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diff --git a/16053.txt b/16053.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8df0851 --- /dev/null +++ b/16053.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4692 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Haunted Chamber, by "The Duchess" + +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 Haunted Chamber + A Novel + +Author: "The Duchess" + +Release Date: June 13, 2005 [EBook #16053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAUNTED CHAMBER *** + + + + +Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + The Haunted Chamber + + BY "THE DUCHESS" + + 1888 + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The sun has "dropped down," and the "day is dead." The silence and calm +of coming night are over everything. The shadowy twilight lies softly on +sleeping flowers and swaying boughs, on quiet fountains--the marble +basins of which gleam snow-white in the uncertain light--on the glimpse +of the distant ocean seen through the giant elms. A floating mist hangs +in the still warm air, making heaven and earth mingle in one sweet +confusion. + +The ivy creeping up the ancient walls of the castle is rustling and +whispering as the evening breeze sweeps over it. High up the tendrils +climb, past mullioned windows and quaint devices, until they reach even +to the old tower, and twine lovingly round it, and push through the long +apertures in the masonry of the walls of the haunted chamber. + +It is here that the shadows cast their heaviest gloom. All this corner +of the old tower is wrapped in darkness, as though to obscure the scene +of terrible crimes of past centuries. + +Ghosts of dead-and-gone lords and ladies seem to peer out mysteriously +from the openings in this quaint chamber, wherein no servant, male or +female, of the castle has ever yet been known to set foot. It is full of +dire horrors to them, and replete with legends of by-gone days and +grewsome sights ghastly enough to make the stoutest heart quail. + +In the days of the Stuarts an old earl had hanged himself in that room, +rather than face the world with dishonor attached to his name; and +earlier still a beauteous dame, fair but frail, had been incarcerated +there, and slowly starved to death by her relentless lord. There was +even in the last century a baronet--the earldom had been lost to the +Dynecourts during the Commonwealth--who, having quarreled with his +friend over a reigning belle, had smitten him across the cheek with his +glove, and then challenged him to mortal combat. The duel had been +fought in the luckless chamber, and had only ended with the death of +both combatants; the blood stains upon the flooring were large and deep, +and to this day the boards bear silent witness to the sanguinary +character of that secret fight. + +Just now, standing outside the castle in the warmth and softness of the +dying daylight, one can hardly think of by-gone horrors, or aught that +is sad and sinful. + +There is an air of bustle and expectancy within-doors that betokens +coming guests; the servants are moving to and fro noiselessly but +busily, and now and then the stately housekeeper passes from room to +room uttering commands and injunctions to the maids as she goes. No less +occupied and anxious is the butler, as he surveys the work of the +footmen. It is so long since the old place has had a resident master, +and so much longer still since guests have been invited to it, that the +household are more than ordinarily excited at the change now about to +take place. + +Sir Adrian Dynecourt, after a prolonged tour on the Continent and +lingering visits to the East, has at last come home with the avowed +intention of becoming a staid country gentleman, and of settling down +to the cultivation of turnips, the breeding of prize oxen, and the +determination to be the M.F.H. when old Lord Dartree shall have +fulfilled his declared intention of retiring in his favor. He is a tall +young man, lithe and active. His skin, though naturally fair, is bronzed +by foreign travel. His hair is a light brown, cut very close to his +head. His eyes are large, clear, and honest, and of a peculiarly dark +violet; they are beautiful eyes, winning and sweet, and steady in their +glance. His mouth, shaded by a drooping fair mustache, is large and +firm, yet very prone to laughter. + +It is quite the end of the London season, and Sir Adrian has hurried +down from town to give directions for the reception of some people whom +he has invited to stay with him during the slaughter of the partridges. + +Now all is complete, and the last train from London being due half an +hour ago Sir Adrian is standing on the steps of his hall-door anxiously +awaiting some of his guests. + +There is even a touch of genuine impatience in his manner, which could +hardly be attributed to the ordinary longing of a young man to see a few +of his friends. Sir Adrian's anxiety is open and undisguised, and there +is a little frown upon his brow. Presently his face brightens as be +hears the roll of carriage-wheels. When the carriage turns the corner +of the drive, and the horses are pulled up at the hall door, Sir Adrian +sees a fair face at the window that puts to flight all the fears he has +been harboring for the last half hour. + +"You have come?" he says delightedly, running down the steps and opening +the carriage door himself. "I am so glad! I began to think the train had +run away with you, or that the horses had bolted." + +"Such a journey as it has been!" exclaims a voice not belonging to the +face that had looked from the carriage at Sir Adrian. "It has been +tiresome to the last degree. I really don't know when I felt so +fatigued!" + +A little woman, small and fair, steps languidly to the ground as she +says this, and glances pathetically at her host. She is beautifully "got +up," both in dress and complexion, and at a first glance appears almost +girlish. Laying her hand in Sir Adrian's, she lets it rest there, as +though glad to be at her journey's end, conveying at the same time by +a gentle pressure of her taper fingers the fact that she is even more +glad that the end of her journey has brought her to him. She looks up +at him with her red lips drooping as if tired, and with a bewildered +expression in her pretty blue eyes that adds to the charm of her face. + +"It's an awful distance from town!" says Sir Adrian, as if apologizing +for the spot on which his grand old castle has been built. "And it was +more than good of you to come to me. I can only try to make up to you +for the discomfort you have experienced to-day by throwing all possible +chances of amusement in your way whilst you stay here." + +By this time she has withdrawn her hand, and so he is free to go up to +his other guest and bid her welcome. He says nothing to her, strange to +say, but it is his hand that seeks to retain hers this time, and it is +his eyes that look longingly into the face before him. + +"You are tired, too?" he says at length. "Come into the house and +rest awhile before dinner. You will like to go to your rooms at once, +perhaps?" he adds, turning to his two visitors. + +"Thank you--yes. If you will have our tea sent upstairs," replies Mrs. +Talbot plaintively, "it will be such a comfort!" she always speaks in a +somewhat pouting tone, and with heavy emphasis. + +"Tea--nonsense!" responds Sir Adrian. "There's nothing like champagne as +a pick-me-up. I'll send you tea also; but, take my advice, and try the +champagne." + +"Oh, thank you, I shall so much prefer my tea!" Mrs. Talbot declares, +with a graceful little shrug of her shoulders, at which her friend Miss +Delmaine laughs aloud. + +"I accept your advice, Sir Adrian," she says, casting a mischievous +glance at him from under her long lashes. "And--yes, Dora will take +champagne too--when it comes." + +"Naughty girl!" exclaims Mrs. Talbot, with a little flickering smile. +Dora Talbot seldom smiles, having learned by experience that her +delicate face looks prettier in repose. "Come, then, Sir Adrian," she +adds, "let us enter your enchanted castle." + +The servants by this time have taken in all their luggage--that is, as +much as they have been able to bring in the carriage; and now the two +ladies walk up the steps and enter the hall, their host beside them. + +Mrs. Talbot, who has recovered her spirits a little, is chattering +gayly, and monopolizing Sir Adrian to the best of her ability, whilst +Miss Delmaine is strangely silent, and seems lost in a kind of pleased +wonder as she gazes upon all her charming surroundings. + +The last rays of light are streaming in through the stained-glass +windows, rendering the old hall full of mysterious beauty. The grim +warriors in their coats of mail seem, to the entranced gaze of Florence +Delmaine, to be making ready to spring from the niches which hold them. + +Waking from her dream as she reaches the foot of the stone staircase, +she says abruptly, but with a lovely smile playing round her mouth-- + +"Surely, Sir Adrian, you have a ghost in this beautiful old place, or +a secret staircase, or at least a bogy of some sort? Do not spoil the +romantic look of it by telling me you have no tale of terror to impart, +no history of a ghostly visitant who walks these halls at the dead of +night." + +"We have no ghost here, I am sorry to say," answers Sir Adrian, +laughing. "For the first time I feel distressed and ashamed that it +should be so. We can only boast a haunted chamber; but there are certain +legends about it, I am proud to say, the bare narration of which would +make even the stoutest quail." + +"Good gracious--how distinctly unpleasant!" exclaims Mrs. Talbot, with +a nervous and very effective shudder. + +"How distinctly delicious, you mean!" puts in Miss Delmaine. "Sir +Adrian, is this chamber anywhere near where I shall sleep?" + +"Oh, no; you need not be afraid of that!" answers Dynecourt hastily. + +"I am not afraid," declares the girl saucily. "I have all my life been +seeking an adventure of some sort. I am tired of my prosaic existence. +I want to know what dwellers in the shadowy realms of ghost-land are +like." + +"Dear Sir Adrian, do urge her not to talk like that; it is positively +wicked," pleads Dora Talbot, glancing at him beseechingly. + +"Miss Delmaine, you will drive Mrs. Talbot from my house if you persist +in your evil courses," says Sir Adrian, laughing again. "Desist, I pray +you!" + +"Are you afraid, Dora?" asks Florence merrily. "Then keep close to me. +I can defy all evil spirits, I have spells and charms." + +"You have indeed!" puts in Sir Adrian, in a tone so low that only she +can hear it. "And, knowing this, you should be merciful." + +Though she can not hear what he says, yet Mrs. Talbot can see he is +addressing Florence, and marks with some uneasiness the glance that +passes from his eyes to hers. Breaking quickly into the conversation, +she says timidly, laying her hand on her host's arm-- + +"This shocking room you speak of will not be near mine?" + +"In another wing altogether," Sir Adrian replies reassuringly. "Indeed +it is so far from this part of the castle that one might be safely +incarcerated there and slowly starved to death without any one of the +household being a bit the wiser. It is in the north wing in the old +tower, a portion of the building that has not been in use for over fifty +years." + +"I breathe again," says Dora Talbot affectedly. + +"I shall traverse every inch of that old tower--haunted room and +all--before I am a week older," declares Florence defiantly. After which +she smiles at Adrian again, and follows the maid up the broad staircase +to her room. + +By the end of the week many other visitors have been made welcome at the +castle; but none perhaps give so much pleasure to the young baronet as +Mrs. Talbot and her cousin. + +Miss Delmaine, the only daughter and heiress of an Indian nabob, had +taken London by storm this past season; and not only the modern Babylon, +but the heart of Adrian Dynecourt as well. She had come home to England +on the death of her father about two years ago; and, having no nearer +relatives alive, had been kindly received by her cousin, the Hon. Mrs. +Talbot, who was then living with her husband in a pretty house in +Mayfair. + +Six months after Florence Delmaine's arrival, George Talbot had +succumbed to a virulent fever; and his widow, upon whom a handsome +jointure had been settled, when the funeral and the necessary law +worries had come to an end, had intimated to her young cousin that she +intended to travel for a year upon the Continent, and that she would be +glad, that is--with an elaborate sigh--she would be a degree less +miserable, if she, Florence, would accompany her. This delighted +Florence. She was wearied with attendance on the sick, having done most +of the nursing of the Hon. George, while his wife lamented and slept; +and, besides, she was still sore at heart for the loss of her father. +The year abroad had passed swiftly; the end of it brought them to Paris +once more, where, feeling that her time of mourning might be decently +terminated, Mrs. Talbot had discarded her somber robes, and had put +herself into the hands of the most fashionable dress-maker she could +find. + +Florence too discarded mourning for the first time, although her father +had been almost two years in his quiet grave amongst the Hills; and, +with her cousin, who was now indeed her only friend, if slightly +uncongenial, decided to return to London forthwith. + +It was early in May, and, with a sensation of extreme and most natural +pleasure, the girl looked forward to a few months passed amongst the +best of those whom she had learned under her cousin's auspices to regard +as "society." + +Dora Talbot herself was not by any means dead to the thought that it +would be to her advantage to introduce into society a girl, well-born +and possessed of an almost fabulous fortune. Stray crumbs must surely +fall to her share in a connection of this kind, and such crumbs she was +prepared to gather with a thankful heart. + +But unhappily she set her affection upon Sir Adrian Dynecourt, with his +grand old castle and his princely rent-roll--a "crumb" the magnitude and +worth of which she was not slow to appreciate. At first she had not +deemed it possible that Florence would seriously regard a mere baronet +as a suitor, when her unbounded wealth would almost entitle her to a +duke. But "love," as she discovered later, to her discomfiture, will +always "find the way." And one day, quite unexpectedly, it dawned upon +her that there might--if circumstances favored them--grow up a feeling +between Florence and Sir Adrian that might lead to mutual devotion. + +Yet, strong in the belief of her own charms, Mrs. Talbot accepted the +invitation given by Sir Adrian, and at the close of the season she and +Florence Delmaine find themselves the first of a batch of guests come to +spend a month or two at the old castle at Dynecourt. + +Mrs. Talbot is still young, and, in her style, very pretty; her eyes are +languishing and blue as gentian, her hair a soft nut-brown; her lips +perhaps are not altogether faultless, being too fine and too closely +drawn, but then her mouth is small. She looks considerably younger than +she really is, and does not forget to make the most of this comfortable +fact. Indeed, to a casual observer, her cousin looks scarcely her +junior. + +Miss Delmaine is tall, slender, _posee_ more or less, while Mrs. Talbot +is prettily rounded, _petite_ in every point, and nervously ambitious of +winning the regard of the male sex. + +During the past week private theatricals have been suggested. Every one +is tired of dancing and music. The season has given them more than a +surfeit of both, and so they have fallen back upon theatricals. + +The play on which they have decided is Goldsmith's famous production, +"She Stoops to Conquer." + +Miss Villiers, a pretty girl with yellow hair and charming eyes, is to +be Constantia Neville; Miss Delmaine, Kate Hardcastle; Lady Gertrude +Vining, though rather young for the part, has consented to play Mrs. +Hardcastle, under the impression that she looks well in a cap and +powdered hair. An impossible Tony Lumpkin has been discovered in a +nervous young man with a hesitation in his speech and a difficulty about +the letter "S"--a young man who wofully misunderstands Tony, and brings +him out in a hitherto unknown character; a suitable Hastings has been +found in the person of Captain Ringwood, a gallant young officer, and +one of the "curled darlings" of society. + +But who is to play Marlow? Who is to be the happy man, so blessed--even +though in these fictitious circumstances--as to be allowed to make love +to the reigning beauty of the past season? Nearly every man in the house +has thrown out a hint as to his fitness for the part, but as yet no +arrangement has been arrived at. + +Sir Adrian of course is the one toward whom all eyes--and some very +jealous ones--are directed. But his duties as host compel him, sorely +against his will, to draw back a little from the proffered honor, and +to consult the wishes of his guests rather than his own. Miss Delmaine +herself has laughingly declined to make any choice of a stage lover, so +that, up to the present moment, matters are still in such a state of +confusion and uncertainty that they have been unable to name any date +for the production of their play. + +It is four o'clock, and they are all standing or sitting in the +library, intent as usual in discussing the difficulty. They are all +talking together, and, in the excitement that prevails, no one hears the +door open, or the footman's calm, introduction of a gentleman, who now +comes leisurely up to where Sir Adrian is standing, leaning over +Florence Delmaine's chair. + +He is a tall man of about thirty-five, with a dark face and dark eyes, +and, withal, a slight resemblance to Sir Adrian. + +"Ah, Arthur, is it you!" says Sir Adrian, in a surprised tone that has +certainly no cordiality in it, but, just as certainly, the tone is not +repellent. + +"Yes," replies the stranger, with a languid smile, and without +confusion. "Yesterday I suddenly recollected the general invitation you +gave me a month ago to come to you at any time that suited me best. This +time suits me, and so I have come." + +He still smiles as he says this, and looks expectantly at Sir Adrian, +who, as in duty bound, instantly tells him he is very glad to see him, +and that he is a good fellow to have come without waiting for a more +formal repetition of his invitation. Then he takes him over to old Lady +FitzAlmont, the mother of Lady Gertrude Vining, and introduces him to +her as "my cousin Mr. Dynecourt." + +The same ceremony is gone through with some of the others, but, when +he brings him to Mrs. Talbot, that pretty widow interrupts his mode of +introduction. + +"Mr. Dynecourt and I are old friends," she says, giving her hand to the +new-comer. Then, turning to her cousin, she adds, "Florence, is it not +a fatality our meeting him so often?" + +"Have we met so often?" asks Florence quietly, but with a touch of +_hauteur_ and dislike in her tone. Then she too gives a cold little hand +to Mr. Dynecourt, who lingers over it until she disdainfully draws it +away, after which he turns from her abruptly and devotes himself to +Dora Talbot. + +The widow is glad of his attentions. He is handsome and well-bred, and +for the last half hour she has been feeling slightly bored; so eager has +been the discussion about the Marlow matter, that she has been little +sought after by the opposite sex. And now, once again, the subject is +being examined in all its bearings, and the discussion waxes fast and +furious. + +"What is it all about?" asks Arthur Dynecourt presently, glancing at the +animated group in the middle of the room. And Sir Adrian, hearing his +question, explains it to him. + +"Ah, indeed!" he says. And then, after a scarcely perceptible +pause--"Who is to be Kate Hardcastle?" + +"Miss Delmaine," answers Sir Adrian, who is still leaning over that +young lady's chair. + +"In what does the difficulty consist?" inquires Arthur Dynecourt, with +apparent indifference. + +"Well," replies Sir Adrian, laughing; "I believe mere fear holds us +back. Miss Delmaine, as we all know, is a finished actress, and we +dread spoiling her performance by faults on our side. None of us have +attempted the character before; this is why we hesitate." + +"A very sensible hesitation, I think," says his cousin coolly. "You +should thank me then for coming to your relief this afternoon; I have +played the part several times, and shall be delighted to undertake it +again, and help you out of your difficulty." + +At this Miss Delmaine flushes angrily, and opens her lips as if she +would say something, but, after a second's reflection, restrains +herself. She sinks back into her chair with a proud languor, and closes +her mouth resolutely. + +Sir Adrian is confounded. All along he had secretly hoped that, in the +end, this part would fall to his lot; but now--what is to be done? How +can he refuse to let his cousin take his place, especially as he has +declared himself familiar with the part. + +Arthur, observing his cousin's hesitation, laughs aloud. His is not a +pleasant laugh, but has rather a sneering ring in it, and at the present +moment it jars upon the ears of the listeners. + +"If I have been indiscreet," he says, with a slight glance at Florence's +proud face, "pray pardon me. I only meant to render you a little +assistance. I thought I understood from you that you were rather in a +dilemma. Do not dwell upon my offer another moment. I am afraid I have +made myself somewhat officious--unintentionally, believe me." + +"My dear fellow, not at all," declares Sir Adrian hastily, shocked at +his own apparent want of courtesy. "I assure you, you mistake. It is all +so much to the contrary, that I gratefully accept your offer, and beg +you will be Marlow." + +"But really--" begins Arthur Dynecourt. + +"Not a word!" interrupts Sir Adrian; and indeed by this time Arthur +Dynecourt has brought his cousin to believe he is about to confer upon +him a great favor. "Look here, you fellows," Sir Adrian goes on, walking +toward the other men, who are still arguing and disputing over the vexed +question, "I've settled it all for you. Here is my cousin; he will take +the difficulty off your hands, and be a first-class Marlow at the same +time." + +A suppressed consternation follows this announcement. Many and dark +are the glances cast upon the new-comer, who receives them all with +his usual imperturbable smile. Rising, Arthur approaches one of the +astonished group who is known to him, and says something upon the +subject with a slight shrug of his shoulders. As he is Sir Adrian's +cousin, every one feels that it will be impossible to offer any +objection to his taking the much-coveted part. + +"Well, I have sacrificed myself for you; I have renounced a very dear +desire all to please you," says Sir Adrian softly, bending down to +Florence. "Have I succeeded?" + +"You have succeeded in displeasing me more than I can say," she returns +coldly. Then, seeing his amazed expression, she goes on hastily, +"Forgive me, but I had hoped for another Marlow." + +She blushes prettily as she says this, and an expression arises in her +dark eyes that moves him deeply. Stooping over her hand, he imprints a +kiss upon it. Dora Talbot, whose head is turned aside, sees nothing of +this, but Arthur Dynecourt has observed the silent caress, and a dark +frown gathers on his brow. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Every day and all day long there is nothing but rehearsing. In every +corner two or more may be seen studying together the parts they have to +play. Florence Delmaine alone refuses to rehearse her part except in +full company, though Mr. Dynecourt has made many attempts to induce her +to favor him with a private reading of those scenes in which he and she +must act together. He has even appealed to Dora Talbot to help him in +this matter, which she is only too willing to do, as she is secretly +desirous of flinging the girl as much in his way as possible. Indeed +anything that would keep Florence out of Sir Adrian's sight would be +welcome to her; so that she listens kindly to Arthur Dynecourt when he +solicits her assistance. + +"She evidently shuns me," he says in an aggrieved tone to her one +evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion to her +that is singularly sincere, I know of nothing about me that can be +regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that she dislikes +me." + +"There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm +lightly with her fan. "She is but a girl--she hardly knows her own mind." + +"She seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says, +with a sullen glance. + +At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start; she grows a little pale, +and then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. But the smile is +forced, and Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily +as if it were an open book. + +"I don't suppose Adrian cares for her," he goes on quietly. "At +least"--here he drops his eyes--"I believe, with a little judicious +management, his thoughts might be easily diverted into another channel." + +"You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot faintly, trifling with her fan. "I can +not say I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way +particular." + +"Not as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively; "and if I +might be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly and assuming an +air of anxiety--"we might perhaps mutually help each other." + +"Help each other?" + +"Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to you +how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a +sensible woman--a woman who understands the world and its ways--a woman +young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the _convenances_ +of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from the shoals and +quicksands that surround him in the form of mercenary friends and +scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found. Nay, I think +I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this moment." + +Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says nothing. + +"He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt, in the same low impassive +voice. "Naturally I am interested in him, and my interest on this point +is surely without motive; as, were he never to marry, were he to leave +no heir, were he to die some sudden death"--here a remarkable change +overspreads his features--"I should inherit all the land you see around +you, and the title besides." + +Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent. + +"Then, you see, I mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he should +marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world," continues +Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would fill the +position charmingly, if she would deign to do so." + +"And who?" falters Dora Talbot nervously. + +"May I say to whom I allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot, pardon me if I +have been impertinent in thinking of you as that woman." + +A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then, +suddenly remembering that smiles do not become her, she relapses into +her former calm. + +"You flatter me," she says sweetly. + +"I never flatter," he responds, with telling emphasis. "But, I can see +you are not angry, and so I am emboldened to say plainly, I would gladly +see you my cousin's wife. Is the idea not altogether abhorrent to you?" + +"No. Oh, no!" + +"It is perhaps--pardon me if I go too far--even agreeable to you?" + +"Mr. Dynecourt," says Mrs. Talbot, suddenly glancing at him and laying +her jeweled fingers lightly on his arm, "I will confess to you that I am +tired of being alone--dependent on myself, as it were--thrown on my own +judgment for the answering of every question that arises. I would gladly +acknowledge a superior head. I would have some one to help me now and +then with a word of advice; in short, I would have a husband. And,"--here +she lays her fan against her lips and glances archly at him--"I confess +too that I like Sir Adrian as--well--as well as any man I know." + +"He is a very fortunate man"--gravely. "I would he knew his happiness." + +"Not for worlds," says Mrs. Talbot, with well-feigned alarm. "You would +not even hint to him such a thing as--as--" She stops, confused. + +"I shall hint nothing--do nothing, except what you wish. Ah, Mrs. +Talbot"--with a heavy sigh--"you are supremely happy! I envy you! With +your fascinations and"--insinuatingly--"a word in season from me, I see +no reason why you should not claim as your own the man whom you--well, +let us say, like; while I--" + +"If I can befriend you in any way," interrupts Dora quickly, "command +me." + +She is indeed quite dazzled by the picture he has painted before her +eyes. Can it be--is it--possible, that Sir Adrian may some day be hers? +Apart from his wealth, she regards him with very tender feelings, and of +late she has been rendered at times absolutely miserable by the thought +that he has fallen a victim to the charms of Florence. + +Now if, by means of this man, her rival can be kept out of Adrian's way, +all may yet be well, and her host may be brought to her feet before her +visit comes to an end. + +Of Arthur Dynecourt's infatuation for Florence she is fully aware, and +is right in deeming that part of his admiration for the beautiful girl +has grown out of his knowledge of her money-bags. Still, she argues to +herself, his love is true and faithful, despite his knowledge of her +_dot_, and he will in all probability make her as good a husband as she +is likely to find. + +"May I command you?" asks Arthur, in his softest tones. "You know my +secret, I believe. Ever since that last meeting at Brighton, when my +heart overcame me and made me show my sentiments openly and in your +presence, you have been aware of the hopeless passion that is consuming +me. I may be mad, but I still think that, with opportunities and time, I +might make myself at least tolerated by Miss Delmaine. Will you help me +in this matter? Will you give me the chance of pleading my cause with +her alone? By so doing"--with a meaning smile--"you will also give my +cousin the happy chance of seeing you alone." + +Dora only too well understands his insinuation. Latterly Sir Adrian +and Florence have been almost inseparable. To now meet with one whose +interest it is to keep them asunder is very pleasant to her. + +"I will help you," she says in a low tone. + +"Then try to induce Miss Delmaine to give me a private rehearsal +to-morrow in the north gallery," he whispers hurriedly, seeing Captain +Ringwood and Miss Villiers approaching. "Hush! Not another word! I rely +upon you. Above all things, remember that what has occurred is only +between you and me. It is our little plot," he says, with a curious +smile that somehow strikes a chill to Mrs. Talbot's heart. + +She is faithful to her word nevertheless, and late that night, when all +have gone to their rooms, she puts on her dressing-gown, dismisses her +maid, and crossing the corridor, taps lightly at the door of Florence's +apartment. + +Hearing some one cry "Come in," she opens the door, and, having fastened +it again, goes over to where Florence is sitting while her maid is +brushing her long soft hair that reaches almost to the ground as she +sits. + +"Let me brush your hair to-night, Flo," she says gayly. "Let me be your +maid for once. Remember how I used to do it for you sometimes when we +were in Switzerland last year." + +"Very well--you may," acquiesces Florence, laughing. "Good-night, +Parkins. Mrs. Talbot has won you your release." + +Parkins having gladly withdrawn, Dora takes up the ivory-handled brush +and gently begins to brush her cousin's hair. + +After some preliminary conversation leading up to the subject she has +in hand, she says carelessly-- + +"By the bye, Flo, you are rather uncivil to Arthur Dynecourt, don't you +think?" + +"Uncivil?" + +"Well--yes. That is the word for your behavior toward him, I think. Do +you know, I am afraid Sir Adrian has noticed it, and aren't you afraid +he will think it rather odd of you--rude, I mean--considering he is his +cousin?" + +"Not a very favorite cousin, I fancy." + +"For all that, people don't like seeing their relations slighted. I once +knew a man who used to abuse his brother all day long, but, if any one +else happened to say one disparaging word of him in his presence, it put +him in a pretty rage. And, after all, poor Arthur has done nothing to +deserve actual ill-treatment at your hands." + +"I detest him. And, besides, it is a distinct impertinence to follow any +one about from place to place as he has followed me. I will not submit +to it calmly. It is a positive persecution." + +"My dear, you must not blame him if he has lost his head about you. That +is rather a compliment, if anything." + +"I shall always resent such compliments." + +"He is certainly very gentlemanly in all other ways, and I must say +devoted to you. He is handsome too, is he not; and has quite the air of +one accustomed to command in society?" + +"Has he paid you to sing his praises?" asks Florence, with a little +laugh; but her words so nearly hit the mark that Dora blushes painfully. + +"I mean," she explains at last, in a rather hurried way, "that I do not +think it is good form to single out any one in a household where one is +a guest to show him pointed rudeness. You give all the others acting in +this play ample opportunities of rehearsing alone with you. It has been +remarked to me by two or three that you purposely slight and avoid Mr. +Dynecourt." + +"So I do," Florence admits calmly; adding, "Your two or three have great +perspicacity." + +"They even hinted to me," Dora goes on deliberately, "that your dislike +to him arose from the fact that you were piqued at his being your stage +lover, instead of--Sir Adrian!" + +It costs her an effort to utter these words, but the effect produced by +them is worth the effort. + +Florence, growing deadly pale, releases her hair from her cousin's +grasp, and rises quickly to her feet. + +"I don't know who your gossips may be," she says slowly; "but they are +wrong--quite wrong--do you hear? My dislike to Mr. Dynecourt arises from +very different feelings. He is distasteful to me in many ways; but, as I +am undesirous that my manner should give occasion for surmises such as +you have just mentioned to me, I will give him an opportunity of +reciting his part to me, alone, as soon as ever he wishes." + +"I think you are right, dearest," responds Mrs. Talbot sweetly. She is +a little afraid of her cousin, but still maintains her position bravely. +"It is always a mark of folly to defy public opinion. Do not wait for +him to ask you again to go through your play with him alone, but tell +him yourself to-morrow that you will meet him for that purpose in the +north gallery some time during the day." + +"Very well," says Florence; but her face still betrays dislike and +disinclination to the course recommended. "And, Dora, I don't think I +want my hair brushed any more, thanks; my head is aching so dreadfully." + +This is a hint that she will be glad of Mrs. Talbot's speedy departure; +and, that lady taking the hint, Florence is soon left to her own +thoughts. + +The next morning, directly after breakfast, she finds an opportunity to +tell Mr. Dynecourt that she will give him half an hour in the north +gallery to try over his part with her, as she considers it will be +better, and more conducive to the smoothness of the piece, to learn +any little mannerisms that may belong to either of them. + +To this speech Dynecourt makes a suitable reply, and names a particular +hour for them to meet. Miss Delmaine, having given a grave assent to +this arrangement, moves away, as though glad to be rid of her companion. + +A few minutes afterward Dynecourt, meeting Mrs. Talbot in the hall, +gives her an expressive glance, and tells her in a low voice that he +considers himself deeply in her debt. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +"You are late," says Arthur Dynecourt in a low tone. There is no anger +in it; there is indeed only a desire to show how tedious have been the +moments spent apart from her. + +"Have you brought your book, or do you mean to go through your part +without it?" Florence asks, disdaining to notice his words, or to betray +interest in anything except the business that has brought them together. + +"I know my part by heart," he responds, in a strange voice. + +"Then begin," she commands somewhat imperiously; the very insolence of +her air only gives an additional touch to her extreme beauty and fires +his ardor. + +"You desire me to begin?" he asks unsteadily. + +"If you wish it." + +"Do you wish it?" + +"I desire nothing more intensely than to get this rehearsal over," she +replies impatiently. + +"You take no pains indeed to hide your scorn of me," says Dynecourt +bitterly. + +"I regret it, if I have at any time treated you with incivility," +returns Florence, with averted eyes and with increasing coldness. "Yet +I must always think that, for whatever has happened, you have only +yourself to blame." + +"Is it a crime to love you?" he demands boldly. + +"Sir," she exclaims indignantly, and raising her beautiful eyes to his +for a moment, "I must request you will never speak to me of love. There +is neither sympathy nor common friendliness between us. You are well +aware with what sentiments I regard you." + +"But, why am I alone to be treated with contempt?" he asks, with sudden +passion. "All other men of your acquaintance are graciously received by +you, are met with smiles and kindly words. Upon me alone your eyes rest, +when they deign to glance in my direction, with marked disfavor. All the +world can see it. I am signaled out from the others as one to be +slighted and spurned." + +"Your forget yourself," says Florence contemptuously. "I have met you +here to-day to rehearse our parts for next Tuesday evening, not to +listen to any insolent words you may wish to address to me. Let us +begin"--opening her book. "If you know your part, go on." + +"I know my part only too well; it is to worship you madly, hopelessly. +Your very cruelty only serves to heighten my passion. Florence, hear +me!" + +"I will not," she says, her eyes flashing. She waves him back from her +as he endeavors to take her hand. "Is it not enough that I have been +persecuted by your attentions--attentions most hateful to me--for the +past year, but you must now obtrude them upon me here? You compel me +to tell you in plain words what my manner must have shown you only too +clearly--that you are distasteful to me in every way, that your very +presence troubles me, that your touch is abhorrent to me!" + +"Ah," he says, stepping back as she hurls these words at him, and +regarding her with a face distorted by passion, "if I were the master +here, instead of the poor cousin--if I were Sir Adrian--your treatment +of me would be very different!" + +At the mention of Sir Adrian's name the color dies out of her face and +she grows deadly pale. Her lips quiver, but her eyes do not droop. + +"I do not understand you," she says proudly. + +"Then you shall," responds Dynecourt. "Do you think I am blind, that I +can not see how you have given your proud heart to my cousin, that he +has conquered where other men have failed; that, even before he has +declared any love for you, you have, in spite of your pride, given all +your affection to him?" + +"You insult me," cries Florence, with quivering lips. She looks faint, +and is trembling visibly. If this man has read her heart aright, may +not all the guests have read it too? May not even Adrian himself have +discovered her secret passion, and perhaps despised her for it, as being +unwomanly? + +"And more," goes on Dynecourt, exulting in the torture he can see he is +inflicting; "though you thrust from you an honorable love for one that +lives only in your imagination, I will tell you that Sir Adrian has +other views, other intentions. I have reason to know that, when he +marries, the name of his bride will not be Florence Delmaine." + +"Leave me, sir," cries Florence, rousing herself from her momentary +weakness, and speaking with all her old fire, "and never presume to +address me again. Go!" + +She points with extended hand to the door at the lower end of the +gallery. So standing, with her eyes strangely bright, and her perfect +figure drawn up to its fullest height, she looks superb in her +disdainful beauty. + +Dynecourt, losing his self-possession as he gazes upon her, suddenly +flings himself at her feet and catches her dress in his hands to detain +her. + +"Have pity on me," he cries imploringly; "it is my unhappy love for +you that has driven me to speak thus! Why is Adrian to have all, and I +nothing? He has title, lands, position--above and beyond everything, the +priceless treasure of your love, whilst I am bankrupt in all. Show me +some mercy--some kindness!" + +They are both so agitated that they fail to hear the sound of +approaching footsteps. + +"Release me, sir," cries Florence imperiously. + +"Nay; first answer me one question," entreats Dynecourt. "Do you love my +cousin?" + +"I care nothing for Sir Adrian!" replies Florence distinctly, and in a +somewhat raised tone, her self-pride being touched to the quick. + +Two figures who have entered the gallery by the second door at the upper +end of it, hearing these words uttered in an emphatic tone, start and +glance at the _tableau_ presented to their view lower down. They +hesitate, and, even as they do so, they can see Arthur Dynecourt seize +Florence Delmaine's hand, and, apparently unrebuked, kiss it +passionately. + +"Then I shall hope still," he says in a low but impressive voice, at +which the two who have just entered turn and beat a precipitate retreat, +fearing that they may be seen. One is Sir Adrian, the other Mrs. Talbot. + +"Dear me," stammers Dora, in pretty confusion, "who would have thought +it? I was never so amazed in my life." + +Sir Adrian, who has turned very pale, and is looking greatly distressed, +makes no reply. He is repeating over and over again to himself the words +he has just heard, as though unable or unwilling to comprehend them. "I +care nothing for Sir Adrian!" They strike like a knell upon his ears--a +death-knell to all his dearest hopes. And that fellow on his knees +before her, kissing her hand, and telling her he will still hope! Hope +for what? Alas, he tells himself, he knows only too well--her love! + +"I am so glad they have made it up," Dora goes on, looking up +sympathetically at Sir Adrian. + +"Made it up? I had no idea they were more than ordinary and very new +acquaintances." + +"It is quite a year since we first met Arthur in Switzerland," responds +Dora demurely, calling Dynecourt by his Christian name, a thing she has +never done before, because she knows it will give Sir Adrian the +impression that they are on very intimate terms with his cousin. "He has +been our shadow ever since. I wonder you did not notice his devotion in +town." + +"I noticed nothing," says Sir Adrian, miserably; "or, if I did, it was +only to form wrong impressions. I firmly believed, seeing Miss Delmaine +and Arthur together here, that she betrayed nothing but a rooted dislike +to him." + +"They had not been good friends of late," explains Dora hastily; "that +we all could see. And Florence is very peculiar, you know; she is quite +the dearest girl in the world, and I adore her; but I will confess to +you"--with another upward and bewitching glance from the charming blue +eyes--"that she has her little tempers. Not very naughty ones, you +know"--shaking her head archly--"but just enough to make one a bit +afraid of her at times; so I never ventured to ask her why she treated +poor Arthur, who really is her slave, so cruelly." + +"And you think now that--" Sir Adrian breaks off without finishing the +sentence. + +"That she has forgiven him whatever offense he committed? Yes, after +what we have just seen--quite a sentimental little episode, was it +not?--I can not help cherishing the hope that all is again right between +them. It could not have been a very grave quarrel, as Arthur is +incapable of a rudeness; but then dearest Florence is so capricious!" + +"Ill-tempered and capricious!" Can the girl he loves so ardently be +guilty of these faults? It seems incredible to Sir Adrian, as he +remembers her sunny smile and gentle manner. But then, is it not her +dearest friend who is speaking of her--tender-hearted little Dora +Talbot, who seems to think well of every one, and who murmurs such +pretty speeches even about Arthur, who, if the truth be told, is not +exactly "dear" in the sight of Sir Adrian. + +"You think there is, or was, an engagement between Arthur and Miss +Delmaine?" he begins, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. + +"I think nothing, you silly man," says the widow playfully, "until I am +told it. But I am glad Florence is once more friendly with poor Arthur; +he is positively wrapped up in her. Now, has that interesting _tableau_ +we so nearly interrupted given you a distaste for all other pictures? +Shall we try the smaller gallery?" + +"Just as you will." + +"Of course"--with a girlish laugh--"it would be imprudent to venture +again into the one we have just quitted. By this time, doubtless, they +are quite reconciled--and--" + +"Yes--yes," interrupts Sir Adrian hastily, trying in vain to blot out +the picture she has raised before his eyes of Florence in her lover's +arms. "What you have just told me has quite taken me by surprise," he +goes on nervously. "I should never have guessed it from Miss Delmaine's +manner; it quite misled me." + +"Well, between you and me," says Dora, raising herself on tiptoe, as +though to whisper in his ear, and so coming very close to him, "I am +afraid my dearest Florence is a little sly! Yes, really; you wouldn't +think it, would you? The dear girl has such a sweet ingenuous +face--quite the loveliest face on earth, I think, though some pronounce +it too cold. But she is very self-contained; and to-day, you see, she +has given you an insight into this slight fault in her character. Now, +has she not appeared to you to avoid Arthur almost pointedly?" + +"She has indeed," agrees Sir Adrian, with a smothered groan. + +"Well"--triumphantly--"and yet, here we find her granting him a private +audience, when she believed we were all safely out of the way; and in +the north gallery too, which, as a rule, is deserted." + +"She didn't know we were thinking of driving to the hills," says Sir +Adrian, making a feeble effort to find a flaw in his companion's +statement. + +"Oh, yes, she did!" declares the widow lightly. "I told her myself, +about two hours ago, that I intended asking you to make a party to go +there, as I dote on lovely scenery; and I dare say"--coquettishly--"she +knew--I mean thought--you would not refuse so small a request of mine. +But for poor Lady FitzAlmont's headache we should be there now." + +"It is true," admits Sir Adrian, feeling that the last straw has +descended. + +"And now that I think of it," the widow goes on, even more vivaciously, +"the reason she assigned for not coming with us must have been a feigned +one. Ah, slyboots that she is!" laughs Mrs. Talbot merrily. "Of course, +she wanted the course clear to have an explanation with Arthur. Well, +after all, that was only natural. But she might have trusted me, whom +she knows to be her true friend." + +Ill-tempered--capricious--sly! And all these faults are attributed to +Florence by "her true friend!" A quotation assigned to Marechal Villars +when taking leave of Louis XIV. occurs to him--"Defend me from my +friends." The words return to him persistently; but then he looks down +on Dora Talbot, and stares straight into her liquid blue eyes, so +apparently guileless and pure, and tells himself that he wrongs her. +Yes, it is a pity Florence had not put greater faith in this kind little +woman, a pity for all of them, as then many heart-breaks might have been +prevented. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +It is the evening of the theatricals; and in one of the larger +drawing-rooms at the castle, where the stage has been erected, and also +in another room behind connected with it by folding-doors, everybody of +note in the county is already assembled. Fans are fluttering--so are +many hearts behind the scenes--and a low buzz of conversation is being +carried on among the company. + +Then the curtain rises; the fans stop rustling, the conversation ceases, +and all faces turn curiously to the small but perfect stage that the +London workmen have erected. + +Every one is very anxious to see what his or her neighbor is going to do +when brought before a critical audience. Nobody, of course, hopes openly +for a break-down, but secretly there are a few who would be glad to see +such-and-such a one's pride lowered. + +No mischance, however, occurs. The insipid Tony speaks his lines +perfectly, if he fails to grasp the idea that a little acting thrown in +would be an improvement; a very charming Cousin Con is made out of Miss +Villiers; a rather stilted but strictly correct old lady out of Lady +Gertrude Vining. But Florence Delmaine, as Kate Hardcastle, leaves +nothing to be desired, and many are the complimentary speeches uttered +from time to time by the audience. Arthur Dynecourt too had not +overpraised his own powers. It is palpable to every one that he has +often trod the boards, and the pathos he throws into his performance +astonishes the audience. Is it only acting in the final scene when he +makes love to Miss Hardcastle, or is there some real sentiment in it? + +This question arises in many breasts. They note how his color changes as +he takes her hand, how his voice trembles; they notice too how she grows +cold, in spite of her desire to carry out her part to the end, as he +grows warmer, and how instinctively she shrinks from his touch. Then it +is all over, and the curtain falls amidst loud applause. Florence comes +before the curtain in response to frequent calls, gracefully, half +reluctantly, with a soft warm blush upon her cheeks and a light in her +eyes that renders her remarkable loveliness only more apparent. Sir +Adrian, watching her with a heart faint and cold with grief and +disappointment, acknowledges sadly to himself that never has he seen her +look so beautiful. She advances and bows to the audience, and only loses +her self-possession a very little when a bouquet directed at her feet by +an enthusiastic young man alights upon her shoulder instead. + +Arthur Dynecourt, who has accompanied her to the footlights, and who +joins in her triumph, picks up the bouquet and presents it to her. + +As he does so the audience again become aware that she receives it from +him in a spirit that suggests detestation of the one that hands it, and +that her smile withers as she does so, and her great eyes lose their +happy light of a moment before. + +Sir Adrian sees all this too, but persuades himself that she is now +acting another part--the part shown him by Mrs. Talbot. His eyes are +blinded by jealousy; he can not see the purity and truth reflected in +hers; he misconstrues the pained expression that of late has saddened +her face. + +For the last few days, ever since her momentous interview with Arthur +Dynecourt in the gallery, she has been timid and reserved with Sir +Adrian, and has endeavored to avoid his society. She is oppressed with +the thought that he has read her secret love for him, and seeks, by an +assumed coldness of demeanor and a studied avoidance of him, to induce +him to believe himself mistaken. + +But Sir Adrian is only rendered more miserable by this avoidance, in the +thought that probably Mrs. Talbot has told Florence of his discovery of +her attachment to Arthur, and that she dreads his taxing her with her +duplicity, and so makes strenuous efforts to keep herself apart from +him. They have already drifted so far apart that to-night, when the play +has come to an end, and Florence has retired from the dressing-room, Sir +Adrian does not dream of approaching her to offer the congratulations on +her success that he would have showered upon her in a happier hour. + +Florence, feeling lonely and depressed, having listlessly submitted +to her maid's guidance and changed her stage gown for a pale blue +ball-dress of satin and pearls--as dancing is to succeed the earlier +amusement of the evening--goes silently down-stairs, but, instead of +pursuing her way to the ball-room, where dancing has already commenced, +she turns aside, and, entering a small, dimly lighted antechamber, sinks +wearily upon a satin-covered lounge. + +From a distance the sweet strains of a German waltz come softly to her +ears. There is deep sadness and melancholy in the music that attunes +itself to her own sorrowful reflections. Presently the tears steal down +her cheeks. She feels lonely and neglected, and, burying her head in the +cushions of the lounge, sobs aloud. + +She does not hear the hasty approach of footsteps until they stop close +beside her, and a voice that makes her pulses throb madly says, in deep +agitation-- + +"Florence--Miss Delmaine--what has happened? What has occurred to +distress you?" + +Sir Adrian is bending over her, evidently in deep distress himself. As +she starts, he places his arm round her and raises her to a sitting +posture; this he does so gently that, as she remembers all she has +heard, and his cousin's assurance that he has almost pledged himself +to another, her tears flow afresh. By a supreme effort, however, she +controls herself, and says, in a faint voice-- + +"I am very foolish; it was the heat, I suppose, or the nervousness of +acting before so many strangers, that has upset me. It is over now. I +beg you will not remember it, Sir Adrian, or speak of it to any one." + +All this time she has not allowed herself to glance even in his +direction, so fearful is she of further betraying the mental agony +she is enduring. + +"Is it likely I should speak of it!" returns Sir Adrian reproachfully. +"No; anything connected with you shall be sacred to me. But--pardon +me--I still think you are in grief, and, believe me, in spite of +everything, I would deem it a privilege to be allowed to befriend you +in any way." + +"It is impossible," murmurs Florence, in a stifled tone. + +"You mean you will not accept my help"--sadly. "So be it then. I have no +right, I know, to establish myself as your champion. There are others, +no doubt, whose happiness lies in the fact that they may render you a +service when it is in their power. I do not complain, however. Nay, I +would even ask you to look upon me at least as a friend." + +"I shall always regard you as a friend," Florence responds in a low +voice. "It would be impossible to me to look upon you in any other +light." + +"Thank you for that," says Adrian quickly. "Though our lives must of +necessity be much apart, it will still be a comfort to me to know that +at least, wherever you may be, you will think of me as a friend." + +"Ah," thinks Florence, with a bitter pang, "he is now trying to let me +know how absurd was my former idea that he might perhaps learn to love +me!" This thought is almost insupportable. Her pride rising in arms, she +subdues all remaining traces of her late emotion, and, turning suddenly, +confronts him. Her face is quite colorless, but she can not altogether +hide from him the sadness that still desolates her eyes. + +"You are right," she agrees. "In the future our lives will indeed +be far distant from each other, so far apart that the very tie of +friendship will readily be forgotten by us both." + +"Florence, do not say that!" he entreats, believing in his turn that she +alludes to her coming marriage with his cousin. "And--and--do not be +angry with me; but I would ask you to consider long and earnestly before +taking the step you have in view. Remember it is a bond that once sealed +can never be canceled." + +"A bond! I do not follow you," exclaims Florence, bewildered. + +"Ah, you will not trust me; you will not confide in me!" + +"I have nothing to confide," persists Florence, still deeply puzzled. + +"Well, let it rest so," returns Adrian, now greatly wounded at her +determined reserve, as he deems it. He calls to mind all Mrs. Talbot had +said about her slyness, and feels disheartened. At least he has not +deserved distrust at her hands. "Promise me," he entreats at last, +"that, if ever you are in danger, you will accept my help." + +"I promise," she replies faintly. Then, trying to rally her drooping +spirits, she continues, with an attempt at a smile, "Tell me that you +too will accept mine should you be in any danger. Remember, the mouse +once rescued the lion!"--and she smiles again, and glances at him with +a touch of her old archness. + +"It is a bargain. And now, will you rest here awhile until you feel +quite restored to calmness?" + +"But you must not remain with me," Florence urges hurriedly. "Your +guests are awaiting you. Probably"--with a faint smile--"your partner +for this waltz is impatiently wondering what has become of you." + +"I think not," says Adrian, returning her smile. "Fortunately I have +no one's name on my card for this waltz. I say fortunately, because I +think"--glancing at her tenderly--"I have been able to bring back the +smiles to your face sooner than would have been the case had you been +left here alone to brood over your trouble, whatever it may be." + +"There is no trouble," declares Florence, in a somewhat distressed +fashion, turning her head restlessly to one side. "I wish you would +dispossess yourself of that idea. And, do not stay here, they--every +one, will accuse you of discourtesy if you absent yourself from the +ball-room any longer." + +"Then, come with me," says Adrian. "See, this waltz is only just +beginning: give it to me." + +Carried away by his manner, she lays her hand upon his arm, and goes +with him to the ball-room. There he passes his arm round her waist, and +presently they are lost among the throng of whirling dancers, and both +give themselves up for the time being to the mere delight of knowing +that they are together. + +Two people, seeing them enter thus together, on apparently friendly +terms, regard them with hostile glances. Dora Talbot, who is coquetting +sweetly with a gaunt man of middle age, who is evidently overpowered by +her attentions, letting her eyes rest upon Florence as she waltzes past +her with Sir Adrian, colors warmly, and, biting her lip, forgets the +honeyed speech she was about to bestow upon her companion, who is the +owner of a considerable property, and lapses into silence, for which the +gaunt man is devoutly grateful, as it gives him a moment in which to +reflect on the safest means of getting rid of her without delay. + +Dora's fair brow grows darker and darker as she watches Florence, and +notes the smile that lights her beautiful face as she makes some answer +to one of Sir Adrian's sallies. Where is Dynecourt, that he has not been +on the spot to prevent this dance, she wonders. She grows angry, and +would have stamped her little foot with impatient wrath at this moment, +but for the fear of displaying her vexation. + +As she is inwardly anathematizing Arthur, he emerges from the throng, +and, the dance being at an end, reminds Miss Delmaine that the next is +his. + +Florence unwillingly removes her hand from Sir Adrian's arm, and lays it +upon Arthur's. Most disdainfully she moves away with him, and suffers +him to lead her to another part of the room. And when she dances with +him it is with evident reluctance, as he knows by the fact that she +visibly shrinks from him when he encircles her waist with his arm. + +Sir Adrian, who has noticed none of these symptoms, going up to Dora, +solicits her hand for this dance. + +"You are not engaged, I hope?" he says anxiously. It is a kind of +wretched comfort to him to be near Florence's true friend. If not the +rose, she has at least some connection with it. + +"I am afraid I am," Dora responds, raising her limpid eyes to his. +"Naughty man, why did you not come sooner? I thought you had forgotten +me altogether, and so got tired of keeping barren spots upon my card for +you." + +"I couldn't help it--I was engaged. A man in his own house has always +a bad time of it looking after the impossible people," says Adrian +evasively. + +"Poor Florence! Is she so very impossible?" asks Dora, laughing, but +pretending to reproach him. + +"I was not speaking of Miss Delmaine," says Adrian, flushing hotly. "She +is the least impossible person I ever met. It is a privilege to pass +one's time with her." + +"Yet it is with her you have passed the last hour that you hint has +been devoted to bores," returns Dora quietly. This is a mere feeler, +but she throws it out with such an air of certainty that Sir Adrian is +completely deceived, and believes her acquainted with his _tete-a-tete_ +with Florence in the dimly lit anteroom. + +"Well," he admits, coloring again, "your cousin was rather upset by the +acting, I think, and I just stayed with her until she felt equal to +joining us all again." + +"Ah!" exclaims Dora, who now knows all she had wanted to know. + +"But you must not tell me you have no dances left for me," says Adrian +gayly. "Come, let me see your card." He looks at it, and finds it indeed +full. "I am an unfortunate," he adds. + +"I think," says Dora, with the prettiest hesitation, "if you are +sure it would not be an unkind thing to do, I could scratch out this +name"--pointing to her partner's for the coming dance. + +"I am not sure at all," responds Sir Adrian, laughing. "I am positive it +will be awfully unkind of you to deprive any fellow of your society; but +be unkind, and scratch him out for my sake." + +He speaks lightly, but her heart beats high with hope. + +"For your sake," she repeats softly drawing her pencil across the name +written on her programme and substituting his. + +"But you will give me more than this one dance?" queries Adrian. "Is +there nobody else you can condemn to misery out of all that list?" + +"You are insatiable," she returns, blushing, and growing confused. "But +you shall have it all your own way. Here"--giving him her card--"take +what waltzes you will." She waltzes to perfection, and she knows it. + +"Then this, and this, and this," says Adrian, striking out three names +on her card, after which they move away together and mingle with the +other dancers. + +In the meantime, Florence growing fatigued, or disinclined to dance +longer with Dynecourt, stops abruptly near the door of a conservatory, +and, leaning against the framework, gazes with listless interest at the +busy scene around. + +"You are tired. Will you rest for awhile?" asks Arthur politely; and, +as she bends her head in cold consent, he leads her to a cushioned seat +that is placed almost opposite to the door-way, and from which the +ball-room and what is passing within it are distinctly visible. + +Sinking down amongst the blue-satin cushions of the seat he has pointed +out to her, Florence sighs softly, and lets her thoughts run, half +sadly, half gladly, upon her late interview with Sir Adrian. At least, +if he has guessed her secret, she knows now that he does not despise +her. There was no trace of contempt in the gentleness, the tenderness of +his manner. And how kindly he had told her of the intended change in his +life! "Their paths would lie far asunder for the future," he had said, +or something tantamount to that. He spoke no doubt of his coming +marriage. + +Then she begins to speculate dreamily upon the sort of woman who would +be happy enough to be his wife. She is still idly ruminating on this +point when her companion's voice brings her back to the present. She had +so far forgotten his existence in her day-dreaming that his words come +to her like a whisper from some other world, and occasion her an actual +shock. + +"Your thoughtfulness renders me sad," he is saying impressively. "It +carries you to regions where I can not follow you." + +To this she makes no reply, regarding him only with a calm questioning +glance that might well have daunted a better man. It only nerves him +however to even bolder words. + +"The journey your thoughts have taken--has it been a pleasant one?" he +asks, smiling. + +"I have come here for rest, not for conversation." There is undisguised +dislike in her tones. Still he is untouched by her scorn. He even grows +more defiant, as though determined to let her see that even her avowed +hatred can not subdue him. + +"If you only knew," he goes on, with slow meaning, regarding her as he +speaks with critical admiration, "how surpassingly beautiful you look +to-night, you would perhaps understand in a degree the power you possess +over your fellow-creatures. In that altitude, with that slight touch of +scorn upon your lips, you seem a meet partner for a monarch." + +She laughs a low contemptuous laugh, that even makes his blood run hotly +in his veins. + +"And yet you have the boldness to offer yourself as an aspirant to my +favor?" she says. "In truth, sir, you value yourself highly!" + +"Love will find the way!" he quotes quickly, though plainly disconcerted +by her merriment. "And in time I trust I shall have my reward." + +"In time, I trust you will," she returns, in a tone impossible to +misconstrue. + +At this point he deems it wise to change the subject; and, as he halts +rather lamely in his conversation, at a loss to find some topic that may +interest her or advance his cause, Sir Adrian and Dora pass by the door +of the conservatory. + +Sir Adrian is smiling gayly at some little speech of Dora's, and Dora is +looking up at him with a bright expression in her blue eyes that tells +of the happiness she feels. + +"Ah, I can not help thinking Adrian is doing very wisely," observes +Arthur Dynecourt, some evil genius at his elbow urging him to lie. + +"Doing--what?" asks his companion, roused suddenly into full life and +interest. + +"You pretend ignorance, no doubt"--smiling. "But one can see. Adrian's +marriage with Mrs. Talbot has been talked about for some time amongst +his intimates." + +A clasp like ice seems to seize upon Miss Delmaine's heart as these +words drop from his lips. She restrains her emotion bravely, but his +lynx-eye reads her through and through. + +"They seem to be more together to-night than is even usual with them," +goes on Arthur blandly. "Before you honored the room with your presence, +he had danced twice with her, and now again. It is very marked, his +attention to-night." + +As a matter of fact Adrian had not danced with Mrs. Talbot all the +evening until now, but Florence, not having been present at the opening +of the ball, is not in a position to refute this, as he well knows. + +"If there were anything in her friendship with Sir Adrian, I feel sure +Dora would tell me of it," she says slowly, and with difficulty. + +"And she hasn't?" asks Arthur, with so much surprise and incredulity in +his manner as goes far to convince her that there is some truth in his +statement. "Well, well," he adds, "one can not blame her. She would +doubtless be sure of his affection before speaking even to her dearest +friend." + +Florence winces, and sinks back upon the seat as though unable to +sustain an upright position any longer. Every word of his is as gall +and wormwood to her, each sentence a reminder--a reproach. Only the +other day this man now beside her had accused her of making sure of Sir +Adrian's affection before she had any right so to do. Her proud spirit +shrinks beneath the cruel taunt he hurls at her. + +"You look unusually 'done up,'" he goes on, in a tone of assumed +commiseration. "This evening has been too much for you. Acting a part +at any time is extremely trying and laborious." + +She shrinks still further from him. Acting a part! Is not all her life +becoming one dreary drama, in which she acts a part from morning until +night? Is there to be no rest for her? Oh, to escape from this man at +any price! She rises to her feet. + +"Our dance is almost at an end," she says; "and the heat is terrible. +I can remain here no longer." + +"You are ill," he exclaims eagerly, going to her side. He would have +supported her, but by a gesture she repels him. + +"If I am, it is you who have made me so," she retorts, with quick +passion, for which she despises herself an instant later. + +"Nay, not I," he rejoins, "but what my words have unconsciously conveyed +to you. Do not blame me. I thought you, as well as every one else here, +knew of Adrian's sentiments with regard to Mrs. Talbot." + +This is too much for her. Drawing herself up to her full height, +Florence casts a glance of anger and defiance in his direction, and, +sweeping past him in her most imperious fashion, appears no more that +night. + +It is an early party, all things considered, and Dora Talbot, going to +her room about two o'clock, stops before Florence's door and knocks +softly thereon. + +"Come in," calls Florence gently. + +"I have just stopped for a moment to express the hope that you are not +ill, dearest," says smooth-tongued Dora, advancing toward her. "How +early you left us! I shouldn't have known how early only that Mr. +Dynecourt told me. Are you sure you are not ill?" + +"Not in the least, only a little fatigued," replied Florence calmly. + +"Ah, no wonder, with your exertions before the dancing commenced, and +your unqualified success! You reigned over everybody, darling. Nobody +could hope even to divide the honors of the evening with you. Your +acting was simply superb." + +"Thank you," says Florence, who is not in bed, but is sitting in a chair +drawn near the window, through which the moonbeams are flinging their +pale rays. She is clad in a clinging white dressing-gown that makes her +beauty saint-like, and has all her long hair falling loosely round her +shoulders. + +"What a charming evening it has been!" exclaims Dora ecstatically, +clasping her hands, and leaning her arms on the back of a chair. "I +hardly know when I have felt so thoroughly happy." Florence shudders +visibly. "You enjoyed yourself, of course?" continues Dora. "Everyone +raved about you. You made at least a dozen conquests; one or half a +one--" with a careful hesitation in her manner intended to impress her +listener--"is as much as poor little insignificant me can expect." + +Florence looks at her questioningly. + +"I think one really honest lover is worth a dozen others," she says, +her voice trembling. "Do you mean me to understand, Dora, that you have +gained one to-night?" + +Florence's whole soul seems to hang on her cousin's answer. Dora +simpers, and tries to blush, but in reality grows a shade paler. She +is playing for a high stake, and fears to risk a throw lest it may be +ventured too soon. + +"Oh, you must not ask too much!" she replies, shaking her blonde head. +"A lover--no! How can you be so absurd! And yet I think--I hope--" + +"I see!" interrupts Florence sadly. "Well, I will be as discreet as you +wish; but at least, if what I imagine be true, I can congratulate you +with all my heart, because I know--I know you will be happy." + +Going over to Mrs. Talbot, she lays her arms round her neck and kisses +her softly. As she does so, a tear falls from her eyes upon Dora's +cheek. There is so much sweetness and abandonment of self in this action +that Dora for the moment is touched by it. She puts up her hand, and, +wiping away the tear from her cheek as though it burns her, says +lightly-- + +"But indeed, my dearest Flo, you must not imagine anything. All is +vague. I myself hardly know what it is to which I am alluding. 'Trifles +light as air' float through my brain, and gladden me in spite of my +common sense, which whispers that they may mean nothing. Do not build +castles for me that may have their existence only _en Espagne_." + +"They seem very bright castles," observes Florence wistfully. + +"A bad omen. 'All that's bright must fade,' sings the poet. And now to +speak of yourself. You enjoyed yourself?" + +"Of course--" mechanically. + +"Ah, yes; I was glad to see you had made it up with poor Arthur +Dynecourt!" + +"How?" demands Florence, turning upon her quickly. + +"I saw you dancing with him, dearest; I was with Sir Adrian at the time, +and from something he said, I think he would be rather pleased if you +could bring yourself to reward poor Arthur's long devotion." + +"Sir Arthur said that? He discussed me with you?" + +"Just in passing, you understand. He told me too that you were somewhat +unhappy in the earlier part of the evening, and that he had to stay a +considerable time with you to restore you to calmness. He is always so +kind, dear Adrian!" + +"He spoke of that?" demands Florence, in a tone of anguish. If he had +made her emotion a subject of common talk with Mrs. Talbot, all indeed +is at an end between them, even that sweet visionary offer of friendship +he had made to her. No; she could not submit to be talked about by him, +and the woman he loves! Oh, the bitter pang it costs her to say these +words to herself! That he now loves Dora seems to her mind beyond +dispute. Is she not his confidante, the one in whom he chooses to repose +all his secret thoughts and surmises? + +Dora regards her cousin keenly. Florence's evident agitation makes her +fear that there was more in that _tete-a-tete_ with Sir Adrian than she +had at first imagined. + +"Yes; why should he not speak of it?" Dora goes on coldly. "I think by +his manner your want of self-control shocked him. You should have a +greater command over yourself. It is not good form to betray one's +feelings to every chance passer-by. Yes; I think Sir Adrian was both +surprised and astonished." + +"There was nothing to cause him either surprise or astonishment," says +Florence haughtily; "and I could well have wished him out of the way!" + +"Perhaps I misunderstood him," rejoins Dora artfully. "But certainly +he spoke to me of being unpleasantly delayed by--by impossible +people--those were his very words; and really altogether--I may be +wrong--I believed he alluded to you. Of course, I would not follow the +matter up, because, much as I like Sir Adrian, I could not listen to him +speaking lightly of you!" + +"Of me--you forget yourself, Dora!" cries Florence, with pale lips, but +head erect. "Speaking lightly of me!" she repeats. + +"Young men are often careless in their language," explains Dora +hurriedly, feeling that she has gone too far. "He meant nothing unkind, +you may be sure!" + +"I am quite sure"--firmly. + +"Then no harm is done"--smiling brightly. "And now, good-night, dearest; +go to bed instead of sitting there looking like a ghost in those +mystical moonbeams." + +"Good-night," says Florence icily. + +There is something about her that causes Mrs. Talbot to feel almost +afraid to approach and kiss her as usual. + +"Want of rest will spoil your lovely eyes," adds the widow airily; "and +your complexion, faultless as it always is, will not be up to the mark +to-morrow. So sleep, foolish child, and gather roses from your +slumbers." + +So saying, she kisses her hand gayly to the unresponsive Florence, and +trips lightly from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Florence, after Dora has left her, sits motionless at her window. She +has thrown open the casement, and now--the sleeves of her dressing-gown +falling back from her bare rounded arms--leans out so that the +descending night-dews fall like a benison upon her burning brow. + +She is wrapped in melancholy; her whole soul is burdened with thoughts +and regrets almost too heavy for her to support. She is harassed and +perplexed on all sides, and her heart is sore for the loss of the love +she once had deemed her own. + +The moonbeams cling like a halo round her lovely head, her hair falls +in a luxuriant shower about her shoulders; her plaintive face is raised +from earth, her eyes look heavenward, as though seeking hope and comfort +there. + +The night is still, almost to oppressiveness. The birds have long since +ceased their song; the wind hardly stirs the foliage of the stately +trees. The perfume wafted upward from the sleeping garden floats past +her and mingles with her scented tresses. No sound comes to mar the +serenity of the night, all is calm and silent as the grave. + +Yet, hark, what is this? A footstep on the gravel path below arouses her +attention. For the first time since Dora's departure she moves, and, +turning her head, glances in the direction of the sound. + +Bareheaded, and walking with his hands clasped behind him as though +absorbed in deep thought, Sir Adrian comes slowly over the sward until +he stands beneath her window. Here he pauses, as though almost +unconsciously his spirit has led him thither, and brought him to a +standstill where he would most desire to be. + +The moon, spreading its brilliance on all around, permits Florence to +see that his face is grave and thoughtful, and--yes, as she gazes even +closer, she can see that it is full of pain and vain longing. + +What is rendering him unhappy on this night of all others, when the +woman she believes he loves has been his willing companion for so many +hours, when doubtless she has given him proofs of her preference for him +above all men? + +Suddenly lifting his head, Sir Adrian becomes conscious of the face in +the window above, and a thrill rushes through him as he recognizes the +form of the woman he loves. + +The scene is so calm, so hallowed, so full of romance, that both their +hearts beat madly for awhile. They are alone; any one still awake within +the house is far distant. + +Never has she appeared so spiritual, so true and tender; so full of +sweetness that is almost unearthly. All pride seems gone from her, and +in its place only a gentle melancholy reigns; she looks so far removed +from him, sitting there in the purity of her white robes, that, at +first, he hesitates to address her. To his excited imagination, she +is like an angel resting on its way to the realms above. + +At last, however, his heart compelling him, he speaks aloud. + +"Florence, you still awake, when all the world is sleeping?" + +Her name falling from his lips touches a chord in her breast, and wakes +her to passionate life. + +"You too," she says in a whisper that reaches his strained ears. There +seems to her a subtle joy in the thought that they two of all the +household are awake, are here talking together alone in the pale light +of the moon. + +Yet she is wrong in imagining that no others are up in the house, as his +next words tell her. + +"It is not a matter of wonder in my case," he responds; "a few fellows +are still in the smoking-room. It is early, you know--not yet three. But +you--why are you keeping a lonely vigil like this?" + +"The moon tempted me to the window," answers Florence. "See how calm +she looks riding majestically up there. See"--stretching out her bare +white arm until the beams fall full upon it, and seem to change it to +purest marble--"does it not make one feel as if all the world were being +bathed in its subdued glow?" + +A pale tremulous smile widens her lips. Sir Adrian, plucking a tall pale +lily growing near him, flings it upward with such an eager aim that it +alights upon her window-sill. She sees it. Her fingers close upon it. + +"Fit emblem of its possessor," says Adrian softly, and rather +unsteadily. "Do you know of what you remind me, sitting there in your +white robes? A medieval saint cut in stone--a pure angel, too good, too +far above all earthly passion to enter into it, or understand it, and +the grief that must ever attend upon it." + +He speaks bitterly. It seems to him that she is indeed cold not to +have guessed before this the intensity of his love for her. However +much she may have given her affection to another, it still seems to him +inexpressibly hard that she can have no pity for his suffering. He gazes +at her intently. Do the mystic moonbeams deceive him, or are there tears +in her great dark eyes? His heart beats quickly. Once again he remembers +her emotion of the past evening. He hears again her passionate sobs. Is +she unhappy? Are there thorns in her path that are difficult to remove? + +"Florence, once again I entreat you to confide in me," he says, after a +pause. + +"I can not," she returns, sadly but firmly. "But there is one thing I +must say to you--think of me as you may for saying it--I am not cold as +you seemed to imply a moment since; I am not made of stone; and, alas, +the grief you think me incapable of understanding is mine already! You +have wronged me in your thoughts. I have here," she exclaims with some +vehemence, laying the hand in which she still holds the drooping lily +upon her breast, "what I would gladly be without--a heart." + +"Nay," says Adrian hastily; "you forget. It is no longer yours, you have +given it away." + +For an instant she glances at him keenly, while her breath comes and +goes with painful quickness. + +"You have no right to say so," she murmurs at last. + +"No, of course not; I beg your pardon," he says apologetically. "It is +your own secret." + +"There is no secret," she declares nervously. "None." + +"I have offended you. I should not have said that. You will forgive me?" +he entreats, with agitation. + +"You are quite forgiven;" and, as a token of the truth of her words, she +leans a little further out of the window, and looks down at him with a +face pale indeed, but full of an unutterable sweetness. + +Her beauty conquers all his resolutions. + +"Oh, Florence," he whispers in an impassioned tone, "if I only dare to +tell you what--" + +She starts and lays a finger on her lips, as though to enforce silence. + +"Hush!" she says, in trembling accents. "You forget! The hour, the +surroundings, have momentarily led you astray. I ought not to have spoken +with you. Go! There is nothing you dare to tell me--there is nothing I +would wish to hear. Remember your duty to another--and--good-night." + +"Stay, I implore you, for one moment," he cries; but she is firm, and +presently the curtains are drawn close and he is alone. + +Slowly he walks back toward the smoking-room, her last words ringing in +his ears--"Remember your duty to another." What other? He is puzzled, +but, reaching the window of the room, he dismisses these thoughts from +his mind, and determines to get rid of his guests without delay, so as +to be able to enjoy a little quiet and calm for reflection. + +They are all noisily discussing a suicide that had recently taken place +in a neighboring county, and which had, from its peculiar circumstances, +caused more than usual interest. + +One of the guests to-night is an army-surgeon, and he is giving them an +explanation as to how the fatal wound had been inflicted. It appeared at +the inquest that the unfortunate man had shot himself in such a peculiar +manner as to cause considerable doubt as to whether he had been murdered +or had died by his own hand. Evidence, however, of a most convincing +nature had confirmed the latter theory. + +Captain Ringwood, with a revolver in his hand, is endeavoring to show +that the man could not have shot himself, just as Adrian re-enters. + +"Be careful with that revolver," he exclaims hastily; "it is loaded!" + +"All right, old fellow, I know it," returns Ringwood. "Look here, +doctor, if he held it so, how could he make a wound here?" + +"Why not? Sir Adrian, take the revolver for a moment, will you?" says +the surgeon, anxious to demonstrate his theory beyond the possibility of +doubt. "I want to convince Ringwood. Now stand so, and hold the weapon +so"--placing it with the muzzle presented in a rather awkward position +almost over his heart. + +"I thought fellows always put the muzzles of their revolvers in their +mouths and blew their brains out when they committed suicide," Ringwood +remarks lightly. + +"This fellow evidently did not," says the surgeon calmly. "Now, Sir +Adrian, you see, by holding it thus, you could quite easily blow +yourself to--" + +Before he can finish the sentence, there is a sudden confusion of +bodies, a jostling as it were, for Arthur Dynecourt, who had been +looking on attentively with one foot on a footstool close to Sir +Adrian's elbow, had slipped from the stool at this inopportune moment, +and had fallen heavily against his cousin. + +There is a shout from somebody, and then a silence. The revolver in the +scuffle had gone off! Through the house the sharp crack of a bullet +rings loudly, rousing many from their slumbers. + +Lights can be seen in the passages; terrified faces peep out from +half-opened doors. Dora Talbot, coming into the corridor in a pale pink +cashmere dressing-gown trimmed with swan's-down, in which she looks the +very personification of innocence and youth, screams loudly, and demands +hysterically to be informed as to the cause of the unusual noise. + +The servants have rushed from their quarters in alarm. Ethel Villiers, +with a pale scared face, runs to Florence Delmaine's room, and throws +her arms round that young lady as she comes out, pale but composed, to +ask in a clear tone what has happened. + +As nobody knows, and as Florence in her heart is more frightened than +she cares to confess, being aware through Adrian that some of the men +are still up in the smoking-room, and fearing that a quarrel had arisen +among them, she proposes that they should go to the smoking-room in a +body and make inquiries. + +Old Lady FitzAlmont, with Lady Gertrude sobbing on her arm, seconds +this proposal, and, being a veteran of much distinction, takes the lead. +Those following close behind, are glad of this, and hopeful because +of it, her appearance being calculated to rout any enemy. The awful +character of her dressing-gown and the severity of the nightcap that +crowns her martial head would strike terror to the hearts of any +midnight marauders. They all move off in a body, and, guided +unconsciously by Florence, approach the smoking-room. + +Voices loud in conversation can be heard as they draw near; the door is +slightly ajar. Florence drawing back as they come quite up to it, the +old lady waves her aside, and advances boldly to the front. Flinging +wide open the door, she bursts upon the astonished company within. + +"Where is he?" she asks, with a dignity that only heightens the +attractions of the cap and gown. "Have you secured him? Sir Adrian, +where is the constable? Have you sent for him?" + +Sir Adrian, whose gaze is fixed upon the fair vision in the trailing +white gown standing timidly in the door-way, forgets to answer his +interrogator, and the others, taken by surprise, maintain a solemn +silence. + +"Why this mystery?" demands Lady FitzAlmont sternly. "Where is the +miscreant? Where is the man that fired that murderous shot?" + +"Here, madame," replies the surgeon dryly, indicating Arthur Dynecourt +by a motion of the hand. + +"He--who? Mr. Dynecourt?" ejaculates her ladyship in a disappointed +tone. "It was all a mistake, then? I must say, Mr. Dynecourt," continues +the old lady in an indignant tone, "that I think you might find a more +suitable time in which to play off your jokes, or to practice +target-shooting, than in the middle of the night, when every respectable +household ought to be wrapped in slumber." + +"I assure you," begins Arthur Dynecourt, who is strangely pale and +discomposed, "it was all an accident--an--" + +"Accident! Nonsense, sir; I don't believe there was any accident +whatsoever!" + +As these words pass the lips of the irascible old lady, several men in +the room exchange significant glances. Is it that old Lady FitzAlmont +has just put their own thoughts into words? + +"Let me explain to your ladyship," says Sir Adrian courteously. "We were +just talking about that unfortunate affair of the Stewarts, and Maitland +was showing us how it might have occurred. I had the revolver in my +hand so"--pointing the weapon toward himself. + +"Put down that abominable weapon at once, sir!" commands Lady FitzAlmont, +in a menacing tone, largely mingled with abject fear. As she speaks she +retreats precipitately behind Florence, thus pushing that young lady to +the fore. + +"When my cousin unhappily stumbled against me, and the revolver went +off," goes on Sir Adrian. "I'm deeply grieved, Lady FitzAlmont, that +this should have occurred to disturb the household; but, really, it was +a pure accident." + +"A pure accident," repeats Arthur, from between his colorless lips. + +He looks far more distressed by this occurrence than Sir Adrian, who +had narrowly escaped being wounded. This only showed his tenderness and +proper feeling, as almost all the women present mutually agreed. Almost +all, but not quite. Dora Talbot, for example, grows deadly pale as she +listens to the explanation and watches Arthur's ghastly face. What is it +like? The face of a murderer? + +"Oh, no, no," she gasps inwardly; "surely not that!" + +"It was the purest accident, I assure you," protests Arthur again, as +though anxious to impress this conviction upon his own mind. + +"It might have been a very serious one," says the surgeon gravely, +regarding him with a keen glance. "It might have meant death to Sir +Adrian!" + +Florence changes color and glances at her host with parted lips. Dora +Talbot, pressing her way through the group in the door-way, goes +straight up to him as if impulsively, and takes his hand in both hers. + +"Dear Sir Adrian, how can we be thankful enough for your escape?" she +says sweetly, tears standing in her bright blue eyes. She presses his +hand warmly, and even raises it to her lips in a transport of emotion. +Standing there in the pretty pink dressing-gown that shows off her +complexion to perfection, Dora Talbot looks lovely. + +"You are very good--very kind," returns Sir Adrian, really touched +by her concern, but still with eyes only for the white vision in the +door-way; "but you make too much of nothing. I am only sorry I have been +the unhappy cause of rousing you from your rosy dreams; you will not +thank me to-morrow when there will be only lilies in your cheeks." + +The word lily brings back to him his last interview with Florence. He +glances hurriedly at her right hand; yes, the same lily is clasped in +her fingers. Has she sat ever since with his gift before her, in her +silent chamber? Alone--in grief perhaps. But why has she kept his +flower? What can it all mean? + +"We shall mind nothing, now you are safe," Dora assures him tremulously. + +"I think I might be shown some consideration," puts in Arthur, trying by +a violent effort to assert himself, and to speak lightly. "Had anything +happened, surely I should have been the one to be pitied. It would have +been my fault, and, Mrs. Talbot, I think you might show some pity for +me." He holds out his hand, and mechanically Dora lays her own in it. + +But it is only for an instant, and she shudders violently as his touch +meets hers. Her eyes are on the ground, and she can not bring herself +to look at him. Drawing her fingers hurriedly from his, she goes to the +door and disappears from view. + +In the meantime, Sir Adrian, having made his way to Florence, points to +the lily. + +"You have held it ever since?" he asks, in a low tone. "I hardly hoped +for so much. But you have not congratulated me, you alone have said +nothing." + +"Why need I speak? I have seen you with my own eyes. You are safe. +Believe me, Sir Adrian, I congratulate you most sincerely upon your +escape." + +Her words are cold, her eyes downcast. She is deeply annoyed with +herself for having carried the lily into his presence here. The very +fact of his having noticed it and spoken to her about it has shown her +how much importance he has attached to her doing so. What will he think +of her. He will doubtless picture her to himself sitting weeping and +brooding over a flower given to her by a man who loves her not, and to +whom she has given her love unsolicited. + +Her marked coldness so oppresses him that he steps back, and does not +venture to address her again. It occurs to him that she is reserved +because of Arthur's presence. + +Presently, Lady FitzAlmont, marshaling her forces anew, carries them all +away to their rooms, soundly rating the sobbing Lady Gertrude for her +want of self-control. + +The men too, shortly afterward disperse, and one by one drift away to +their rooms. Captain Ringwood and Maitland the surgeon being the last to +go. + +"Who is the next heir to the castle?" asks the latter musingly, drumming +his fingers idly on a table near him. + +"Dynecourt, the fellow who nearly did for Sir Adrian this evening!" +replies Ringwood quietly. + +"Ah!" + +"It would have meant a very good thing for Arthur if the shot had taken +effect," says Ringwood, eying his companion curiously. + +"It would have meant murder, sir!" rejoins the surgeon shortly. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +"Dear Sir Adrian," says Dora Talbot, laying down her bat upon a +garden-chair, and forsaking the game of tennis then proceeding to go +forward and greet her host, "where have you been? We have missed you so +much. Florence"--turning to her cousin--"will you take my bat, dearest? +I am quite tired of trying to defeat Lord Lisle." + +Lord Lisle, a middle-aged gentleman of sunburned appearance, looks +unmistakably delighted at the prospect of a change in the game. He is +married; has a large family of promising young Lisles, and a fervent +passion for tennis. Mrs. Talbot having proved a very contemptible +adversary, he is charmed at this chance of getting rid of her. + +So Florence, _vice_ Dora retired, joins the game, and the play continues +with unabated vigor. When however Lord Lisle has scored a grand victory, +and all the players declare themselves thoroughly exhausted and in need +of refreshment, Sir Adrian comes forward, and walks straight up to Miss +Delmaine, to Dora's intense chagrin and the secret rage of Arthur +Dynecourt. + +"You have often asked to see the 'haunted chamber,'" he says; "why not +come and visit it now? It isn't much to see, you know; but still, in a +ghostly sense, it is, I suppose, interesting." + +"Let us make a party and go together," suggests Dora, enthusiastically +clasping her hands--her favorite method of showing false emotion of +any kind. She is determined to have her part in the programme, and is +equally determined that Florence shall go nowhere alone with Sir Adrian. + +"What a capital idea!" puts in Arthur Dynecourt, coming up to Miss +Delmaine, and specially addressing her with all the air of a rightful +owner. + +"Charming," murmurs a young lady standing by; and so the question is +settled. + +"It will be rather a fatiguing journey, you know," says Captain +Ringwood, confidentially, to Ethel Villiers. "It's an awful lot of +stairs; I've been there, so I know all about it--it's worse than the +treadmill." + +"Have you been there too?" demands Miss Ethel saucily, glancing at him +from under her long lashes. + +"Not yet," answers the captain, with a little grin. "But, I say, don't +go--will you?" + +"I must; I'm dying to see it," replies Ethel. "You needn't come, you +know; I dare say I shall be able to get on without you for half an hour +or so." + +"I dare say you could get on uncommonly well without me forever," +retorts the captain rather gloomily. To himself he confesses moodily +that this girl with the auburn hair and the blue eyes has the power of +taking the "curl out of him" whensoever she wishes. + +"I believe you are afraid of the bogies hidden in this secret chamber, +and so don't care to come," says Miss Villiers tauntingly. + +"I know something else I'm a great deal more afraid of," responds the +gallant captain meaningly. + +"Me?" she asks innocently, but certainly coquettishly. "Oh, Captain +Ringwood"--in a tone of mock injury--"what an unkind speech! Now I know +you look upon me in the light of an ogress, or a witch, or something +equally dreadful. Well, as I have the name of it, I may as well have +the gain of it, and so--I command you to attend me to the 'haunted +chamber.'" + +"You order--I obey," says the captain. "'Call and I follow--I follow, +though I die!'" After which quotation he accompanies her toward the +house in the wake of Dora and Sir Adrian, who has been pressed by the +clever widow into her service. + +Florence and Arthur Dynecourt follow them, Arthur talking gayly, as +though determined to ignore the fact that he is thoroughly unwelcome to +his companion; Florence, with head erect and haughty footsteps and eyes +carefully averted. + +Past the hall, through the corridor, up the staircase, through the +galleries, along more corridors they go, laughing and talking eagerly, +until they come at last to an old and apparently much disused part of +the house. + +Traversing more corridors, upon which dust lies thickly, they come at +last to a small iron-bound door that blocks the end of one passage. + +"Now we really begin to get near to it," says Sir Adrian encouragingly, +turning, as he always does, when opportunity offers, to address himself +solely to Florence. + +"Don't you feel creepy-creepy?" asks Ethel Villiers, with a smothered +laugh, looking up at Captain Ringwood. + +Then Sir Adrian pushes open the door, revealing a steep flight of stone +steps that leads upward to another door above. This door, like the lower +one, is bound with iron. + +"This is the tower," explains Sir Adrian, still acting as cicerone +to the small party, who look with interest around them. Mrs. Talbot, +affecting nervousness, clings closely to Sir Adrian's arm. Indeed she is +debating in her own mind whether it would be effective or otherwise to +subside into a graceful swoon within his arms. "Yonder is the door of +the chamber," continues Sir Adrian. "Come, let us go up to it." + +They all ascend the last flight of stone stairs; and presently their +host opens the door, and reveals to them whatever mysteries may lie +beyond. He enters first, and they all follow him, but, as if suddenly +recollecting some important point, he turns, and calls loudly to Captain +Ringwood not to let the door shut behind him. + +"There is a peculiar spring in the lock," he explains a moment later; +"and, if the door slammed to, we should find it impossible to open it +from the inside, and might remain here prisoners forever unless the +household came to the rescue." + +"Oh, Captain Ringwood, pray be careful!" cries Dora falteringly. "Our +very lives depend upon your attention!" + +"Miss Villiers, do come here and help me to remember my duty," says +Captain Ringwood, planting his back against the open door lest by any +means it should shut. + +The chamber is round, and has, instead of windows, three narrow +apertures in the walls, through which can be obtained a glimpse of the +sky, but of nothing else. These apertures are just large enough to admit +a man's hand. The room is without furniture of any description, and on +the boards the dark stains of blood are distinctly visible. + +"Dynecourt, tell them a story or two," calls out Ringwood to Sir Adrian. +"They won't believe it is veritably haunted unless you call up a ghost +to frighten them." + +But they all protest in a body that they do not wish to hear any ghost +stories, so Sir Adrian laughingly refuses to comply with Ringwood's +request. + +"Are we far from the other parts of the house?" asks Florence at length, +who has been examining some writing on the walls. + +"So far that, if you were immured here, no cry, however loud, could +penetrate the distance," replies Sir Adrian. "You are as thoroughly +removed from the habitable parts of the castle as if you were in the +next county." + +"How interesting!" observes Dora, with a little simper. + +"The servants are so afraid of this room that they would not venture +here even by daylight," Sir Adrian goes on. "You can see how the dust of +years is on it. One might be slowly starved to death here without one's +friends being a bit the wiser." + +He laughs as he says this, but, long afterward, his words come back to +his listeners' memories, filling their breasts with terror and despair. + +"I wonder you don't have this dangerous lock removed," says Captain +Ringwood. "It is a regular trap. Some day you'll be sorry for it." + +Prophetic words! + +"Yes; I wish it were removed," responds Florence, with a strange quick +shiver. + +Sir Adrian laughs. + +"Why, that is one of the old tower's greatest charms," he says. "It +belongs to the dark ages, and suggests all sorts of horrible +possibilities. This room would be nothing without its mysterious lock." + +At this moment Dora's eyes turn slowly toward Arthur Dynecourt. She +herself hardly knows why, at this particular time, she should look at +him, yet she feels that some unaccountable fascination is compelling her +gaze to encounter his. Their eyes meet. As they do so, Dora shudders and +turns deadly pale. There is that in Arthur Dynecourt's dark and sullen +eyes that strikes her cold with terror and vague forebodings of evil. It +is a wicked look that overspreads the man's face--a cruel, implacable +look that seems to freeze her as she gazes at him spell-bound. Slowly, +even while she watches him, she sees him turn his glance from her to Sir +Adrian in a meaning manner, as though to let her know that the vile +thought that is working in his brain and is betraying itself on his face +is intended for him, not her. And yet, with this too, he gives her +silently to understand that, if she shows any treachery toward him, he +will not leave it unrewarded. + +Cowed, frightened, trembling at what she knows not, Dora staggers +backward, and, laying a hand upon the wall beside her, tries to regain +her self-possession. The others are all talking together, she is +therefore unobserved. She stands, still panting and pallid, trying +to collect her thoughts. + +Only one thing comes clearly to her, filling her with loathing of +herself and an unnamed dread--it is that, by her own double-dealing and +falseness toward Florence, she has seemed to enter into a compact with +this man to be a companion in whatever crime he may decide upon. His +very look seems to implicate her, to drag her down with him to his +level. She feels herself chained to him--his partner in a vile +conspiracy. And what further adds to the horror of the situation is the +knowledge that she knows herself to be blindly ignorant of whatever +plans he may be forming. + +After a few seconds she rouses herself, and wins back some degree of +composure. It is of course a mere weakness to believe herself in the +power of Arthur Dynecourt, she tries to convince herself. He is no more +than any other ordinary acquaintance. If indeed she has helped him a +little in his efforts to secure the love of Florence, there was no great +harm in that, though of course it served her own purpose also. + +"How pale you are, Mrs. Talbot?" remarks Sir Adrian suddenly, wheeling +round to look at her more closely. "Has this damp old place really +affected your nerves? Come, let us go down again, and forget in the +sunshine that bloody deeds were ever committed here or elsewhere." + +"I am nervous, I confess," responds Dora, in a low tone. "Yes, yes--let +us leave this terrible room forever." + +"So be it," says Sir Adrian gayly. "For my part, I feel no desire to +ever re-enter it." + +"It is very high art, I suppose," observes Ethel Villiers, glancing +round the walls. "Uncomfortable places always are. It would be quite +a treasure to Lady Betty Trefeld, who raves over the early Britons. It +seems rather thrown away upon us. Captain Ringwood, you look as if you +had been suddenly turned into stone. Let me pass, please." + +"It was uncommonly friendly of Ringwood not to have let the door slam, +and so imprisoned us for life," says Sir Adrian, with a laugh. "I am +sure we owe him a debt of gratitude." + +"I hope you'll all pay it," laughs Ringwood. "It will be a nice new +experience for you to give a creditor something for once. I never pay my +own debts; but that doesn't count. I feel sure you are all going to give +me something for my services as door-keeper." + +"What shall I give you?" asks Ethel coquettishly. + +"I'll tell you by and by," he replies, with such an expressive look that +for once the saucy girl has no answer ready, but, blushing crimson, +hurries past him down the stone stairs, where she waits at the bottom +for the others. + +As Florence reaches the door she pauses and stoops to examine the lock. + +"I wish," she says to Sir Adrian, a strange subdued excitement in her +tone, "you would remove this lock. Do." + +"But why?" he asks, impressed in spite of himself, by her manner. + +"I hardly know myself; it is a fancy--an unaccountable one, perhaps--but +still a powerful one. Do be guided by me, and have it removed." + +"What--the fancy?" he asks, laughing. + +"No--the lock. Humor me in this," she pleads earnestly, far more +earnestly than the occasion seems to warrant. "Call it a silly +presentiment, if you like, but I honestly think that lock will work you +evil some day. Therefore it is that I ask you to do away with it." + +"You ask me?" he queries. + +"Yes, if only to please me--for my sake." + +She has evidently forgotten her late distrust of him, for she speaks now +in the old sweet tone, and with tears in her eyes. Sir Adrian flushes +warmly. + +"For your sake," he whispers. "What is there I would not do, if thus +requested?" + +A bitter sneer contracts Arthur Dynecourt's lips as he listens to the +first part of this conversation and guesses at the latter half. He notes +correctly the kindling of their eyes, the quick breath that comes and +goes like happy sighs from the breast of Florence. He hears the whisper, +sees the warm blush, and glances expressively at Dora. Meeting her eyes +he says his finger on his lips to caution her to silence, and then, when +passing by her, whispers: + +"Meet me in half an hour in the lower gallery." + +Bowing her acquiescence in this arrangement, fearing indeed to refuse, +Dora follows the others from the haunted chamber. + +At the foot of the small stone staircase--before they go through the +first iron-bound door that leads to the corridor without--they find +Ethel Villiers awaiting them. She had been looking round her in the +dimly lighted stone passage, and has discovered another door fixed +mysteriously in a corner, that had excited her curiosity. + +"Where does this lead to, Sir Adrian?" she asks now, pointing to it. + +"Oh, that is an old door connected with another passage that leads by +a dark and wearying staircase to the servants' corridor beneath! I am +afraid you won't be able to open it, as it is rusty with age and disuse. +The servants would as soon think of coming up here as they would of +making an appointment with the Evil One; so it has not been opened for +years." + +"Perhaps I can manage it," says Arthur Dynecourt, trying with all his +might to force the ancient lock to yield to him. At length his efforts +are crowned with success; the door flies creakingly open, and a cloud of +dust uprising covers them like a mist. + +"Ah!" exclaims Ethel, recoiling; but Arthur, stooping forward, carefully +examines the dark staircase that lies before him wrapped in impenetrable +gloom. Spider-nets have been drawn from wall to wall and hang in dusky +clouds from the low ceiling; a faint, stale, stifling smell greets his +nostrils, yet he lingers there and looks carefully around him. + +"You'll fall into it, if you don't mind," remarks Captain Ringwood. "One +would think uncanny spots had an unwholesome attraction for you." + +Ringwood, ever since the memorable night in the smoking-room, when Sir +Adrian was so near being killed, has looked askance at Arthur Dynecourt, +and, when taking the trouble to address him at all, has been either +sharp or pointed in his remarks. Arthur, contenting himself with a +scowl at him, closes the little door again, and turns away from it. + +"At night," says Sir Adrian, in an amused tone, "the servants, passing +by the door below that leads up to this one, run by it as though they +fear some ghostly ancestors of mine, descending from the haunted +chamber, will pounce out upon them with their heads under their arms, +or in some equally unpleasant position. You know the door, don't you, +Arthur--the second from the turning?" + +"No," replies Arthur, with his false smile, "I do not; nor, indeed, +do I care to know it. I firmly believe I should run past it too after +nightfall, unless well protected." + +"That looks as if you had an evil conscience," says Ringwood carelessly, +but none the less purposely. + +"It looks more as if I were a coward, I think," retorts Arthur, +laughing, but shooting an angry glance at the gallant captain as he +speaks. + +"Well, what does the immortal William say?" returns Ringwood coolly. +"'Conscience doth make cowards of us all!'" + +"You have a sharp wit, sir," says Arthur, with apparent lightness, but +pale with passion. + +"I say, look here," breaks in Sir Adrian hastily, pulling out his watch; +"it must be nearly time for tea. By Jove, quite half past four, and we +know what Lady FitzAlmont will say to us if we keep her deprived of her +favorite beverage for even five minutes. Come, let us run, or +destruction will light upon our heads." + +So saying, he leads the way, and soon they leave the haunted chamber and +all its gloomy associations far behind them. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Reluctantly, yet with a certain amount of curiosity to know what it is +he may wish to say to her, Dora wends her way to the gallery to keep her +appointment with Arthur. Pacing to and fro beneath the searching eyes +of the gaunt cavaliers and haughty dames that gleam down upon him from +their canvases upon the walls, Dynecourt impatiently awaits her coming. + +"Ah, you are late!" he exclaims as she approaches. There is a tone of +authority about him that dismays her. + +"Not very, I think," she responds pleasantly, deeming conciliatory +measures the best. "Why did you not come to the library? We all missed +you so much at tea!" + +"No doubt," he replies sarcastically. "I can well fancy the +disappointment my absence caused; the blank looks and regretful speeches +that marked my defection. Pshaw--let you and me at least be honest to +each other! Did Florence, think you, shed tears because of my +non-coming?" + +This mood of his is so strange to her that, in spite of the natural +false smoothness that belongs to her, it renders her dumb. + +"Look here," he goes on savagely, "I have seen enough to-day up in that +accursed room above--that haunted chamber--to show me our game is not +yet won." + +"Our game--what game?" asks Dora, with a foolish attempt at +misconception. + +He laughs aloud--a wild, unpleasant, scornful laugh, that makes her +cheek turn pale. Its mirth, she tells herself, is demoniacal. + +"You would get out of it now, would you?" he says. "It is too late, I +tell you. You have gone some way with me, you must go the rest. I want +your help, and you want mine. Will you draw back now, when the prize is +half won, when a little more labor will place it within your grasp?" + +"But there must be no violence," she gasps; "no attempt at--" + +"What is it you would say?" he interrupts stonily. "Collect yourself; +you surely do not know what you are hinting at. Violence! what do you +mean by that?" + +"I hardly know," she returns, trembling. "It was your look, your tone, +I think, that frightened me." + +"Put your nerves in your pocket for the future," he exclaims coarsely; +"they are not wanted where I am. Now to business. You want to marry Sir +Adrian, as I understand, whether his desire lies in the same direction +or not?" + +At this plain speaking the dainty little lady winces openly. + +"My own opinion is that his desire does not run in your direction," +continues Arthur remorselessly. "We both know where his heart would +gladly find its home, where he would seek a bride to place here in this +grand old castle, but I will frustrate that hope if I die for it." + +He grinds his teeth as he says this, and looks with fierce defiant eyes +at the long rows of his ancestors that line the walls. + +"She would gladly see her proud fair face looking down upon me from +amidst this goodly company," he goes on, apostrophizing the absent +Florence. "But that shall never be. I have sworn it; unless--I am her +husband--unless--I am her husband!" + +More slowly, more thoughtfully he repeats this last phrase, until Dora, +affrighted by the sudden change that has disfigured his face, speaks to +him to distract his attention. + +"You have brought me here to--" she ventures timidly. + +"Ay, to tell you what is on my mind. I have said you want to marry +Adrian; I mean to marry Florence Delmaine. To-day I disliked certain +symptoms I saw, that led me to believe that my own machinations have not +been as successful as I could have wished. Before going in for stronger +measures, there is one more card that I will play. I have written you a +note. Here it is, take it"--handing her a letter folded in the +cocked-hat fashion. + +"What am I to do with this?" asks Dora nervously. + +"Read it. It is addressed to yourself. You will see I have copied +Adrian's handwriting as closely as possible, and have put his initials +A.D. at the end. And yet"--with a diabolical smile--"it is no forgery +either, as A.D. are my initials also." + +Opening the note with trembling fingers, Dora reads aloud as follows: + +"Can you--will you meet me to-morrow at four o'clock in the lime-walk? +I have been cold to you perhaps, but have I not had cause? You think my +slight attentions to another betoken a decrease in my love for you, but +in this, dearest, you are mistaken. I am yours heart and soul. For the +present I dare not declare myself, for the reasons you already know, and +for the same reasons am bound to keep up a seeming friendliness with +some I would gladly break with altogether. But I am happy only with you, +and happy too in the thought that our hearts beat as one. Yours +forever, A.D." + +Dora, having finished reading the letter, glances at him uneasily. + +"And--what is the meaning of this letter? What is it written for? What +am I to do with it?" she stammers, beating the precious missive against +the palm of her hand, as though in loathing of it. + +"You will show it to her. You will speak of it as a love-letter written +to you by Adrian. You will consult her as to whether it be wise or +prudent to accede to his proposal to meet you alone in the lime-walk. +You will, in fact, put out all your powers of deception, which"--with a +sneering smile--"are great, and so compel her to believe the letter is +from him to you." + +"But--" falters Dora. + +"There shall be no 'but' in the matter. You have entered into this +affair with me, and you shall pursue it to the end. If you fail me, I +shall betray your share in it--more than your share--and paint you in +such colors as will shut the doors of society to you. You understand +now, do you?" + +"Go on," says Dora, with colorless lips. + +"Ah, I have touched the right chord at last, have I? Society, your idol, +you dare not brave! Well, to continue, you will also tell her, in your +own sweet innocent way"--with another sneer that makes her quiver with +fear and rage--"to account for Adrian's decided and almost lover-like +attentions to her in the room we visited, that you had had a lovers' +quarrel with him some time before, earlier in the day; that, in his fit +of pique, he had sought to be revenged upon you, and soothe his slighted +feelings by feigning a sudden interest in her. You follow me?" + +"Yes," replies the submissive Dora. Alas, how sincerely she now wishes +she had never entered into this hateful intrigue! + +"Then, when you have carefully sown these lies in her heart, and seen +her proud face darken and quiver with pain beneath your words"--oh, how +his own evil face glows with unholy satisfaction as he sees the picture +he has just drawn stand out clear before his eyes!--"you will affect to +be driven by compunction into granting Sir Adrian a supposed request, +you will don your hat and cloak, and go down to the lime-walk to +encounter--me. If I am any judge of character, that girl, so haughty to +all the world, will lower her pride for her crushed love's sake, and +will follow you, to madden herself with your meeting with the man she +loves. To her, I shall on this occasion represent Sir Adrian. Are you +listening?" + +She is indeed--listening with all her might to the master mind that has +her in thrall. + +"You will remember not to start when you meet me," he continues, issuing +his commands with insolent assumption of authority over the dainty Dora, +who, up to this, has been accustomed to rule it over others in her +particular sphere, and who now chafes and writhes beneath the sense of +slavery that is oppressing her. "You will meet me calmly, oblivious of +the fact that I shall be clad in my cousin's light overcoat, the one of +which Miss Delmaine was graciously pleased to say she approved yesterday +morning." + +His eyes light again with a revengeful fire as he calls to mind the +slight praise Florence had bestowed in a very casual fashion on this +coat. Every smile, every kindly word addressed by this girl to his +cousin, is treasured up by him and dwelt upon in secret, to the terrible +strengthening of the purpose he has in view. + +"But if you should be seen--be marked," hesitates Dora faintly. + +"Pshaw--am I one to lay my plans so clumsily as to court discovery on +even the minutest point?" he interrupts impatiently. "When you meet me +you will--but enough of this; I shall be there to meet you in the +lime-walk, and after that you will take your cue from me." + +"That is all you have to say?" asks Dora, anxious to quit his hated +presence. + +"For the present--yes. Follow my instructions to the letter, or dread +the consequences. Any blunder in the performance of this arrangement I +shall lay to your charge." + +"You threaten, sir!" she exclaims angrily, though she trembles. + +"Let it be your care to see that I do not carry out my threats," he +retorts, with an insolent shrug. + +The next day, directly after luncheon, as Florence is sitting in her +own room, touching up an unfinished water-color sketch of part of the +grounds round the castle--which have, alas, grown only too dear to +her!--Dora enters her room. It is an embarrassed and significantly +smiling Dora that trips up to her, and says with pretty hesitation in +her tone-- + +"Dearest Florence, I want your advice about something." + +"Mine?" exclaims Florence, laying down her brush, and looking, as she +feels, astonished. As a rule, the gentle Dora does not seek for wisdom +from her friends. + +"Yes, dear, if you can spare me the time. Just five minutes will do, and +then you can return to your charming sketch. Oh"--glancing at it--"how +exactly like it is--so perfect; what a sunset, and what firs! One could +imagine one's self in the Fairies' Glen by just looking at it." + +"It is not the Fairies' Glen at all; it is that bit down by Gough's +farm," says Florence coldly. Of late she has not been so blind to Dora's +artificialness as she used to be. + +"Ah, so it is!" agrees Dora airily, not in the least discomposed at her +mistake. "And so like it too. You are a genius, dearest, you are really, +and might make your fortune, only that you have one made already for +you, fortunate girl!" + +"You want my advice," suggests Florence quietly. + +"Ah, true; and about something important too!" She throws into her whole +air so much coquetry mingled with assumed bashfulness that Florence +knows by instinct that the "something" has Sir Adrian for its theme, and +she grows pale and miserable accordingly. + +"Let me hear it then," she urges, leaning back with a weary sigh. + +"I have just received this letter," says Mrs. Talbot, taking from her +pocket the letter Arthur had given her, and holding it out to Florence, +"and I want to know how I shall answer it. Would you--would you honestly +advise me, Flo, to go and meet him as he desires?" + +"As who desires?" + +"Ah, true; you do not know, of course! I am so selfishly full of myself +and my own concerns, that I seem to think every one else must be full +of them too. Forgive me, dearest, and read his sweet little letter, will +you?" + +"Of whom are you speaking--to whose letter do you refer?" asks Florence, +a little sharply, in the agony of her heart. + +"Florence! Whose letter would I call 'sweet' except Sir Adrian's?" +answers her cousin, with gentle reproach. + +"But it is meant for you, not for me," says Miss Delmaine, holding the +letter in her hand, and glancing at it with great distaste. "He probably +intended no other eyes but yours to look upon it." + +"But I must obtain advice from some one, and who so natural to expect it +from as you, my nearest relative? If, however"--putting her handkerchief +to her eyes--"you object to help me, Florence, or if it distresses you +to read--" + +"Distresses me?" interrupts Florence haughtily. "Why should it distress +me? If you have no objection to my reading your--lover's--letter, why +should I hesitate about doing so? Pray sit down while I run through it." + +Dora having seated herself, Florence hastily reads the false note from +beginning to end. Her heart beats furiously as she does so, and her +color comes and goes; but her voice is quite steady when she speaks +again. + +"Well," she says, putting the paper from her as though heartily glad +to be rid of it, "it seems that Sir Adrian wishes to speak to you on +some subject interesting to you and him alone, and that he has chosen +the privacy of the lime-walk as the spot in which to hold your +_tete-a-tete_. It is quite a simple affair, is it not? Though really, +why he could not arrange to talk privately to you in some room in the +castle, which is surely large enough for the purpose, I can not +understand." + +"Dear Sir Adrian is so romantic," says Dora coyly. + +"Is he?" responds her cousin dryly. "He has always seemed to me the +sanest of men. Well, on what matter do you wish to consult me?" + +"Dear Florence, how terribly prosaic and unsympathetic you are to-day," +says Dora reproachfully; "and I came to you so sure of offers of love +and friendship! I want you to tell me if you think I ought to meet him +or not." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know"--with a little simper. "Is it perhaps humoring him too +much? I have always dreaded letting a man imagine I cared for him, +unless fully, utterly, assured of his affection for me." + +Florence colors again, and then grows deadly pale, as this poisoned barb +pierces her bosom. + +"I should think," she says slowly, "after reading the letter you have +just shown me, you ought to feel assured." + +"You believe I ought, really?"--with a fine show of eagerness. "Now, you +are not saying this to please me--to gratify me?" + +"I should not please or gratify any one at the expense of truth." + +"No, of course not. You are such a high-principled girl, so different +from many others. Then you think I might go and meet him this evening +without sacrificing my dignity in any way?" + +"Certainly." + +"Oh, I'm so glad," exclaimed little Mrs. Talbot rapturously, nodding her +"honorable" head with a beaming smile, "because I do so want to meet +him, dear fellow! And I value your opinion, Flo, more highly than that +of any other friend I possess. You are so solid, so thoughtful--such a +dear thing altogether." + +Florence takes no heed of this rodomontade, but sits quite still, with +downcast eyes, tapping the small table near her with the tips of her +slender fingers in a meditative fashion. + +"The fact is," continues Dora, who is watching her closely, "I may +as well let you into a little secret. Yesterday Sir Adrian and I had +a tiny, oh, such a tiny little dispute, all about nothing, I assure +you"--with a gay laugh--"but to us it seemed quite important. He said he +was jealous of me. Now just fancy that, Flo; jealous of poor little me!" + +"It is quite possible; you are pretty--most men admire you," Florence +remarks coldly, still without raising her eyes. + +"Ah, you flatter me, naughty girl! Well, silly as it sounds, he actually +was jealous, and really gave me quite a scolding. It brought tears to my +eyes, it upset me so. So, to tell the truth, we parted rather bad +friends; and, to be revenged on me, I suppose, he rather neglected me +for the remainder of the day." + +Again Florence is silent, though her tormentor plainly waits for a lead +from her before going on. + +"You must have remarked," she continues presently, "how cold and +reserved he was toward me when we were all together in that dreadful +haunted chamber." Here she really shudders, in spite of herself. The +cruel eyes of Arthur Dynecourt seem to be on her again, as they were in +that ghostly room. + +"I remarked nothing," responds Florence icily. + +"No--really? Well, he was. Why, my dear Florence, you must have seen how +he singled you out to be attentive to you, just to show me how offended +he was." + +"He did not seem offended with any one, and I thought him in +particularly good spirits," replies Florence calmly. + +Dora turns a delicate pink. + +"Dear Adrian is such an excellent actor," she says sweetly, "and so +proud; he will disguise his feelings, however keen they may be, from +the knowledge of any one, no matter what the effort may cost him. Well, +dearest, and so you positively advise me to keep this appointment with +him?" + +"I advise nothing. I merely say that I see nothing objectionable in +your walking up and down the lime-walk with your host." + +"How clearly you put it! Well, adieu, darling, for the present, and +thank you a thousand times for all the time you have wasted on me. I +assure you I am not worth it"--kissing her hand brightly. + +For once she speaks the truth; she is not indeed worth one moment of the +time Florence has been compelled to expend upon her; yet, when she has +tripped out of the room, seemingly as free from guile as a light-hearted +child, Miss Delmaine's thoughts still follow her, even against her +inclination. + +She has gone to meet him; no doubt to interchange tender words and vows +with him; to forgive, to be forgiven, about some sweet bit of lover's +folly, the dearer for its very foolishness. She listens for her +footsteps as she returns along the corridor, dressed no doubt in her +prettiest gown, decked out to make herself fair in his eyes. + +An overwhelming desire to see how she has robed herself on this +particular occasion induces Florence to go to the door and look after +her as she descends the stairs. She just catches a glimpse of Dora as +she turns the corner, and sees, to her surprise, that she is by no means +daintily attired, but has thrown a plain dark water-proof over her +dress, as though to hide it. Slightly surprised at this, Florence +ponders it, and finally comes to the bitter conclusion that Dora is so +sure of his devotion that she knows it is not necessary for her to +bedeck herself in finery to please him. In his eyes of course she is +lovely in any toilet. + +Soon, soon she will be with him. How will they greet each other? Will he +look into Dora's eyes as he used to look into hers not so very long ago? +Arthur Dynecourt read her aright when he foresaw that she would be +unable to repress the desire to follow Dora, and see for herself the +meeting between her and Sir Adrian. + +Hastily putting on a large Rubens hat, and twisting a soft piece of +black lace round her neck, she runs down-stairs and, taking a different +direction from that she knows Dora most likely pursued, she arrives by +a side path at the lime-walk almost as soon as her cousin. + +Afraid to venture too near, she obtains a view of the walk from a high +position framed in by rhododendrons. Yes, now she can see Dora, and now +she can see too, the man who comes eagerly to meet her. His face is +slightly turned away from her, but the tall figure clad in the loose +light overcoat is not to be mistaken. He advances quickly, and meets +Dora with both hands outstretched. She appears to draw back a little, +and then he seizes her hands, and, stooping, covers them with kisses. + +A film seems to creep over Florence's eyes. With a stifled groan, she +turns and flies homeward. Again in the privacy of her own room, and +having turned the key securely in the lock to keep out all intruders, +she flings herself upon her bed and cries as if her heart would break. + + * * * * * + +Not until her return to her room does Dora remember that she did not get +back the false letter from her cousin. In the heat of the conversation +she had forgotten it, but now, a fear possessing her lest Florence +should show it to any one, she runs upstairs and knocks at Miss +Delmaine's door. + +"Come in," calls Florence slowly. + +It is three hours since she went for her unhappy walk to the lime-grove, +and now she is composed again, and is waiting for the gong to sound +before descending to the drawing-room, where she almost dreads the +thought that she will be face to face with Sir Adrian. She is dressed +for dinner, has indeed taken most particular pains with her toilet, if +only to hide the ravages that these past three hours of bitter weeping +have traced upon her beautiful face. She looks sad still, but calm and +dignified. + +Dora is dressed too, but is looking flurried and flushed. + +"I beg your pardon," she says; "but my letter--the letter I showed you +to-day--have you it?" + +"No," replies Florence simply; "I thought I gave it back to you; but, +if not, it must be here on this table"--lifting a book or two from the +small gypsy-table near which she had been sitting when Dora came to her +room early in the day. + +Dora looks for it everywhere, in a somewhat nervous, frightened manner, +Florence helping her the while; but nothing comes of their search, and +they are fain to go down-stairs without it, as the gong sounding loudly +tells them they are already late. + +"Never mind," says Dora, afraid of having betrayed too much concern. +"It is really of no consequence. I only wanted it, because--well, +because"--with the simper that drives Florence nearly mad--"he wrote it." + +"I shall tell my maid to look for it, and, if she finds it, you shall +have it this evening," responds Florence, with a slight contraction of +her brows that passes unnoticed. + +To Florence's mortification, Arthur Dynecourt takes her in to dinner. On +their way across the hall from the drawing-room to the dining-room, he +presses the hand that rests so reluctantly upon his arm, and says, with +an affectation of the sincerest concern-- + +"You are not well; you are looking pale and troubled, and--pardon me if +I am wrong, but I think you have been crying." + +"I must beg, sir," she retorts, with excessive _hauteur_, removing her +hand from his arm, as though his pressure had burned her--"I must beg, +you will not trouble yourself to study my countenance. Your doing so is +most offensive to me." + +"To see you in trouble, and not long to help or comfort you is +impossible to me," goes on Dynecourt, unmoved by her scorn. "Are you +still dwelling on the past--on what is irrevocable? Have you had fresh +cause to remember it to-day?" + +There is a gleam of malice in his eyes, but Florence, whose gaze is +turned disdainfully away from him, fails to see it. She changes color +indeed beneath his words, but makes him no reply, and, when they reach +the dining-room, in a very marked manner she takes a seat far removed +from his. + +There is a sinister expression in his eyes and round his mouth as he +notes this studied avoidance. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +It is now "golden September," and a few days later. For the last +fortnight Florence has been making strenuous efforts to leave the +castle, but Dora would not hear of their departure, and Florence, +feeling it will be selfish of her to cut short Dora's happy hours with +her supposed lover, sighs, and gives in, and sacrifices her own wishes +on the altar of friendship. + +It is five o'clock, and all the men, gun in hand, have been out since +early dawn. Now they are coming straggling home, in ones or twos. +Amongst the first to return are Sir Adrian and his cousin Arthur +Dynecourt, who, having met accidentally about a mile from home, have +trudged the remainder of the way together. + +On the previous night at dinner, Miss Delmaine had spoken of a small +gold bangle, a favorite of hers, she was greatly in the habit of +wearing. She said she had lost it--when or where she could not tell; +and she expressed herself as being very grieved for its loss, and had +laughingly declared she would give any reward claimed by any one who +should restore it to her. Two or three men had, on the instant, pledged +themselves to devote their lives to the search; but Adrian had said +nothing. Nevertheless, the bangle and the reward remained in his mind +all that night and all to-day. Now he can not refrain from speaking +about it to the man he considers his rival. + +"Odd thing about Miss Delmaine's bangle," he remarks carelessly. + +"Very odd. I dare say her maid has put it somewhere and forgotten it." + +"Hardly. One would not put a bracelet anywhere but in a jewel-case, or +in a special drawer. She must have dropped it somewhere." + +"I dare say; those Indian bangles are very liable to be rubbed off the +wrist." + +"But where? I have had the place searched high and low, and still no +tidings of it can be found." + +"There may have been since we left home this morning." + +Just at this moment they come within full view of the old tower, and +its strange rounded ivy-grown walls, and the little narrow holes in the +sides they show at its highest point that indicate the position of the +haunted chamber. + +What is there at this moment in a mere glimpse of this old tower to make +Arthur Dynecourt grow pale and to start so strangely? His eyes grow +brighter, his lips tighten and grow hard. + +"Do you remember," he says, turning to his cousin with all the air of +one to whom a sudden inspiration has come, "that day on which we visited +the haunted chamber? Miss Delmaine accompanied us, did she not?" + +"Yes"--looking at him expectantly. + +"Could she have dropped it there?" asks Arthur lightly. "By Jove, it +would be odd if she had--eh? Uncanny sort of place to drop one's +trinkets." + +"It is strange I didn't think of it before," responds Adrian, evidently +struck by the suggestion. "Why, it must have been just about that time +when she lost it. The more I think of it the more convinced I feel that +it must be there." + +"Nonsense, my dear fellow; don't jump at conclusions so hastily! It is +highly improbable. I should say that she dropped it anywhere else in the +world." + +"Well, I'll go and see, at all events," declares Adrian, unconvinced. + +Is it some lingering remnant of grace, some vague human shrinking from +the crime that has begun to form itself within his busy brain, that now +induces Dynecourt to try to dissuade Sir Adrian from his declared +intention to search the haunted chamber for the lost bangle? With all +his eloquence he seeks to convince him that there the bangle could not +have been left, but to no effect. His suggestion has taken firm root in +Sir Adrian's mind, and at least, as he frankly says, though it may be +useless to hunt for it in that uncanny chamber, it is worth a try. It +may be there. This dim possibility drives him on to his fate. + +"Well, if you go alone and unprotected, your blood be on your own head," +says Dynecourt lightly, at last surrendering his position. "Remember, +whatever happens, I advised you not to go!" + +As Arthur finishes his speech a sinister smile overspreads his pale +features, and a quick light, as evil as it is piercing, comes into his +eyes. But Sir Adrian sees nothing of this. He is looking at his home, as +it stands grand and majestic in the red light of the dying sun. He is +looking, too, at the old tower, and at the upper portion of it, where +the haunted chamber stands, and where he can see the long narrow holes +that serve for windows. How little could a man imprisoned there see of +the great busy world without! + +"Yes, I'll remember," he says jestingly. "When the ghosts of my +ancestors claim me as their victim, and incarcerate me in some fiendish +dungeon, I shall remember your words and your advice." + +"You don't mean to go there, of course?" asks Arthur carelessly, whilst +watching the other with eager scrutiny. "It is quite a journey to that +dismal hole, and it will be useless." + +"Well, if it distresses you, consider I haven't gone," says Sir Adrian +lightly. + +"That is right," rejoins Arthur, still with his keen eyes fixed upon his +cousin. "I knew you would abandon that foolish intention. I certainly +shall consider you haven't gone." + +They are at the hall door as these words pass Arthur's lips, and there +they separate, Sir Adrian leaving him with a smile, and going away up +the large hall whistling gayly. + +When he has turned one corner, Arthur goes quickly after him, not with +the intention of overtaking him, but of keeping him in view. Stealthily +he follows, as though fearful of being seen. + +There is no servant within sight. No friend comes across Sir Adrian's +path. All is silent. The old house seems wrapped in slumber. Above, the +pretty guests in their dainty tea-gowns are sipping Bohea and prattling +scandal; below, the domestics are occupied in their household affairs. + +Arthur, watching carefully, sees Sir Adrian go quickly up the broad +front staircase, after which he turns aside, and, as though filled with +guilty fear, rushes through one passage and another, until he arrives in +the corridor that belongs to the servants' quarters. + +Coming to a certain door, he opens it, not without some difficulty, and, +moving into the dark landing that lies beyond it, looks around. To any +casual observer it might seem strange that some of the cobwebs in this +apparently long-forgotten place have lately been brushed away, as by a +figure ascending or descending the gloomy staircase. To Arthur these +signs bring no surprise, which proves that he, perhaps, has the best +right to know whose figure brushed them aside. + +Hurrying up the stairs, after closing the door carefully and +noiselessly behind him, he reaches, after considerable mountings of +what seem to be interminable steps, the upper door he had opened on +the day they had visited the haunted chamber, when Ringwood and he +had had a passage-at-arms about his curiosity. + +Now he stands breathing heavily outside this door, wrapped in the dismal +darkness of the staircase, listening intently, as it were, for the +coming of a footstep. + +In the meantime, Sir Adrian, not dissuaded from his determination to +search the tower for the missing bangle, runs gayly up the grand +staircase, traverses the corridors and galleries, and finally comes +to the first of the iron-bound doors. Opening it, he stands upon the +landing that leads to the other door by means of the small stone +staircase. Here he pauses. + +Is it some vague shadowy sense of danger that makes him stand now as +though hesitating? A quick shiver rune through his veins. + +"How cold it is," he says to himself, "even on this hot day, up in this +melancholy place!" Yet, he is quite unconscious of the ears that are +listening for his lightest movement, of the wicked eyes that are +watching him through a chink in the opposite door! + +Now he steps forward again, and, mounting the last flight of stairs, +opens the fatal door and looks into the room. Even now it occurs to him +how unpleasant might be the consequences should the door close and the +secret lock fasten him in against his will. He pushes the door well +open, and holds it so, and then tries whether it can fall to again of +its own accord, and so make a prisoner of him. + +No; it stands quite open, immovable apparently, and so, convinced that +he is safe enough, he commences his search. Then, swift as lightning, a +form darts from its concealed position, rushes up the stone staircase, +and, stealthily creeping still nearer, glances into the room. + +Sir Adrian's back is turned; he is stooping, looking in every corner +for the missing prize. He sees nothing, hears nothing, though a +treacherous form crouching on the threshold is making ready to seal +his doom. + +Arthur Dynecourt, putting forth his hand, which neither trembles nor +falters on its deadly mission, silently lays hold of the door, and, +drawing it toward him, the secret lock clicks sharply, and separates his +victim from the world! + +Stealthily even now--his evil deed accomplished--Arthur Dynecourt +retreats down the stairs, and never indeed relaxes his speed until at +length he stands panting, but relentless, in the servants' corridor +again. + +Remorse he knows not. But a certain sense of fear holds him irresolute, +making his limbs tremble and bringing out cold dews upon his brow. His +rival is safely secured, out of all harm's way as far as he is +concerned. No human being saw him go to the ill-fated tower; no human +voice heard him declare his intention of searching it for the missing +trinket. He--Arthur--had been careful before parting from him to express +his settled belief that Sir Adrian would not go to the haunted chamber, +and therefore he feels prepared to defend his case successfully, even +should the baronet be lucky enough to find a deliverer. + +Yet he is not quite easy in his mind. Fear of discovery, fear of Sir +Adrian's displeasure, fear of the world, fear of the rope that already +seems to dangle in red lines before his eyes render him the veriest +coward that walks the earth. Shall he return and release his prisoner, +and treat the whole thing as a joke, and so leave Adrian free to +dispense his bounty at the castle, to entertain in his lavish fashion, +to secure the woman upon whom he--Arthur--has set his heart for his +bride? + +No; a thousand times no! A few short days, and all will belong to Arthur +Dynecourt. He will be "Sir Arthur" then, and the bride he covets will be +unable to resist the temptations of a title, and the chance of being +mistress of the stately old pile that will call him master. Let Sir +Adrian die then in his distant garret alone, despairing, undiscoverable! +For who will think of going to the haunted room in search of him? Who +will even guess that any mission, however important, would lead him to +it, without having first mentioned it to some one? It is a grewsome +spot, seldom visited and gladly forgotten; and, indeed, what possibly +could there be in its bare walls and its blood-stained floor to attract +any one? No; surely it is the last place to suspect any one would go to +without a definite purpose; and what purpose could Sir Adrian have for +going there? + +So far Arthur feels himself safe. He turns away, and joins the women and +the returned sportsmen in the upper drawing-room. + +"Where is Dynecourt?" asks somebody a little later. Arthur, though he +hears the question, does not even change color, but calmly, with a +steady hand, gives Florence her tea. + +"Yes; where is Sir Adrian?" asks Mrs. Talbot, glancing up at the +speaker. + +"He left us about an hour ago," Captain Ringwood answers. "He said he'd +prefer walking home, and he shoveled his birds into our cart, and left +us without another word. He'll turn up presently, no doubt." + +"Dear me, I hope nothing has happened to him!" says Ethel Villiers, who +is sitting in a window through which the rays of the evening sun are +stealing, turning her auburn locks to threads of rich red gold. + +"I hope not, I'm sure," interposes Arthur, quite feelingly. "It does +seem odd he hasn't come in before this." Then, true to his determination +to so arrange matters that, if discovery ensues upon his scheme, he may +still find for himself a path out of his difficulties, he says quietly, +"I met him about a mile from home, and walked here with him. We parted +at the hall-door; I dare say he is in the library or the stables." + +"Good gracious, why didn't you say so before?" exclaims old Lady +FitzAlmont in a querulous tone. "I quite began to believe the poor boy +had blown out his brains through disappointed love, or something equally +objectionable." + +Both Dora and Florence color warmly at this. The old lady herself is +free to speak as she thinks of Sir Adrian, having no designs upon him +for Lady Gertrude, that young lady being engaged to a very distinguished +and titled botanist, now hunting for ferns in the West Indies. + +"Markham," says Mrs. Talbot to a footman who enters at this moment, "go +to the library and tell Sir Adrian his tea is waiting for him." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +But presently Markham returns and says Sir Adrian is not in the library. + +"Then try the stables, try everywhere," says Dora somewhat impatiently. + +Markham, having tried everywhere, brings back the same answer; Sir +Adrian apparently is not to be found! + +"Most extraordinary," remarks Lady FitzAlmont, fanning herself. "As a +rule I have noticed that Adrian is most punctual. I do hope my first +impression was not the right one, and that we sha'n't find him presently +with his throat cut and wallowing in his blood on account of some silly +young woman!" + +"Dear mamma," interposes Lady Gertrude, laughing, "what a terribly +old-fashioned surmise! No man nowadays kills himself for a false love; +he only goes and gets another." + +But, when the dinner-hour arrives, and no host presents himself to lead +Lady FitzAlmont into dinner, a great fear falls upon all the guests save +one, and confusion and dismay, and anxious conjecture reign supreme. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +The night passes; the next day dawns, deepens, grows into noon, and +still nothing happens to relieve the terrible anxiety that is felt by +all within the castle as to the fate of its missing master. They weary +themselves out wondering, idly but incessantly, what can have become of +him. + +The second day comes and goes, so does the third and the fourth, the +fifth and the sixth, and then the seventh dawns. + +Florence Delmaine, who has been half-distracted with conflicting fears +and emotions, and who has been sitting in her room apart from the +others, with her head bent down and resting on her hands, suddenly +raising her eyes, sees Dora standing before her. + +The widow is looking haggard and hollow-eyed. All her dainty freshness +has gone, and she now looks in years what in reality she is, close on +thirty-five. Her lips are pale and drooping, her cheeks colorless; her +whole air is suggestive of deep depression, the result of sleepless +nights and days filled with grief and suspense of the most poignant +nature. + +"Alas, how well she loves him too!" thinks Florence, contemplating her +in silence. Dora, advancing, lays her hand upon the table near Florence, +and says, in a hurried impassioned tone-- + +"Oh, Florence, what has become of him? What has been done to him? I have +tried to hide my terrible anxiety for the past two miserable days, but +now I feel I must speak to some one or go mad!" + +She smites her hands together, and, sinking into a chair, looks as if +she is going to faint. Florence, greatly alarmed, rises from her chair, +and, running to her, places her arm around her as though to support her. +But Dora repulses her almost roughly and motions her away. + +"Do not touch me!" she cries hoarsely. "Do not come near me; you, of +all people, should be the last to come to my assistance! Besides, I am +not here to talk about myself, but of him. Florence, have you any +suspicion?" + +Dora leans forward and looks scrutinizingly at her cousin, as though +fearing, yet hoping to get an answer in the affirmative. But Florence +shakes her head. + +"I have no suspicion--none," she answers sadly. "If I had should I not +act upon it, whatever it might cost me?" + +"Would you," asks Dora eagerly, as though impressed by her companion's +words--"whatever it might cost you?" + +Her manner is so strange that Florence pauses before replying. + +"Yes," she says at last. "No earthly consideration should keep me from +using any knowledge I might by accident or otherwise become possessed of +to lay bare this mystery. Dora," she cries suddenly, "if you know +anything, I implore, I entreat you to say so." + +"What should I know?" responds the widow, recoiling. + +"You loved him too," says Florence piteously, now more than ever +convinced that Dora is keeping something hidden from her. "For the sake +of that love, disclose anything you may know about this awful matter." + +"I dare not speak openly," replies the widow, growing even a shade +paler, "because my suspicion is of the barest character, and may be +altogether wrong. Yet there are moments when some hidden instinct within +my breast whispers to me that I am on the right track." + +"If so," murmurs Florence, falling upon her knees before her, "do not +hesitate; follow up this instinctive feeling, and who knows but +something may come of it! Dora, do not delay. Soon, soon--if not +already--it may be too late. Alas," she cries, bursting into bitter +tears, "what do I say? Is it not too late even now? What hope can there +be after six long days, and no tidings?" + +"I will do what I can, I am resolved," declares Dora, rising abruptly to +her feet. "If too late to do any good, it may not be too late to wring +the truth from him, and bring the murderer to justice." + +"From him? From whom--what murderer?" exclaims Florence, in a voice of +horror. "Dora, what are you saying?" + +"Never mind. Let me go now; and to-night--this evening let me come to +you here again, and tell you the result of what I am now about to do." + +She quits the room as silently as she entered it, and Florence, sinking +back in her chair, gives herself up to the excitement and amazement that +are overpowering her. There is something else, too, in her thoughts that +is puzzling and perplexing her; in all Dora's manner there was nothing +that would lead her to think she loved Sir Adrian: there was fear, and a +desire for revenge in it, but none of the despair of a loving woman who +has lost the man to whom she has given her heart. + +Florence is still pondering these things, while Dora, going swiftly +down-stairs, turns into the side hall, glancing into library and rooms +as she goes along, plainly in search of something or some one. + +At last her search is successful; in a small room she finds Arthur +Dynecourt apparently reading, as he sits in a large arm-chair, with his +eyes fixed intently upon the book in his hand. Seeing her, he closes the +volume, and, throwing it from him, says carelessly: + +"Pshaw--what contemptible trash they write nowadays!" + +"How can you sit here calmly reading," exclaims Dora vehemently, "when +we are all so distressed in mind! But I forgot"--with a meaning +glance--"you gain by his death; we do not." + +"No, you lose," he retorts coolly. "Though, after all, even had things +been different, I can't say I think you had much chance at any time." + +He smiles insolently at her as he says this. But she pays no heed either +to his words or his smile. Her whole soul seems wrapped in one thought, +and at last she gives expression to it. + +"What have you done with him?" she breaks forth, advancing toward him, +as though to compel him to give her an answer to the question that has +been torturing her for days past. + +"With whom?" he asks coldly. Yet there is a forbidding gleam in his eyes +that should have warned her to forbear. + +"With Sir Adrian--with your rival, with the man you hate," she cries, +her breath coming in little irrepressible gasps. "Dynecourt, I adjure +you to speak the truth, and say what has become of him." + +"You rave," he says calmly, lifting his eyebrows just a shade, as though +in pity for her foolish excitement. "I confess the man was no favorite +of mine, and that I can not help being glad of this chance that has +presented itself in his extraordinary disappearance of my inheriting his +place and title; but really, my dear creature, I know as little of what +has become of him, as--I presume--you do yourself." + +"You lie!" cries Dora, losing all control over herself. "You have +murdered him, to get him out of your path. His death lies at your door." + +She points her finger at him as though in condemnation as she utters +these words, but still he does not flinch. + +"They will take you for a Bedlamite," he says, with a sneering laugh, +"if you conduct yourself like this. Where are your proofs that I am the +cold-blooded ruffian you think me?" + +"I have none"--in a despairing tone. "But I shall make it the business +of my life to find them." + +"You had better devote your time to some other purpose," he exclaims +savagely, laying his hand upon her wrist with an amount of force that +leaves a red mark upon the delicate flesh. "Do you hear me? You must be +mad to go on like this to me. I know nothing of Adrian, but I know a +good deal of your designing conduct, and your wild jealousy of Florence +Delmaine. All the world saw how devoted he was to her, and--mark what I +say--there have been instances of a jealous woman killing the man she +loved, rather than see him in the arms of another." + +"Demon!" shrieks Dora, recoiling from him. "You would fix the crime on +me?" + +"Why not? I think the whole case tells terribly against you. Hitherto I +have spared you, I have refrained from hinting even at the fact that +your jealousy had been aroused of late; but your conduct of to-day, and +the wily manner in which you have sought to accuse me of being +implicated in this unfortunate mystery connected with my unhappy cousin, +have made me regret my forbearance. Be warned in time, cease to +persecute me about this matter, or--wretched woman that you are--I shall +certainly make it my business to investigate the entire matter, and +bring you to justice!" + +He speaks with such an air of truth, of thorough belief in her guilt, +that Dora is dazed, bewildered, and, falling back from him, covers her +face with her hands. The fear of publicity, of having her late intrigue +brought into the glare of day, fills her with consternation. And then, +what will she gain by it? Nothing; she has no evidence on which to +convict this man; all is mere supposition. She bitterly feels the +weakness of her position, and her inability to follow up her accusation. + +"Ah, how like a guilty creature you stand there!" exclaims Dynecourt, +regarding her bowed and trembling figure. "I see plainly that this must +be looked into. Miserable woman! If you know aught of my cousin, you had +better declare it now." + +"Traitor!" cries Dora, raising her pale face and looking at him with +horror and defiance. "You triumph now, because, as yet, I have no +evidence to support my belief, but"--she hesitates. + +"Ah, brazen it out to the last!" says Dynecourt insolently. "Defy me +while you can. To-day I shall set the blood-hounds of the law upon your +track, so beware--beware!" + +"You refuse to tell me anything?" exclaims Dora, ignoring his words, and +treating them as though they are unheard. "So much the worse for you." + +She turns from him, and leaves the room as she finishes speaking; but, +though her words have been defiant there is no kindred feeling in her +heart to bear her up. + +When the door closes between them, the flush dies out of her face, and +she looks even more wan and hopeless than she did before seeking his +presence. She can not deny to herself that her mission has been a +failure. He has openly scoffed at her threats, and she is aware that she +has not a shred of actual evidence wherewith to support her suspicion; +the bravado with which he has sought to turn the tables upon herself +both frightens and disheartens her, and now she confesses to herself +that she knows not where to turn for counsel. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +In the meantime the daylight dwindles, and twilight descends. Even that +too departs, and now darkness falls upon the distressed household, and +still there is no news of Sir Adrian. + +Arthur Dynecourt, who is already beginning to be treated with due +respect as the next heir to the baronetcy, has quietly hinted to old +Lady FitzAlmont that perhaps it will be as well, in the extraordinary +circumstances, if they all take their departure. This the old lady, +though strongly disinclined to quit the castle, is debating in her own +mind, and, being swayed by Lady Gertrude, who is secretly rather bored +by the dullness that has ensued on the strange absence of their host, +decides to leave on the morrow, to the great distress of both Dora and +Florence Delmaine, who shrink from deserting the castle while its +master's fate is undecided. But they are also sensible that, to remain +the only female guests, would be to outrage the conventionalities. + +Henry Villiers, Ethel's father, is also of opinion that they should all +quit the castle without delay. He is a hunting man, an M.F.H. in his own +county, and is naturally anxious to get back to his own quarters some +time before the hunting-season commences. Some others have already gone, +and altogether it seems to Florence that there is no other course open +to her but to pack up and desert him, whom she loves, in the hour of his +direst need. For there are moments even now when she tells herself that +he is still living, and only waiting for a saving hand to drag him into +smooth waters once again! + +A silence has fallen upon the house more melancholy than the loudest +expression of grief. The servants are conversing over their supper in +frightened whispers, and conjecturing moodily as to the fate of their +late master. To them Sir Adrian is indeed dead, if not buried. + +In the servants' corridor a strange dull light is being flung upon the +polished boards by a hanging-lamp that is burning dimly, as though +oppressed by the dire evil that has fallen upon the old castle. No sound +is to be heard here in this spot, remote from the rest of the house, +where the servants seldom come except to go to bed, and never indeed +without an inward shudder as they pass the door that leads to the +haunted chamber. + +Just now, being at their supper, there is no fear that any of them will +be about, and so the dimly lighted corridor is wrapped in an unbroken +silence. Not quite unbroken, however. What is this that strikes upon the +ear? What sound comes to break the unearthly stillness? A creeping +footstep, a cautious tread, a slinking, halting, uncertain motion, +belonging surely to some one who sees an enemy, a spy in every flitting +shadow. Nearer and nearer it comes now into the fuller glare of the +lamp-light, and stops short at the door so dreaded by the castle +servants. + +Looking uneasily around him, Arthur Dynecourt--for it is he--unfastens +this door, and, entering hastily, closes it firmly behind him, and +ascends the staircase within. There is no halting in his footsteps now, +no uncertainty, no caution, only a haste that betokens a desire to get +his errand over as quickly as possible. + +Having gained the first landing, he walks slowly and on tiptoe again, +and, creeping up the stone stairs, crouches down so as to bring his ear +on a level with the lower chink of the door. + +Alas, all is still; no faintest groan can be heard! The silence of Death +is on all around. In spite of his hardihood, the cold sweat of fear +breaks out upon Dynecourt's brow; and yet he tells himself that now he +is satisfied, all is well, his victim is secure, is beyond the power of +words or kindly search to recall him to life. He may be discovered now +as soon as they like. Who can fix the fact of his death upon him? There +is no blow, no mark of violence to criminate any one. He is safe, and +all the wealth he had so coveted is at last his own! + +There is something fiendish in the look of exultation that lights Arthur +Dynecourt's face. He has a small dull lantern with him, and now it +reveals the vile glance of triumph that fires his eyes. He would fain +have entered to gaze upon his victim, to assure himself of his victory, +but he refrains. A deadly fear that he may not yet be quite dead keeps +him back, and, with a frown, he prepares to descend once more. + +Again he listens, but the sullen roar of the rising night wind is all +that can be heard. His hand shakes, his face assumes a livid hue, yet he +tells himself that surely this deadly silence is better than what he +listened to last night. Then a ghostly moaning, almost incessant and +unearthly in its sound, had pierced his brain. It was more like the cry +of a dying brute than that of a man. Sir Adrian slowly starved to death! +In his own mind Arthur can see him now, worn, emaciated, lost to all +likeness of anything fair or comely. Have the rats attacked him yet? As +this grewsome thought presents itself, Dynecourt rises quickly from his +crouching position, and, flying down the steps, does not stop running +until he arrives in the corridor below again. + +He dashes into this like one possessed; but, finding himself in the +light of the hanging lamp, collects himself by a violent effort, and +looks around. + +Yes, all is still. No living form but his is near. The corridor, as he +glances affrightedly up and down, is empty. He can see nothing but his +own shadow, at sight of which he starts and turns pale and shudders. + +The next moment he recovers himself, and, muttering an anathema upon his +cowardice, he moves noiselessly toward his room and the brandy-bottle +that has been his constant companion of late. + +Yet, here in his own room, he can not rest. The hours go by with laggard +steps. Midnight has struck, and still he paces his floor from wall to +wall, half-maddened by his thoughts. Not that he relents. No feelings of +repentance stir him, there is only a nervous dread of the hour when it +will be necessary to produce the dead body, if only to prove his claim +to the title so dearly and so infamously purchased. + +Is he indeed dead--gone past recall? Is this house, this place, the old +title, the chance of winning the woman he would have, all his own? Is +his hated rival--hateful to him only because of his fair face and genial +manners and lovable disposition, and the esteem with which he filled the +hearts of all who knew him--actually swept out of his path? + +Again the lurking morbid longing to view the body with his own eyes, +the longing that had been his some hours ago when listening at the fatal +door, seizes hold of him, and grows in intensity with every passing +moment. + +At last it conquers him. Lighting a candle, he opens his door and peers +out. No one is astir. In all probability every one is abed, and now +sleeping the sleep of the just--all except him. Will there ever be any +rest or dreamless sleep for him again? + +He goes softly down-stairs, and makes his way to the lower door. Meeting +no one, he ascends the stairs like one only half conscious, until he +finds himself again before the door of the haunted chamber. + +Then he wakes into sudden life. An awful terror takes possession of him. +He struggles with himself, and presently so far succeeds in regaining +some degree of composure that he can lean against the wall and wipe his +forehead, and vow to himself that he will never descend until he has +accomplished the object of his visit. But the result of this terrible +fight with fear and conscience shows itself in the increasing pallor of +his brow and the cold perspiration that stands thick upon his forehead. + +Nerving himself for a final effort, he lays his hand upon the door and +pushes it open. This he does with bowed head and eyes averted, afraid to +look upon his terrible work. A silence, more horrible to his guilty +conscience than the most appalling noises, follows this act; and, again +the nameless terror seizing him, he shudders and draws back, until, +finding the wall behind him, he leans against it gladly, as if for +support. + +And now at last he raises his eyes. Slowly at first and cringingly, as +if dreading what they might see. Upon the board at his feet they rest +for a moment, and then glide to the next board, and so on, until his +coward eyes have covered a considerable portion of the floor. + +And now, grown bolder, he lifts his gaze to the wall opposite and +searches it carefully. Then his eyes turn again to the floor. His face +ghastly, and with his eyes almost darting from their sockets, he compels +himself to bring his awful investigation to an end. Avoiding the corners +at first, as though there he expects his vile deed will cry aloud to him +demanding vengeance, he gazes in a dazed way at the center of the +apartment, and dwells upon it stupidly, until he knows he must look +further still; and then his dull eyes turn to the corners where the +dusky shadows lie, brought thither by the glare of his small lantern. +Reluctantly, but carefully, he scans the apartment, no remotest spot +escapes his roused attention. But no object, dead or living, attracts +his notice! The room is empty! + +He staggers. His hold upon the door relaxes. His lamp falls to the +ground; the door closes with a soft but deadly thud behind him, +and--he is a prisoner in the haunted chamber! As the darkness closes +in upon him, and he finds himself alone with what he hardly dares to +contemplate, his senses grow confused, his brain reels; a fearful scream +issues from his lips, and he falls to the floor insensible. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Dora, after her interview with Arthur Dynecourt, feels indeed that all +is lost. Hope is abandoned--nothing remains but despair; and in this +instance despair gains in poignancy by the knowledge that she believes +she knows the man who could help them to a solution of their troubles if +he would or dared. No; clearly he dare not! Therefore, no assistance can +be looked for from him. + +Dinner at the castle has been a promiscuous sort of entertainment for +the past three or four days, so Dora feels no compunction in declining +to go to it. In her own room she sits brooding miserably over her +inability to be of any use in the present crisis, when she suddenly +remembers that she had promised in the afternoon when with Florence to +give her, later on, an account of her effort to obtain the truth about +this mystery which is harrowing them. + +It is now eleven o'clock, and Dora decides that she must see Florence +at once. Rising, wearily, she is about to cross the corridor to her +cousin's room, when, the door opening, she sees Florence, with a face +pale and agitated, coming toward her. + +"You, Florence!" she exclaims. "I was just going to you, to tell you +that my hopes of this afternoon are all--" + +"Let me speak," interrupts Florence breathlessly. "I must, or--" She +sinks into a chair, her eyes close, and involuntarily she lays her hand +upon her heart as if to allay its tumultuous beating. + +Dora, really alarmed, rushing to her dressing-case, seizes upon a flask +of eau-de-Cologne, and flings some of its contents freely over the +fainting girl. Florence, with a sigh, rouses herself, and sits upright. + +"There is no time to lose," she says confusedly. "Oh, Dora!" Here she +breaks down and bursts into tears. + +"Try to compose yourself," entreats Dora, seeing the girl has some +important news to impart, but is so nervous and unstrung as to be almost +incapable of speaking with any coherence. But presently Florence grows +calmer, and then, her voice becoming clear and full, she is able to +unburden her heart. + +"All this day I have been oppressed by a curious restlessness," she says +to Dora; "and, when you left me this afternoon, your vague promises of +being able to elucidate the terrible secret that is weighing us down +made me even more unsettled. I did not go down to dinner--" + +"Neither did I," puts in Mrs. Talbot sympathetically. + +"I wandered up and down my room for at least two hours, thinking always, +and waiting for the moment when you would return, according to promise, +and tell me the success of your hidden enterprise. You did not come, and +at half past nine, unable to stay any longer in my own room with only +my own thoughts for company, I opened my door, and, listening intently, +found by the deep silence that reigned throughout the house that almost +every one was gone, if not to bed, at least to their own rooms." + +"Lady FitzAlmont and Gertrude passed to their rooms about an hour +ago," says Dora. "But some of the men, I think, are still in the +smoking-room." + +"I did not think of them. I stole from my room, and roamed idly +through the halls. Suddenly a great--I can not help thinking now a +supernaturally strong--desire to go into the servants' corridor took +possession of me. Without allowing myself an instant's hesitation, I +turned in its direction, and walked on until I reached it." + +She pauses here, and draws her breath rapidly. + +"Go on," entreats Dora impatiently. + +"The lamp was burning very dimly. The servants were all down-stairs--at +their supper, I suppose--because there was no trace of them anywhere. +Not a sound could be heard. The whole place looked melancholy and +deserted, and filled me with a sense of awe I could not overcome. Still +it attracted me. I lingered there, walking up and down until its very +monotony wearied me; even then I was loath to leave it, and, turning +into a small sitting-room, I stood staring idly around me. At last, +somewhere in the distance I heard a clock strike ten, and, turning, +I decided on going back once more to my room." + +Again, emotion overcoming her, Florence pauses, and leans back in her +chair. + +"Well, but what is there in all this to terrify you so much?" demands +her cousin, somewhat bewildered. + +"Ah, give me time! Now I am coming to it," replies Florence quickly. +"You know the large screen that stands in the corridor just outside +the sitting-room I have mentioned--put there, I imagined to break the +draught? Well, I had come out of the room and was standing half-hidden +by this screen, when I saw something that paralyzed me with fear." + +She rises to her feet and grows deadly pale as she says this, as though +the sensation of fear she has been describing has come to her again. + +"You saw--?" prompts Dora, rising too, and trembling violently, as +though in expectation of some fatal tidings. + +"I saw the door of the room that leads to the haunted chamber slowly +move. It opened; the door that has been locked for nearly fifty years, +and that has filled the breasts of all the servants here with terror and +dismay, was cautiously thrown open! A scream rose to my lips, but I was +either too terrified to give utterance to it, or else some strong +determination to know what would follow restrained me, and I stood +silent, like one turned into stone. I had instinctively moved back a +step or two, and was now completely hidden from sight, though I could +see all that was passing in the corridor through a hole in the +framework of the screen. At last a figure came with hesitating +footsteps from behind the door into the full glare of the flickering +lamp. I could see him distinctly. It was--" + +"Arthur Dynecourt!" cries the widow, covering her ghastly face with her +hands. + +Florence regards her with surprise. + +"It was," she says at last. "But how did you guess it?" + +"I knew it," cries Dora frantically. "He has murdered him, he has hidden +his body away in that forgotten chamber. He was gloating over his +victim, no doubt, just before you saw him, stealing down from a secret +visit to the scene of his crime." + +"Dora," exclaims Florence, grasping her arm, "if he should not have +murdered him after all, if he should only have secured him there, +holding him prisoner until he should see his way more clearly to getting +rid of him! If this idea be the correct one, we may yet be in time to +save, to rescue him!" + +The agitation of the past hours proving now too much for her, Florence +bursts into tears and sobs wildly. + +"Alas, I dare not believe in any such hope!" says Dora. "I know that man +too well to think him capable of showing any mercy." + +"And yet 'that man,' as you call him, you would once have earnestly +recommended to me as a husband!" returns Florence, sternly. + +"Do not reproach me now," exclaims Dora; "later on you shall say to me +all that you wish, but now moments are precious." + +"You are right. Something must be done. Shall I--shall I speak to Mr. +Villiers?" + +"I hardly know what to advise"--distractedly. "If we give our suspicions +publicity, Arthur Dynecourt may even yet find time and opportunity to +baffle and disappoint us. Besides which, we may be wrong. He may have +had nothing to do with it, and--" + +"At that rate, if secrecy is to be our first thought, let you and me go +alone in search of Sir Adrian." + +"Alone, and at this hour, to that awful room!" exclaims Dora, recoiling +from her. + +"Yes, at once"--firmly--"without another moment's delay." + +"Oh, I can not!" declares Dora, shuddering violently. + +"Then I shall go alone!" + +As Florence says this, she takes up her candlestick and moves quickly +toward the door. + +"Stay, I will go," cries Dora, trembling. But a slight interruption +occurring at this instant, they are compelled to wait for awhile. + +Ethel Villiers, coming into the room to make her parting adieus to +Mrs. Talbot, as she and her father intend leaving next morning, gazes +anxiously from Florence to Dora, seeing plainly that there is something +amiss. + +"What is it?" she asks kindly, going up to Florence. + +Miss Delmaine, after a little hesitation, encouraged by a glance at +Dora's terrified countenance, determines on taking the new-comer into +their confidence. + +In a few words she explains all that has taken place, and their +suspicions. Ethel, though paling beneath the horror and surprise +occasioned by the recital, does not lose her self-possession. + +"I will go with you," she volunteers. "But, let me say," she adds, "that +I think you are wrong in making this search without a man. If--if indeed +we are still in time to be of any use to poor Sir Adrian--always +supposing he really is secreted in that terrible room--I do not think +any of us would be strong enough to help him down the stairs, and, if he +has been slowly starving all this time, think how weak he will be!" + +"Oh, what a wretched picture you conjure up!" exclaims Florence, +nervously clasping her hands. "But you are right, and now tell me who +you think can best be depended upon in this crisis." + +"I am sure," says Ethel, blushing slightly, but speaking with intense +earnestness, "that, if you would not mind trusting Captain Ringwood, he +would be both safe and useful." + +As this suggestion meets with approval, they manage to convey a message +to the captain, and in a very few minutes he is with them, and is made +acquainted with their hopes and fears. + +Silently, cautiously, without any light, but carrying two small lamps +ready for ignition, they go down to the corridor where is the door that +leads to the secret staircase. + +Turning the handle of this door, Captain Ringwood discovers that it is +locked, but, nothing daunted, he pulls it so violently backward and +forward that the lock, rusty with age, gives way, and leaves the passage +beyond open to them. + +Going into the small landing at the foot of the staircase, they close +the door carefully behind them, and then, Captain Ringwood producing +some matches, they light the two lamps and go swiftly, with anxiously +beating hearts, up the stairs. + +The second door is reached, and now nothing remains but to mount the +last flight of steps and open the fatal door. + +Their hearts at this trying moment almost fail them. They look into one +another's blanched faces, and look there in vain for hope. At last +Ringwood, touching Ethel's arm, says, in a whisper-- + +"Come, have courage--all may yet be well!" + +He moves toward the stone steps, and they follow him. Quickly mounting +them, he lays his hand upon the door, and, afraid to give them any more +time for reflection or dread of what may yet be in store for them, +throws it open. + +At first the feeble light from their lamps fails to penetrate the +darkness of the gloomy apartment. At the cursory glance, such as they +at first cast round the room, it appears to be empty. Their hearts sink +within them. Have they indeed hoped in vain! + +Dora is crying bitterly; Ethel, with her eyes fixed upon Ringwood, is +reading her own disappointment in his face, when suddenly a piercing cry +from Florence wakes the echoes round them. + +She has darted forward, and is kneeling over something that even now is +only barely discernible to the others as they come nearer to it. It +looks like a bundle of clothes, but, as they stoop over it, they, too, +can see that it is in reality a human body, and apparently rigid in +death. + +But the shriek that has sprung from the very soul of Florence has +reached some still living fibers in the brain of this forlorn creature. +Slowly and with difficulty he raises his head, and opens a pair of +fast-glazing eyes. Mechanically his glance falls upon Florence. His lips +move; a melancholy smile struggles to show itself upon his parched and +blackened lips. + +"Florence," he rather sighs than says, and falls back, to all +appearance, dead. + +"He is not dead!" cries Florence passionately. "He can not be! Oh, save +him, save him! Adrian, look up--speak to me! Oh, Adrian, make some sign +that you can hear me!" + +But he makes no sign. His very breath seems to have left him. Gathering +him tenderly in her arms, Florence presses his worn and wasted face +against her bosom, and pushes back the hair from his forehead. He is so +completely altered, so thorough a wreck has he become, that it is indeed +only the eyes of love that could recognize him. His cheeks have fallen +in, and deep hollows show themselves. His beard has grown, and is now +rough and stubbly; his hair is uncombed, the lines of want, despair, and +cruel starvation have blotted out all the old fairness of his features. +His clothes are hanging loosely about him; his hands, limp and +nerveless, are lying by his side. Who shall tell what agony he suffered +during these past lonely days with death--an awful, creeping, gnawing +death staring him in the face? + +A deadly silence has fallen upon the little group now gazing solemnly +down upon his quiet form. Florence, holding him closely to her heart, is +gently rocking him to and fro, as though she will not be dissuaded that +he still lives. + +At length Captain Ringwood, stooping pitifully over her, loosens her +hold so far as to enable him to lay his hand upon Adrian's heart. After +a moment, during which they all watch him closely, he starts, and, +looking still closer into the face that a second ago he believed dead, +he says, with subdued but deep excitement-- + +"There may yet be time! He breathes--his heart beats! Who will help me +to carry him out of this dungeon?" + +He shudders as he glances round him. + +"I will," replies Florence calmly. + +These words of hope have steadied her and braced her nerves. Ethel +and Mrs. Talbot, carrying the lamps, go on before, while Ringwood and +Florence, having lifted the senseless body of Adrian, now indeed +sufficiently light to be an easy burden, follow them. + +Reaching the corridor, they cross it hurriedly, and carrying Adrian up +a back staircase that leads to Captain Ringwood's room by a circuitous +route, they gain it without encountering a single soul, and lay him +gently down on Ringwood's bed, almost at the very moment that midnight +chimes from the old tower, and only a few minutes before Arthur +Dynecourt steals from his chamber to make that last visit to his +supposed victim. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Slowly and with difficulty they coax Sir Adrian back to life. Ringwood +had insisted upon telling the old housekeeper at the castle, who had +been in the family for years, the whole story of her master's rescue, +and she, with tears dropping down her withered cheeks, had helped +Ringwood to remove his clothes and make him comfortable. She had also +sat beside him while the captain, stealing out of the house like a +thief, had galloped down to the village for the doctor, whom he had +smuggled into the house without awaking any of the servants. + +This caution and secrecy had been decided upon for one powerful reason. +If Arthur Dynecourt should prove guilty of being the author of his +cousin's incarceration, they were quite determined he should not escape +whatever punishment the law allowed. But the mystery could not be quite +cleared up until Sir Adrian's return to consciousness, when they hoped +to have some light thrown upon the matter from his own lips. + +In the meantime, should Arthur hear of his cousin's rescue, and know +himself to be guilty of this dastardly attempt to murder, would he not +take steps to escape before the law should lay its iron grasp upon him? +All four conspirators are too ignorant of the power of the law to know +whether it would be justifiable in the present circumstances to place +him under arrest, or decide on waiting until Sir Adrian himself shall +be able to pronounce either his doom or his exculpation. + +The doctor stays all night, and administers to the exhausted man, as +often as he dares, the nourishment and good things provided by the old +housekeeper. + +When the morning is far advanced, Adrian, waking from a short but +refreshing slumber, looks anxiously around him. Florence, seeing this, +steps aside, as though to make way for Dora to go closer to him. But +Mrs. Talbot, covering her face with her hands, turns aside and sinks +into a chair. + +Florence, much bewildered by this strange conduct, stands irresolute +beside the bed, hardly knowing what to do. Again she glances at the +prostrate man, and sees his eyes resting upon her with an expression in +them that makes her heart beat rapidly with sweet but sad recollections. + +Then a faint voice falls upon her ear. It is so weak that she is obliged +to stoop over him to catch what he is trying to say. + +"Darling, I owe you my life!" + +With great feebleness he utters these words, accompanying them with a +glance of utter devotion. How can she mistake this glance, so full of +love and rapture? Perplexed in the extreme, she turns from him, as +though to leave him, but by a gesture he detains her. + +"Do not leave me! Stay with me!" he entreats. + +Once again, deeply distressed, she looks at Dora. Mrs. Talbot, rising, +says distinctly, but with a shamefaced expression-- + +"Do as he asks you. Believe me, by his side is your proper place, not +mine." + +Saying this, she glides quickly from the room, and does not appear again +for several hours. + +By luncheon-time it occurs to the guests that Arthur Dynecourt has not +been seen since last evening. + +Ringwood, carrying this news to the sick-room, the little rescuing party +and their auxiliaries, the nurse and doctor, lay their heads together, +and decide that, doubtless, having discovered the escape of his +prisoner, and, dreading arrest, Arthur has quietly taken himself off, +and so avoided the trial and punishment which would otherwise have +fallen upon him. + +Ringwood is now of opinion that they have acted unwisely in concealing +the discovery of Sir Adrian in the haunted chamber. By not speaking to +the others, they have given Dynecourt the opportunity of getting away +safely, and without causing suspicion. + +"Is it not an almost conclusive proof of his guilt, his running away in +this cowardly fashion?" says Ethel Villiers. "I think papa and Lady +FitzAlmont and everybody should now be told." + +So Ringwood, undertaking the office of tale-bearer, goes down-stairs, +and, bringing together all the people still remaining in the house, +astounds them by his revelation of the discovery and release of Sir +Adrian. + +The nearest magistrate is sent for, and the case being laid before him, +together with the still further evidence given by Sir Adrian himself, +who has told them in a weak whisper of Arthur's being privy to his +intention of searching the haunted chamber for Florence's bangle on that +memorable day of his disappearance, the magistrate issues a warrant for +the arrest of Arthur Dynecourt. + +But it is all in vain; even though two of the cleverest detectives from +Scotland Yard are pressed into the service, no tidings of Arthur +Dynecourt come to light. A man answering to his description, but wearing +spectacles, had been traced as having gone on board a vessel bound for +New York the very day after Sir Adrian was restored to the world, and, +when search in other quarters fails, every one falls into the ready +belief that this spectacled man was in reality the would-be murderer. + +So the days pass on, and it is now quite a month since Ringwood and +Florence carried Sir Adrian's senseless form from the haunted chamber, +and still Florence holds herself aloof from the man she loves, and, +though quite as assiduous as the others in her attentions to him, seems +always eager to get away from him, and glad to escape any chance of a +_tete-a-tete_ with him. This she does in defiance of the fact that Mrs. +Talbot never approaches him except when absolutely compelled. + +Sir Adrian is still a great invalid. The shock to his nervous system, +the dragging out of those interminable hours in the lonely chamber, and +the strain upon his physical powers by the absence of nutriment for +seven long days and nights, had all combined to shatter a constitution +once robust. He is now greatly improved in health, and has been +recommended by his doctors to try a winter in the south of France or +Algiers. + +He shows himself, however, strangely reluctant to quit his home, and, +whenever the subject is mentioned, he first turns his eyes questioningly +upon Florence, if she is present, and then, receiving no returning +glance from her downcast eyes, sighs, and puts the matter from him. + +He has so earnestly entreated both Dora and Miss Delmaine not to desert +him, that they have not had the heart to refuse, and as Ringwood is also +staying at the castle, and Ethel Villiers has gained her father's +consent to remain, Mrs. Talbot acting as chaperon, they are by no means +a dull party. + +To-day, the first time for over a month, Florence, going to her easel, +draws its cover away from the sketch thereon, and gazes at her work. How +long ago it seems since she sat thus, happy in her thoughts, glad in the +belief that the one she loved loved her! yet all that time his heart had +been given to her cousin. And though now, at odd moments, she has felt +herself compelled to imagine that his every glance and word speaks of +tenderness for her, and not for Dora--still this very knowledge only +hardens her heart toward him, and renders her cold and unsympathetic in +his presence. + +No, she will have no fickle lover. And yet, how kind he is--how earnest, +how honest is his glance! Oh, that she could believe all the past to be +an evil dream, and think of him again as her very own, as in the dear +old days gone by! + +Even while thinking this she idly opens a book lying on the table near +her, where some brushes and paints are scattered. A piece of paper drops +from between its leaves and flutters to the ground. Lifting it, she sees +it is the letter written by him to Dora, which the latter had brought to +her, here to this very room, when asking her advice as to whether she +should or should not meet him by appointment in the lime-walk. + +She drops the letter hurriedly, as though its very touch stings her, +and, rousing herself with bitter self-contempt from her sentimental +regrets, works vigorously at her painting for about an hour, then, +growing wearied, she flings her brushes aside, and goes to the +morning-room, where she knows she will find all the others assembled. + +There is nobody here just now however, except Sir Adrian, who is looking +rather tired and bored, and Ethel Villiers. The latter, seeing Florence +enter, gladly gathers up her work and runs away to have a turn in the +garden with Captain Ringwood. + +Florence, though sorry for this _tete-a-tete_ that has been forced upon +her, sits down calmly enough, and, taking up a book, prepares to read +aloud to Sir Adrian. + +But he stops her. Putting out his hand, he quietly but firmly closes the +book, and then says: + +"Not to-day, Florence; I want to speak to you instead." + +"Anything you wish," responds Florence steadily, though her heart is +beating somewhat hastily. + +"Are you sorry that--that my unhappy cousin proved so unworthy?" he asks +at last, touching upon this subject with a good deal of nervousness. He +can not forget that once she had loved this miserable man. + +"One must naturally feel sorry that anything human could be guilty of +such an awful intention," she returns gently, but with the utmost +unconcern. + +Sir Adrian stares. Was he mistaken then? Did she never really care for +the fellow, or is this some of what Mrs. Talbot had designated as +Florence's "slyness"? No, once for all he would not believe that the +pure, sweet, true face looking so steadily into his could be guilty of +anything underhand or base. + +"It was false that you loved him then?" he questions, following out the +train of his own thoughts rather than the meaning of her last words. + +"That I loved Mr. Dynecourt!" she repeats in amazement, her color +rising. "What an extraordinary idea to come into your head! No; if +anything, I confess I felt for your cousin nothing but contempt and +dislike." + +"Then, Florence, what has come between us?" he exclaims, seizing her +hand. "You must have known that I loved you many weeks ago. Nay, long +before last season came to a close; and then I believe--forgive my +presumption--that you too loved me." + +"Your belief was a true one," she returns calmly, tears standing in her +beautiful eyes. "But you, by your own act, severed us." + +"I did?" + +"Yes. Nay, Sir Adrian, be as honest in your dealings with me as I am +with you, and confess the truth." + +"I don't know what you mean," declares Adrian, in utter bewilderment; +"you would tell me that you think it was some act of mine that--that +ruined my chance with you?" + +"You know it was"--reproachfully. + +"I know nothing of the kind"--hotly. "I only know that I have always +loved you and only you, and that I shall never love another." + +"You forget--Dora Talbot!" says Florence, in a very low tone. "I think, +Sir Adrian, your late coldness to her has been neither kind nor just." + +"I have never been either colder or warmer to Dora Talbot than I have +been to any other ordinary acquaintance of mine," returns Sir Adrian, +with considerable excitement. "There is surely a terrible mistake +somewhere." + +"Do you mean to tell me," says Florence, rising in her agitation, "that +you never spoke of love to Dora?" + +"Certainly I spoke of love--of my love for you," he declares vehemently. +"That you should suppose I ever felt anything for Mrs. Talbot but the +most ordinary friendship seems incredible to me. To you, and you alone, +my heart has been given for many a day. Not the vaguest tenderness for +any other woman has come between my thoughts and your image since first +we met." + +"Yet there was your love-letter to her--I read it with my own eyes!" +declares Florence faintly. + +"I never wrote Mrs. Talbot a line in my life," says Sir Adrian, more and +more puzzled. + +"You will tell me next I did not see you kissing her hand in the +lime-walk last September?" pursues Florence, flushing hotly with shame +and indignation. + +"You did not," he declares vehemently. "I swear it. Of what else are +you going to accuse me? I never wrote to her, and I never kissed her +hand." + +"It is better for us to discuss this matter no longer," says Miss +Delmaine, rising from her seat. "And for the future I can not--will +not--read to you here in the morning. Let us make an end of this false +friendship now at once and forever." + +She moves toward the door as she speaks, but he, closely following, +overtakes her, and, putting his back against the door, so bars her +egress. + +He has been forbidden exertion of any kind, and now this unusual +excitement has brought a color to his wan cheeks and a brilliancy to his +eyes. Both these changes in his appearance however only serve to betray +the actual weakness to which, ever since his cruel imprisonment, he has +been a victim. + +Miss Delmaine's heart smites her. She would have reasoned with him, and +entreated him to go back again to his lounge, but he interrupts her. + +"Florence, do not leave me like this," he pleads in an impassioned tone. +"You are laboring under a delusion. Awake from this dream, I implore +you, and see things as they really are." + +"I am awake, and I do see things as they are," she replies sadly. + +"My darling, who can have poisoned your mind against me?" he asks, in +deep agitation. + +At this moment, as if in answer to his question, the door leading into +the conservatory at the other side of the room is pushed open, and Dora +Talbot enters. + +"Ah, here is Mrs. Talbot," exclaims Sir Adrian eagerly; "she will +exonerate me!" + +He speaks with such full assurance of being able to bring Dora forward +as a witness in his defense that Florence, for the first time, feels a +strong doubt thrown upon the belief she has formed of his being a +monster of fickleness. + +"What is it I can do for you?" asks Dora, in some confusion. Of late she +has grown very shy of being alone with either him or Florence. + +"You will tell Miss Delmaine," replies Adrian quickly, "that I never +wrote you a letter, and that I certainly did not--you will forgive my +even mentioning this extraordinary supposition, I hope, Mrs. +Talbot--kiss your hand one day in September in the lime-walk." + +Dora turns first hot and then cold, first crimson and then deadly pale. +So it is all out now, and she is on her trial. She feels like the +veriest criminal brought to the bar of justice. Shall she promptly deny +everything, or--No. She has had enough of deceit and intrigue. Whatever +it costs her, she will now be brave and true, and confess all. + +"I do tell her so," she says, in a low tone, but yet firmly. "I never +received a letter from you, and you never kissed my hand." + +"Dora!" cries Florence. "What are you saying! Have you forgotten all +that is past?" + +"Spare me!" entreats Dora hoarsely. "In an hour, if you will come to my +room, I will explain all, and you can then spurn me, and put me outside +the pale of your friendship if you will, and as I well deserve. But, for +the present, accept my assurance that no love passages ever occurred +between me and Sir Adrian, and that I am fully persuaded his heart has +been given to you alone ever since your first meeting." + +"Florence, you believe her?" questions Sir Adrian beseechingly. "It is +all true what she has said. I love you devotedly. If you will not marry +me, no other woman shall ever be my wife. My beloved, take pity on me!" + +"Trust in him, give yourself freely to him without fear," urges Dora, +with a sob. "He is altogether worthy of you." So saying, she escapes +from the room, and goes up the stairs to her own apartment weeping +bitterly. + +"Is there any hope for me?" asks Sir Adrian of Florence when they are +again alone. "Darling, answer me, do, you--can you love me?" + +"I have loved you always--always," replies Florence in a broken voice. +"But I thought--I feared--oh, how much I have suffered!" + +"Never mind that now," rejoins Sir Adrian very tenderly. He has placed +his arm round her, and her head is resting in happy contentment upon his +breast. "For the future, my dearest, you shall know neither fear nor +suffering if I can prevent it." + + * * * * * + +They are still murmuring tender words of love to each other, though a +good half hour has gone by, when a noise as of coming footsteps in the +conservatory attracts their attention, and presently Captain Ringwood, +with his arm round Ethel Villiers's waist, comes slowly into view. + +Totally unaware that any one is in the room besides themselves, they +advance, until, happening to lift their eyes, they suddenly become aware +that their host and Miss Delmaine are regarding them with mingled +glances of surprise and amusement. Instantly they start asunder. + +"It is--that is--you see--Ethel, _you_ explain," stammers Captain +Ringwood confusedly. + +At this both Sir Adrian and Florence burst out laughing so merrily and +so heartily that all constraint comes to an end, and finally Ethel and +Ringwood, joining in the merriment that has been raised at their +expense, volunteer a full explanation. + +"I think," says Ethel, after awhile, looking keenly at Florence and her +host, "you two look just as guilty as we do. Don't they, George?" + +"They seem very nearly as happy, at all events," agrees Ringwood, who, +now that he has confessed to his having just been accepted by Ethel +Villiers "for better for worse," is again in his usual gay spirits. + +"Nearly? you might say quite," says Sir Adrian, laughing. "Florence, as +we have discovered their secret, I think it will be only honest of us to +tell them ours." + +Florence blushes and glances rather shyly at Ethel. + +"I know it," cries that young lady, clapping her hands. "You are going +to marry Sir Adrian, Florence, and he is going to marry you!" + +At this they all laugh. + +"Well, one of those surmises could hardly come off without the other," +observes Ringwood, with a smile. "So your second guess was a pretty safe +one. If she is right, old man"--turning to Sir Adrian--"I congratulate +you both with all my heart." + +"Yes, she is quite right," responds Sir Adrian, directing a glance full +of ardent love upon Florence. "What should I do with the life she +restored to me unless I devoted it to her service?" + +"You see, he is marrying me only out of gratitude," says Florence, +smiling archly, but large tears of joy and gladness sparkle in her +lovely eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +When Florence finds her way, at the expiration of the hour, to Dora's +room, she discovers that fair little widow dissolved in tears, and +indeed sorely perplexed and shamed. The sight of Florence only seems to +render her grief more poignant, and when her cousin, putting her arm +round her, tries to console her, she only responds to the caress by +flinging herself upon her knees, and praying her to forgive her. + +And then the whole truth comes out. All the petty, mean, underhand +actions, all the cruel lies, all the carefully spoken innuendoes, all +the false reports are brought into the light and laid bare to the +horrified eyes of Florence. + +Dora's confession is thorough and complete in every sense. Not in any +way does she seek to shield herself, or palliate her own share in the +deception practiced upon the unconscious girl now regarding her with +looks of amazement and deep sorrow, but in bitter silence. + +When the wretched story is at an end, and Dora, rising to her feet, +declares her intention of leaving England forever, Miss Delmaine stands +like one turned into stone, and says no word either of censure or +regret. + +Dora, weeping violently, goes to the door, but, as her hand is raised +to open it, the pressure upon the gentle heart of Florence is suddenly +removed, and in a little gasping voice she bids her stay. + +Dora remains quite still, her eyes bent upon the floor, waiting to hear +her cousin's words of just condemnation; expecting only to hear the +scathing words of scorn with which her cousin will bid her begone from +her sight for evermore. But suddenly she feels two soft arms close +around her, and Florence, bursting into tears, lays her head upon her +shoulder. + +"Oh, Dora, how could you do it!" she falters, and that is all. Never, +either then or afterward, does another sentence of reproach pass her +lips; and Dora, forgiven and taken back to her cousin's friendship, +endeavors earnestly for the future to avoid such untruthful paths as had +so nearly led her to her ruin. + +Sir Adrian, from the hour in which his dearest hopes were realized, +recovers rapidly both his health and spirits; and soon a double wedding +takes place, that makes pretty Ethel Villiers Ethel Ringwood and +beautiful Florence Lady Dynecourt. + +A winter spent abroad with his charming bride completely restores Sir +Adrian to his former vigorous state, and, when spring is crowning all +the land with her fair flowers, he returns to the castle with the +intention of remaining there until the coming season demands their +presence in town. + +And now once again there is almost the same party brought together at +Dynecourt. Old Lady FitzAlmont and Lady Gertrude are here again, and so +are Captain and Mrs. Ringwood, both the gayest of the gay. Dora Talbot +is here too, somewhat chastened and subdued both in manner and +expression, a change so much for the better that she finds her list +of lovers to be longer now than in the days of yore. + +It is an exquisite, balmy day in early April. The sun is shining hotly +without, drinking up greedily the gentle shower that fell half an hour +ago. The guests, who with their host and hostess have been wandering +idly through the grounds, decide to go in-doors. + +"It was on a day like this, though in the autumn, that we first missed +Sir Adrian," remarks some one in a half tone confidentially to some one +else, but not so low that the baronet can not hear it. + +"Yes," he says quickly, "and it was just over there"--pointing to a +clump of shrubs near the hall door--"that I parted with that unfortunate +cousin of mine." + +Lady Dynecourt shudders, and draws closer to her husband. + +"It was such a marvelous story," observes a pretty woman who was not at +the castle last autumn, when what so nearly proved to be a tragedy was +being enacted; "quite like a legend or a medieval romance. Dear Lady +Dynecourt's finding him was such a happy finish to it. I must say I have +always had the greatest veneration for those haunted chambers, so seldom +to be found now in any house. Perhaps my regard for them is the stronger +because I never saw one." + +"No?" questioningly. "Will you come and see ours now?" says Sir Adrian +readily. + +His wife clasps his arm, and a pang contracts her brow. + +"You are not frightened now, surely?" says Adrian, smiling at her very +tenderly. + +"Yes, I am," she responds promptly. "The very name of that awful room +unnerves me. There is something evil in it, I believe. Do not go there." + +"I'll block it up forever if you wish it," declares Sir Adrian; "but, +for the last time, let me go and show its ghostly beauties to Lady +Laughton. I confess, even after all that has happened, it possesses no +terrors for me; it only reminds me of my unpleasant kinsman." + +"I wonder what became of him," remarks Ringwood. "He's at the other side +of the world, I should imagine." + +"Out of our world, at all events," says Ethel, indifferently. + +"Well, let us go," agrees Florence resignedly. + +So together they all start once more for the old tower. As they reach +the stone steps Sir Adrian says laughingly to Lady Laughton: + +"Now, what do you expect to see? A ghost--a phantom? And in what shape, +what guise?" + +"A skeleton," answers Lady Laughton, returning his laugh; and with the +words the door is pushed open, and they enter the room _en masse_. + +The sunlight is stealing in through the narrow window holes and faintly +lighting up the dismal room. + +What is that in yonder corner, the very corner where Sir Adrian's +almost lifeless body had been found? Is this a trick, a delusion of the +brain? What is this thing huddled together, lying in a heap--a ghastly, +ragged, filthy heap, before their terrified eyes? And why does this +charnel-house smell infect their nostrils? They stagger. Even the strong +men grow pale and faint, for there, before them, gaunt, awful, +unmistakable, lies a skeleton! + +Lady Laughton's jesting words have come true--a fleshless corpse indeed +meets their stricken gaze! + +Sir Adrian, having hurriedly asked one of the men of the party to +remove Lady Dynecourt and her friends, he and Captain Ringwood proceed +to examine the grewsome body that lies upon the floor; yet, though they +profess to each other total ignorance of what it can be, there is in +their hearts a miserable certainty that appalls them. Is this to be the +end of the mystery? Truly had spoken Ethel Ringwood when she had alluded +to Arthur Dynecourt as being "out of their world," for it is his remains +they are bending over, as a few letters lying scattered about testify +only too plainly. + +Caught in the living grave he had destined for his cousin was Arthur +Dynecourt on the night of Sir Adrian's release. The lamp had dropped +from his hand in the first horror of his discovery that his victim had +escaped him. Then followed the closing of the fatal lock and his +insensibility. + +On recovering from his swoon, he had no doubt endured a hundred-fold +more tortures than had the innocent Sir Adrian, as his conscience must +have been unceasingly racking and tearing him. + +And not too soon either could the miserable end have come. Every pang he +had designed for his victim was his. Not one was spared! Cold and hunger +and the raging fever of thirst were his, and withal a hopelessness more +intolerable than aught else--a hopelessness that must have grown in +strength as the interminable days went by. + +And then came death--an awful lingering death, whilst the loathsome rats +had finished the work which starvation and death had begun, and now all +that remained of Arthur Dynecourt was a heap of bones! + +They hush the matter up well as they can, but it is many days before +Florence or her husband, or any of their guests, forget the dreadful +hour in which they discovered the unsightly remains of him who had been +overtaken by a just and stern retribution. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Haunted Chamber, by "The Duchess" + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAUNTED CHAMBER *** + +***** This file should be named 16053.txt or 16053.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/5/16053/ + +Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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