
+the file of English newspapers, and find out from them; for, as before,
+I would not have taken any one into my confidence by getting another to
+read the papers for me, even if I could have found any one in that rural
+Italian neighborhood capable of reading English.
+
+"At length, one morning, I sent for the papers, and began to look them
+over, and I found--merciful Heaven! what I feared to find--the full
+report of our divorce trial! found myself held up to public scorn and
+execration, the reproach of my own sex--the contempt of yours! Found
+myself, in short, convicted and divorced from you, upon the foulest
+charge that can be brought upon a woman! Guiltless as I was! wronged as
+I had been! wishing only to live a pure and blameless life, as I did!
+
+"Oh! the intolerable anguish of the days that followed! But for my baby
+boy, I think I should have died, or maddened!
+
+"In my worst paroxysms, good Madelena would come and take up my baby and
+lay him on my bosom, and whisper, that no doubt, though his handsome
+young father had gone to Heaven, it was all for the best; and we too,
+if we were good, would one day meet him there, or words to that effect.
+
+"Surely angels are with children, and their presence makes itself felt
+in the comfort children bring to wounded hearts.
+
+"One day, in a state bordering on idiocy, I think, I examined and
+compared dates, in the sickening hope that my darling boy might have been
+born before the decree of divorce had been pronounced, and thus be the
+heir of his father's dukedom, notwithstanding all that followed.
+
+"But, ah! that faint hope also was destined to die! The dates, compared,
+stood thus:
+
+"The decree of divorce was pronounced February 13th, 18--.
+
+"The marriage between yourself and Lady Augusta McDugald was solemnized
+April 1st, 18--.
+
+"My boy was born April 15th, 18--.
+
+"Yes, you divorced the guiltless mother two months, and married another
+woman two weeks, before the birth of your innocent boy.
+
+"You cruelly and unjustly disowned, disinherited, and even delegalized,
+and degraded your son before he was born! So that your son was not born
+in wedlock, could not bear your name, or inherit your title! And this
+misfortune came upon him by no fault of his, or of his most unhappy
+mother's but by the jealousy, vengeance, and fatal rashness of his
+father! And now there was no help, either in law or equity, for the
+dishonored boy.
+
+"This, Duke of Hereward, is the ruin you have wrought in his life, in
+mine, and in yours.
+
+"Do you wonder that when I realized it all I fell into a state of despair
+deeper than any I had ever yet known?--a despair that was characterized
+by all who saw it as melancholy madness.
+
+"My dear boy, who was at first such a comfort to me, was now only a
+beloved sorrow! When I held him to my bosom, I thought of nothing but
+his bitter, irreparable wrongs.
+
+"I do not know how long I had continued to live in this despairing and
+heathenish condition, when one day, in harvest time, Madelena brought
+good Father Antonio to see me. This Father Antonio was the priest of the
+chapel of Santa Maria, who had performed the marriage ceremony between
+Waldemar de Volaski and myself.
+
+"The father also naturally supposed that all my grief was for the death
+of my child's father. He began in a gentle, admonitory way to rebuke me
+for inordinate affection and sinful repining, and to remind me of the
+comfort and strength to be found in the spirit of religion and the
+ordinances of the Church.
+
+"My heart opened to the good old priest as it had never opened to a
+living man or even woman before.
+
+"Then and there I told him the whole secret history of my life, including
+every detail of my two unhappy marriages, and the fatal divorce preceding
+the birth of my son. I concealed nothing from him. I told him all, and
+felt infinitely relieved when I had done so.
+
+"The gentle old man dropped tears of pity over me, and sat in silent
+sympathy some time before he ventured to give me any words.
+
+"At length he arose and said:
+
+"'Child, I must go home and pray for wisdom before I can venture to
+counsel you.'
+
+"'Bless me, then, holy father.'
+
+"He laid his venerable hands upon my bowed head, raised his eyes to
+Heaven, and invoked upon me the divine benediction, of which I stood so
+much in need.
+
+"Then he silently passed from the room.
+
+"That night I slept in peace.
+
+"The next day the good old man came to me again.
+
+"He told me that my first marriage with Waldemar de Volaski was my only
+true marriage, indissoluble by anything but death, however invalid in law
+it might be pronounced by those who were interested in breaking it.
+
+"That my second marriage contracted with the Duke of Hereward during the
+life of my first husband, was sacrilegious in the eyes of religion and
+the church, however legal it might be considered by the laws of England
+or of France, and pardonable in me only on account of my ignorance at the
+time of the continued existence of my first husband.
+
+"That the desperate step I had taken of leaving the Duke of Hereward,
+upon the discovery of the existence of Waldemar de Volaski, was the right
+and proper course for me to pursue; but that he regretted I had not
+possessed the moral courage to tell the duke the whole story, for he had
+that much right to my confidence.
+
+"As for the divorce I so much lamented, it was to be regretted only for
+the sake of the son whom it had outlawed, for he was the son of a lawful
+marriage in the eyes of the world, if not a sacred one in the eyes of the
+church.
+
+"For the boy thus cruelly wronged there seemed no opening on earth. He
+was disowned, disinherited, delegalized, deprived even of a name in this
+world. All earth was closed against him.
+
+"But all Heaven was open to him. The church, Heaven's servant, would open
+her arms to receive the child the world had cast out. The church in
+baptism would give him a name and a surname; would give him an education
+and a mission. I must, like Hannah of old, devote my son, even from his
+childhood up, to the service of the altar, and the church would do the
+rest.
+
+"How comforted I was! I had something still to live for! My outcast son
+would be saved. He could not inherit his father's titles and estates; he
+could not be a duke, but he would be a holy minister of the Lord; he
+might live to be a prince of the church, an archbishop or a cardinal.
+
+"Foolish ambition of a still worldly mother you may think. Yes! but he
+was her only son, and she was worse than widowed.
+
+"I agreed to all the good priest said. I promised to dedicate my son to
+the service of the altar.
+
+"The next Sunday I went to the chapel of Santa Maria and had my child
+christened. I gave him in baptism the full name of his father. Beppo and
+Madelena stood as his sponsors. They told me St. John would be his patron
+saint.
+
+"I rallied from my torpor. I built a roomy cottage in a mountain dell
+near the chapel of Santa Maria, furnished it comfortably, and moved into
+it, and engaged an Italian nurse and housekeeper, for I had resolved to
+pass my life among the simple, kindly people who were the only friends
+misfortune had left me.
+
+"Another trial awaited me--a light one, however, in comparison to those
+I had suffered and outlived.
+
+"This trial came when my son was but little over a year old, and I had
+been about six months in the "Hermitage," as I called my new home.
+
+"One morning I received a file of English papers for the month of May
+just preceding. In the papers of the first week in May I saw announced
+the birth of your son, called the infant Marquis of Arondelle, and the
+heir. I read of the great rejoicings in all your various seats throughout
+the United Kingdom, and the congratulations of royalty itself, upon this
+auspicious event. I clasped my disinherited son to my bosom and wept the
+very bitterest tears I had ever shed in my life.
+
+"Later on I read in the papers for the last of May a graphic account of
+the grand pageantry of the christening, which took place at St. Peter's,
+Euston Square, where an archbishop performed the sacred rites and a royal
+duke stood sponsor, and of the great feastings and rejoicings in hall and
+hut on every estate of yours throughout the kingdom. I thought of my
+disowned boy's humble baptism in the village church by the country
+priest, where two kind-hearted peasants stood sponsors for him, and I
+wept myself nearly blind that night.
+
+"The next day I went to the little church and told the good father there
+all about it. He understood and sympathized with me, counselled and
+comforted me as usual.
+
+"He admonished me that to escape from the wounds of the world, I must not
+only forsake the world, as I had done, but forget the world as I had not
+done; to forget the world I must cease to search and inquire into its
+sayings and doings; and he advised me to write and stop all my
+newspapers, which only brought me news to disturb my peace of mind.
+
+"I followed the direction of my wise guide. I wrote immediately and
+stopped all my newspapers.
+
+"After that I devoted myself to the nurture of my child, to the care
+of my little household, to the relief of my poorer neighbors, and to the
+performance of my religious duties; and time brought me resignation and
+cheerfullness.
+
+"From that day to this, Duke of Hereward, I have never once seen your
+name printed or written, and never once heard it breathed. You may have
+passed away from earth, for aught I know to the contrary; though I hope
+and believe that you have not.
+
+"My boy throve finely. The good priest of Santa Maria took charge of his
+education for the first twelve years of the pupil's life, made of him,
+even at that early age, a good Latin and Greek scholar, and a fair
+mathematician; and would have prepared him to enter one of the German
+Universities, had not the summons come that cut short the good father's
+work on earth, and carried him to his eternal home.
+
+"It was soon after the loss of this kind friend, who had been the strong
+prop of my weakness, the wise counsellor of my ignorance, that my own
+health began to fail. The seeds of pulmonary consumption, inherited from
+my mother, began to develop, and nothing could arrest their progress. For
+the last three years I have been an invalid, growing worse and worse
+every year. Perhaps in no other climate, under no other treatment, could
+I have lived so long as I have been permitted to live here by the help of
+the pure air and the grape cure.
+
+"My boy, now fifteen years of age, is everything that I could wish him to
+be, except in one respect. He will not consent to enter the church. He
+wants to be a soldier, poor lad! Well, we cannot coerce him into a life
+of sanctity and self-denial. Such a life must always be a voluntary
+sacrifice. Neither do I wish to cross him, now that I am on my death-bed
+and doomed so soon to leave him.
+
+"In these last days on earth, lying on my dying bed, travailing for his
+good, it has come to me like an inspiration that I must send him to his
+father. I must not leave him friendless in the world. And now that the
+priest Antonio has long passed away, and I am so soon to follow, he will
+have no friends except these poor, helpless Italian peasants among whom
+he has been reared. Therefore I must send him, in the hope that you will
+recognize him by his exact likeness to yourself, and prove his identity
+as your son, by all the testimony you can be sure to gather in Paris and
+at San Vito. I have written this long letter, in the intervals between
+pain and fever, during the last few weeks.
+
+"Yesterday, my faithful physician warned me that my days on earth had
+dwindled down to hours; that I might pass away at any moment now, and
+had therefore best attend to any necessary business that I might wish
+to settle.
+
+"This warning admonishes me to finish and close my letter. I end as I
+began, by swearing to you, by all the hopes of salvation in a dying
+woman, that Archibald Scott is your own son. You can prove this to your
+own satisfaction by coming to San Vito and examining the church register
+as to the dates of his birth, baptism, and so forth; by which you will
+find that he was born just five months after I left your roof, and just
+six months after our return from our long yachting cruise, and the
+renewal of my acquaintance with Count de Volaski, at the British
+minister's dinner. You see, by these circumstances, there cannot be
+even the shadow of a doubt as to his true parentage.
+
+"I repeat, that I have not told the boy the secret of his birth; to have
+done so might have been to have embittered his mind against you, and I
+would not on my death-bed do anything to sow enmity between father and
+son.
+
+"I leave to yourself to tell him, if you should ever think proper to do
+so, and with what explanations you may please to add.
+
+"I have constituted you his sole guardian, and trustee of the moderate
+property I bequeath him. He wishes to enter the army, and he will have
+money sufficient to purchase a commission and support himself respectably
+in some good regiment. I hope that when the proper time comes you will
+forward his ambition in this direction.
+
+"And so I leave him in your hands, for my feeble strength fails, and I
+can only add my name.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+HER SON.
+
+
+The last lines of this sad letter were almost illegible in their
+faintness and irregularity; and the tangled skein of light scratches that
+stood proxy for a signature could never have been deciphered by the skill
+of man.
+
+The Duke of Hereward had grown ten years older in the half hour he
+had spent in the perusal of this fatal letter. He was no longer only
+sixty-five years of age, and a "fine old English gentleman;" he seemed
+fully seventy-five years old, and a broken, decrepit, ruined man. In
+fact, the first blow had fallen upon that fine intellect whose subsequent
+eccentricities gained for him the sobriquet of the mad duke.
+
+The hand that held the fatal letter fell heavily by his side; his head
+drooped upon his chest; he did not move or speak for many minutes.
+
+His young visitor watched him with curiosity and interest that gradually
+grew into anxiety. At length he made a motion to attract the duke's
+attention--dropped a book upon the floor, picked it up, and arose to
+apologize.
+
+The duke started as from a profound reverie, sighed heavily, passed his
+handkerchief across his brow, and finally wheeled his chair around, and
+looked at his visitor.
+
+No! there could be no question about it; the boy was the living image of
+what he himself had been at that age, as all his portraits could prove!
+and his eldest son, his rightful heir, stood before him, but forever and
+irrecoverably disinherited and delegalized by his own rash and cruel act.
+
+The young man stood up as if naturally waiting to hear what the duke
+might have to say about his mother's letter.
+
+But the duke did not immediately allude to the letter.
+
+"Where are you stopping, my young friend?" he asked, in as calm a voice
+as he could command.
+
+"At 'Langhams,' your grace," respectfully answered the youth.
+
+"Very well. I will call and see you at your rooms to-morrow at eleven,
+and we will talk over your mother's plans and see what can be done for
+you," said the duke, as he touched the bell, and sank back heavily in his
+chair.
+
+The young man understood that the interview was closed, and he was about
+to take his leave, when the door opened and a footman appeared.
+
+"Truman, attend this young gentleman to the breakfast-room, and place
+refreshments before him. I hope that you will take something before you
+go, sir," said the duke, kindly.
+
+"Thanks. I trust your grace will permit me to decline. It is scarce two
+hours since I breakfasted," said the boy, with a bow.
+
+"As you please, young sir," answered the duke.
+
+The youth then bowed and withdrew, attended by the footman.
+
+The duke watched them through the door, listened to their retreating
+steps down the hall, and then threw his clasped hands to his head,
+groaning:
+
+"Great Heaven! What have I done? What foul injustice to her, what cruel
+wrong to him. I thank her that she has never told him! I can never do so!
+Nay, Heaven forbid that he should ever even suspect the truth! Nor must I
+ever permit him to come here again; or to any house of mine, where the
+duchess, where _his brother_, where every servant even must see the
+likeness he bears to the family, and--discover, or, at least, suspect
+the secret!"
+
+Meanwhile the youth, respectfully attended by the footman, left the
+house.
+
+As he entered his cab that was waiting at the door, a bitter, bitter
+change passed over his fine face; the fair brow darkened, the blue eyes
+contracted and glittered, the lips were firmly compressed for an instant,
+and then he murmured to himself:
+
+"That they should think a secret like this could be buried, concealed
+from me, the most interested of all to find it out! Was ever son so
+accursed as I am? Other sons have been disinherited, outlawed--but I!
+I have been delegalized and degraded from my birth!"
+
+The fine mouth closed with a spasmodic jerk, the brow grew darker, the
+eyes glittered with intenser fire. He resumed:
+
+"It will be difficult, if not impossible, but I will be restored to my
+rights, or I will ruin and exterminate the ducal house of Hereward! I am
+the eldest son of my father; the only son of his first marriage. I am the
+heir not only of my father, but of the seven dukes and twenty barons that
+preceded him, to whom their patent of nobility was granted, to them and
+_their heirs forever_! 'Their heirs forever!' It was granted,
+therefore, to _me_ and to all of _my_ direct line! Each baron
+and duke had but his life-interest in his barony or dukedom, and could
+not alienate it from his heirs by will. It was an infamous, a fraudulent
+subterfuge to divorce my poor mother, and so delegalize me a few months
+before my birth. But--I will bide my time! This false heir may die. Such
+things do happen. And then, as there is no other heir to his title and
+estates, _my father_ may acknowledge his eldest son, and try to undo
+the evil he has done. But if this should not happen, or if my father, who
+is old, should die, and this false heir inherit, _then_ I will spend
+every shilling I have inherited from my mother to gain my own. I will
+have my rights, though I convict my father of a fraudulent conspiracy,
+and it requires an act of Parliament to effect my restoration! And if,
+after all, this wrong cannot be righted--although it can be abundantly
+proved that I am the only son of my father's first marriage, and the
+rightful heir of his dukedom, if, after all, I cannot be restored to my
+position, I will prove the mortal enemy of the race of Scott, and the
+destruction of the ducal house of Hereward. Meanwhile I must watch and
+wait; use this old man as my friend, who will not acknowledge himself as
+my father!"
+
+These bitter musings lasted until the cab drew up before Langham's Hotel,
+and the youth got out and went into the house.
+
+The boy, wrong in many instances, was right in this, that the secret of
+his birth could not be concealed from him.
+
+His poor mother had never divulged it to him, never meant him to know
+that, the knowledge of which, she thought, would only make him unhappy;
+but she had told no falsehoods, put forth no false showing to hide it
+irrecoverably from him.
+
+She was known among her poor Italian neighbors as Signora Valeria, and
+supposed by them to be the widow of that handsome young Pole to whom they
+had seen her married, and from whom they had seen her torn by her father,
+some years before. Of the Duke of Hereward, her second husband, and of
+her divorce from him, they knew nothing. But she was known to her
+father-confessor, to her news-agent, and later to her son, as Valerie de
+la Motte Scott, for though no longer entitled to bear the latter name,
+she had tacitly allowed it to cling to her.
+
+Now as to how the boy discovered the secret that was designed to be
+concealed from him.
+
+When with childish curiosity he had inquired, his mother had told him
+that he had lost his father in infancy; and the boy understood that the
+loss was by death: but as time passed, and the lad questioned more
+particularly concerning his parentage, his mother, in repeating that he
+had lost his father in infancy, added that the loss had been attended
+with distressing circumstances, and begged him to desist in his
+inquiries. This only stimulated the interest and curiosity of the
+youth, and kept him on the _qui vive_ for any word, or look, or
+circumstance that might give him a clew to the mystery. And thus it
+followed that with a mother so simple and unguarded as Valerie, and a
+son so cunning and watchful as Archibald, the secret she wished to keep
+be soon discovered. But he kept his own counsel for the sake of gaining
+still more information. And, at length, the full revelation and
+confirmation of all that he had suspected came to him in a manner and
+by means his mother had never foreseen or provided against.
+
+Valerie had made a will leaving all her property to her son, and
+appointing the Duke of Hereward as his guardian. After her death, all her
+papers and other effects had to be overhauled and examined and her son
+took care to read every paper that he was free to handle. Among these was
+a copy of the will of the late Waldemar de Volaski, by which he
+bequeathed to Valerie de la Motte Scott, Duchess of Hereward, all his
+personal property.
+
+Here was both a revelation and a mystery! Valerie de la Motte Scott, his
+most unhappy mother, Duchess of Hereward! and his guardian, appointed by
+her--the Duke of Hereward!
+
+Who was the Duke of Hereward? That he was a great English nobleman was
+evident! But aside from that, who and what was he?
+
+The boy was in a fever of excitement. It was of no use to ask any of his
+poor Italian neighbors, for they knew less than he did. He had heard of a
+mammoth London annual, called _Burke's Peerage_, which would tell
+all about the living and dead nobility; but there was no copy of it
+anywhere in reach.
+
+However, his mother's dying directions had been that he should proceed at
+once to England, and report himself to his guardian, that very Duke of
+Hereward so mysteriously connected with his destiny.
+
+Intense curiosity stimulating him, he hurried his departure, and after
+traveling day and night arrived in London on the evening of the last day
+of May.
+
+He waited only to engage a room at Langham's and change his dress, and
+partake of a slight luncheon, before he ordered a cab, drove to the
+nearest bookstore, and purchased a copy of _Burke's Peerage_ for
+that current year.
+
+As soon as he found himself alone in his cab again, he tore the paper off
+the book and eagerly turned to the article Hereward, and read:
+
+"Hereward, Duke of--Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis and Earl of
+Arondelle in the peerage of England, Viscount Lone and Baron Scott in the
+peerage of Scotland, and a baronet; born Jan. 1st, 1795; succeeded his
+father as seventh duke, Feb. 1st, 1840; married, March 15th 1845,
+Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la Motte; divorced from her grace
+Feb. 13, 1846; married secondly, April 1st, 1846, Lady Augusta-Victoria,
+eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff, by whom he has:
+
+"Archibald-Alexander-John, Marquis of Arondelle."
+
+Then followed a long list of other children, girls and boys, of whom the
+only record was birth and death. Not one of them, except the young
+Marquis of Arondelle, had lived to be seven years old.
+
+Then followed the long lineage of the family, going over a glorious
+history of eight centuries.
+
+The youth glanced over the lineage, but soon recurred to the opening
+paragraphs.
+
+"'Married, March 15th, 1845, Valerie, only daughter of the Baron de la
+Motte.' That was my poor, dear mother!
+
+"'Divorced from her grace, Feb, 13th, 1846,' He divorced her, and what
+for! She was a saint on earth, I know! Perhaps it was for being
+_that_ she was divorced! Let us see. 'Married secondly, April 1st,
+1846, Lady Augusta Victoria, eldest daughter of the Earl of Banff.'
+Ah, ha! that was it! He divorced my beloved mother for the same season
+that the tryant Henry VIII. divorced Queen Catherine, because he was in
+love with another woman whom he wished to marry!"
+
+(The study of history teaches as much knowledge of the world as does
+personal experience.)
+
+"But here again," continued the youth. "He divorced my dear mother
+on the 13th of February, married his Anne Boylen on the 1st of
+April--appropriate day--and I was born on the 15th of the same month!
+Yes! my angel mother and my infant self branded with infamy two months
+before my birth, and by the very man whom nature and law should have
+constrained to be our protector! Will I ever forgive it? No! When I do,
+may Heaven never forgive me!"
+
+As the boy made this vow he laid down the "Royal and Noble Stud-Book,"
+and took up the bulky letter that his mother had entrusted to him to be
+delivered to the Duke of Hereward. He studied it a moment, then had a
+little struggle with his sense of right, and finally murmuring:
+
+"Forgive me, gentle mother; but having discovered so much of your secret,
+I must know it all, even for _your_ sake, and for the love and
+respect I bear you."
+
+He broke the seal and read the whole of the historical letter from
+beginning to end.
+
+Then he carefully re-folded and re-sealed the letter, so as to leave no
+trace of the violence that has been done in opening it.
+
+Then he sat for a long time with his elbows on the table before him, and
+his head bowed upon his hands while tear after tear rolled slowly down
+his cheeks for the sad fate of that young, broken hearted mother who had
+perished in her early prime.
+
+The next day, as we have seen, he went to Hereward House and presented
+his mother's letter to the duke. He had watched his grace while the
+latter was reading the letter. He had foolishly expected to see some
+sign of remorse, some demonstration of affection. But he had been
+disappointed. He had been received only as the son of some humble
+deceased friend, consigned to the great duke's care. His tender mood
+had changed to a vindictive one, and he had sworn to be restored to his
+rights, or to devote his life to effect the ruin and extermination of the
+house of Hereward.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+THE DUKE'S WARD.
+
+
+The next morning, at the appointed hour, the Duke of Hereward drove to
+Langham's, and sent up his card to Mr. John Scott.
+
+The youth himself, to show the greater respect, came down to the public
+parlor where the duke waited, and after most deferentially welcoming his
+visitor, conducted him to his own private apartment.
+
+"I see by your mother's letter, as well as by her will, that she has done
+me the honor to appoint me your guardian," said the elder man, as soon as
+they were seated alone together, and cautiously eyeing the younger, so as
+to detect, if possible, how much or how little he knew or suspected of
+the true relationship between them.
+
+"My mother did _me_ the honor to consign me to your grace's
+guardianship, if you will be so condescending as to accept the charge,"
+replied the youth, with grave courtesy and in his turn eyeing the duke
+to see, if possible, what might be his feelings and intentions toward
+himself.
+
+The duke bowed and then said:
+
+"I would like to carry out your mother's views and your own wishes, if
+possible. She mentioned in her letter the army as a career for you. Do
+you wish some years hence to take a commission in the army?"
+
+"I _did_, your grace: but now I prefer to leave myself entirely in
+your grace's hands," cautiously replied the youth.
+
+"But in the matter of choosing a profession you must be left free. No one
+but yourself can decide upon your own calling with any hope of ultimate
+success. Much mischief is done by the officiousness of parents and
+guardians in directing their sons or wards into professions or callings
+for which they have neither taste nor talent," said the duke.
+
+The youth smiled slightly; he could but see that the duke was utterly
+perplexed as to his own course of conduct, and to cover his confusion he
+was only talking for talk's sake.
+
+"You will let me know your own wishes on this subject, I hope, young
+sir," continued the elder.
+
+"My only wish on the subject is to leave myself in your grace's hands.
+I feel confident that whatever your grace may think right to do with me,
+will be the best possible thing for me," replied the boy, with more
+meaning in his manner, as well as in his words, than he had intended
+to betray.
+
+The duke looked keenly at him; but his fair impassive face was
+unreadable.
+
+"Well, at all events, it is, perhaps, time enough for two or three years
+to come to talk of a profession for you. Would you like to enter one of
+the universities? Are you prepared to do so?" suddenly inquired the
+guardian.
+
+"I _would_ like to go to Oxford. But whether I am prepared to do so,
+I do not know. I do not know what is required. I have a fair knowledge of
+Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and of the higher mathematics. I was in course
+of preparation to enter one of the German universities, when my good
+tutor, Father Antonio, died," replied the youth.
+
+The duke dropped his gray head upon his chest and mused awhile, and then
+said:
+
+"I think that you had better read with a private tutor for a while; you
+will then soon recover what you may have lost since the death of your
+good teacher, and make such further progress as may fit you to go to
+Oxford at the next term. What do you think? Let me know your views, young
+sir."
+
+"Thanks, your grace; I will read with any tutor you may be pleased to
+recommend," respectfully answered the youth.
+
+"You are certainly a most manageable ward," said the guardian, dryly, and
+with, perhaps, a shade of distrust in his manner.
+
+The boy bowed.
+
+"Well, since you place yourself so implicitly in my hands, I must justify
+your faith as well as your mother's by doing the very best I can for you.
+There is a very worthy man, the Vicar of Greencombe, on one of my
+estates, down in Sussex, near the sea. He is a ripe scholar, a graduate
+of Trinity College, Oxford, and occasionally augments his moderate salary
+by preparing youth for college. I will direct my secretary to write to
+him this morning to know if he can receive you, and I will let you know
+the result in a day or two."
+
+"Thanks, your grace."
+
+"And now how are you going to employ your time while waiting here?"
+
+"By taking a good guide-book, your grace, and going through London. Your
+grace will remember that I am a perfect stranger here, and even one of
+your great historical monuments, such as Westminster Abbey or the Tower,
+has interest enough in it to occupy a student for a week."
+
+"I commend your taste in the occupation you have sketched out for your
+time. I must request you, however, to take great care of yourself, and to
+be _here_ every day at this hour, as I shall make it a point to look
+in upon you."
+
+"Thanks, your grace."
+
+"And now good-day," said the visitor, offering his hand, and then
+abruptly leaving the room.
+
+The youth, however, with the most deferential manner, attended him down
+stairs and to his carriage, and only took his leave, with a bow, when the
+footman closed the door.
+
+Again as soon as his back was turned upon his father, the youth's face
+changed and darkened, and--
+
+"I bide my time--I bide my time," he muttered to himself as he
+re-ascended the stairs.
+
+He had not deceived his guardian, however, as to the manner in which he
+meant to spend his time while in London. At this time of his unfortunate
+position he had not yet contracted any evil habits, and he had a genuine
+liking for interesting antiquities. So, after partaking of a light
+luncheon, he went out, guide-book in hand and spent the whole day in
+studying the architectural glories and the antique monuments in
+Westminster Abbey.
+
+The second day he passed among the gloomy dungeons and bloody records of
+the Tower of London.
+
+On the third day he received another visit from the Duke of Hereward, who
+came to tell him the Reverend Mr. Simpson, the Vicar of Greencombe, had
+returned a favorable answer to his letter, and would be happy to receive
+Mr. Scott in his family.
+
+"Now I do not wish to hurry you my dear boy; but I think the sooner you
+resume your long-neglected studies, the better it will be for you," said
+the duke, speaking kindly, but watching cautiously, as was his constant
+habit when conversing with this unacknowledged son.
+
+"I am ready to go the moment your grace commands," answered the young
+man.
+
+"I issue no commands to you, my boy. I will give you a letter of
+introduction to Dr. Simpson, which you may go down and deliver at your
+own leisure. If you choose to spend a week longer in London to see what
+is to be seen, why do so, of course. If not, you can run down to
+Greencombe to-day or to-morrow. It is about two hours' journey by
+the London and South Coast Railroad from the London Bridge Station."
+
+"I will go down this afternoon."
+
+"That is prompt. That is right. All you do my boy, all I see of you,
+commends you more and more to my approval and esteem. Go this afternoon,
+by all means. I will myself meet you at the station, to see you off and
+leave with you my letter of introduction. Stay; by what train shall you
+go? Ah! you do not know anything about the trains. Ring the bell."
+
+The youth complied.
+
+A waiter appeared, a Bradshaw was ordered and consulted, and the five
+P. M. express fixed upon as the train by which the youth should
+leave London.
+
+The duke then took leave of the boy, with an admonition of punctuality.
+
+"Well," said John Scott to himself, as soon as he was left alone, "if my
+father gives me nothing else, he is certainly disposed to give me my own
+way. Perhaps in time he may give me all my rights. If so, well. If not--I
+_bide my time_," he repeated.
+
+At the appointed hour the guardian and ward met at the depot.
+
+The duke placed the promised letter in the youth's hand, saw him into
+a first-class carriage, and there bade him good-by.
+
+John Scott sped down into Sussex as fast as the express train could carry
+him, and the Duke of Hereward went back to Hereward House, much relieved
+by the departure of the youth, whose presence in London had seemed like
+an incubus upon him.
+
+The deeply injured boy had departed; but--so also had the father's peace
+of mind, forever! Certainly he was now relieved of all fear of an
+unpleasant ecclaircissement; but he was not freed from remorse for the
+past, or from dread for the future.
+
+He told the duchess that day at dinner that a ward had been left to his
+guardianship, that this ward was, in fact, the son of a near relation,
+and bore the family name, which made it the more incumbent upon him to
+accept the charge; and, finally, that he had sent the boy down to Dr.
+Simpson, at the Greencombe Vicarage, to read for the university.
+
+The duchess was not in the least degree interested in the duke's ward,
+and rather wondered that he should have taken the trouble to tell her
+anything about him; but the duke did so to provide for the future
+contingency of an accidental meeting between the duchess and the boy, so
+that she might suppose him to be a blood relation, and thus understand
+the family likeness without the danger of suspecting a truth that could
+not be explained to her.
+
+But the duke could not silence the voice of conscience and affection. The
+deeply-wronged boy whom he had sent away was his own first-born son--the
+son of his first marriage and of his only love; and he had wronged him
+beyond the power of man to help! He was the rightful heir of his title
+and estates, yet he could never inherit them; he had been delegalized by
+his father's own hasty, reckless and cruel act; and for no fault of the
+boy's own--before he was capable of committing any fault--before his
+birth--he was disinherited.
+
+All this so worked upon the duke's conscience that he could not give his
+mind to his ordinary vocations.
+
+But about this time, the duchess, through the death of a near relative,
+inherited a very large fortune, principally in money.
+
+With this she wished to purchase an estate in Scotland. And so, when
+Parliament rose, the duke and duchess went to Scotland, personally to
+inspect certain estates that were for sale there; for the duchess said
+that, in the matter of choosing a home to live in, she would trust no
+eyes but her own.
+
+It seemed, however, that neither of the seats in the market pleased the
+lady, and she had given up her quest in despair, when the duke suggested
+that, before leaving Scotland, they should make a visit to the famous
+historical ruins of Lone Castle, in Lone, on Lone Lake, which had been in
+the Scott-Hereward family for eight centuries.
+
+It was while they were tarrying at the little hotel of the "Hereward
+Arms," and making daily excursions in a boat across the lake to the isle
+and to the ruins, that the stupendous idea of restoring the castle
+occurred to the duke's mind--and not only restoring it as it had stood
+centuries before, a great, impregnable Highland fortress, but by bringing
+all the architectural and engineering art and skill of the nineteenth
+century to bear upon the subject, transforming the ruined castle and
+rocky isle and mountain-bound lake into the earthly paradise and
+century's wonder it afterwards became.
+
+What vast means were used, what fortunes were sacrificed, what treasures
+were drawn into the maelstrom of this mad enterprise, has already been
+shown.
+
+It is probable, however, that the duke would not have thrown himself so
+insanely into this work had it not seemed a means of escaping the torture
+of his own thoughts.
+
+He could restore the old Highland stronghold, and transform the barren,
+water-girt rock into a garden of Eden; but he could not restore the
+rights of his own disinherited son.
+
+He had consulted some among the most eminent lawyers in England, putting
+the case suppositiously, or as the case of another father and son, and
+the unanimous opinion given was that there could be no help for such a
+case as theirs; and even though the father had had no other heir, he
+could not reclaim this disinherited one.
+
+It was not with unmingled regret that the duke heard this opinion given.
+It certainly relieved him from the fearful duty of having to oppose the
+duchess and all her family, as he would have been obliged to do, had it
+been possible to restore his eldest son to his rights; for the duchess
+would not have stood by quietly and seen her son set aside in favor of
+the elder brother.
+
+The duke spoke of his ward from time to time, so that in case the duchess
+should ever meet him, or hear of him from others, she could not regard
+him as a mystery that had been concealed from her, or look upon his
+likeness to the family with suspicion.
+
+But the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent to the duke's ward, or if
+she did interest herself, it was only slightly or good-naturedly, as when
+she answered the duke's remarks, one day, by saying:
+
+"If the dear boy is a relative of the family, however distant, and your
+ward besides, why don't you have him home for the holidays?"
+
+"Oh, schoolboys at home for the holidays are always a nuisance. He will
+go to Wales with Simpson and his lads, when they go for their short
+vacation," answered the duke, not unpleased that his wife took kindly
+to the notion of his ward.
+
+In due time the youth entered Oxford. The duke spoke of the fact to the
+duchess. Then she answered not so good-humoredly as before; indeed, there
+was a shade of annoyance and anxiety in her tones, as she said:
+
+"Oxford is very expensive, and a young man may make it quite ruinous.
+I hope the youth's friends have left him means enough of his own. I
+would not speak of such a matter," she added apologetically, "only the
+restoration of Lone seems so to swallow up all our resources as to leave
+us nothing for charitable objects."
+
+"The youth has ample means for educational purposes, and to establish him
+in some profession. Of course, he cannot indulge in any of those
+university extravagances and dissipations that are the destruction of
+so many fine young men; but, then, he is not that kind of lad; a steady,
+studious boy, brought up by--a widowed mother and a priest," answered the
+duke, with just a slight faltering in his voice, in the latter clause of
+his speech.
+
+"Such boys are more apt than others to develop into the wildest young
+men," replied the lady; and circumstances proved that she was right.
+
+John Scott, at Trinity College, Oxford, passed as the grand-nephew of the
+Duke of Hereward, and the next in succession, after the young Earl of
+Arondelle to the dukedom.
+
+The young Earl of Arondelle was still at Eton. And the duke determined to
+send him from Eton to Cambridge, instead of Oxford, where John Scott was
+at college; for the father of these two boys wished them never to meet!
+
+At Oxford, John Scott, as the grand-nephew of the Duke of Hereward,
+bearing an unmistakable likeness to the family, and being, besides, a
+young man of pleasing address, soon won his way among the most exclusive
+of the aristocrats there; and pride and vanity tempted him to vie with
+them in extravagant and riotous living!
+
+His income _only_ was limited, his credit was _un_limited.
+When his money fell short, he ran into debt; and at the end of the first
+term his liabilities were alarming, or would have been so to a more
+sensitive mind.
+
+It is true, the amount was much greater than his inexperience had led him
+to expect; but he only smiled grimly when he had all his bills before
+him, and had estimated the sum total, and he said to himself:
+
+"If my allowance will not support me here like a gentleman, my father
+must make up the deficiency, that is all!"
+
+The Duke of Hereward was indeed confounded when his ward wrote to him and
+told him boldly that he wanted fifteen hundred pounds for immediate
+necessities--namely, twelve hundred for the liquidation of debts, and
+three hundred for traveling expenses.
+
+But could he scold the poor, disinherited boy, who, kept to himself at
+Oxford, had doubtless fallen among thieves and been mercilessly fleeced.
+
+No; he would pay these debts out of his own pocket, and write the young
+man a kind letter of warning against the university sharks.
+
+The duke carried out this resolution, and John Scott, freed from debt,
+and with three hundred pounds in his possession, went on a holiday tour
+through the country.
+
+He had heard at Oxford of the rising glories of Lone, and determined to
+take his holiday in that neighborhood.
+
+It happened that the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, with the Marquis of
+Arondelle, and their attendants, went that summer to Baden-Baden; so when
+the Oxonion arrived at the "Hereward Arms," in the hamlet of Lone, and,
+from his age and his exact likeness to the family, was mistaken for the
+heir, there was no one to set the people right on the subject.
+
+The obsequious host of the Hereward Arms called him "my lord," and
+inquired after his gracious parents, the duke and the duchess.
+
+John Scott did not actually deceive the people as to his identity, but he
+tacitly allowed them to deceive themselves. He did not tell them that he
+was the Marquis of Arondelle; neither did he contradict them when they
+called him so. Nor did his conscience reproach him for his silent
+duplicity. He said to himself:
+
+"I _am_ the rightful Marquis of Arondelle. They do but give me my
+own just title! If this comes to the ears of the duke and brings on a
+crisis, I will tell him so!"
+
+While he was in the neighborhood, he went up to Ben Lone on a fishing
+excursion, and there, as elsewhere, on the Scottish estate, he was
+everywhere received as the Marquis of Arondelle. There John Scott first
+met by accident the handsome shepherdess, Rose Cameron, and fell in love
+for the first time in his young life.
+
+We have already seen how the Highland maiden, flattered by the notice
+of the supposed young nobleman, encouraged those attentions without
+returning that love.
+
+After this, John Scott spent all his holidays at Lone, and much of them
+in the society of the handsome shepherdess. His attentions in that
+direction were regarded with strong disapproval by his father's tenantry,
+but it was not their place to censure their supposed "young lord," and so
+they only expressed their sentiments with grave shaking of their heads.
+
+During the progress of the work, the ducal family never came to Lone, so
+that the tenantry there were never set right as to the identity of John
+Scott.
+
+Only once the duke made a visit, to inspect the progress of the workmen.
+He stopped at the Hereward Arms, and there heard nothing of the pranks of
+John Scott, although, upon one occasion, he came very near doing so.
+
+The landlord respectfully inquired if they should have the young marquis
+up there as usual.
+
+The duke stared for a moment, and then answered:
+
+"You are mistaken. Arondelle does not come up here. Whatever are you
+thinking of, my man?"
+
+The host said he was mistaken, that was all, and so got himself out of
+his dilemma the best way he could, and took the first opportunity to warn
+all his dependents and followers that they were not to "blow" on the
+young marquis.
+
+"He was an unco wild lad, nae doobt, but his feyther kenned naething
+about his pranks, and sae the least said, sunest mended," said the
+landlord.
+
+And thus, by the pranks of his "double," the reputation of the excellent
+young Marquis of Arondelle suffered among his own people.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+RETRIBUTION.
+
+
+But a crisis was at hand.
+
+The debts of John Scott increased every year, while the ready means of
+the Duke of Hereward diminished--everything being engulfed by the Lone
+restoration maelstrom.
+
+The guardian determined to expostulate with his ward.
+
+He went down to Oxford just before the close of the term. He found his
+ward established in elegant and luxurious apartments, quite fit for a
+royal prince, and very much more ostentatious than the unpretending
+chambers occupied by the young Marquis of Arondelle at Cambridge, and
+ridiculously extravagant for a young man of limited income and no
+expectations like John Scott.
+
+The duke was excessively provoked; the forbearance of years gave way; the
+bottled-up indignation burst forth, and the guardian gave his ward what
+in boyish parlance is called, "an awful rowing."
+
+"You live, sir, at twenty times the rate, your debts are twenty times as
+large, you cost me twenty times as much as does Lord Arondelle, my own
+son and heir!" concluded the duke, in a final burst of anger.
+
+John Scott had listened grimly enough to the opening exordium, but when
+the last sentence broke from the duke's lips, the young man grew pale as
+death, while his compressed lips, contracted brow, and gleaming blue eyes
+alone expressed the fury that raged in his bosom.
+
+He answered very quietly:
+
+"Your grace means that I cost you twenty times as much as does your
+younger son, Lord Archibald Scott, as it is natural that I should being
+the elder son and the heir of the dukedom."
+
+To portray the duke's thoughts, feelings or looks during his deliberate
+speech would be simply impossible. He sat staring at the speaker, with
+gradually paling cheeks and widening eyes, until the quiet voice ceased,
+when he faltered forth:
+
+"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"
+
+"I should think your grace should know right well what I have known for
+years, and can never for a moment forget, though your grace may effect to
+do so--that I am your eldest son, the son of your first marriage, with
+the daughter of the Baron de la Motte, and therefore that I, and not my
+younger half brother, by your second marriage, am the right Marquis of
+Arondelle, and the heir of the Dukedom of Hereward," calmly replied the
+young man, with all the confidence an assured conviction gave.
+
+The duke sank back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
+However John Scott had made the discovery, it was absolutely certain that
+he knew the whole secret of his parentage.
+
+"What authority have you for making so strange an assertion?" at length
+inquired the duke.
+
+"The authority of recorded truth," replied the young man, emphatically.
+"But does your grace really suppose that such a secret could be kept
+from me? My dear, lost mother never revealed it to me by her words, but
+she unconsciously revealed enough to me by her actions to excite my
+suspicions, and set me on the right track. The records did the rest,
+and put me in possession of the whole truth."
+
+"What records have you examined?" inquired the duke, in a low voice.
+
+"First and last, in Italy and France, I have examined the registers of
+your marriage with my mother, and of my own birth and baptism; and in
+England, Burke's Peerage. All these as well as other well-known facts,
+As easily proved as if they were recorded, establish my rights as your
+son--your eldest son and _heir_."
+
+"As my son, but not as my heir, for your most unhappy mother--"
+
+"STOP!!" suddenly exclaimed the young man, while his blue eyes
+blazed with a dangerous fire. "I warn you, Duke of Hereward, that you
+must not breathe one word reflecting in the least degree on my dear,
+injured mother's name. You have wronged her enough, Heaven knows! and I,
+her son, tell you so. Yes! from the beginning to end, you have wronged
+her grievously, unpardonably. First of all, in marrying her at all, when
+you must have seen--you could not have failed to see--that she, gentle
+and helpless creature that she was, was _forced_ by her parents to
+give you her hand, when her broken heart was not hers to give! And,
+secondly, when she discovered that the lover (to whom she had been
+sacredly married by the church, though it seems not lawfully married
+by the state,) and whom she had supposed to be dead, was really living;
+and when she took the only course a pure and sensitive woman could take,
+and withdrew herself from you both, _writing to you her reasons for
+doing so_, and expressing her wish to live apart a quiet, single,
+blameless life, you did not wait, you did not investigate, but, with
+indecent haste, you so hurried through with your divorce, and hurried
+into your second marriage, as to brand my mother with undeserved infamy,
+and delegalized her son and yours before his birth."
+
+"Heaven help me," moaned the Duke of Hereward, covering his face with his
+hands.
+
+"You have done us both this infinite wrong, and you cannot undo it now.
+I know that you cannot, for I have taken the pains to seek legal advice,
+and I have been assured that you cannot rectify this wrong. But--use my
+injured mother's sacred name with reverence, Duke of Hereward, I warn
+you!--"
+
+"Heaven knows I would use it in no other way! I loved your mother. She
+and you were not the only sufferers in my domestic tragedy. Her loss
+nearly killed me with grief even when I thought her unworthy. The
+discovery of the great wrong I did her has nearly crazed me with
+remorse since that."
+
+"Then do not grudge her son the small share you allow him of that vast
+inheritance which should have been his, had you not unjustly deprived him
+of it."
+
+"I will not. Your debts shall be paid."
+
+"And do not upbraid me by drawing any more invidious comparisons between
+me and one who holds my rightful place."
+
+"I will not--I will not. John we understand each other now. Your manner
+has not been the most filial toward me, but I will not reproach you for
+that. You say that I have wronged you; and you know that wrong can never
+be righted in this world. 'If I were to give my body to be burned,' it
+could not benefit you in the least toward recovering your position; but
+I will do all I can. I will sell Greencombe, which is my own entailed
+property, and I will place the money with my banker, Levison, to your
+account. I have a pleasant little shooting-box at the foot of Ben Lone.
+We never go to it. You must have the run of it during the vacations. When
+you are ready for your commission I will find you one in a good regiment.
+In return I have one request to make you. For Heaven's sake avoid meeting
+the duchess or her family. Do this for the sake of peace. I hope now that
+we _do_ understand each other?" said the duke with emotion.
+
+"We do," said the young man, his better spirit getting the ascendency for
+a few moments. "We do; and I beg your pardon, my father, for the hasty,
+unfilial words I have spoken."
+
+"I can make every allowance, for you, John. I can comprehend how you must
+often feel that you are only your mother's son," answered the duke,
+grasping the hand that his son had offered.
+
+So the interview that had threatened to end in a rupture between guardian
+and ward terminated amicably.
+
+John Scott's debts were once more paid, his pockets were once more
+filled, and he left for Scotland to spend his vacation at the hunting-box
+under Ben Lone, in the neighborhood made attractive to him, not by black
+cock or red deer, but by the presence of his handsome shepherdess.
+
+The duke sold Greencombe, and placed the purchase-money in the hands of
+Sir Lemuel Levison and Co., Bankers, Lombard Street, London, to be
+invested for the benefit of his ward, John Scott.
+
+The unhappy duke did this at the very time when he was so pressed for
+money to carry on the great work at Lone, as to be compelled to borrow
+from the Jews at an enormous interest, mortgaging his estate, Hereward
+Hold, in security.
+
+And John Scott, with an ample income, and without any restraint, took
+leave of his good angel and started on the road to ruin.
+
+Meanwhile, the great works at Lone were completed and the ducal family
+took possession, and commenced their short and glorious reign there by
+a series of splendid entertainments given in honor of the coming of age
+of the heir.
+
+John Scott was not an invited guest, either to the castle or the grounds;
+but he presented himself there, nevertheless, and caused some confusion
+by his close resemblance to his brother, and much scandal by his improper
+conduct among the village girls. And many an honest peasant went home
+from the feast lamenting the behavior of the young heir, and trying to
+excuse or palliate his viciousness by the vulgar proverb:
+
+"Boys will be boys."
+
+And so the reputation of the young Marquis of Arondelle suffered and
+continued to suffer from the evil doings of his double.
+
+John Scott kept one part of his compact with the duke; he avoided the
+family; even when he could not keep away from Lone, he contrived to keep
+out of sight of the duke, the duchess, and the marquis.
+
+The young Marquis of Arondelle, indeed, was very little seen at Lone. He
+was at Cambridge, or on his grand tour, nearly all the time of the
+family's residence in the Highlands.
+
+John Scott left the university without honors. This was a disappointment
+to the duke, who did not, however, reproach his wayward son, but only
+wrote and asked him if he would now take a commission in the army. But
+the young man, who had lost all his youthful military ardor, and
+contracted a roving habit that made him averse to all fixed rules and
+all restraints, replied by saying that his income was sufficient for
+his wants, and that he preferred the free life of a scholar.
+
+The duke wrote again, and implored him to choose one of the learned
+professions, saying that it was not yet too late for him to enter upon
+the study of one.
+
+The hopeful son replied that he was not good enough for divinity, bad
+enough for law, or wise enough for medicine; that, therefore, he was
+unsuited to honor either of the learned professions; and begged his
+guardian to disturb himself no longer on the subject of his ward's
+future.
+
+Then the duke let him alone, having, in fact, troubles enough of his own
+to occupy him--a life of superficial splendor, backed by a condition of
+hopeless indebtedness.
+
+We have already, in the earlier portions of this story, described the
+short, glorious, delusive reign of the Herewards at Lone, and the
+culminating glory and ruin of the royal visit, so immediately to be
+followed by the great crash, when the magnificent estate, with all its
+splendid appointments, was sold under the hammer, and purchased by the
+wealthy banker and city knight, Sir Lemuel Levison. We have told how
+the noble son--the young Marquis of Arondelle--sacrificed all his
+life-interest in the entailed estate, to save his father, and how
+vain that sacrifice proved. We have told how the duchess died of
+humiliation and grief, and how the duke and his son went into social
+exile, until recalled by the romantic love of Salome Levison, who wished
+to bestow her hand and her magnificent inheritance upon the disinherited
+heir of Lone.
+
+We have now brought the story of John Scott up to the night of the
+banker's murder, and his own unintentional share in the tragedy.
+
+At the time of the projected marriage between the Marquis of Arondelle
+and the heiress of Lone, John Scott was deeply sunk in debt, and badly in
+want of money.
+
+The capital given him by his father had been so tied up by the donor that
+nothing but the interest could be touched by the improvident recipient.
+It had, in fact, been given to Sir Lemuel Levison in trust for John
+Scott, with directions to invest it to the best advantage for his
+benefit.
+
+This duty the banker had most conscientiously performed by investing the
+money in a mining enterprise, supposed to be perfectly secure and to pay
+a high interest. This investment continued good for years, affording
+John Scott a very liberal income; but as John Scott would probably have
+exceeded any income, however large, that he might have possessed, so of
+course he exceeded this one and got into debt, which accumulated year
+after year, until at length he felt himself forced to ask his trustee to
+sell out a part of his stock in the mining company to liquidate his
+liabilities.
+
+This the banker politely but firmly refused to do, representing to the
+young spendthrift that his duties as a trustee forbade him to squander
+the capital of his client, and that he had been made trustee for the very
+purpose of preserving it.
+
+The obstinacy of the banker enraged the young man, who protested that
+it was unbearable to a man of twenty-five years of age to be in
+leading-strings to a trustee, as if he were an infant of five years old.
+
+The time came, however, when the trustee was compelled by circumstances
+to sell out.
+
+The rare foresight which had made him the millionaire that he was, warned
+Sir Lemuel Levison that the mining company in which he had invested his
+ward's fortune was on the eve of an explosion. As no one else perceived
+the impending catastrophe, Sir Lemuel Levison was enabled to sell out his
+ward's stock at a good premium some days before the crash came--not an
+honest measure by any means, _we_ think, but--a perfectly
+business-like one.
+
+He informed John Scott of the transaction, telling him at the same time
+that he had the capital of thirty thousand pounds in his possession,
+ready to be re-invested, and the premium of three hundred pounds, which
+last was at the orders of Mr. Scott.
+
+Mr. Scott was not contented with the three hundred pounds premium. He
+wanted a few thousands out of the capital, and he wrote and told his
+trustee as much.
+
+Sir Lemuel Levison was firm in refusing to diminish the capital that had
+been placed in his hands for the benefit of the spendthrift.
+
+Then John Scott in a rage, went up to London and called at the banking
+house of Levison Brothers.
+
+Being admitted to the private office of Sir Lemuel Levison, the young man
+used some very intemperate language, accusing the great banker of
+appropriating his own contemptible little fortune for private and
+unhallowed purposes.
+
+"You are the most unmitigated scamp alive, and I wish I had never had
+anything to do with you; however, I will convince you that you have
+wronged me, and then I will wash my hands of you!" exclaimed the banker.
+
+And so saying, he unlocked a great patent safe that stood in his private
+office, took from it a small iron box, and set it on his desk before him,
+in full sight of his visitor.
+
+"See here," he continued; "here is this box, read the inscription on it."
+
+The visitor stooped over and read--in brass letters--the following
+sentence: "John Scott--L30,000."
+
+"Now, sir," continued the banker, opening the box and displaying the
+treasure, all in crisp, new, Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds
+each--"here is your money. I cannot betray my trust by giving it into
+your hands. But I intend, nevertheless, to resign my trust into the hands
+that gave it me. I am going down to Lone to celebrate the marriage of my
+daughter with the Marquis of Arondelle, and I shall take this box and its
+contents down with me. I shall, of course, meet the Duke of Hereward
+there. As soon as the marriage is over, and the pair gone on their tour,
+I shall deliver this box with its contents over to the duke, who can then
+hand over any part or the whole of this money to you, if he pleases
+to do so."
+
+If any circumstance could have increased the uneasiness of the
+spendthrift, it would have been this resolution of the banker and
+trustee.
+
+John Scott begged Sir Lemuel Levison to reconsider his resolution, and
+not return his capital to the donor, who, in his impoverished condition,
+might, for all he knew, choose to resume his gift entirely, and
+appropriate it to his own uses.
+
+But the banker was inflexible, and the next day set out for Lone,
+carrying John Scott's fortune locked up in the iron box, besides other
+treasures in money and jewels, secured in other receptacles.
+
+John Scott was in despair.
+
+At length, a daring plan occurred to his mind. His evil life had brought
+him into communication with some outlaws of society of both sexes, with
+whom, however, he would not willingly have been seen in daylight, or in
+public. One of these--a brutal ruffian and thief, with whose haunts and
+habits he was well acquainted--he sought out. He gave him an outline of
+his scheme, telling him of the great treasures in jewels and other bridal
+presents that would be laid out in the drawing-room at Lone on the night
+of the sixth of June, in readiness for the wedding display on the morning
+of the seventh.
+
+The man Murdockson listened with greedy ears.
+
+The tempter then told him of the iron box, inscribed with his own name,
+and containing _important papers_ which it was necessary he should
+recover, and proposed that if Murdockson would promise to purloin the
+iron box from the chamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, and bring it safely
+to him, John Scott, _he_ would engage to leave the secret passage
+to the castle open for the free entrance of the adventurers.
+
+Murdockson hesitated a long time before consenting to engage in an
+enterprise which, if it promised great profit, also threatened great
+dangers.
+
+At length, however, fired by the prospect of the fabulous wealth said to
+lie exposed in the form of bridal presents displayed in Castle Lone, Mr.
+Murdockson promised to form a party and go down to Lone to reconnoitre,
+and if he should see his way clear, to undertake the job.
+
+The plan was carried out to its full and fatal completion.
+
+Disguised as Highland peasants, Murdockson and two of his pals went down
+to Lone to inspect the lay.
+
+They mingled with the great crowd of peasantry and tenantry that had
+collected from far and near to view the grand pageantry prepared for the
+celebration of the wedding, and their presence in so large an assemblage
+was scarcely noticed.
+
+They met their principal in the course of the day, and with him arranged
+the details of the robbery.
+
+One thing John Scott insisted upon--that there was to be no violence,
+no bloodshed; that if the robbery could not be effected quietly and
+peaceably, without bodily harm to any inmate, it was not to be done at
+all, it was to be given up at once.
+
+The men promised all that their principal asked, on condition that he
+would act his part, and let them into the castle.
+
+That night John Scott did his work, and attained the climax of his evil
+life.
+
+He tampered with the valet, treated him with drugged whiskey, and while
+the wretched man was in a stupid sleep, stole from him the pass-key to
+Sir Lemuel Levison's private apartment.
+
+We know how that terrible night ended. John Scott could not control the
+devils he had raised.
+
+Only robbery had been intended; but murder was perpetrated.
+
+John Scott, with the curse of Cain upon his soul, and without the spoil
+for which he had incurred it, fled to London and afterwards to the
+Continent, where he became a homeless wanderer for years, and where he
+was subsequently joined by his female companion, Rose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+AFTER THE REVELATION.
+
+
+During the latter portion of the mother-superior's story--the portion
+that related to the delegalized elder son of the Duke of Hereward--a
+light had dawned upon the mind of Salome, but so slowly that no sudden
+shock of joy had been felt, no wild exclamation of astonishment uttered:
+yet that light had revealed to the amazed and overjoyed young wife,
+beyond all possibility of further doubt, the blessed truth of the perfect
+freedom of her worshiped husband from all participation in the awful
+crimes of which over-whelming circumstantial evidence had convicted him
+in her own mind, but of which it was now certain that his miserable
+brother, his "double" in appearance, was alone guilty.
+
+The dark story had been told in the darkness of the abbess' den, so that
+not even the varying color that must otherwise have betrayed the deep
+emotion of the hearer, could be seen by the speaker.
+
+At the conclusion of the story, one irrepressible reproach escaped the
+lips of the young wife.
+
+"Oh, mother! mother! If you knew all this, why did you not tell me
+before? For you must also have known, what is now so clear to me, that
+not the Duke of Hereward, who, after all, is my husband, I thank
+Heaven--not the noble Duke of Hereward, but his most ignoble brother,
+his counterpart in person and in name, has married that terrible Scotch
+woman, and mixed himself up in murder and robbery. Oh, mother! you should
+have told me before!"
+
+"My daughter be patient! Only this week have I been able to fit in all
+the links in the chain of evidence to make the story complete. Your
+mention of the Duke of Hereward as your false husband, my memory of the
+Duke of Hereward as the wronged husband who had slain my betrothed in a
+duel, all set me to thinking deeply, very deeply thinking. I did not
+express my thoughts unnecessarily. Silence is, with our order, a
+duty--the handmaid of devotion; but I set secret inquiries on foot,
+through agencies that our orders possess for finding out facts, and means
+that we can use, superior to those of the most accomplished detectives
+living. Through such agencies, and by such means, I learned not only
+external facts--which are often lies, paradoxical as that may seem--but I
+learned, also, the internal truths without which no history can be really
+known, no subject really understood."
+
+"But oh! you should not have kept silence. You should not have left me to
+misjudge my noble husband a day longer than necessary!" burst forth
+Salome.
+
+"Calm yourself, daughter, and listen to me. I have kept nothing from you
+a day longer than necessary. The facts that exonerate the Duke of
+Hereward came to me last of all. Hear me. From Father Garbennetti, the
+new cure of San Vito, I learned the truth of that miscalled elopement of
+the late Duchess of Hereward. I learned that--in the words of your own
+charming poet--
+
+      'My rival fair
+A saint in heaven should be.'
+
+For a most innocent and most deeply wronged and long-suffering martyr on
+earth she had been. From him I also learned the existence of her boy, and
+the adoption of the boy, after the mother's death, by the Duke of
+Hereward. That was all I could learn from the Italian priest, who had
+lost sight of the lad after the mother's death. Next I pushed inquiries
+through our agents in England, and through the investigations of Father
+Fairfield, the eloquent English oratorian, I learned the truth of John
+Scott's life in England and Scotland, as I have given it to you. I
+received Father Fairfield's letter only this day; only this day I have
+learned, Salome, that you are really the Duchess of Hereward; that the
+Duke of Hereward was, and is, really your husband, and was never the
+husband of any other woman."
+
+"Oh, how bitterly! how bitterly! how unpardonably I have wronged him! He
+will pardon me! Yes, he will! for he is all magnanimity, and he loves me!
+But I can never, never pardon myself!" exclaimed the young wife, her
+first joy at discovering the absolute integrity of her husband now giving
+place to the severest self-condemnation.
+
+"You need not reproach yourself so cruelly, so sternly, under
+circumstances in which you would not reproach another at all. Remember
+what you told me, you had the evidence of your own eyes and ears, and the
+testimony of documents, and of individuals against him!" said the abbess,
+soothingly.
+
+"Yes! the evidence of my own eyes and ears, which mistook the counterfeit
+for the real! the testimony of documents that were forgeries, and of
+individuals that were false! And upon these I believed my noble husband
+guilty of a felony, and without even giving him an opportunity to
+explain the circumstances, or to defend himself, I left him even on our
+wedding-day! and have concealed myself from him for many months! exposing
+him to misconstruction, to dishonor and reproach. Oh, no! I can never,
+never pardon myself! Nor do I even know how _he_ can ever pardon me.
+But he will! I am sure he will! Even as the Lord pardons all repented
+sin, however grievous, so will my peerless husband pardon me!" fervently
+exclaimed Salome.
+
+The abbess reverted to her own troubles.
+
+"I cannot understand," she said, "the mystery of that man's appearance
+here this morning."
+
+"What man?" inquired Salome, who was so absorbed in thinking of her
+husband that she had nearly forgotten the existence of other men.
+
+"'What man?' Why, daughter, the Count Waldemar de Volaski--the man who
+came here with the woman this morning--the man whom you mistook for your
+own husband, the Duke of Hereward, but whom I knew to be Waldemar de
+Volaski, once my betrothed, who was said to have been killed in a duel,
+shot through the heart, a quarter of a century ago!" answered the lady,
+emphatically.
+
+Salome stared at the abbess for a few moments in amazed silence, and then
+exclaimed:
+
+"Dear madam, good mother, are you still under that deep delusion?"
+
+"Delusion!" echoed the lady.
+
+"Yes, the deepest delusion. Dear lady, do you not know, can you not
+comprehend _now_ that the man who visited us this morning was no
+other than John Scott, the counterpart whom even I really did mistake for
+the Duke of Hereward, as you say; and that the bold, bad beauty who
+accompanied him was his wife, Rose Cameron?"
+
+"Nay, daughter, he was Count Waldemar de Volaski!" persisted the abbess.
+
+"What an hallucination! Dear lady, do you not see--But what is the use of
+talking? I cannot convince you of your mistake: but circumstances may;
+for, of course, sooner or later the unhappy man will be arrested and
+brought to trial for his share in the robbery and murder at Castle Lone."
+
+"No, you cannot convince me of mistake, because I have not made any; but
+_I_ will convince _you_ of _yours_," said the lady, rising
+and striking a match and lighting a lamp; for they had hitherto sat in
+darkness.
+
+Salome smiled incredulously.
+
+The abbess went to a little drawer of the stand upon which her crucifix
+and missal stood, and drew from it a small box, which she opened and
+exhibited to Salome, saying:
+
+"This, daughter, is the only memento of the world and the world's people
+that I have retained. I should not have kept even this, but that it is
+the likeness of my once betrothed, bestowed on me on the occasion of our
+betrothal, cherished once in loyal love, cherished now in prayerful
+memory of one whom I supposed had expiated his sins by death, long, long
+ago. I have kept it, but I have not looked at it for twenty years or
+more."
+
+Salome took the miniature, and examined it carefully with interest and
+curiosity.
+
+It was very well painted in water-colors on ivory. It represented a young
+man of from twenty to twenty-five years of age, with a Roman profile,
+fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde hair and mustache; and so far as
+these features and this complexion went, the miniature certainly did bear
+an external and superficial resemblance to John Scott and to the young
+Duke of Hereward; but in character and expression the faces were so
+totally different that Salome could never have mistaken the miniature
+to be a likeness of the duke or his brother, or either of these men to be
+the original of the picture.
+
+After gazing intently at the miniature for a few minutes, she turned to
+the abbess and said:
+
+"You tell me that you have not looked at this for twenty years?"
+
+"I have not," said the lady.
+
+"And you tell me that the man who visited the asylum this morning is the
+original of this picture?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Then, dear mother, your memory is at fault and your imagination deceives
+and misleads you. Both the supposed original and the miniature are
+thin-faced, with Roman features, fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde
+hair--points of resemblance which are common to many men who are not at
+all alike in any other respect. Now look at this miniature again, and you
+will see that, except in the points I have named, it is in no way like
+the man you mistook for its original."
+
+"I would rather not look at it. I have not seen it since--Volaski's
+supposed death," said the abbess, shrinking.
+
+"Oh, but do, for the satisfaction of your own mind. You see so few men,
+that you may easily mistake one blonde for another after twenty years of
+absence from them," persisted Salome, pressing the open miniature upon
+the lady.
+
+So urged, the abbess took it, gazed wistfully at the pictured face, and
+murmured:
+
+"It is possible. I may be mistaken."
+
+"You are," muttered Salome.
+
+The abbess continued to gaze on the portrait, and whispered:
+
+"I think I am mistaken."
+
+"I am _sure_ that you are, good mother," said Salome.
+
+The lady's eyes were still fixed upon the relic, until at length she
+closed the locket with a click and laid it away in the little drawer,
+saying, clearly and firmly:
+
+"Yes, I see that I _was_ mistaken."
+
+"I am very glad you know it," remarked Salome.
+
+"So am I. It is a relief. And now, dear daughter, I will dismiss you to
+your rest. To-morrow we will consult concerning your affairs, and see
+what is best for you to do," said the abbess.
+
+"I know what is best for me to do--_my duty_. And my very first duty
+is to hasten immediately to England, seek out my dear husband, confess
+all my cruel misapprehension of his conduct, and implore his pardon. I
+am sure of his pardon, and of his love! As sure as I am of my Heavenly
+Lord's pardon and love when I kneel to Him and confess and deplore my
+sins!" fervently exclaimed the young wife.
+
+"Yes, I suppose you must return to England now. I do suppose that, after
+what we have discovered, you cannot remain here and become a nun," sighed
+the abbess, unwilling to resign her favorite.
+
+"No, indeed, I cannot remain here. But I will richly endow the Infants'
+Asylum, dear mother. And I will visit, it every year of my life. I am
+going to retire now, good mother. Bless me," murmured Salome, bending
+her head.
+
+"_Benedicite_, fair daughter," said the abbess, spreading her open
+palms over the beautiful, bowed head as she invoked the blessing.
+
+Then Salome arose, left the cell, and hurried back through the two long
+passages at right angles that conducted her from the nursery to the
+Infants' Asylum.
+
+She passed silently as a spirit through every dormitory where her infant
+charges lay sleeping, assured herself that they were all safe and well,
+and then she entered her own little sleeping-closet adjoining the
+dormitory of the youngest infants, then disrobed and went to bed.
+
+She was much too happy to sleep. She lay counting the hours to calculate
+in how short a time she could be with her beloved husband!
+
+She had no dread of meeting him, not the least.
+
+"Perfect love casteth out fear."
+
+She arose early the next morning, and, after going through all her duties
+in the Infants' Asylum, she went to the lady-superior's sitting-room to
+consult her about making arrangements for an immediate departure for
+England.
+
+"But shall you not write first to announce your arrival?" inquired the
+abbess.
+
+"No; because I can go to England just as quickly as a letter can, and I
+would rather go. There is a train from L'Ange at five P. M. I
+can go by that and reach Calais in time for the morning boat, and be in
+London by noon to-morrow--as soon as a letter could go. And I could see
+my husband, actually see him, before I could possibly get a letter from
+him," said Salome, brightening.
+
+"If his grace should be in London," put in the abbess.
+
+"I think he will be in London. If he is not there, I can find out where
+he is, and follow him. Dear madam, _do_ not hinder me. I _must_
+start by the first available train," said Salome, earnestly.
+
+"I do not desire to hinder you," answered the lady-superior.
+
+Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Sister Francoise,
+who pale and agitated, sank upon the nearest seat, and sat trembling and
+speechless, until the abbess exclaimed:
+
+"For the love of Heaven, Sister Francoise, tell us what has happened. Who
+is ill? Who is dead?"
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother!" gasped the nun, losing her breath again
+immediately.
+
+Salome drew a small phial of sal volatile from her pocket and uncorked
+and applied it to the nose of the fainting nun, saying soothingly:
+
+"Now tell us what has overcome you, good sister."
+
+"Ah, my child! It is dreadful! It is terrible! It is horrible! It is
+awful! But they are bringing him in!" gasped Sister Francoise, snuffing
+vigorously at the sal volatile, and still beside herself with excitement.
+
+"What! What! Who are they bringing in?" demanded the abbess, in alarm.
+
+"I'm going to tell you! Oh, give me time! It is stupefying! It is
+annihilating! The poor gentleman who has just shot himself through the
+body!" gasped Sister Francoise, losing her breath again after this
+effort.
+
+"A gentleman shot himself!" echoed Salome, in consternation.
+
+The abbess, pale as death, said not a word, but left the unnerved sister
+to the care of Salome, and went out to see what had really happened.
+
+She met the little Sister Felecitie in the passage.
+
+"What is all this, my daughter?" she inquired, in a very low voice.
+
+"They have taken him into the refectory, madam. That was the nearest to
+the gate, where it happened. It happened just outside the south gate,
+madam. They took off a leaf of the gate, and laid him on it and brought
+him in," answered the trembling little novice, rather incoherently.
+
+"Daughter, I have often admonished you that you must not address me as
+'madam,' but as 'mother.'"
+
+"I beg your pardon, holy mother; but I was so frightened, I forgot."
+
+"Now tell me quickly, and clearly, what happened near the south gate?"
+
+"Oh, madam!--holy mother, I mean!--the suicide! the suicide!"
+
+"The suicide! It was not an accident, then, but a suicide?" exclaimed the
+abbess, aghast, and pausing in her hurried walk toward the refectory.
+
+"Oh, madam--holy mother!--yes, so they say! It is enough to kill one to
+see it all!"
+
+"Go into my room, child, and stay there with Sister Francoise until I
+return. Such sights are too trying for such as you," said the abbess, as
+she parted from the young novice, and hurried on toward the refectory.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+RETRIBUTION.
+
+
+She entered the long dining-hall, where a terrible sight met her eyes.
+
+Stretched upon the table lay a man in the midst of a pool of his own
+blood!
+
+In the room were gathered a crowd, consisting of three Englishmen, three
+gend'armes, several countrymen, several out-door servants of the convent,
+and half a hundred nuns and novices.
+
+The crowd had parted a little on the side nearest the door by which the
+abbess entered, so as to permit the approach of an old man who seemed to
+be a physician, and who proceeded to unbutton the wounded man's coat and
+vest, and to examine his wound.
+
+"How horrible! Is he quite dead?" inquired the abbess, making her way to
+the side of the village surgeon, for such the old man was.
+
+"No, madam; he has fainted from loss of blood. The wound has stopped
+bleeding now, however, and I hope by the use of proper stimulants to
+recover him sufficiently to permit me to examine and dress his wounds,"
+replied the surgeon, who now drew from his pocket a bottle of spirits of
+hartshorn, poured some out in his hands, and began to bathe the forehead,
+mouth and nostrils of the unconscious man.
+
+The abbess drew nearer, stooped over the body, and gazed attentively into
+the pallid and ghastly face, and then started with a half-suppressed cry
+as she recognized the features of the man who had visited the Infants'
+Asylum on the day previous, and whom the abbess now believed to be John
+Scott, the half brother and the "double" of the Duke of Hereward.
+
+"Will you kindly order some brandy, madam?" courteously requested the
+surgeon.
+
+"Certainly, monsieur," replied the lady superior, who immediately
+dispatched a nun to fetch the required restorative.
+
+As soon as it was brought, a few drops were forced down the throat of the
+fainting man, who soon began to show signs of recovery.
+
+"I should like to put my patient to bed, madam; but the nearest
+farm-house is still too far off for him to be conveyed thither in safety.
+The motion would start his wound to bleeding again, and the hemorrhage
+might prove fatal," said the surgeon suggestively.
+
+The abbess took the hint.
+
+"Of course," she said, "the poor wounded man must remain here. I will
+have a room prepared for him in our Old Men's Home. It will not take ten
+minutes to get the room ready, and carry him to it. Can you wait so long,
+good Doctor?"
+
+"Assuredly, madam," answered the surgeon.
+
+The abbess gave the necessary orders to a couple of young nuns, who
+hurried off to obey them.
+
+In less time than the abbess required, they came back and reported that
+the room was ready for the patient.
+
+"Now, then, Monsieur le Docteur, you may remove your patient," said the
+abbess, courteously.
+
+The surgeon, assisted by two of the countrymen, tenderly lifted the
+wounded man, and laid him on the leaf of the gate, and, preceded by an
+aged nun to show the way, bore him off toward the Old Men's Home.
+
+One of the Englishmen and one of the gend'armes followed him.
+
+The remaining two Englishmen and two gend'armes showed no disposition to
+depart.
+
+The abbess was not two well pleased at this masculine invasion of her
+sanctuary, and so after waiting for some explanation of their presence
+from these strange men, she went up to them and inquired, with suggestive
+politeness:
+
+"May we know, messieurs, how we can further serve you?"
+
+"Your pardon, holy madam, but we are not willing intruders. I am
+Inspector Setter, of Scotland Yard, London, at your service. The wounded
+man is one John Scott, charged with complicity in the murder and robbery
+of the late Sir Lemuel Levison of Lone Castle. I bear a warrant for his
+arrest, countersigned by your chief of police. But for the prisoner's
+dying condition, we should convey him back to England immediately. As it
+is, we must hold him in custody here until the end," said the elder and
+more respectable-looking of the two Englishmen.
+
+"I am very sorry to hear what you have to tell me; but since it seems
+your duty to remain here on guard for the security of your prisoner, I
+think it would be better that you should be nearer to him. The Old Men's
+Home will afford the most proper lodging for you as well as for him. One
+of my nuns will show you the way there, when a room near that of your
+wounded prisoner shall be assigned you," said the abbess, with grave
+courtesy, as she beckoned a withered old nun to her presence, and
+silently directed her to lead the way for the strangers to the lodging
+provided for them.
+
+"John Scott, the half brother of the Duke of Hereward, charged with
+complicity in the murder and robbery at Castle Lone! Well, I am more
+grieved than surprised," murmured the abbess to herself.
+
+Then she sent the younger nuns and novices about their several duties,
+and directed one of the elders to see that the refectory was restored to
+order.
+
+The abbess was about to return to her own room when she was stayed by
+the re-entrance of Inspector Setter, the three gend'armes, and the
+countrymen.
+
+The abbess looked up in a grave inquiry at this second intrusion.
+
+"I beg your pardon, reverend madam; I have come to report to you the
+condition of your wounded guest, and to relieve you of the presence of
+these trespassers," said Inspector Setter, indicating his companions.
+
+"Well, monsieur, what of the wounded man?" inquired the lady.
+
+"The surgeon has dressed his wound, but pronounces it mortal. The man, he
+says, cannot live over a few days, perhaps not over a few hours. The
+surgeon will not leave him to-day."
+
+"I am very sorry to hear that. Will you be so good as to tell me,
+monsieur, how the unfortunate man received his fatal injury? I heard--I
+heard--but I hope it is not true," said the abbess, shrinking from
+repeating the awful rumor that had reached her ears.
+
+"You heard, holy madam, that he had committed suicide?" suggested the
+harder-nerved inspector.
+
+The abbess bowed gravely.
+
+"It is unfortunately quite true," said Inspector Setter. "You see,
+reverend madam, we traced him and his young--woman--I beg your reverend
+ladyship's pardon, holy madam--to Paris. Afterwards, we tracked them to
+L'Ange. We reached L'Ange this morning, and learned that our man had
+walked out toward the convent here. We followed, and came upon him near
+the south gate. I accosted him, and arrested him. He was as cool as a
+cucumber, and quick as lightning! Before we could suspect or prevent the
+action, he whipped a pistol out of his breast-pocket, and presented it at
+his own head. I seized his arm while his finger was on the trigger; but
+was too late to save him. He fired! I only changed the direction of the
+ball, which, instead of blowing off his head, buried itself somewhere in
+his body. He fell, a crowd gathered, we picked him up, took a leaf of the
+gate off its hinges, laid him on it, and brought him in here. That is
+all, your reverend ladyship. The doctor says the wound is mortal; I must
+remain in charge until all is over; but I don't want a body-guard, and if
+your ladyship's politeness will permit me. I will dismiss all these men
+and see them out."
+
+"Do so, if you please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Oh, this is too horrible!"
+said the abbess.
+
+While she was yet speaking, the surgeon also re-entered the refectory.
+
+"How goes it with your patient, Monsieur le Docteur?" inquired the lady.
+
+"He will die, good madam. Velpeau himself could not save him; he knows
+that he will die as well as we do, for he has recovered consciousness,
+and desired that a telegram be sent off immediately to summon the Duke
+of Hereward, whom he seems extremely anxious to see. I have written the
+message; here it is. I cannot leave my patient, or I would take it
+myself; but Monsieur l'Inspecteur, perhaps you can provide me with a
+messenger to carry this to L'Ange," said the surgeon.
+
+"Certainly," agreed Mr. Setter, taking the written message and reading
+it. "But you have directed this to Hereward House, Piccadilly, London?"
+
+"I wrote it at the dictation of my patient."
+
+"He is mistaken. The Duke of Hereward is living in Paris, at Meurice's.
+I will make the correction," said Mr. Setter, drawing from his pocket a
+lead pencil and a blank-book, upon a leaf of which he re-wrote the
+message. He tore out the leaf, and read what he had written:
+
+"To HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, MEURICE'S, PARIS: I am dying. Come
+immediately.
+
+"JOHN SCOTT, Convent of St. Rosalie, L'Ange."
+
+"That will do," said Mr. Setter, inspecting his work. "Now, Smith," he
+added, handing the paper to one of his officers, "hurry with this message
+to the telegraph office at the railway station at L'Ange. See that it is
+sent off promptly, for it is a matter of life and death, as you know.
+Wait for an answer, and when you get it hasten back with it."
+
+"All right, sir," answered the man, taking the paper, and hurrying away.
+
+The other men, whose services were no longer required, followed him out
+to go about their business.
+
+The inspector and the surgeon, seeing the lady abbess about to address
+them, lingered.
+
+"I hope, messieurs, that you will freely call upon us for anything that
+may be needed for the relief of your patient, or for the convenience of
+yourselves," she said, with grave courtesy.
+
+"Thanks, madame, we will do so," replied the surgeon, with a deep bow.
+
+"And, above all, the interests of his immortal soul should be taken care
+of. If he should need spiritual comfort, here is Father Garbennetti, who
+will wait on him," added the abbess, solemnly.
+
+"Your ladyship's holiness is very good. I happen to know the man is a
+Romanist, and if he should ask for a priest, I will let your reverend
+ladyship know," said Mr. Setter.
+
+"Do so. Monsieur l'Inspecteur. And tell him the name of the priest I
+proposed for him--Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy; for I have
+reason to believe that this holy father once knew your patient very
+intimately," added the abbess.
+
+"Stay, now--what was the priest's name again? I never can get the name of
+these foreigners," muttered Mr. Setter, with a puzzled air.
+
+"Father Garbennetti, of San Vito, Italy. But I will write it for you.
+Lend me your pencil and tablets, monsieur, if you please."
+
+Mr. Setter placed his pocket writing material in the hands of the lady,
+with his best bow.
+
+She carefully wrote the name of the Italian priest on a blank leaf and
+returned the pencil and the book to the inspector, who received them with
+another bow.
+
+Doctor Dubourg and Inspector Setter then "bowed" themselves out of the
+lady's presence and returned to the bedside of the wounded man.
+
+The abbess gave a few more directions to the lay sisters who were engaged
+in restoring the room to order, and then she withdrew from the refectory
+and returned to her own apartment, where she had left Salome and the
+little Sister Felecitie.
+
+She found them still waiting there; and both engaged in the little bit of
+knitting or embroidery that they always carried in their pockets to take
+up at odd moments that would otherwise be wasted in idleness, which was
+held to be a grave fault, if not a deadly sin, by the sisterhood, and,
+besides, from the sale of this work they realized a very considerable
+income.
+
+"I waited here, good mother, to learn more of the poor wounded man.
+Sister Felecitie tells me that he is a suicide. I hope that is a
+mistake," said Salome.
+
+"It is too true, _helas_! But, my daughter," said the abbess,
+turning to the young nun, "leave us alone for a few minutes."
+
+The little sister retired obediently, but very unwillingly, for she was
+tormented with unsatisfied curiosity concerning the unfortunate stranger,
+who had committed suicide at their convent gate.
+
+"Salome! do you know, can you conjecture, who the unhappy man is?"
+solemnly inquired the abbess, as soon as she was left alone with her
+young friend.
+
+"I do not know. I--_fear to conjecture_," whispered the young wife;
+growing pale.
+
+"Yet your very fear proves that you _have_ conjectured, and
+conjectured correctly. Yes! the wretched suicide is no other than John
+Scott, the 'double' of the Duke of Hereward."
+
+"Heaven of heavens! What drove him to the fatal deed? But why should
+I ask? Of course, it was remorse! remorse that was slowly killing him!
+too slowly for his suffering and his impatience!" exclaimed the young
+lady, with a shudder.
+
+"Yes, it was remorse, and--_desperation_."
+
+"Desperation!"
+
+"Yes! The English detectives had traced him down to this neighborhood;
+they followed him down here with a warrant for his arrest, countersigned
+by our chief of police. They surprised him near the south gate of the
+convent; but he was too quick for them; and before they could prevent
+him, driven to desperation, he caught a pistol from his pocket and shot
+himself through the body, inflicting a mortal wound. They brought him
+into the convent. I have had him placed in a comfortable room in the Old
+Men's Home, where he is attended by Doctor Dubourg, of L'Ange, who
+Providentially happened to be passing the convent at the time of the
+occurrence."
+
+Salome covered her face with her hands, and sank back in her chair, with
+a groan.
+
+A few moments elapsed, and then Salome, still vailing her face, murmured
+a question:
+
+"How long may the dying man last? Surely--surely--" Her voice faltered,
+and broke down with a sob.
+
+"He _can_ not last more than a very few days. He _may_ not last
+more than a few hours," said the abbess, in a low tone.
+
+"Surely--surely, then," resumed Salome, in a broken voice, "he will make
+a confession before he dies. He will vindicate his brother, and so save
+his own soul."
+
+"I think that he will do so, Sister Salome. Calm yourself. He has caused
+a telegram to be sent to the Duke of Hereward, calling him here."
+
+Salome started and trembled violently. She could scarcely gasp forth the
+words of her broken exclamation:
+
+"The Duke of Hereward! Called! Here!"
+
+"Yes, my daughter. So you perceive that your proposed journey to England
+is forestalled."
+
+"My husband coming here! Oh! how soon will he come? He cannot be here in
+less than twenty-four hours, can he?" eagerly demanded Salome.
+
+"He may be here in less than six hours. The Duke of Hereward does not
+have to come from London; he is not there, but in Paris; so you perceive,
+also, that if you had gone to England, as you proposed to do, you would
+have missed seeing him there," added the lady, smiling.
+
+"My husband in Paris--so near. My husband to be here this evening--so
+soon. Oh, this is too much, too much happiness!" exclaimed the young
+wife, bursting into tears of joy.
+
+"Then you have no dread of meeting him?" suggested the elder lady.
+
+"'Dread of meeting him?' Dread of meeting my own dear husband? Ah, no,
+no, no! No dread, but an infinite longing to meet him. Oh! I know and
+feel how I have wronged him. How deeply and bitterly I have wronged him.
+But I know, also, how utterly he will pardon me. Yes, I know that, as
+surely as I know that my Heavenly Lord pardons us all of our repented
+sins!" fervently exclaimed Salome.
+
+"Heaven grant that you may be happy, my child'" said the lady, earnestly.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and an aged nun, one of the attendants in
+the Old Men's Home, entered the room.
+
+"Well, Mere Pauline, what is it?" calmly inquired the abbess.
+
+"Holy mother, I have come from Monsieur le Docteur to say that the
+messenger has come back from L'Ange, and brought an answer to the
+telegram. Monsieur le Duc d' Hereward will be here by the midday
+express from Paris, which reaches L'Ange at five o'clock this afternoon,"
+answered Mere Pauline.
+
+"Thanks for your news. Sit down and breathe after climbing all these
+stairs. And now tell me, how is the wounded man?" inquired the abbess,
+as the old nun sank wearily into the nearest chair.
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother, he is sinking fast. The doctor thinks he will
+not outlive the night; and meanwhile he is anxious, so anxious, for the
+arrival of Monsieur le Duc! He asks from time to time if the duke has
+come, or is coming; if we have heard from him, and so on," sighed the old
+nun.
+
+"But have you not soothed him by communicating the message received from
+the duke, that his grace will be here at five o'clock?"
+
+"No, holy mother! for he was sleeping under the influence of opium, which
+the good surgeon had felt obliged to administer in order to quiet him
+just before the message came. If he wakes and inquires about the duke
+again, we will give him the message."
+
+"Quite right. Has the wretched man seen a priest, or asked to see one?"
+
+"No, mother! but I was not unmindful of his immortal weal. I asked him if
+he would see Pere Garbennetti. He brightened up at the name, and inquired
+if le pere was here. I told him yes, and at his service, waiting to
+attend him, indeed. But then he gloomed again, and said no; he would see
+no one until he had seen the Duke of Hereward. He would rest and save his
+strength for his interview with the Duke of Hereward. I will return to my
+charge now, if my good mother will permit me," said the old nun, rising
+from her chair.
+
+"Go, then, Mere Pauline, if you are sufficiently rested. Keep me advised
+of the state of your patient, but do not tax your aged limbs to climb
+these stairs again. Send one of the younger nuns, and give yourself some
+rest," said the abbess, kindly.
+
+"_Helas!_ holy mother, I shall have time enough to rest in the
+grave, whither I am fast tending," sighed the old nun, as she withdrew
+from the room.
+
+"Oh, mother!" joyfully exclaimed Salome, as soon as they were left alone,
+"he comes by the midday express! It is midday now! The train has already
+left Paris! He is speeding toward us, even now, as fast as steam can
+bring him. I can almost see and hear and _feel_ him coming!"
+
+"Calm your transports, dear daughter; think of the dying sinner so near
+us, even now," gravely replied the elder lady.
+
+"I can think of nothing but my living husband," exclaimed the young wife.
+
+"Oh, these young hearts! these young hearts! 'From all inordinate and
+sinful affections, good Lord, deliver us!'" prayed the abbess.
+
+She had scarcely spoken, when the door opened and Sister Francoise
+entered the room.
+
+"I came with a message from the portress, good mother. She says that a
+young woman has come from L'Ange, who claims to be the wife of the
+wounded man, and insists upon being admitted to see him. The portress
+does not know what to do, and has sent me to you for instructions," said
+Sister Francoise.
+
+"The wounded man is sleeping and must not be awakened. Tell the portress
+to keep the young woman in the parlor until she can be permitted to see
+the patient, then do you go to the Old Men's Home, inquire for Monsieur
+le Doctor Dubourg, and announce to him the arrival of this woman, and let
+him use his medical discretion about admitting her. Go."
+
+"Yes, holy mother," said Sister Francoise, retreating.
+
+"You have not had a moment's peace since this unhappy man has been in the
+house," said Salome, compassionately.
+
+"No," smiled the lady. "Of course not, but it cannot be helped. We must
+bear one another's burdens."
+
+The loud ringing of the dinner-bell arrested the conversation.
+
+"Come, we will go down," said the abbess, rising.
+
+They descended to the refectory.
+
+The long hall, that had been the scene of so much horror and confusion in
+the morning, was now restored to its normal condition.
+
+The plain, frugal, midday meal of the abbess and the elder nuns was
+arranged with pure cleanliness upon the table, where, but a few hours
+before, the body of the wounded man had lain. But the awful event of the
+morning had taken a deep effect upon the quiet and sensitive sisterhood.
+They sat down at the table, but scarcely touched the food.
+
+When the form of dining--for it was little more than a form that day--was
+over, the abbess and her nuns arose, and separated about their several
+vocations.
+
+Later on, the abbess sent a message to the Old Men's Home, inquiring
+after the wounded man.
+
+She received an answer to the effect that the patient had waked up, and
+had been told of the telegram from the Duke of Hereward, and the expected
+arrival of his grace at five o'clock.
+
+The news had satisfied the suffering man, who had been calmer ever since
+its reception. He had also been told of the arrival of his wife, but he
+had declined to see her, or _any_ one, until he should have seen the
+Duke of Hereward. He was saving up all his little strength for his
+interview with the duke.
+
+As the hours of the afternoon crept slowly away, the impatience of the
+young wife, Salome, arose to fever heat. She could not rest in any one
+room, but roamed about the convent, and through all its departments and
+offices, until, at length, she was met in the main corridor by the
+abbess, who gravely took her hand, drew it within her arm, and led her
+along, saying:
+
+"Come into my parlor, child. The Duke of Hereward has arrived."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+THE END OF A LOST LIFE.
+
+
+The Duke of Hereward knew nothing of his wife's presence in the Convent
+of St. Rosalie.
+
+On his arrival, soon after five o'clock, he was met by the portress, who
+ushered him into the receiving parlor and sent to warn the abbess of his
+presence.
+
+The abbess dispatched a message to the surgeon in attendance upon John
+Scott, and then sought out the young duchess to inform her of her
+husband's arrival.
+
+Meantime Dr. Dubourg hurried down to the receiving-parlor to see the
+Duke of Hereward. They were strangers to each other, so the portress
+introduced them.
+
+"I hope your patient is better, Monsieur le Docteur," said the duke, when
+the first salutations were over.
+
+"No, I regret to say. There is, indeed, no hope. The poor man has been
+sinking since morning. He is most anxious to see your grace, before he
+dies, and that very anxiety, I think, has kept him up," gravely replied
+the physician.
+
+"I am sorry to hear that. Is he in condition to see me now? Will not the
+interview tend to excite him and shorten his life?" anxiously inquired
+the duke.
+
+"It may do so; but, on the other hand, his failure to see you might prove
+fatal to him sooner than his wound would. The fact is, sir, the man is
+doomed; his hours are numbered, and he knows it. He is eager to see you;
+he seems to have something weighing upon his mind, which he wishes to
+confide to you. He has been saving his little strength for an interview
+with you. He has refused to speak to any one, lest he should waste his
+forces and be too weak to talk to you."
+
+"I will go to him, then, at once," said the duke.
+
+"Do so, your grace, and I will attend you," said the doctor with a bow.
+
+The duke arose and followed the doctor through the long corridors and
+narrow passages leading from the Nunnery to the Old Men's Home.
+
+On their way thither, the duke inquired how the patient had received that
+fatal wound, of which his grace had only heard a vague report from scraps
+of conversation among the officials at the L'Ange Railway Depot.
+
+The doctor gave him a brief account of the arrest and the suicide.
+
+The duke made no comment, but fell into deep, sorrowful thought, until
+they reached the door of the room in which John Scott lay mortally
+wounded.
+
+The doctor opened the door and passed in with the duke.
+
+It was a good-sized, square room, in which had once been placed four cots
+to accommodate four old men. Now, however, all the cots had been removed
+except the one on which the wounded man lay, and that had been drawn into
+the middle of the chamber, so as to give the patient a free circulation
+of fresh air, and to allow the approach of surgeon and attendants on
+every side. The walls were white-washed, the floor sanded, the windows
+shaded with blue paper hangings, and the cot-bed covered with a clean,
+blue-checked spread. Four cane chairs and a small deal table completed
+the furniture.
+
+Everything was plain, clean and comfortable.
+
+The doctor, with a deprecating gesture, signed to the duke to wait a
+moment, and went up to the side of the bed, and finding his patient
+awake, whispered:
+
+"Monsieur, the friend you expected has arrived."
+
+"You mean--the Duke of Hereward?" faintly inquired Scott.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Give me then--some cordial--to keep up my strength--for fifteen minutes
+longer," sighed the dying man at intervals.
+
+The doctor signed to Sister Francoise, who sat by the bedside, to go and
+bring what was required.
+
+The old nun went to the deal table and brought a small bottle of cognac
+brandy and a slender wine glass.
+
+The doctor filled the glass, lifted the head of the patient, and placed
+the stimulant to his lips.
+
+Scott swallowed the brandy, drew a deep breath as he sank back upon the
+pillow and said:
+
+"Now, bring the duke to my bed side, and let everyone go and leave us
+together."
+
+The doctor signed for the duke to approach, and silently presented him to
+the patient.
+
+Then he beckoned Sister Francoise to follow him, and they left the room,
+closing the door behind them.
+
+"I am sorry to see you suffering, my brother," said the duke, kindly, as
+he bent over the dying man.
+
+"Ah! you call me your brother! You acknowledge me then?" said Scott, half
+in earnest, half in mockery.
+
+"Most certainly I do acknowledge you, and most sincerely do I deplore
+your misfortunes," answered the duke.
+
+"Yet I have been a great sinner. I feel that now, as I lie upon my
+death-bed," muttered Scott, in a low tone.
+
+"I look upon you as one 'more sinned against than sinning,'" said the
+duke seriously.
+
+"Yes, that is true also," murmured the dying man.
+
+"But let us not dwell upon that. The past is dead. Let it be buried."
+
+"Aye, with all my heart."
+
+"You wished to see me."
+
+"Yes, I did."
+
+"To make some communication to me. Is it a very important one?"
+
+"It is so important that I have risked my soul to make it to you."
+
+"But how can that be?"
+
+"Why, in this way. I have but little strength, I might have used that
+strength in making my confession to Father Garbennetti, and received
+absolution at his hands; but I was afraid of exhausting myself so that
+I should not be able to tell you what I have to communicate."
+
+"I trust and believe that you have more strength than you suppose. Your
+eyes look bright and strong."
+
+"That is the effect of the brandy. I never tasted better. Ah! they know
+what good liquor is--these holy sisters--no offence to them, bless them;
+their care has helped me; but I am going fast, for all that."
+
+"You are at ease--you feel no pain?"
+
+"No; but that is because mortification has set in. I feel no pain: I am
+at ease, only sinking, sinking, sinking fast. Will you pour out a little
+glass of brandy and give it to me? You will find the bottle and the
+wine-glass on the table," said the patient, who was visibly growing
+feebler.
+
+The duke went and brought the stimulant, and administered it to the dying
+man.
+
+"Ah! that revives me! How long have you known that I was your brother?"
+Scott inquired, as soon as the duke had replaced the glass and returned
+to the bedside.
+
+"Only since our honored father's death. I should at once have claimed you
+and carried out certain instructions he had left me for your benefit, in
+the letter in which he revealed our relationship--if--if--if--"
+
+The duke, with more delicacy than moral courage, hesitated, and finally
+left his sentence incomplete.
+
+"If I had not dishonored my family by committing a crime, and flying the
+country!" said John Scott, finishing the sentence for the first speaker.
+
+"I did not say so," exclaimed the duke, flushing.
+
+"But it was the truth nevertheless. And now before I begin my confession,
+will you please to tell me the nature of the revelation and of the
+instructions that my father left to you concerning me?"
+
+"Certainly. He told me the story of his first fatal marriage; of the
+divorce sought and granted under lying circumstantial evidence; of your
+birth some few months later--out of wedlock--although you were the son of
+his lawful marriage. He told me how impossible it was ever to restore you
+to your lawful rights, and he charged me to regard you as a dear brother,
+and share with you all the benefits of the estate, the whole of which
+would eventually have been yours had not your father's own rash act
+deprived you of the succession, and forever put it out of our power to
+restore you to it. I accepted the trust, and should have discharged it
+had you not left the country."
+
+"Well, I suppose the old man did as well as he could under the
+circumstances. He too was to be pitied. But now tell me, did _you_
+help to hark the bloodhounds of the law on my track?"
+
+"No. From the time I received a hint from that wretched man, Potts, the
+valet, implicating yourself, I refrained from all action in your
+pursuit."
+
+"I thought so--I thought so. You wouldn't like to help hang your own
+brother, even if he had deserved it; but he did not quite deserve it; and
+it was to explain that, as well as some other things, that I brought you
+here. You know so much already, however, so much more than I suspected
+you knew, that I shall not have a great deal to tell you; but--my
+strength is going fast again. I shall have to be quick. Give me another
+glass of brandy."
+
+The duke complied with the man's request, and then replaced the glass
+again and returned to the bedside.
+
+"I suppose I should not require that stimulant so often to keep up my
+dying frame, if I had not been so hard a drinker in late years. However,
+it is absolutely necessary to me now, if I am to go on. Come close; I
+cannot raise my voice any longer," whispered the fast-failing man.
+
+The duke drew his chair as closely as possible to the side of the cot,
+took the wasted hand of his poor brother, and bowed his head to hear the
+sorrowful story.
+
+In a weak, low voice, with many pauses, John Scott told the story of
+his life, from his own point of view, dwelling much on his mother's
+undeserved sorrows and early death.
+
+He told of his own secluded life and education, and of his ignorance of
+his father's name until after his mother's decease.
+
+He confessed the rage and hatred that filled his bosom on first learning
+that poor mother's wrongs, greater even than his own.
+
+He spoke of the natural mistake made by the country people at Lone, who
+misled by his perfect likeness to his brother, had received him and
+honored him as Marquis of Arondelle.
+
+He admitted that their error flattered his self-love, and believing
+that he had the best right to the title, he allowed them to deceive
+themselves, and to address him and speak of him as Lord Arondelle, the
+heir.
+
+He related the incident of his first accidental meeting with Rose
+Cameron, who, like all the other tenantry, mistook him for the young
+marquis, and so had her head turned by his attentions, and followed him
+to London, where he secretly married her.
+
+This brought him to the time when the extravagance of his companion,
+added to his own expensive vices, brought him deeply into debt. He knew
+that his father had placed a large amount of money in the hands of Sir
+Lemuel Levison to be invested for his (John Scott's) benefit. He applied
+for a part of this money to pay his debts, but was refused by the
+trustee. Whereupon a quarrel ensued, which resulted in Sir Lemuel
+Levison's resolution to take the money down to Lone Castle and restore
+it to the original donor, that the latter might dispose of it at his own
+discretion.
+
+This move maddened the penniless spendthrift. It drove him to
+desperation. He resolved to get possession of his money by foul means
+since he could not do so by fair ones; by violence, if not by peace.
+Circumstances had brought him to acquaintance with a pair of desperate
+thieves and burglars.
+
+He sought them out, tempted them by the prospect of great booty for
+themselves, and arranged with them the whole plan of the robbery of Lone,
+stipulating that there should be no bloodshed at all; but that if the
+burglars were discovered before completing the robbery, they should seek
+rather to make their escape than to secure their booty.
+
+But who can unchain a devil and say to him, "Thus far, no farther shalt
+thou go?" The instigator of the crime had no power over his instruments;
+on the contrary, they had power over him from the moment he called in
+their aid and became their confederate.
+
+John Scott continued his confession by relating that he took the men down
+to Lone, disguised as countrymen, and led them to the castle grounds,
+where, lost in the great crowd that came to see the preparations for the
+wedding festivities, their presence as strangers was unnoticed; that at
+night he drugged the drink of the valet, stole the pass-key from his
+pocket, and through the secret passage under Malcolm's Tower he admitted
+the thieves into the castle, and by means of the valet's key passed them
+into Sir Lemuel Levison's bedroom.
+
+He shuddered, failed, and seemed about to faint, as he recalled the
+horrible tragedy enacted in the room that night.
+
+The duke gave him another small glass of brandy before he could revive
+and continue.
+
+"Heaven knows, though under strong temptation, not to say under
+imperative necessity, I employed thieves and burglars, I was neither
+a robber nor a murderer in intention. I wanted to get my own money,
+withheld from me against my expressed desire--that was all. I do not say
+this to extenuate my crime, but to let you know the exact truth. I cannot
+dwell upon this part of the dreadful tale. You know already that the
+thieves murdered Sir Lemuel Levison in his chamber. It seems that he
+had not gone to bed, but had fallen asleep in his chair. He woke and
+discovered them. He was instantly about to give the alarm, when he was
+knocked senseless by Smith and killed by Murdockson. From the moment that
+I heard the old man was dead, although I had not intended the awful
+crime, I knew that I had actually occasioned it, and that the curse of
+Cain was upon my head! I have not had a happy moment since. I fled the
+country, and stayed abroad until I heard that my wretched companion,
+Rose, was in trouble. Then I returned in disguise to see what was to
+become of her, resolved to give myself up to justice, if it should be
+necessary to vindicate her. But I found, by cautious inquiry, that she
+had been admitted as crown's evidence on the trial of the valet Potts,
+who was discharged from custody, on a verdict of 'Not Proven,' but that
+she was in prison again, on the charge of perjury, for having sworn--what
+she truly believed, by the way, poor wench--that the confederate of the
+thieves who murdered Sir Lemuel Levison was no other than the young
+Marquis of Arondelle. You were there, sir, and immediately proved an
+alibi?"
+
+"Yes," said the duke.
+
+"Rose was thereupon committed for perjury. I found her in prison on that
+charge when I returned to Scotland. I did not see her then. I was afraid
+to show myself, especially as I knew the girl felt very bitterly toward
+me, believing that I had willfully betrayed her into danger, when in
+point of fact it was her own dishonesty that led to her arrest. Her
+vanity tempted her to purloin and secrete a portion of the most valuable
+jewels from the booty that had accidentally in the confusion of the
+thieves' flight fallen into my hands along with the money that was my
+own. I had intended, secretly to return the jewels upon the first
+opportunity, but the unfortunate woman secreted them, and denied all
+knowledge of them. After my flight she was so mad as to wear the watch in
+public, and to take it to a West End jeweller for repairs. Of course that
+jeweller, like others, had a full description of the watch, recognized
+the stolen property, and caused the arrest of the holder."
+
+"We heard all that on the trial. Do not exhaust yourself by repeating
+anything that has already come to our knowledge," said the duke.
+
+"I refer to this only to explain the bitterness of the girl's feelings
+toward me as the reason why I was obliged to keep concealed."
+
+"But if the girl had been favorable toward you, would not it have been
+equally dangerous for you to have shown yourself?"
+
+"Oh! no; my disguise was too complete. Besides, if I had not been
+disguised--you see in that neighborhood I had never been known as myself,
+but had always been mistaken for you--and the people were not undeceived
+up to that time. Give me a little more brandy. Ah! this spurring up a
+jaded horse! You see it does not get into my head. It only keeps up my
+sinking strength," added the man, after the duke had complied with his
+request.
+
+"I remained in the neighborhood to see the result of Rose Cameron's trial
+for perjury. It was near the end of the term when she was arraigned at
+Banff. She would certainly have been convicted, for it was in evidence
+that she had sworn that the Marquis of Arondelle had been the confederate
+of the thieves and murderers, and had himself received and delivered to
+her the stolen booty; and her testimony was rebutted on the spot, not
+only by the high character and standing of the marquis, but by witnesses
+who proved an alibi for him. She would certainly have been convicted, I
+say, had not an unexpected witness appeared in her behalf. John Potts,
+the valet, who had been discharged from custody, came upon the stand,
+took the oath, and testified to the existence of a perfect counterpart of
+the Marquis of Arondelle, in the person of one John Scott, the companion
+of the accused woman, who had always foolishly believed him to be the
+young marquis himself. This testimony not only vindicated the accused
+woman from the charge of perjury, but opened her eyes to the facts of the
+case--namely, that I had never abandoned her to suffer in my stead while
+I went off to marry another woman, as she had supposed--that my only sin
+against her was in having allowed her to deceive herself in believing me
+to be Lord Arondelle."
+
+The man gasped as he concluded the last sentence, and the duke said:
+
+"You had better rest now. A little rest will do more good than any
+stimulant."
+
+"You think so? Nay, rest would be death for me now. I must go on while my
+nerves are strung up; once they relax, I die."
+
+"Very well; I am listening attentively."
+
+"As soon as Rose was discharged from custody I sought her out, and there
+was a mutual explanation and reconciliation. But the testimony of John
+Potts, given on the trial of Rose Cameron, had placed my life in great
+jeopardy: so we secretly left the country. We went away separately for
+our greater security. I went first. Rose came on a week later. We met by
+appointment at L'Ange. In the obscurity of that village we hoped for
+safety; but I was tormented by remorse; for the murder of Sir Lemuel
+Levison lay heavily on my soul. There, my wife, Rose, gave birth to a
+little girl, whom we secretly placed in the rotary basket at the door of
+the Infants' Asylum attached to this convent. The good nuns received it,
+and cared for it. They called it _Marie Perdue_, 'Lost Mary.' After
+Rose's recovery, we went away, because it was not safe for us to remain
+so near home with such sharpers as English detectives and French police
+on our track. We took refuge in Italy, in the Sanctuary of the Holy See.
+We stayed there several months, when, thinking that all pursuit had been
+abandoned, and longing to see our child, we came on a flying visit to
+L'Ange. But the police were on the watch for us. I was arrested, as you
+have heard, on the day after my arrival. Quick work; but you see the
+chief of police here telegraphed the police in London, and brought the
+detectives hither within twenty-four hours. You know the rest. I am dying
+here by my own hand. It was a mad, rash, impulsive act, for which I
+am deeply sorry; but--I am dying in expiation of _my_ share in the
+tragedy at Lone Castle."
+
+The young duke took the emaciated hand of the failing man and pressed it
+in silence; he was too deeply moved to trust himself to speak.
+
+"I have but this to say now. I leave a wife and helpless child. They are
+penniless and friendless. You will not let them starve," murmured the
+man.
+
+"Oh, no, no, I will care for them, believe me, as long as we all shall
+live," said the duke, earnestly.
+
+"That is all. Bid me good-by now. And when you go out ask good Sister
+Francoise to send the priest," said John Scott, holding out his white,
+cold hand.
+
+"I will. Good-bye. May our merciful Father in heaven bless and save you,
+my poor brother," murmured the duke, pressing that pale hand, laying it
+tenderly on the coverlet, and gliding from the room of death.
+
+Ten minutes later, the good Father Garbennetti was closeted with his
+penitent, administering religious consolation.
+
+When the last sacred offices were all performed, the priest retired, and
+the wife and child of the dying man were admitted to his presence, with
+permission to remain with him to the end.
+
+In the meantime, the Duke of Hereward, conducted by Doctor Dubourg,
+traversed the long passages leading from the Old Men's Home to the
+convent.
+
+As they went on, the duke gave the doctor instructions to supply the
+patient with everything that he should require during the last few hours
+of his life; and after death to take direction of the funeral, and charge
+all expenses to himself (the duke), adding:
+
+"I shall, of course, remain at L'Ange until all is over."
+
+"It will not be long, monseigneur. The poor man has been kept up by
+mental excitement and by strong stimulants all day long; there comes a
+fatal reaction soon, from which nothing can raise him. He will not
+outlive the day."
+
+"I am very sorry for him," murmured the duke.
+
+"He was, perhaps, a distant relative of your grace. There is a slight
+family likeness," suggested the doctor.
+
+"There is a very remarkable family likeness, and he is a very near
+relative," answered the duke, adding; "I hope you will kindly follow the
+instructions I have given you in regard to him."
+
+"I will faithfully follow them out, monseigneur," said the doctor, with
+a bow.
+
+At the entrance to the convent proper they were met by an elderly nun,
+who brought the lady superior's compliments and begged leave to announce
+that refreshments were laid in the receiving-parlor, if the Duke of
+Hereward and Doctor Dubourg would do the house the honor to partake of
+them.
+
+The young duke was tired and hungry from his long journey and longer
+fast, and gratefully accepted the sister's courteous invitation in his
+own and the doctor's name.
+
+The nun led the way to the parlor, where a table was set out, not merely
+with slight refreshments, but with the first course of a dainty dinner,
+which the forethought of the abbess had caused to be prepared for her
+noble guest.
+
+The duke and the doctor sat down to the table, and were attentively
+waited on by two of the elder sisterhood.
+
+Notwithstanding the good appetite of the guests and the delicacy of the
+viands set before them, the meal passed in gravity and in almost total
+silence, for the thoughts of the two companions were with the dying
+man whom they had left in the Old Men's Home.
+
+When they had finished dining, and had arisen from the table, a message
+was delivered by one of the old nuns who had waited upon them, to the
+effect that the lady superior desired to see the duke in the portress'
+room for a few minutes, before his departure.
+
+The duke immediately signified his readiness to wait on the lady,
+and followed his conductress to the little room behind the wicket
+appropriated to the portress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+HUSBAND AND WIFE.
+
+
+Two hours before this, the lady superior had conducted the young duchess
+to the private apartment of the abbess, to await the issue of events.
+
+Salome, pale, and trembling with excitement, sank into the nearest chair.
+
+"You do not fear to meet the duke, my child?" inquired the abbess,
+uneasily, as she also dropped into her seat.
+
+"Fear to meet my own magnanimous husband? Oh, no, no! I do not fear to
+meet him; but I long to meet him with an infinite longing!" fervently
+exclaimed Salome.
+
+"I am very glad to hear you say so. And you are sure of his prompt and
+full forgiveness?" said the abbess, softly.
+
+"'Sure of his forgiveness!'" echoed Salome, with a holy and happy smile.
+"Yes, as sure of his forgiveness as I am of the Lord's pardon!"
+
+"And yet when he hears the truth and understands all, he will know that
+he has nothing to forgive. And he should know and understand everything
+before he sees you. For this reason, as well as for several others, I
+have brought you here, and I advise you to seclude yourself yet for a few
+hours. I do not wish you to see the duke, or even to advise him of your
+presence in the house, until he has seen the dying man and heard the
+confession of the truth from his lips. That confession will prepare
+your husband to receive and understand you, better than any explanation
+you could possibly make would do. It will also save you from the distress
+of having to make a long explanation. Do you understand me, my child?"
+
+"Yes, dear mother, I understand, and thank you for your wise counsels."
+
+"I have also given directions to Sister Dominica that after he shall have
+concluded his interview with Mr. Scott, and partaken of dinner, which
+will be prepared for him in the receiving parlor, he shall be requested
+to meet me in the portress' room, where I propose to break to him the
+intelligence of your presence in the house."
+
+"Thanks, dear mother! infinite, eternal thanks for all your great
+goodness to me," fervently exclaimed Salome.
+
+"You are much too extravagant in your expressions of gratitude, my
+daughter! You exaggerate like a school-girl!" smiled the abbess.
+
+"Oh! I will prove by my acts that I do not exaggerate my feelings at
+least!" persisted Salome.
+
+And then, with girlish enthusiasm, she began to tell the lady-superior
+all she intended to do for the benefit of the convent charities, and
+especially for the "Infants' Asylum."
+
+The vesper-bell summoned them to chapel, where the evening service
+occupied them for an hour.
+
+They then went to the refectory, and joined the sisterhood at tea.
+
+In coming from the refectory, they were met in the corridor by old Sister
+Dominica, who stopped the abbess, respectfully, and said:
+
+"I come, holy mother, to report to you that I have followed all your
+instructions. Monseigneur le Duc and Monsieur le Docteur have well dined.
+Monsieur le Docteur has returned to his patient, Monseigneur le Duc has
+gone to the wicket-room to await madame, our holy mother."
+
+"_Bien!_" said the abbess. "I will attend his grace. Go, dear
+daughter, and await my return in my parlor. Sister Dominica, lead the
+way and announce me."
+
+Salome, in obedience to the abbess' orders, went back to the
+lady-superior's private parlor to await, with palpitating heart the
+issue of the lady's interview with the duke.
+
+Sister Dominica deferentially led the lady abbess to the wicket room,
+opened the door, and said:
+
+"The lady-superior of the convent to see Monseigneur, the Duke," then
+closed the door after the abbess, and retired.
+
+As Mother Genevieve entered the room, she saw standing there a tall,
+thin, distinguished-looking young man, with a pale complexion, blonde
+hair and beard, and blue eyes. His face bore traces of deep suffering
+bravely endured. The gentle abbess sympathized with him from the depths
+of her kind heart, and for the first time felt glad that he would regain
+his wife, although by his doing so the convent would lose her fortune.
+
+"Monseigneur, the Duke, of Hereward?" she said graciously, advancing into
+the room.
+
+"Yes, madam. I have the honor of saluting the Lady Abbess of St.
+Rosalie?" returned the duke, with a bow.
+
+"A poor nun, monseigneur; who, as the unworthy head of the house, begs
+leave to welcome you here," humbly returned the lady, bending her head.
+
+"Thanks, madam."
+
+"It is a sad event which has brought you under our roof, monseigneur."
+
+"A very sad one, madam."
+
+"And yet, for your sake, a very fortunate one."
+
+"May I be permitted to ask you, madam, in what way this misfortune can be
+fortunate?"
+
+"I had supposed that you already knew that, monseigneur."
+
+"Perhaps I do. I am not sure. I do not clearly comprehend, madam. Will
+madam deign to make her meaning plainer?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur, and you will pardon me if I enter too abruptly upon
+a subject at once painful and delicate."
+
+The abbess paused, and the duke inclined his head in the attitude of an
+attentive listener.
+
+"The young Duchess of Hereward, monseigneur?" said the abbess, in a low
+voice.
+
+The duke started very slightly, but his pale face flushed crimson.
+
+"Pardon, monseigneur. I am the more deeply interested in the young lady,
+for that she passed her infancy, childhood and youth--being nearly the
+whole of her short life, indeed, under this roof--where I stood in the
+position of a mother to her orphanage."
+
+"I knew, madam, that the motherless heiress was educated here," replied
+the duke, by way of saying something.
+
+"You will, therefore, understand the interest I take in Madame la
+Duchesse, and forgive my question when I ask: Have you heard from her
+grace since she left her home?"
+
+"You knew that she had left her home, then?" exclaimed the duke, in
+painful astonishment.
+
+The abbess bowed assent.
+
+"I hoped and believed that no one knew of her flight except the members
+of our own household, and the single confidential agent I employed to
+find her, and on whose discretion I could implicitly rely," said the
+duke, in a tone of extreme mortification and sorrow.
+
+"Be tranquil, monseigneur, no one does know of it out of the circle of
+her own devoted friends, who can never misinterpret it."
+
+"You know something of the duchess' movements, then? You know, perhaps,
+the cause of her flight--the place of her residence? You know--ah, madam,
+tell me _what_ you know, I beseech you!" implored the duke.
+
+"I know the cause of her flight, and justify her action even though she
+acted under a false impression. I know the place of her residence, and
+will tell it to you after you shall have answered one or two questions
+that I shall put to you. First then, monseigneur, when did you last hear
+of the duchess?"
+
+"Some few weeks after her flight, I received the first and last news
+I have ever had of my lost bride. It came in a short and cautiously
+written note from herself. This note was without date or address. It was
+apparently written in kind consideration for me, but it contained no word
+of affection. It was signed by her maiden name and post-marked Rome."
+
+The abbess smiled as she remembered that letter which had been written by
+Salome to put her husband out of suspense, and which had been sent by the
+mother superior, through a confidential agent who happened to be going
+there, to be mailed from Rome, to put the Duke of Hereward entirely off
+the track of his lost wife.
+
+"I have the note in my pocketbook. You may read it, madam, if you
+please," continued the duke, as he opened his portmonnaie and handed her
+a tiny, folded paper.
+
+The abbess took it and read as follows:
+
+"DUKE OF HEREWARD: I have just arisen from a bed of illness which
+has lasted ever since my flight, and prevented me from writing to you up
+to this time.
+
+"I write now only to relieve any anxiety that you may feel on account of
+one in whom you took too much interest; for I would not have you suffer
+needless pain.
+
+"You know the reason of my flight; or if you do not, my maiden name, at
+the foot of this note, will tell you how surely I had learned that it was
+my bounden duty to leave you instantly.
+
+"I left you without malice, trying to put the best construction on your
+motives and actions, if any such were possible; I left you with sorrow,
+praying the Lord to forgive and save you.
+
+"I dare not write to you as I feel toward you, for that would be a sin.
+
+"I have entered a religious house, where, by prayer and labor, I may live
+down all "inordinate and sinful affections," and where I shall henceforth
+be dead to the world and to you.
+
+"This, then, is the very last you will hear of her who was once known as
+SALOME LEVISON."
+
+"She says you knew the cause of her flight. _Did_ you know it,
+monseigneur?" inquired the abbess, when she had finished reading the
+note, and had returned it to the owner.
+
+"I did not even suspect it, at first, madam. At the trial of John Scott,
+on the charge of murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, to which I was summoned as
+a witness for the crown, some facts were developed that first awoke my
+suspicions as to the cause of my wife's flight. These suspicions were
+further strengthened by the tone of her letter, received three weeks
+afterwards, and they were absolutely confirmed by a revelation I have
+received this day."
+
+"From John Scott?"
+
+"Yes, madam."
+
+"You know the cause of your bride's flight, monseigneur. Do you blame her
+for it?"
+
+"Under such circumstances, I honor her for it. She nearly broke her own
+heart and mine; but, as a pure woman, believing as she was forced to
+believe, she could do no less. Now, madam, I have answered all your
+questions. Now relieve my anxiety--tell me where she is."
+
+"First tell me where you have been seeking her?" inquired the abbess,
+with a singular smile.
+
+"In Italy, of course! Her letter was post-marked Rome, though without any
+other address," said the duke, lightly lifting his eyebrows.
+
+"That letter was written in this house, and sent to Rome to be mailed
+thence, in order to put you off the true track of the duchess,
+monseigneur," said the abbess, with a smile.
+
+"What do you tell me, madam!" exclaimed the duke, in surprise.
+
+"Madame la Duchesse is under this roof, to which she fled for refuge
+direct from London!"
+
+"Can this be possible, madam?"
+
+"It is true! To whom, indeed, could the child come, in her extremity, but
+to me, the mother of her motherless youth?"
+
+"Oh, madam, you fill my heart with joy and gratitude! My wife under this
+roof?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur."
+
+"And safe and well?"
+
+"Safe and well."
+
+"Thank Heaven! Can I see her at once? Does she know I am here? Does she
+know--"
+
+"She knows everything, monseigneur, that you would have her know,
+although she has not heard the confession of John Scott, which has just
+been made to you. She knows everything by means of the agencies I set to
+work to investigate the truth. And she knows that you will forgive her,
+through the intuitions of her own spirit."
+
+"When can I see her, madam? Oh, when?" exclaimed the young duke, rising
+impatiently.
+
+"This moment, if you please. She is expecting you. Follow me,
+monseigneur," said the abbess, rising and leading the way through the
+broad hall that stretched between the wicket room and the lady-superior's
+parlor.
+
+When they reached the place, the abbess said:
+
+"Enter, monseigneur. You will find the duchess alone, within."
+
+And she opened the door and admitted him, then closed it behind him, and
+paced slowly away from the spot.
+
+As the duke advanced into the room, so silently that his footsteps were
+unheard, he saw his wife sitting within the recess of the solitary
+window. She wore a simple dress of black serge, with a white collar and
+white cuffs, such as she had worn ever since her entrance into the
+convent. Her head was turned toward the window and bowed upon her hand in
+an attitude of meditation. She neither saw nor heard the soft approach of
+the duke. He stood gazing on her with infinite pity, for a moment, and
+then laying his hand gently on her shoulder, whispered:
+
+"Salome!"
+
+She started up with a wild cry of joy! She would have sank down at his
+feet, but he caught her to his bosom, held her there, stroking her hair,
+kissing her face, murmuring in her ear:
+
+"Salome, Salome, my sweet wife, Salome! Oh, how thankful! Oh, how glad
+I am to meet you!"
+
+She could not answer him. She could not speak. She was overwhelmed by his
+goodness. She could only burst into tears and weep like a storm upon his
+bosom.
+
+He sat down on the sofa, and drew her to his side, keeping his arm around
+her and resting her head upon his bosom, while still he smoothed her hair
+with his hands, and kissed her from time to time, until she ceased to
+weep.
+
+"I can never forgive myself," she murmured at length--"never forgive
+myself for the deep wrong I have done your noble nature; nor do I ask you
+to forgive me; because--because your every tone and look and gesture
+expresses the full forgiveness, you are too delicate and generous to
+speak!"
+
+"No, sweet wife, do not ask me to forgive you; for you have done no
+willful wrong that needs forgiveness. And I have no forgiveness for you,
+sweet, but only love! infinite, eternal love! Our past is dead and
+buried. Let it be forgotten. You will leave this house with me this
+evening, love. And as soon as our duties will release us from this
+neighborhood we will return to England, where a host of friends will
+welcome us home. And here is something that will surprise and please you,
+love. Your flight is not known to the world. We are believed to be living
+in Italy together, where I have been traveling alone in secret search for
+you these many months. We shall return to society as from a lengthened
+wedding tour. Come, love, will you go away with me this very evening?"
+
+"I will go anywhere, do anything you wish--for, under God, henceforth
+I have no will but yours, oh, my lord and love!" murmured the young wife,
+sweetly, and solemnly, as she turned her face to his, and he sealed her
+promise with an earnest kiss.
+
+The same evening the Duke of Hereward took his recovered bride to the
+pretty, rustic inn at L'Ange, and installed her in a pleasant suite of
+apartments. They remained at L'Ange until after the funeral of poor John
+Scott, whose body was interred in the little cemetery by St. Marie
+L'Ange.
+
+The young Duke of Hereward defrayed all the expenses of the burial, and
+settled upon the widow an income sufficient to enable her to live in
+comfort and respectability. With the full consent of the unloving mother,
+who was but too willing to be relieved of her incumbrance, the young
+Duchess of Hereward adopted little Marie Perdue; "perdue" no longer, but
+the cherished pet of a fond foster-mother.
+
+Before leaving France, the Duke and Duchess of Hereward richly endowed
+the charities of the Convent of St. Rosalie, which had been so long the
+refuge of the lost bride. The duchess took an affectionate leave of the
+gentle abbess and her simple nuns, who had for so many months been her
+only companions. She promised to make them an annual visit.
+
+The young duke took his recovered bride over to England, then on to
+Scotland, and finally to their beautiful home, Lone Castle, where the
+young couple were received by their tenantry with great rejoicings.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Lost Lady of Lone, by E.D.E.N. Southworth
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #16039 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16039)