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diff --git a/75137-0.txt b/75137-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c945050 --- /dev/null +++ b/75137-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10950 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75137 *** + + + + + + _NEW BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY No. 300_ + + SUFFERED + IN VAIN + _By + BERTHA + M. CLAY_ + + _STREET & SMITH CORPORATION + PUBLISHERS ~ NEW YORK_ + + [Illustration] + + + + +A FAVORITE OF MILLIONS + +New Bertha Clay Library + +ALL BY BERTHA M. CLAY + +Love Stories with Plenty of Action + +The Author Needs No Introduction + +Countless millions of women have enjoyed the works of this author. They +are in great demand everywhere. The following list contains her best +work, and is the only authorized edition. + +These stories teem with action, and what is more desirable, they are +clean from start to finish. They are love stories, but are of a type +that is wholesome and totally different from the cheap, sordid fiction +that is being published by unscrupulous publishers. + +There is a surprising variety about Miss Clay’s work. Each book in this +list is sure to give satisfaction. + + +_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_ + + 1--In Love’s Crucible + 2--A Sinful Secret + 3--Between Two Loves + 4--A Golden Heart + 5--Redeemed by Love + 6--Between Two Hearts + 7--Lover and Husband + 8--The Broken Trust + 9--For a Woman’s Honor + 10--A Thorn in Her Heart + 11--A Nameless Sin + 12--Gladys Greye + 13--Her Second Love + 14--The Earl’s Atonement + 15--The Gypsy’s Daughter + 16--Another Woman’s Husband + 17--Two Fair Women + 18--Madolin’s Lover + 19--A Bitter Reckoning + 20--Fair But Faithless + 21--One Woman’s Sin + 22--A Mad Love + 23--Wedded and Parted + 24--A Woman’s Love Story + 25--’Twixt Love and Hate + 26--Guelda + 27--The Duke’s Secret + 28--The Mystery of Colde Fell + 29--Beyond Pardon + 30--A Hidden Terror + 31--Repented at Leisure + 32--Marjorie Deane + 33--In Shallow Waters + 34--Diana’s Discipline + 35--A Heart’s Bitterness + 36--Her Mother’s Sin + 37--Thrown on the World + 38--Lady Damer’s Secret + 39--A Fiery Ordeal + 40--A Woman’s Vengeance + 41--Thorns and Orange Blossoms + 42--Two Kisses and the Fatal Lilies + 43--A Coquette’s Conquest + 44--A Wife’s Judgment + 45--His Perfect Trust + 46--Her Martyrdom + 47--Golden Gates + 48--Evelyn’s Folly + 49--Lord Lisle’s Daughter + 50--A Woman’s Trust + 51--A Wife’s Peril + 52--Love in a Mask + 53--For a Dream’s Sake + 54--A Dream of Love + 55--The Hand Without a Wedding Ring + 56--The Paths of Love + 57--Irene’s Vow + 58--The Rival Heiresses + 59--The Squire’s Darling + 60--Her First Love + 61--Another Man’s Wife + 62--A Bitter Atonement + 63--Wedded Hands + 64--The Earl’s Error and Letty Leigh + 65--Violet Lisle + 66--A Heart’s Idol + 67--The Actor’s Ward + 68--The Belle of Lynn + 69--A Bitter Bondage + 70--Dora Thorne + 71--Claribel’s Love Story + 72--A Woman’s War + 73--A Fatal Dower + 74--A Dark Marriage Morn + 75--Hilda’s Lover + 76--One Against Many + 77--For Another’s Sin + 78--At War with Herself + 79--A Haunted Life + 80--Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce + 81--Wife in Name Only + 82--The Sin of a Lifetime + 83--The World Between Them + 84--Prince Charlie’s Daughter + 85--A Struggle for a Ring + 86--The Shadow of a Sin + 87--A Rose in Thorns + 88--The Romance of the Black Veil + 89--Lord Lynne’s Choice + 90--The Tragedy of Lime Hall + 91--James Gordon’s Wife + 92--Set in Diamonds + 93--For Life and Love + 94--How Will It End? + 95--Love’s Warfare + 96--The Burden of a Secret + 97--Griselda + 98--A Woman’s Witchery + 99--An Ideal Love + 100--Lady Marchmont’s Widowhood + 101--The Romance of a Young Girl + 102--The Price of a Bride + 103--If Love Be Love + 104--Queen of the County + 105--Lady Ethel’s Whim + 106--Weaker than a Woman + 107--A Woman’s Temptation + 108--On Her Wedding Morn + 109--A Struggle for the Right + 110--Margery Daw + 111--The Sins of the Father + 112--A Dead Heart + 113--Under a Shadow + 114--Dream Faces + 115--Lord Elesmere’s Wife + 116--Blossom and Fruit + 117--Lady Muriel’s Secret + 118--A Loving Maid + 119--Hilary’s Folly + 120--Beauty’s Marriage + 121--Lady Gwendoline’s Dream + 122--A Story of an Error + 123--The Hidden Sin + 124--Society’s Verdict + 125--The Bride from the Sea and Other Stories + 126--A Heart of Gold + 127--Addie’s Husband and Other Stories + 128--Lady Latimer’s Escape + 129--A Woman’s Error + 130--A Loveless Engagement + 131--A Queen Triumphant + 132--The Girl of His Heart + 133--The Chains of Jealousy + 134--A Heart’s Worship + 135--The Price of Love + 136--A Misguided Love + 137--A Wife’s Devotion + 138--When Love and Hate Conflict + 139--A Captive Heart + 140--A Pilgrim of Love + 141--A Purchased Love + 142--Lost for Love + 143--The Queen of His Soul + 144--Gladys’ Wedding Day + 145--An Untold Passion + 146--His Great Temptation + 147--A Fateful Passion + 148--The Sunshine of His Life + 149--On with the New Love + 150--An Evil Heart + 151--Love’s Redemption + 152--The Love of Lady Aurelia + 153--The Lost Lady of Haddon + 154--Every Inch a Queen + 155--A Maid’s Misery + 156--A Stolen Heart + 157--His Wedded Wife + 158--Lady Ona’s Sin + 159--A Tragedy of Love and Hate + 160--The White Witch + 161--Between Love and Ambition + 162--True Love’s Reward + 163--The Gambler’s Wife + 164--An Ocean of Love + 165--A Poisoned Heart + 166--For Love of Her + 167--Paying the Penalty + 168--Her Honored Name + 169--A Deceptive Lover + 170--The Old Love or New? + 171--A Coquette’s Victim + 172--The Wooing of a Maid + 173--A Bitter Courtship + 174--Love’s Debt + 175--Her Beautiful Foe + 176--A Happy Conquest + 177--A Soul Ensnared + 178--Beyond All Dreams + 179--At Her Heart’s Command + 180--A Modest Passion + 181--The Flower of Love + 182--Love’s Twilight + 183--Enchained by Passion + 184--When Woman Wills + 185--Where Love Leads + 186--A Blighted Blossom + 187--Two Men and a Maid + 188--When Love Is Kind + 189--Withered Flowers + 190--The Unbroken Vow + 191--The Love He Spurned + 192--Her Heart’s Hero + 193--For Old Love’s Sake + 194--Fair as a Lily + 195--Tender and True + 196--What It Cost Her + 197--Love Forevermore + 198--Can This Be Love? + 199--In Spite of Fate + 200--Love’s Coronet + 201--Dearer Than Life + 202--Baffled by Fate + 203--The Love that Won + 204--In Defiance of Fate + 205--A Vixen’s Love + 206--Her Bitter Sorrow + 207--By Love’s Order + 208--The Secret of Estcourt + 209--Her Heart’s Surrender + 210--Lady Viola’s Secret + 211--Strong in Her Love + 212--Tempted to Forget + 213--With Love’s Strong Bonds + 214--Love, the Avenger + 215--Under Cupid’s Seal + 216--The Love that Blinds + 217--Love’s Crown Jewel + 218--Wedded at Dawn + 219--For Her Heart’s Sake + 220--Fettered for Life + 221--Beyond the Shadow + 222--A Heart Forlorn + 223--The Bride of the Manor + 224--For Lack of Gold + 225--Sweeter than Life + 226--Loved and Lost + 227--The Tie that Binds + 228--Answered in Jest + 229--What the World Said + 230--When Hot Tears Flow + 231--In a Siren’s Web + 232--With Love at the Helm + 233--The Wiles of Love + 234--Sinner or Victim? + 235--When Cupid Frowns + 236--A Shattered Romance + 237--A Woman of Whims + 238--Love Hath Wings + 239--A Love in the Balance + 240--Two True Hearts + 241--A Daughter of Eve + 242--Love Grown Cold + 243--The Lure of the Flame + 244--A Wild Rose + 245--At Love’s Fountain + 246--An Exacting Love + 247--An Ardent Wooing + 248--Toward Love’s Goal + 249--New Love or Old? + 250--One of Love’s Slaves + 251--Hester’s Husband + 252--On Love’s Highway + 253--He Dared to Love + 254--Humbled Pride + 255--Love’s Caprice + 256--A Cruel Revenge + 257--Her Struggle with Love + 258--Her Heart’s Problem + 259--In Love’s Bondage + 260--A Child of Caprice + 261--An Elusive Lover + 262--A Captive Fairy + 263--Love’s Burden + 264--A Crown of Faith + 265--Love’s Harsh Mandate + 266--The Harvest of Sin + 267--Love’s Carnival + 268--A Secret Sorrow + 269--True to His First Love + 270--Beyond Atonement + 271--Love Finds a Way + 272--A Girl’s Awakening + 273--In Quest of Love + 274--The Hero of Her Dreams + 275--Only a Flirt + 276--The Hour of Temptation + 277--Suffered in Silence + 278--Love and the World + 279--Love’s Sweet Hour + 280--Faithful and True + 281--Sunshine and Shadow + 282--For Love or Wealth? + 283--Love of His Youth + 284--Cast Upon His Care + 285--All Else Forgot + 286--When Hearts Are Young + 287--Her Love and His + 288--Her Sacred Trust + 289--While the World Scoffed + +In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the +books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New +York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance +promptly, on account of delays in transportation. + + +To be published In July, 1926. + + 290--The Heart of His Heart + 291--With Heart and Voice + + +To be published in August, 1926. + + 292--Outside Love’s Door + 293--For His Love’s Sake + + +To be published in September, 1926 + + 294--And This Is Love! + 295--When False Tongues Speak + + +To be published in October, 1926. + + 296--That Plain Little Girl + 297--A Daughter of Misfortune + + +To be published in November, 1926. + + 298--The Quest of His Heart + 299--Adrift on Love’s Tide + + +To be published in December, 1926. + + 300--Suffered in Vain + 301--Her Heart’s Delight + 302--A Love Victorious + + + + +ROMANCES THAT PLEASE MILLIONS + +The Love Story Library + +ALL BY RUBY M. AYRES + +_This Popular Writer’s Favorites_ + + +There is unusual charm and fascination about the love stories of Ruby +M. Ayres that give her writings a universal appeal. Probably there +is no other romantic writer whose books are enjoyed by such a wide +audience of readers. Her stories have genuine feeling and sentiment, +and this quality makes them liked by those who appreciate the true +romantic spirit. In this low-priced series, a choice selection of Miss +Ayres’ best stories is offered. + +In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the +books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New +York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance +promptly, on account of delays in transportation. + + +To be published in July, 1926. + + 1--Is Love Worth While? By Ruby M. Ayres + 2--The Black Sheep By Ruby M. Ayres + + +To be published in August, 1926. + + 3--The Waif’s Wedding By Ruby M. Ayres + 4--The Woman Hater By Ruby M. Ayres + 5--The Story of an Ugly Man By Ruby M. Ayres + + +To be published in September, 1926. + + 6--The Beggar Man By Ruby M. Ayres + 7--The Long Lane to Happiness By Ruby M. Ayres + + +To be published in October, 1926. + + 8--Dream Castles By Ruby M. Ayres + 9--The Highest Bidder By Ruby M. Ayres + + +To be published in November, 1926. + + 10--Love and a Lie By Ruby M. Ayres + 11--The Love of Robert Dennison By Ruby M. Ayres + + +To be published in December, 1926. + + 12--A Man of His Word By Ruby M. Ayres + 13--The Master Man By Ruby M. Ayres + + + + + SUFFERED IN VAIN + + OR, + + A PLAYTHING OF FATE + + BY + BERTHA M. CLAY + + Whose complete works will be published in this, the + NEW BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY + + [Illustration: S AND S NOVELS] + + Printed in the U. S. A. + + STREET & SMITH CORPORATION + PUBLISHERS + 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York + + + + +SUFFERED IN VAIN. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. A SINGULAR WILL. + CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN DESFRAYNE’S PERPLEXITY. + CHAPTER III. LOIS TURQUAND’S EMBARRASSMENT. + CHAPTER IV. LOIS TURQUAND’S ALTERED FORTUNE. + CHAPTER V. A TRIPLE BONDAGE. + CHAPTER VI. PAUL’S GALLING SHACKLES. + CHAPTER VII. AN UNINTENTIONAL CUT. + CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW VALET. + CHAPTER IX. PLAYING AT CROSS-PURPOSES. + CHAPTER X. BUILDING ON SAND. + CHAPTER XI. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S WIFE. + CHAPTER XII. THE PRIMA DONNA’S HATE. + CHAPTER XIII. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S CONFESSION. + CHAPTER XIV. FRANK AMBERLEY’S EXULTATION. + CHAPTER XV. THE MISTRESS OF FLORE HALL. + CHAPTER XVI. GILARDONI’S LOVE-GIFT. + CHAPTER XVII. IN THE THUNDER-STORM. + CHAPTER XVIII. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S REFLECTIONS. + CHAPTER XIX. BLANCHE DORMER’S SURPRISE. + CHAPTER XX. THE BREAK OF DAWN. + CHAPTER XXI. LEONARDO GILARDONI’S STORY. + CHAPTER XXII. A VISION OF FREEDOM. + CHAPTER XXIII. THE EXPRESS TO LONDON. + CHAPTER XXIV. FRANK AMBERLEY’S ADVICE. + CHAPTER XXV. THE FIGURE ROBED IN BLACK. + CHAPTER XXVI. LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S DIAMOND RING. + CHAPTER XXVII. FRANK AMBERLEY’S MISSION. + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE INLAID CABINET. + CHAPTER XXIX. DEFIANCE, NOT DEFENSE. + CHAPTER XXX. FREE AT LAST. + CHAPTER XXXI. LUCIA’S TEARS. + CHAPTER XXXII. LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S MADNESS. + CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SOUND OF WEDDING-BELLS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A SINGULAR WILL. + + +Always more or less subdued in tone and tranquil of aspect, the +eminently genteel Square of Porchester is, perhaps, seen in its most +benign mood in the gently falling shadows of a summer’s twilight. + +The tall houses begin slowly, very slowly, to twinkle with a glowworm +irradiance from the drawing-rooms to the apartments on the upper +floors as the darkness increases. From the open windows float the +glittering strains of Gounod, Offenbach, Hervé, fluttering down over +the flower-wreathed balconies into the silent street beneath, each +succession of chords tumbling like so many fairies intoxicated with the +spirit of music. At not infrequent intervals, sparkling broughams whirl +past, carrying ladies arrayed obviously for dinner-party, soirée, or +opera, in gay toilets, only half-concealed by the loose folds of soft +wraps. + +At the moment the curtain rises, two persons of the drama occupy this +stage. + +One is an individual of a peculiarly unattractive exterior--a man of +probably some two or three and thirty years of age--a foreigner, by his +appearance. It would have been difficult to tell whether recent illness +or absolute want had made his not unhandsome face so white and pinched, +and caused the shabby garments to hang about his tall, well-knit +figure. Seemingly, he was one of those most forlorn of creatures--a +domestic servant out of employ. + +The expression on his countenance just now, as he leaned against the +iron railings of the enclosure, almost concealed behind a doctor’s +brougham which awaited its master, was not pleasant to regard. +Following the direction of his fixed stare, the eye was led to a +superbly beautiful woman, sitting half-within the French window of a +drawing-room opposite, half-out upon the balcony, among some clustering +flowers. + +This woman was undoubtedly quite unconscious of the steady attention +bestowed upon her by the solitary being, only distant from her presence +by a few feet. She was a young woman of about three-and-twenty--an +Italian, judging by her general aspect--attired in a rich costume, +lavishly trimmed with black lace. A white lace shawl, lightly thrown +over her shoulders, permitted only gracious and flowing outlines +to reveal themselves; but her supremely lovely face, the masses of +coiled and plaited hair, dark as night, stray diamond stars gleaming +here and there, the glowing complexion, the sleepy, long, silk, soft +lashes, resting upon cheeks which might be described as “peachlike,” +the crimson lips, the delicately rounded chin, the perfect, shell-like +ears, made up an ensemble of haunting beauty that, once seen, could +never be forgotten. + +Of the vicinity, much less of the rapt gaze of the wayfarer lingering +yonder, she was profoundly ignorant, her attention being entirely +occupied by a written sheet of paper, held between her slender white +fingers. This she was apparently studying with absorbed interest. + +The loiterer clenched his fist, malignant hate wrinkling his care-worn +face, and made a gesture, betraying the most intense anger toward the +imperial creature in the amber and black draperies. + +“So, Madam Lucia Guiscardini,” he muttered, under his breath, “you bask +up there, in your beauty and your finery, like some sleek, treacherous +cat! Beautiful signora, if I had a pistol now, I could shoot you dead, +without leaving you a moment to think upon your sins. Your sins! and +they say you are one of the best and noblest of women--those who do not +know your cold and cruel heart, snow-plumaged swan of Firenze! How can +it be that I could ever have loved you so wildly--that I could have +knelt down to kiss the ground upon which your dainty step had trod? +Were you the same--was I the same? Has all the world changed since +those days? + +“I have suffered cold and hunger, sickness and pain, weariness of +body, anguish of mind, while you have been lapped in luxury. You have +been gently borne about in your carriage, wrapped in velvets and furs, +or satins and laces, while I--I have passed through the rain-sodden +streets with scarcely a shoe to my foot. They say you refused, in your +pride, to marry a Russian prince the other day. All the world marveled +at your insolent caprice. I wonder what you think of me, or if you ever +honor me with a flying recollection? Am I the one drop of gall in your +cup of nectar, or have you forgotten me?” + +A quick, firm step startled the tranquil echoes of the square, and +made this fellow glance about with the vague sense of ever-recurring +alarm which poverty and distress engender in those unaccustomed to the +companionship of such dismal comrades. + +The instant he descried the person approaching, his countenance +changed. He cast down his fierce, keen eyes, and an expression +of humility replaced the glare of vindictive bitterness that had +previously rendered his visage anything but pleasant to look upon. + +This third personage of the drama was one, in appearance, worthy to +take the part of hero. He was, perhaps, about thirty years old, with a +noble presence, a fair and frank face, though one clouded by a strange +shadow of mysterious care ever brooding. The face attracted at once, +and inspired a wish to know something more of the soul looking through +those bright, half-sadly smiling violet eyes as from the windows of a +prison. + +The forlorn watcher next the iron railings left his post of stealthy +observation on seeing this gentleman, and, crossing, so as to intercept +him, stood in the middle of the pavement in such a way as to abruptly +bar the passage. + +The large kindly eyes, which had been cast down, as if indifferent to +all outward things, and engaged in painful introspection, were suddenly +raised with a flash of displeased surprise. + +“Sir,” began the poor lounger deprecatingly, half-unconsciously +clasping his meager hands, and speaking almost in the voice of a +supplicant, “Captain Desfrayne, forgive me for daring to address you; +but----” + +“You are a stranger to me, although you seem acquainted with my name,” +the gentleman said, scanning him with a keen glance. “I don’t know that +I have ever seen you before. What do you want? By your accent, you +appear to be an Italian.” + +“I am so, captain. I did not know you were coming this way, nor did +I know you were in London. I have only this moment seen you, as you +turned into the square; or I--I thought--for I know you, though perhaps +you may never have noticed me--I knew of old that you have a kind and +tender heart, and I thought---- Sir, I am a bad hand at begging; but I +am sorely, bitterly in need of help.” + +“Of help?” repeated Captain Desfrayne, still looking at him +attentively. “Of what kind of help?” + +Those bright eyes saw, although he asked the question, that the man +required succor in any and in every shape. + +“Sir, when I knew you, about three years ago, I was in the service of +the Count di Venosta, at Padua, as valet.” + +“I knew the count well, though I have no recollection of you,” said +Captain Desfrayne. “Go on.” + +“He died about a year and a half ago. I nursed him through his last +illness, and caught the fever of which he died. I had a little +money--my savings--to live on for a while; but all is gone now, and I +don’t know which way to turn, or whither to look for another situation. +It was with the hope of finding some friends that I came to London; I +might as well be in the Great Desert.” + +“I have no doubt your story is perfectly true; but I don’t see what I +can do for you,” Captain Desfrayne said, with some pity. “However, I +will consider, and, if you like to come and see me to-morrow, perhaps +I---- What is your name?” + +“Leonardo Gilardoni, sir.” + +The hungry, eager eyes watched as Captain Desfrayne took a note-book +from his pocket and scribbled down the name, adding a brief memorandum +besides. + +The sound of these men’s voices speaking just beneath her window had +failed to attract the attention of the beautiful creature in the +balcony. But now, when a sudden silence succeeded, she looked over from +an undefined feeling of half-unconscious interest or curiosity. + +As she glanced carelessly down at the two figures, the expression on +her face utterly changed. The great eyes, the hue of black velvet, +opened widely, as if from terror, or an astonishment too stupendous to +be controlled. For a moment she seemed unable to withdraw her gaze, +fascinated, apparently. + +The little white hands were fiercely clenched; and if glances could +kill, those two men would have rapidly traversed the valley of the +shadow of death. + +Fortunately, glances, however baleful, fall harmless as summer +lightning; and the interlocutors remained happily ignorant of the +absorbed attention wherewith they were favored. + +In a moment or two she rose, and, standing just within the room, +clutching the curtain with a half-convulsive grip, peered down +malevolently into the street. + +“What can have brought these two men here together?” she muttered. +“Do they come to seek me? I did not know they were conscious of one +another’s existence. What are they doing? Why are they here? Accursed +be the day I ever saw the face of either!” + +The visage, so wondrously beautiful in repose, looked almost hideous +thus distorted by fury. + +She saw Captain Desfrayne put his little note-book back in his pocket, +and then heard him say: + +“If you will come to me about--say, six or seven o’clock to-morrow +evening, at my chambers in”--she missed the name of the street and +the number, though she craned her white throat forward eagerly--“I +will speak further to you. Do not come before that time, as I shall be +absent all day.” + +With swift, compassionate fingers he dropped a piece of gold into the +thin hand of the unhappy, friendless man before him, and then moved, as +if to continue his way. + +The superb creature above craned out her head as far as she dared, to +watch the two. Captain Desfrayne, however, seemed to be the personage +she was specially desirous of following with her keen glances. To her +amazement and evident consternation, he walked up to the immediately +adjacent house, and rang the bell. The door opened, and he disappeared. + +The shabby, half-slouching figure of the supplicant for help shuffled +off in the other direction, toward Westbourne Grove, and vanished from +out the square. + +Releasing her grip of the draperies hanging by the window, the proud +and insolent beauty began walking up and down the room, flinging away +the paper from which she had been studying. + +She looked like some handsome tigress, cramped up in a gilded cage, +as she paced to and fro, her dress trailing along the carpet in rich +and massive folds. Some almost ungovernable fit of passion appeared +to have seized upon her, and she gave way to her impulses as a hot, +undisciplined nature might yield. + +There was a strange kind of contrast between the feline grace of her +movements, the faultless elegance of her perfect toilet, the splendor +of her beauty, and the untutored violence of her manner. + +“What do they want here?” she asked, half-aloud. “Why do they come +here, plotting under my windows? Do they defy me? Do they hope to +crush me? What has Paul Desfrayne to complain of? I defy him, as I do +Leonardo Gilardoni! Let them do their worst! What are they going to do? +Has Leonardo Gilardoni found any--any----” + +She started back and looked round with a guilty terror, as if she dared +not think out the half-spoken surmise even to herself. + +“He knows nothing--he can know nothing; and he has no longer any hold +on me,” she muttered presently; “unless--unless the other has told +him; and I don’t believe he would trust a fellow like _him_: for Paul +Desfrayne is as proud as Lucifer. Oh, if I could but live my life over +again! What mistakes--what fatal mistakes I have made--mistakes which +may yet bring ruin as their fruit! I will leave England to-morrow. I +don’t care what they say, or think, or what loss it may cost to myself +or any one else. Yet, am I safer elsewhere? I know not. What would be +the consequences if they could prove I had done what I have done? I +know not; I have never had the courage to ask.” + +Totally unconscious of the vicinity of this beautiful, vindictive +woman, Captain Desfrayne tranquilly passed into the house which he had +come to visit. + +“Can I see Mrs. Desfrayne?” he inquired of the smart maid servant who +answered his summons. + +“I will see, sir. She was at dinner, sir, and I don’t think she has +gone out yet.” + +The beribboned and pretty girl, throwing open the door of a room at +hand, and ushering the visitor within, left him alone, while she +flitted off in search of the lady for whom he had asked, not, however, +without taking a sidelong glance at his handsome face before she +disappeared. + +The apartment was a long dining-room, extending from the front to +the back of the house, furnished amply, yet with a certain richness, +the articles being all of old oak, carved elaborately, which lent a +somber, somewhat stately effect. It was obviously, however, a room in a +semifashionable boarding-house. + +In a few minutes a lady opened the door, and entered with the joyous +eagerness of a girl. + +A graceful, dignified woman, in reality seventeen years older than +Captain Desfrayne, but who looked hardly five years his senior, of +the purest type of English matronly beauty. She seemed like one of +Reynolds’ or Gainsborough’s most exquisite portraits warmed into +life, just alighted from its canvas. The soft, blond hair, the clear, +roselike complexion, the large, half-melting violet eyes, the smiling +mouth, with its dimples playing at hide-and-seek, the perfectly +chiseled nose, the dainty, rounded chin, the patrician figure, so +classically molded that it drew away attention from the fact that every +little detail of the apparently little-studied yet careful toilet was +finished to the most refined nicety--these hastily noted points could +scarce give any conception of the almost dazzling loveliness of Paul +Desfrayne’s widowed mother. + +She entered with a light, quick step, and being met almost as she +crossed the threshold by her visitor, she raised her white hands, +sparkling with rings, and drew down his head with an ineffably tender +and loving touch. + +“My boy--my own Paul,” she half-cooed, kissing his forehead. “This is, +indeed, an unexpected pleasure. I did not even know that you were in +London.” + +For a moment the young man seemed about to return his mother’s caress; +but he did not do so. + +She crossed to the window, and placing a second chair, as she seated +herself, desired Paul to take it. + +There was a positive pleasure in observing the movements of this +perfectly graceful woman. She seemed the embodiment of a soft, sweet +strain of music; every gesture, every fold of her draperies was at once +so natural, yet so absolutely harmonious, that it was impossible to +suggest an alteration for the better. + +“I supposed you to be settled for a time in Paris,” Mrs. Desfrayne +said, as her son did not appear inclined to take the lead in the +impending dialogue, but accepted his chair in almost moody silence. + +“I should have written to you, mother; but I thought I should most +probably arrive as soon, or perhaps even precede my letter,” replied +Captain Desfrayne. + +“You look anxious and a little worried. Has unpleasant business brought +you back? You have not obtained the appointment to the French embassy +for which you were looking?” + +“No. I am anxious, undoubtedly; but I suppose I ought not to say I am +worried, though I find myself placed in a most remarkable, and--what +shall I say?--delicate position. Yesterday I received a letter, +and I came at once to consult you, with the hope that you might be +able to give me some good advice. I fear I have called at rather an +unreasonable hour?” + +A tenderly reproachful glance seemed to assure him that no hour could +be unreasonable that brought his ever-welcome presence. + +“I will advise you to the best of my ability, my dear,” Mrs. Desfrayne +smilingly said. “What has happened?” + +Paul Desfrayne drew a letter from the pocket of the light coat which he +had thrown over his evening dress, and looked at it for a moment or two +in silence, as if at a loss how to introduce its evidently embarrassing +contents. + +His mother watched him with undisguised anxiety, her brilliant eyes +half-veiled by the blue-veined lids. + +“This letter,” Paul at length said, “is from a legal firm. It refers to +a person whom I had some difficulty in recalling to mind, and places me +in a most embarrassing position toward another person whom I have never +seen.” + +“A situation certainly indicating a promise of some perplexity,” Mrs. +Desfrayne half-laughingly remarked. + +“Some years ago,” Paul continued, “there lived an old man--he was an +iron-dealer originally, or something of that sort--a person in a very +humble rank of life; but somehow he contrived to make an enormous +fortune. He has, in fact, left the sum of nearly three hundred thousand +pounds.” + +“To you?” demanded Mrs. Desfrayne, in a thrilling tone, not as if she +believed such to be the case; for her son’s accent scarcely warranted +such an assumption; but as if the wish was father to the thought. + +Paul shook his head. + +“Not to me--to some young girl he took an interest in, as far as I +can understand. I happened to render him a slight service--I hardly +remembered it now--some insignificant piece of civility or kindness. It +seems he entertained a great respect for me, and attributed the rise of +his wealth to me. This young girl--I don’t know whether she was related +to him or not--has been left the sole, or nearly the sole, inheritor of +his money, and I----” + +“And you, Paul?” + +“Have been nominated her trustee and sole executor by his will. I +believe he has bequeathed me some few thousands, as a remuneration for +my trouble.” + +The slight tinge of pinky color on the cheeks of the beautiful Mrs. +Desfrayne deepened visibly, although she sat with her back to the +window. + +“How old is the young lady?” she asked, in a subdued tone. + +“Eighteen or nineteen.” + +“Is she--has she any father or mother?” + +“Both are dead. She is, I understand, alone in the world.” + +“Have you seen her?” + +“No.” + +“Do you know what she is like?” + +“I am as ignorant of everything concerning her, personally, as you are +yourself, mother.” + +“Is she pretty?” + +Paul Desfrayne’s face hardened almost to sternness and his eyes drooped. + +“I have already told you, mother mine, that I know nothing whatever +about her. If you will take the trouble to glance over this letter, you +will learn as much as I know myself. I have nothing more to tell you +than what is written therein.” + +The dainty fingers trembled slightly as they were quickly stretched +forth to receive the missive, which Paul took from its legal-looking +envelope. + +Mrs. Desfrayne ran rapidly over the contents, and then read it through +more slowly a second time. + +It purported to be from Messrs. Salmon, Joyner & Joyner, the eminent +firm of solicitors in Alderman’s Lane, and requested Captain Desfrayne +to favor them with a call at his earliest convenience, as they wished +to go over the will of Mr. Vere Gardiner, iron-founder, lately +deceased, who had appointed him--Captain Desfrayne--sole trustee to the +chief legatee, an orphan girl of nineteen, sole executor to the estate, +which was valued at about two hundred and sixty thousand pounds, and +legatee to the amount of ten thousand pounds. The letter added that Mr. +Vere Gardiner had expressed a profound respect for Captain Desfrayne, +and had several times declared that he owed his uprise in life to a +special act of kindness received from him. + +“How very extraordinary!” Mrs. Desfrayne softly exclaimed, at length. +“He scarcely knew you, yet trusts this young girl and her large fortune +to your sole charge. Flattering, but, as you say, embarrassing. Two +hundred and sixty thousand pounds!” she murmured. “A girl of nineteen. +If she is a beauty”--she slightly shrugged her dimpled shoulders--“your +position will be an onerous one, indeed.” + +“They might as well have asked me to play keeper to a white elephant,” +the young man said, with some acerbity. “I will have nothing to do with +it.” + +“Do not be too hasty. Probably this person had good reason for what he +has done. Besides, you would be foolish to refuse so handsome a present +as you are promised; for we cannot conceal from ourselves that ten +thousand pounds would be a very acceptable gift.” + +“If a free one, yes; if burdened with unpleasant conditions, why, there +might be difference of opinion. I had almost made up my mind to decline +at once and for all; but I thought it would be more prudent to consult +you first.” + +“My dear Paul, I feel--I will not say flattered, but I thank you very +much for your kind estimation of my judgment. All I can say is: Go and +see what these lawyers have to say. Then, if they do not succeed in +inducing you to receive the trust, see the girl, and judge for yourself +what would be best. Perhaps she has no friend but you, and she might +run the risk of losing her fortune. Perhaps she is sorely in need of +some protector--perhaps even of money. Where does she live?” + +“As I told you before,” Captain Desfrayne replied, with more asperity +than seemed at all necessary under the circumstances, “I did not know +even of her existence before receiving that letter, and I now know not +one solitary fact more than you do. I know nothing of the girl, or of +her money. I do not wish to know; I take no interest, and I don’t want +to take any interest now, or in the future.” + +“But it is foolish to refuse to perform a duty when you are so entirely +ignorant of the reasons why this money has been thrown into your +keeping,” urged Mrs. Desfrayne gently. + +“If I refuse, I suppose the Court of Chancery will find somebody more +capable, and certainly may easily find some one more willing than +myself,” Captain Desfrayne said, almost irritably. + +“If it had been a boy, instead of a girl, would you have been so +reluctant?” asked Mrs. Desfrayne, smiling mischievously. + +“That has nothing to do with it. I have to deal with the matter as it +now exists, not as it might have been.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne glanced at her son from beneath the long, silken lashes +that half-concealed her great blue eyes. It seemed so strange to hear +that musical voice, which for nine-and-twenty or thirty years had been +as soft and sweet to her ears, as if incapable of one jangled note, +fall into that odd, irritable discordance. + +Paul was out of sorts and out of humor, she could see. Was he telling +her _all_ the truth? + +Never, in all those years of his life, most of which had passed under +her own vision, had he uttered, looked, or even seemed to harbor one +thought that he was not ready and willing for his mother to take +cognizance of. Why, then, this possible reticence, blowing across their +lifelong confidence like the bitter northeast wind ruffling over clear +water, turning its surface into a fragile veil of ice? + +The young man was out of humor, for his meeting with the fellow whom he +had just encountered almost on the threshold of the house had brought +up many recollections he would fain have banished--memories of a time +he would gladly have erased from the pages of his life--a time whereof +his mother knew nothing. + +Mrs. Desfrayne, however, shot very wide of the mark when she ascribed +his alteration of look and manner to some foreknowledge of the girl in +question. He spoke nothing but the truth in saying that he had never as +much as heard of her before receiving the letter that lay between his +mother’s fingers. + +With the electric sympathy of strong mutual affection, Paul Desfrayne +quickly perceived the ill effect his coldness had upon his mother; and +with an effort he cleared his countenance, and assumed a shadow of +his formerly smiling aspect. He looked down, and appeared to consider. +Then, raising his eyes to those of his mother, he said, with an air of +resignation: + +“I suppose it would be best to see the lawyers, and hear what they have +to say. It is a most intolerable bore. I don’t know what I have done to +merit being visited for my sins in this fashion.” + +“You don’t remember what you happened to do for this eccentrically +disposed old man?” + +Paul Desfrayne shrugged his shoulders. + +“A remarkably simple matter, when all is said and done. I was traveling +once with him, as well as I can remember, and he began talking to me +about some wonderful invention he had just brought to perfection. He +was in what I supposed to be rather cramped circumstances, though not +an absolutely poor man, for he was traveling first-class. I should +not have thought about him at all, only, with the enthusiasm of an +inventor, he persisted in bothering me about this thing. + +“I thought at the time it was deserving of notice; and when he +alighted, I happened to almost tumble into the arms of the very man who +had it in his power to get the affair into use and practise. More to +get rid of him than for any more worthy motive, I introduced the two +to each other. It was something this old Vere Gardiner had invented, +for some kind of machinery, which, if adopted by the government, would +save--I really forget how much. I recollect asking this friend, some +time after, if he had done anything about it, and he told me it would +probably make the fortune of half a dozen people. He seemed delighted +with the old man and his invention. + +“This must be the service he made so much of. It was a service costing +me just five or six sentences. I did not even stop to see what +Percival, this friend, thought of old Gardiner, or what he thought of +Percival; but left them talking together in the waiting-room, for I was +in a desperate hurry to reach you, mother. I never anticipated hearing +of the affair again.” + +There was a brief silence. + +“This man, it is to be presumed, was of humble birth,” said Mrs. +Desfrayne. “It will be too dreadful if, with the irony of blind fate, +this girl proves unpresentable. In that case--at nineteen--it will be +too late to mend her manners, or her education. Perhaps she has some +frightfully appalling cognomen, which will render it a martyrdom to +present her in society. If she is anything of a hobgoblin, you may with +justice talk of a white elephant.” + +“I suppose there is no clause in the criminal code whereby I may +be compelled to accept the trust if I do not elect voluntarily to +undertake it?” Captain Desfrayne asked, with a slight smile at his +mother’s fastidious alarm. “And if she is nineteen now, I suppose my +responsibility would cease in two years?” + +“Perhaps. Some crotchety old men make very singular wills. I wonder +how it happened that he had no business friend in whom he could +confide?--why he must choose a stranger, and entrust to that stranger +such a large sum? I wish I knew what the girl’s name is, and what she +is like, and what possible position she may occupy? For if you receive +the trust, I presume I shall have the felicity of playing the part of +chaperon.” + +“It is perfectly useless discussing the matter until we know something +more certain,” Captain Desfrayne said, his irritation again displaying +itself unaccountably. + +“One cannot help surmising, my dearest Paul. Perhaps the girl is a +nursemaid, or a milliner’s apprentice, and misuses her aspirates, and +is a budding Malaprop,” Mrs. Desfrayne persisted. “However, we shall +see. Go with me this evening to the opera, if you have nothing better +to do. Lady Quaintree has lent me her box.” + +As she was folding her opera-cloak about her youthful-looking person +the good lady said to herself: + +“There is some mystery here; but of what kind? Paul is not quite his +own frank self. What has happened? He has kept something from me. +I could not help fancying something occurred during his absence in +Venice three years ago. I wonder if he knows more about this girl, the +fortunate legatee of the eccentric old iron-founder, than he chooses to +acknowledge? But he must have some most powerful reason to induce him +to hide anything from me; and he said twice most distinctly that he had +never seen her and did not know her name. I do not believe Paul could +be guilty of deceit.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CAPTAIN DESFRAYNE’S PERPLEXITY. + + +The midday sun made an abortive effort to struggle down between the +tall rows of houses on either side of busy, hurrying Alderman’s Lane, +glinting here and glancing there, showering royal largesse. + +The big building devoted to the offices of Messrs. Salmon, Joyner & +Joyner was lying completely bathed in the golden radiance; for it +occupied the corner, where the opening of a street running transverse +allowed the glorious beams to descend unimpeded. + +A great barracklike edifice, more like a bank than a lawyer’s city +abode. A wide flight of steps led up to a handsome swing door, on which +a brightly burnished plate blazoned forth the name of the firm. This +opened upon an oblong hall, in which were posted two doleful-looking +boys, each immured in a kind of walled-off cell; a spacious staircase +ran from this hall to a succession of small, cell-like apartments, all +furnished in as frugal a manner as was compatible with use; a long +table, covered with piles of papers of various descriptions; three or +four hard chairs; a bookcase crammed with tall books bound in vellum, +and morose-looking tin deed-boxes labeled with names. + +In one of these dim, uninviting cells sat a gentleman, apparently +quite at ease, his employment at the moment the scene draws back and +reveals him to view being the leisurely perusal of the _Times_; a man +of perhaps the same age as Captain Desfrayne--a pleasant, grave-looking +gentleman, with kindly dark eyes, a carefully trimmed dark-brown beard, +a pale complexion, and a symmetrical figure. + +One of the melancholy walled-in youths suddenly appeared to disturb the +half-dreamy studies of this serene personage. + +Throwing open the door, he announced: + +“Captain Desfrayne.” + +The captain walked in, and the door was shut. + +The occupant of the apartment had risen as the youth ushered in the +visitor, and advanced the few steps the limited space permitted, +smiling with a peculiarly winning expression. + +“Mr. Amberley?” questioned Captain Desfrayne. + +“I have called,” he went on, as the owner of that name bowed +assentingly, “in obedience to a letter received by me from Messrs. +Salmon, Joyner & Joyner.” + +He threw upon the table the letter he had shown to his mother, and then +seated himself, as Mr. Amberley signed for him to do. + +Mr. Amberley, in spite of the latent smile in his dark eyes, seemed to +be a man inclined to let other people save him the trouble of talking +if they felt so disposed. He took up the letter, extracted it from its +envelope, and unfolded it. + +“Mr. Salmon and Mr. Willis Joyner wished to meet you, together with +myself,” he remarked, “but were obliged to attend another appointment. +In the meantime, before you can see them, I shall be happy to afford +you all necessary explanations.” + +“Which I very much need, for I am unpleasantly mystified. In the first +place, I am at a loss to comprehend why this client of yours should +have selected me as the person to whom he chose to confide so vast a +trust,” Captain Desfrayne replied, in a tone almost bordering on ill +humor. + +“I am quite aware of the fact that you were not a personal friend of +Mr. Vere Gardiner,” said the lawyer. “He trusted scarcely any one. I +believe he entertained a painfully low estimate of the goodness or +honesty of the majority of people. Of his particular object in giving +this property into your care, I am unable to enlighten you. I know that +he took a great interest in you; and as he frequently sojourned in the +places where you happened to be staying, I have no doubt he had every +opportunity of becoming acquainted with as much as he wished to learn +of--of---- In fact, I have no grounds beyond such observations as may +have been made before me for judging that he did take an interest in +you. If you are surprised by the circumstance of his appointing you to +such a post, I think you will probably be infinitely more so when you +hear the contents of the will.” + +He rose, and took from an iron safe a piece of folded parchment, which +he spread open before him on his desk. + +Captain Desfrayne said nothing, but eyed the portentous document with +an odd glance. + +“The history of this will is perhaps a curious one,” Mr. Frank +Amberley resumed. “Mr. Vere Gardiner was, when a young man, very +deeply attached to a young person in his own rank of life, whom he +wished to marry. She, however, preferred another, and refused the +offers of Mr. Gardiner. He never married. In a few years she was left +a widow. He again renewed his offer, and was again refused. He was +very urgent; and, to avoid him, she changed her residence several +times. The consequence was, he lost sight of her. He became a wealthy +man, chiefly, he always declared, through your instrumentality. After +this he found this person--when he had, so to speak, become a man of +fortune--again renewed his offer of marriage, and was again refused as +firmly as before. She had one child, a daughter.” + +The lawyer turned to look for some papers, which he did not succeed in +finding, and, having made a search, turned back again. + +Captain Desfrayne made no remark whatever. + +“He offered to do anything, or to help this Mrs. Turquand in any way +she would allow him: to put the child to school, or---- In fact, his +offers were most generous. But she persistently shunned him, and +refused to listen to anything he had to say. He lost sight of her for +some years before his death, and did not even know whether she was +living or dead. + +“It was accidentally through--through me,” the lawyer continued, +speaking with a visible effort, as if somewhat overmastered by an +emotion inexplicable under the circumstances--“it was through me that +he learned of the death of the mother and the whereabouts of the +daughter.” + +“The latter being, I presume, the young lady whom he has been kind +enough to commit to my care?” Captain Desfrayne asked. + +Mr. Amberley twirled an ivory paper-cutter about for a moment or two +before replying. + +“Precisely so. I happen to be acquainted with--with the young lady; and +he one day mentioned her name, and said how anxious he was to find her. +I volunteered to introduce her to him; but he was then ill, and the +interview was deferred. He went to Nice, the place where Mrs. Turquand +had died, and drew his last breath in the very house where she had been +staying. In accordance with his dying wishes, he was buried close by +the spot where she was laid. The will was drawn up a few weeks before +he quitted England.” + +“I certainly wish he had selected any one rather than myself for this +onerous trust,” Captain Desfrayne said, with some irritation. “What is +the young lady’s name? Miss Turquand?” + +Mr. Amberley hesitated, took up the will, and laid it down again; then +took it up, and placed it before Captain Desfrayne. + +“If you will read that, you will learn all you require to know,” he +replied, without looking up. + +He had been perfectly right in remarking that, if Captain Desfrayne had +felt surprised before, he would be doubly astonished when he came to +read Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will. + +Captain Desfrayne was fairly astounded, and could scarcely believe +that he read aright. The sum of two hundred and sixty thousand pounds +was left, divided equally into two portions, but burdened largely with +restrictions. + +One hundred and thirty thousand pounds was bequeathed to Lois Turquand, +a minor, spinster. Until she reached the age of twenty-one, however, +she was to receive only the annual income of two thousand pounds. + +The second half--one hundred and thirty thousand pounds--was left +to Paul Desfrayne, Captain in his majesty’s One Hundred and Tenth +Regiment, he being appointed also sole trustee, in the event of his +being willing to marry the aforesaid Lois Turquand when she reached +the age of twenty-one. In case the aforesaid Lois Turquand refused to +marry him, he was to receive fifty thousand pounds; if he refused to +marry her, he was to have ten thousand pounds. If they married, the sum +of two hundred and sixty thousand pounds was to be theirs; if not, the +money forfeited by the non-compliance with this matrimonial scheme was +to be distributed in equal portions among certain London hospitals, +named one by one. + +Three thousand pounds was left to be divided among the managers of +departments and persons in positions of trust in the employ of the +firm; one thousand among the clerks in the office, and five hundred +among the domestics in his service at the time of his death. + +In the event of the demise of Lois Turquand before attaining the age of +twenty-one, Paul Desfrayne was to receive a clear sum of one hundred +and thirty thousand pounds; the other moiety to be divided among the +London hospitals named. + +Mr. Amberley was closely regarding Captain Desfrayne as the latter read +this will--to him so singular--once, twice. When Captain Desfrayne at +length raised his head, however, Mr. Amberley’s glance was averted, +and he was gazing calmly through the murky window at the radiant blue +summer sky. + +For some minutes Captain Desfrayne was unable to speak. + +“It is the will of a lunatic!” he at length impatiently exclaimed. + +“Of a man as fully in possession of his senses as you or I,” calmly +replied Mr. Amberley. “You do not seem to relish the manner in which he +has claimed your services.” + +“I don’t know what to think--what to say. I wish he had selected any +one rather than myself, which you will say is ingratitude, seeing how +magnificently he has offered to reward me. When shall I be obliged to +go through an interview with the young lady?” + +“Whenever you please--this afternoon, if convenient to you.” + +Captain Desfrayne looked at the lawyer, as if startled. It almost +seemed as if he turned pale. + +“When, I suppose, I am to enjoy the privilege of breaking the news?” he +demanded, with a little gasp. + +“You speak as if the prospect were anything but pleasing. If you object +to the task, it will, perhaps, be all the better to get it done at +once.” + +“Where does she live?” + +“She is staying with Lady Quaintree, in Lowndes Square.” + +Paul Desfrayne recollected, with a queer feeling of surprise, that his +mother had said the previous evening that Lady Quaintree had lent her +the opera-box which she had used. Could it be possible that his mother +already knew this girl? + +“Lady Quaintree!” he repeated mechanically. + +“Certainly. Miss Turquand has been living there for two or three years; +she is her ladyship’s companion. If you have no other engagement of +pressing importance, I fancy the most easy and agreeable way would be +to call at the house this evening, about eight o’clock. Lady Quaintree +is to have some sort of reception to-night, and, as I am almost one of +the household, we could see her before the people begin to arrive.” + +Paul Desfrayne gave way to fate. There was no help for it, so he was +obliged to agree to this arrangement, or choose to think himself +obliged, which was worse. + +Frank Amberly thought that not many men would have received with such +obvious repugnance the position of sole trustee to a beautiful girl +of eighteen, who had just become entitled to a splendid fortune, +especially when there were such provisions in his own favor. + +“It is thus he receives what _I_ would have given--what would I _not_ +have given?--to have obtained the trust,” he said mentally, with a keen +pang of jealous envy. + +It was a strange freak of Dame Fortune--who yet must surely be a +spiteful old maid--to bring these two men, of all others, into such +communication. + +Paul Desfrayne’s thoughts were in a kind of whirl, an entanglement +which was anything but conducive to clear deliberation or calm +reflection. They eddied and surged with deadly fury round one great +rock that reared its cruel black crest before him, standing there in +the midst of his life, impassive, coldly menacing. + +Hitherto, with the exception of one fatal occasion, he had always +consulted his mother on all matters of difficulty or perplexity. +But now he must carefully conceal his real thoughts from that still +beloved counselor. It was useless to go to her, as of yore, for advice +as to the best course to take: he dared not tell her this miserable +secret which bound him in a viselike grip. His mother would at once, +he knew--unconscious that any link in the chain was concealed from +her--say he must be mad not to accept, without hesitation, this trust. +She would certainly urge him, for the sake of this unknown girl +herself. He must decide now: it would, perhaps, only make matters worse +if he delayed, or asked time for consideration. + +Besides, if he refused, what rational reason could he assign to any one +of those concerned for declining the trust? + +No; he must agree to whatever was set before him now, although by so +doing he would almost with his own hands sow what might prove to be the +most bitter harvest in the future. + +He was within a maze, wherein he did not at present discern the +slightest clue to guide him to the outlet of escape. It was impossible +to explain his position to any one, yet he felt that it was next to +pitiful cowardice to march under false colors. + +One thing was clear: if he could not explain his reasons for declining +to accept what, while somewhat eccentric, was a fair and apparently +tempting offer, he must be ready to take the place assigned to him. Not +only was this self-evident, but also that no matter what time he must +ask for reflection, his position could not be altered, and he could +give no plausible excuse of any kind to his mother for rejecting such +princely favors. + +“This young lady is not--is not, then, acquainted with the contents of +this will?” he asked, raising his head, and speaking somewhat wearily. + +“Not as yet. We thought it best to wait until you could yourself make +the communication.” + +He might as well face the girl now, and have it over, as leave it to +a month, six months, a year hence. He was a soldier, yet a coward +and afraid; but he shut his eyes, as he might if ordered to fire a +train, and resolved to go through with the task, which, to any other +one--taken at random from ten thousand men--must have been a pleasant +duty. + +The lawyer regarded him with surprise, but could not, of course, make +any remark. His wide experience had never supplied him with a parallel +case to this: of a man receiving such rare and costly gifts from +fortune with clouded brow and half-averted eye. The hopes, however, +which had well-nigh died within his breast, of winning the one bright +jewel he coveted, revived, if feebly. + +“There is something strangely amiss,” he thought; “but she will be +doubly, trebly shielded from the slightest risk of harm.” + +Captain Desfrayne--his troubled gaze still on the open parchment, +which he regarded as if it were his death-warrant--absolutely started +when Mr. Amberley addressed him, after a short silence, inviting +him to partake of some wine, which magically appeared from a dim, +dusty-looking nook. + +After a little desultory conversation, having arranged the hour of +meeting and other necessary details, Frank Amberley observed, an odd +smile lurking at the corners of his handsome mouth: + +“This is not the first time we have met, though you have apparently +forgotten me.” + +The captain looked at him. + +“I really do not remember you,” he said, with a puzzled expression. + +“You do not remember a certain moonlight night in Turin, when you +shot a bandit dead, as his dagger was within five or six inches of +an Englishman’s throat? Nor an excursion which took place some weeks +previously, when you met the same compatriot in a diligence--myself, +in fact? We wrote down one another’s names, and were going to swear an +eternal friendship, when you were abruptly obliged to quit the city, +in consequence of some business call, or regimental duties.” + +“The circumstances have by no means escaped my memory,” answered +Captain Desfrayne, in an indefinable tone; “though I should have +scarcely recognized you. Since then you have a little altered.” + +Frank Amberley, laughingly, stroked the silken beard, which had +certainly greatly changed his aspect. But the coldness of the formerly +open, frank-hearted man, whom he had so liked three or four years ago, +struck him with deepened suspicion that something was amiss. + +“I am glad to have met you,” he said. “I should be very pleased if you +could dine with me this evening at the ‘London.’ My people are going +out this evening, so I am compelled to make shift as I best can, and I +don’t relish dining alone at home.” + +A brief hesitation was ended by Paul Desfrayne accepting this +free-and-easy invitation. + +The two young men then shook hands and parted, with the agreement to +meet again for a six-o’clock dinner. + +Truly, times, places, and things had altered since those days at Turin, +the recollection of which seemed to bring scant pleasure to Paul +Desfrayne’s weary heart. + +“Some fatal secret has become ingrained with that man’s life,” said the +young lawyer, as he closed the door upon his visitor. “Great heavens! +that Lois Turquand should spurn my love, and be thrown, perhaps, into +the unwilling arms of a man like this, with such a hunted, half-guilty +look in his eyes! It shall not be--it _cannot_ be! Fate could not be so +cruel!” + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +LOIS TURQUAND’S EMBARRASSMENT. + + +The sun, that was shut out by towering walls from the busy city, +like some intrusive idler, was lying, half-slumbrously, like some +magnificent Eastern slave arrayed in jewels and gold, among the +brilliant-hued and many-scented flowers heaped under the striped +Venetian blinds stretched over the balconies of a mansion in Lowndes +Square. + +An occasional soft breeze lifted the curtains lowered over the windows, +granting a transient vision of apartments replete with luxury, glowing +under the influence of an exquisitely delicate taste. + +Within the principal drawing-room sat a stately matron, with +silver-white hair, attired in full evening costume, apparently awaiting +the arrival of expected guests. + +Lady Quaintree was handsome, even at sixty, with a soft, clear skin, +and a complexion girlishly brilliant; a figure full, without being +dangerously stout; a most wondrously dainty hand, on which sparkled +clusters of rings that might have formed a king’s ransom. Her ladyship +had been a beauty in her youth--not a spoiled, ill-humored beauty, but +one kind and indulgent, much flattered and loved, taking adoration +as her due, as a queen accepts all the rights and privileges of her +position. + +A woman made up of mild virtues--good, though not religious; kind and +pleasant, though not benevolent, abhorring the poor, and the sick, and +the unfortunate--the very name of trouble was disagreeable to her. This +world would have been a sunny, rose-tinted Arcadia could she have had +her way; it should have been always summer. + +She went regularly to church on Sunday morning with great decorum, +turning over the pages of her beautiful ivory-covered church service +at the proper time, and always put sovereigns on the plate with much +liberality when there was a collection. She gave directions to her +housekeeper in the country to deal out coats, and blankets, and all +that sort of thing, to deserving applicants. If flower-girls, or +wretched-looking beggars, crowded round her carriage when she went out +shopping, they not unfrequently received sixpences as a bribe to take +themselves and their miseries out of sight. + +So that, altogether, her ladyship felt she had a reason to rely on +being defended from all adversities which might happen to the body, and +all evil thoughts which might assault and hurt the soul. + +Lady Quaintree was nearly asleep when a liveried servant drew aside the +velvet portière, and announced: + +“Captain Desfrayne and Mr. Amberley!” + +Paul Desfrayne’s glance swept the suite of apartments, as if in search +of the girl who unconsciously held the threads of his destiny in her +hands; but, to his relief, she was not to be seen. + +He allowed himself to be led up to the mistress of the house, and +went through the ceremony of introduction like one in a dream. Lady +Quaintree spoke to him, and made some smiling remarks; but he was +unable to do more than reply intelligibly in monosyllables. The +first words that broke upon his half-dazed senses with anything like +clearness were uttered by Frank Amberley. + +“Not so much, my dear aunt, to pay our respects to you as to +communicate a most important matter of business to--to Miss Turquand. +I suppose we ought to have come at a proper hour in the business part +of the day, but it was my idea to, if possible, take off the--in fact, +I imagined it might be the most pleasant way of introducing Captain +Desfrayne to bring him here this evening.” + +Lady Quaintree had opened her eyes at the commencement of this speech. + +“A most important matter of business concerning Miss Turquand?” she +said. “What can it possibly be?” + +“She certainly ought to be the first to hear it,” replied Frank +Amberley; “though, as her nearest friend, my dear aunt, you ought to +learn the facts as soon as herself.” + +“You have a sufficiently mysterious air, Frank. I feel eager to hear +these wonderful tidings.” + +Her ladyship felt a little piqued that her nephew did not offer at once +to give her at least some hint of what the important matter of business +might be about. + +A sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she rang a tiny, silver +hand-bell with some sharpness, while an expression of anxiety crossed +her face. As she did so, a figure, so ethereal that it seemed like +an emanation of fancy, floated unexpectedly from the entrance to the +farthest room, and came down the length of the two salons beyond that +in which the little group was stationed. + +For a moment it seemed as if this fairylike vision had appeared in +response to the musical tingling of the bell. + +A girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in the familiar costume of +Undine. A figure, tall, full of a royal dignity and repose, like +that of a statue of Diana. A face surrounded by a radiant glory of +sun-bright hair, recalling those pure saints and martyrs which glow +serenely mild from the dim walls of old Italian or Spanish cathedrals. +Many faults might be found with that face, yet it was one that gained +in attraction at every glance. + +The young girl advanced so rapidly down the rooms that she was standing +within a few feet of the two gentlemen before she could plan a swift +retreat. + +A vivid, painful blush overspread her face, and she stood as if either +transformed into some beautiful sculptured image, or absolutely unable +to decide which would be the worst of evils--to remain or to fly. + +She turned the full luster of her translucent eyes upon Captain +Desfrayne, as some lovely wild creature of the forest might gaze +dismayed at the sight of a hunter, and then recoiled. + +Lady Quaintree rose, and quickly moved a few steps, as if to intercept +her, and said: + +“My dear, don’t run away. Frank Amberley knows all about the tableau +for which you are obliged to prepare. I thought you would have come +down before to let me see how the dress suited; but I suppose that +abominable Lagrange has been late, as usual. My dear Lois, I am dying +with curiosity. These gentlemen--Captain Desfrayne and Mr. Frank +Amberley--have come to tell you some wonderful piece of business, and I +want to know what it is as soon as possible. Pray stop. You will only +lose time if you go to change your dress.” + +“I beseech you, madam, let me go,” pleaded Lois Turquand, troubled +by her unforeseen, embarrassing situation--strangely troubled by the +steadfast gaze which Paul Desfrayne, in spite of himself, fixed upon +her. + +“Nonsense! You must hear what they have to say. I feel puzzled, and +anxious to know.” + +Lois vainly tried to avoid that singular, inexplicable look, which +seemed to master her. Had she not been so suddenly taken at a +disadvantage, she would have repelled it with displeasure. As it was, +she had a curious sense of being mesmerized. She ceased to urge her +entreaty for permission to depart, and stood motionless, though her +color fluctuated every instant. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +LOIS TURQUAND’S ALTERED FORTUNE. + + +Frank Amberley looked at Captain Desfrayne, who drew back several +steps--for neither had seated himself, although Lady Quaintree had +signed to them to do so. + +It was evident that Captain Desfrayne would not take the initiative, so +Frank Amberley was obliged to explain--more to Lady Quaintree than to +her protégée--that Miss Turquand had been left heiress to a fortune of +one hundred and thirty thousand pounds. + +“To just double that sum in reality; but there are certain conditions +attached to the larger amount, which must be fulfilled, or the second +moiety is forfeited,” Mr. Amberley continued, looking down, his voice +not quite so steady as it had been when he began. “I have had a copy of +the will prepared, which Miss Turquand might like to read before seeing +the original.” + +He had a folded paper, tied with red tape, in his hand, which he placed +on a table close by Lois. As he did so, his eyes rested for a moment +upon her with a strange, mingled expression of passionate love and +profound despair, at once pathetic and painful. + +The young girl still stood immovable, as if in a dream. Her luminous +eyes turned upon the document; but she did not attempt to touch it, or +show in any way that she really comprehended what had been said, except +by that one swift glance of her eyes upon the paper. + +“This gentleman--Captain Desfrayne--has been appointed by Mr. Gardiner, +Miss Turquand’s trustee.” + +The brilliant eyes were turned for an instant to the countenance of +Captain Desfrayne, and then withdrawn; while still deeper crimson tides +flooded over the lovely face. + +“How very extraordinary!” said Lady Quaintree, as if scarcely able to +understand. “How _very_ singular!” she repeated emphatically. + +“I am truly glad,” she cried, pulling the cloudy figure toward her, +and kissing the fair young face. “So my little girl is a wealthy +heiress. What will you do with all your money? Go and live in ease, +and give fêtes and garden-parties, and have revels at Christmas, and +amateur theatricals, and knights and ladies gay, or devote yourself to +schools and almshouses, as a favorite hobby? Come, a silver sixpence +for your thoughts.” + +Lois, standing perfectly still, leaning against the table, with her +hand resting on the carved back of her patroness’ chair, glanced at her +ladyship, at the lawyer, and at Captain Desfrayne. Then the soft, sweet +eyes drooped. She made no answer. It was impossible to tell from her +face what her feelings might be. + +Lady Quaintree was greatly disappointed by this cool reception of the +marvelous news, which had thrown herself into a state of pleasurable +excitement. She turned to her nephew with eager curiosity. + +“Can you tell me a few morsels of the contents of this wonderful will?” +she asked. “Who made the will? Who has left all this money to my dear +girl? What was he? and why has he been so generous?” + +Lady Quaintree had been quite fond of her companion; but this sudden +access of affection was due to the delightful intelligence brought by +the lawyer. + +“The will would explain more clearly than I could do all particulars,” +Frank Amberley replied. + +He felt it was absolutely impossible at that moment to enter into any +elucidation whatever, or even to give an outline of the conditions of +the will. + +Lois extended the document toward Lady Quaintree. + +“Is it very long?” her ladyship demanded, glancing at Frank Amberley. + +“It may take you five minutes to read it,” he answered. + +She unfolded the paper, and ran her eye rapidly over the contents. Not +one of the others uttered a word--not one ventured to look up, but +remained as if carved out of stone. + +Lois found it well-nigh impossible to analyze her sensations; but +certainly the predominant one was that she must be in a dream. She +had every reason to be happy with her protectress, who was as kind as +if the near ties of relationship bound them together; but it would +probably be quite useless to search the world for the girl of eighteen +who could hear unmoved that she had suddenly become the owner of a +large fortune, especially if that girl happened to be in a dependent +position, and to move constantly amid persons with whom money, rank, +and fashion were paramount objects of devotion. + +She was the daughter of a court embroideress, who had earned about four +hundred a year by her labors and those of her assistants; but Mrs. +Turquand had never been able--or thought she had not been--to lay by +any portion of her income as a provision for her child. Lady Quaintree +had always liked Lois as a child, and at the death of her mother, three +years since, had taken her to be useful companion and agreeable company +for herself. + +That Lois had any expectations from any quarter whatever, nobody ever +for a moment supposed. Everybody of Lady Quaintree’s acquaintance +knew and liked the young girl, who was so pretty, so obliging, so +sweet-tempered. That she should now be suddenly transformed into +the inheritress of great wealth was something like an incident in a +fairy-tale. + +Mr. Amberley’s reflections were easily defined. He had for months +past loved this young girl, though he had never yet had sufficient +courage to declare as much, for she seemed totally unconscious of his +preference, and, while certainly not distant nor icy with him, never +gave him the slightest reason to suppose that she ever as much as +remembered him when he was absent. He had, however, the satisfaction +of feeling sure that she cared for no one else. Never even remotely +had he hinted to Lady Quaintree his secret, being well aware she would +discountenance his suit, for many reasons. + +It was with the utmost bitterness of spirit that he had seen the girl +apparently removed from the possibility of his being able to pay court +to her; and at the same time not only delivered into the sole charge of +a probable rival, but bound by the most stringent injunctions to marry +a young, handsome, and in every way attractive, man--a man whom he +judged, in his own distrustful humility, much more likely to seize the +fancy of a young beauty than he himself was. + +Paul Desfrayne’s thoughts were utterly confused. Since entering the +room, he had scarcely spoken three sentences, and he heartily wished +himself anywhere rather than in this softly illumined suite of rooms, +facing this beautiful girl with the angelic face, whom he had been +commanded and largely bribed to fall in love with and make his wife. + +He dreaded the moment when Lady Quaintree should drop her gold-rimmed +eye-glass, and the silence should be broken. At the same time, the +thought of his mother never left him. What would she say when she +learnt the contents of this terrible will? Only too well he foresaw the +scenes he should be obliged to go through. As for this girl herself, +lovely as some poet’s vision, he resolved to see as little of her +as might be compatible with the fulfilment of his legal duties and +responsibilities toward her. What a pitiful coward he felt himself! Why +could he not tell the truth, and save so much possible future suffering? + +Lady Quaintree read through the closely written document, and then, +folding it up, stared at each of the three persons before her, with +an almost comic expression of amazement upon her fair, unwrinkled +countenance. + +“Captain Desfrayne,” she said, smiling as she held out her hand, “I +trust you will be pleased to remain with us this evening as long as +your inclinations or other engagements permit. I expect some very +pleasant friends--some really distinguished persons, with whom you may +either already be well acquainted, or whom you might not object to +meet.” + +There was such a stately yet gracious dignity in her manner that +Captain Desfrayne caught the infection, and bowed over the delicate +white hand with almost old-fashioned chivalric courtesy. + +“You will pardon my leaving you two gentlemen alone for a few minutes,” +she added. “Lois, my love, I will go with you to your room.” + +Lady Quaintree quitted the salon, followed by the beautiful figure, +clad in its cloudy robes of ethereal white. + +“Let us go at once to your apartment, my child,” she said, leading the +way. + +Her eyes were bright with eager excitement, for she was surprised and +pleased by the totally unexpected change in her young companion’s +fortunes; and she loved the girl so much that she was rejoiced to see +her rise from her inferior station to one of wealth--to see so fair and +sunny a prospect opening before her. + +She glided up the stairs with a step so alert that forty years seemed +lifted from her age; and in a minute they were within the precincts of +the pretty room which was the domain of Lois Turquand. + +“My love,” Lady Quaintree said, closing the door with a careful hand, +“I am so pleased I can hardly tell you how much. You, no doubt, wish to +know the contents of this wondrous paper? My dear, it is as interesting +as a fairy-tale. You are a good girl, and deserve all the good fortune +Heaven may please to send you.” + +She kissed the young girl’s forehead very kindly. Lois returned the +caress with passionate warmth, and laid her head down upon her old +friend’s shoulder. + +“Lois, before I give you this to read, I want you to do something, +which, perhaps, you might feel too agitated afterward to manage.” + +“What is that, dear madam?” + +“You must not call me ‘madam’ or ‘my lady’ any more, pet. I want you to +change this fantastical dress for your black silk, and wear my pretty +jet ornaments, and also a pair of my white gloves, with the black silk +embroidery which I bought in Paris. I think it is a mark of respect you +owe to your benefactor. Did you ever see or hear of him?” + +“Never, madam.” + +“Shall I ring for Justine to help you in dressing?” + +A faint smile dimpled the corners of the young girl’s lips as she shook +her head. + +Lady Quaintree looked about for the bell, then laughed at her +own forgetfulness. From this little chamber--formerly a small +dressing-room--there was no communication with the servants’ domain. +Her ladyship, taking the copy of the will with her, crossed to her own +apartment, only a few steps distant. + +When she returned, she was followed by her waiting-maid, who was +carrying a package of black laces; a pair of gloves; a filmy lace +handkerchief, on which was some black edging; and a black fan--one +of Lady Quaintree’s treasures, for it had once belonged to Marie +Antoinette. + +In those few minutes Lois had thrown off her cloudy robes, divested +herself completely of her assumed character of Undine, and donned a +handsome black silk evening-dress. + +Lady Quaintree was carrying a black-and-gold case, which she placed +upon the dressing-table and opened. It contained a complete set of jet +ornaments. + +She ordered Justine to unfasten the black lace already upon Miss +Turquand’s robe, and replace it by that in her custody. + +The black lace selected by Lady Quaintree was, Justine knew, very +valuable, and the richest she had; the jet ornaments, she also knew, +her ladyship prized; so, great was her secret amazement not only to see +Miss Turquand habited in black, when the blue and white she had meant +to wear was lying outspread upon a couch, but at the lively interest +displayed by Lady Quaintree in the somber metamorphosis, and perhaps, +above all, at the fact of the stately dame being in Miss Turquand’s +apartment. + +The discreet Frenchwoman, however, said not one word; but, taking out +needles and thread from a “pocket-companion,” she dexterously obeyed +the orders received from her mistress. + +Lois was so astounded by the news she had heard that she was incapable +of doing anything but what, in fact, she had already done, implicitly +followed directions. She permitted Lady Quaintree to clasp the jet +suite upon her neck and arms, and in her ears, and looked at the +gloves, and handkerchief, and fan with the glance of one walking in her +sleep. + +Justine, wondering, though she did not utter a syllable, was dismissed, +and Lady Quaintree desired Lois to sit down. + +“We have already been absent nearly twenty minutes,” she said, +consulting her tiny watch. “I wished to arrange your toilet before I +told you what is really in this will. Perhaps you think I treat you as +a child; but you are already agitated, and when you know the eccentric +nature of the conditions, you will, probably, be much startled. Pray +read it, my dear.” + +Lois did so, with changing color and flashing eyes. When she finished, +she threw the paper upon the table, and, rising from her chair, walked +to and fro, as if under the influence of uncontrollable emotion. Then +she abruptly paused before Lady Quaintree, extending her hands as if in +protest. + +“Why should this person,” she exclaimed, “of whom I never heard--of +whom I knew nothing till this hour--why should this stranger have left +me all this money, and why bind me with such conditions? I feel as if I +could not, ought not, to accept the gift he has given me. He must have +been a lunatic!” + +“Softly, softly, softly, my dearest! You are talking at random.” + +“How can I face that man again?--he must know, of course,” Lois +continued vehemently, referring to Paul Desfrayne. + +“We shall see more clearly after a while, Lois. Certainly, I am +surprised by this affair; but perhaps my nephew, Amberley, may be able +to enlighten us a little more. Come, let us go down. They will wonder +if I, at least, keep them waiting much longer.” + +“No--no, dear Lady Quaintree. I cannot go now. I feel as if I must +shrink into the earth rather than meet them again,” said Lois, +recoiling as Lady Quaintree offered her hand. + +“Nonsense! I did not think my quiet, soft-spoken Lois was made of such +silly stuff.” + +“Dear Lady Quaintree, I really _cannot_ go now. Perhaps, when the +rooms are full of people, and I can hope to escape observation, I may +venture.” + +“Will you faithfully promise to come when I send for you--or, at least, +in half an hour?” + +“Yes--yes, dear madam.” + +Lady Quaintree was obliged to be satisfied. In her secret heart she +was sorry for the conditions which so horrified her young friend. + +For a vast change had taken place in her plans since she had heard +her nephew tell his news. What she had dreaded and feared hitherto +she would now gladly see accomplished; but here were difficulties, +apparently insurmountable, placed in her way. + +As she paused for a moment on the threshold, she glanced at the +statuesque figure of Lois. A curious, superstitious feeling crept over +her, and a thrill of painful presentiment passed through her heart. + +The young girl had entered the room only some twenty or thirty minutes +before, arrayed like some glittering creature of light, sparkling with +diamonds, placed, by desire of Lady Quaintree, among the gauzy folds +of her semitransparent robes to represent drops of water, her superb, +sun-bright hair floating like a halo of glory about her, radiant as a +spirit. + +Now she was draped in somber black, her aspect changed as by an +enchanter’s wand. Her spiritual beauty did not suffer, it is true. +She looked, if possible, more lovely thus shrouded; but--but still, +Lady Quaintree wished that the news had not involved donning signs of +mourning, and thought that people had no business to dictate terms of +love and marriage from the grave. + +“An unlucky omen!” she thought, gathering up her violet skirts and +embroidered jupons. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A TRIPLE BONDAGE. + + +Lady Quaintree had hoped to glean a little more information from the +two gentlemen, for she was as much excited as if she herself had been +the inheritrix of the eccentric old man’s money. + +But she was disappointed. Scarcely had she returned to the principal +drawing-room, when five or six guests arrived, and from that moment +people came pouring into the salons until there was a well-bred, +well-dressed throng. + +Lois did not wait to be sent for. She came in with a quiet, calm +dignity of manner, the color a shade deeper on her cheeks, and a +feverish glitter in her eyes, but otherwise self-possessed, as usual. + +Her marked change of costume attracted universal attention, and many +inquiries were made. Lady Quaintree had the supreme felicity of being +able to diffuse the information just received through a dozen different +channels, whereby she was sure it would permeate to society in general. + +“I should not have permitted her to appear had this been a +dancing-party,” she explained. “But it is so quiet, and I am unable to +manage without her. + +“She is quite like a daughter to me,” she went on, thoroughly believing +her own enthusiastic speeches, and feeling a maternal pride swell her +bosom. A tear or so lightly brushed away by her lace handkerchief would +have added to the effect, but tears come and go at will, not at the +command of those who would summon or dismiss them. + +Miss Turquand sat so tranquil in appearance, and bore the masked +battery of curious eyes so calmly, that some people who listened with +amazement were indignant. Lady Quaintree’s companion did not seem +conscious that anything unusual had happened. Two or three times +she glanced through the veil of silken lashes which fringed her +translucent gray eyes at Captain Desfrayne, but it was a glance swift +as lightning, not betraying the most transient glimpse of the strange, +mingled feelings of resentment and lively interest aroused in her heart +by the claim made upon her in behalf of the handsome young officer. + +Captain Desfrayne carefully avoided looking at his beautiful charge. +He seemed to be profoundly indifferent on the subject of Mr. Vere +Gardiner’s whims and fancies, and neither approached Miss Turquand nor +evinced the slightest desire to become acquainted with her. + +Frank Amberley and Lady Quaintree thought this strange, but neither +showed that they were in any way conscious of Captain Desfrayne’s cold +indifference toward the young girl. + +Paul Desfrayne found some people among the crowd whom he knew, and +was introduced to some others by his hostess, or by Frank Amberley, +so he ought not to have experienced the profound sense of ennui and +oppression which made him long to be anywhere but in this brilliant +throng. + +Lady Quaintree at last seized an opportunity of questioning her nephew +on the subject of the mysterious old man, and in a few words he gave +her as much information as he thought advisable. + +“How extraordinary!” she said. “What a very romantic case! I have +no objection to his leaving a fine fortune to my dear little girl, +but I think he should not have hampered her with such disagreeable +conditions. He seems to have been remarkably eccentric.” + +“I knew scarcely anything of him,” Mr. Amberley replied. “I think, +certainly, it was an odd thing for him to lay such an embargo on the +liberty of two young people, and I doubt not but the expression of his +wishes will most probably be the means of hindering them from----” + +He abruptly paused. His aunt looked searchingly at him, anxious to +learn his secret thoughts, for more reasons than one. + +“I know Lois will never be the one to love when she is ordered to +dispose of her affections,” she said, very quietly. “And I am +perfectly convinced she will never marry any one whom she does not +love.” + +A most wonderfully indiscreet question--one which he knew +Lady Quaintree would not answer, but which he longed to ask, +nevertheless--trembled on the lips of the young lawyer, yet he could +not form the necessary words. He was about to ask: + +“Do you think she cares for any one at present?” But Lady Quaintree was +called away before he could muster sufficient presence of mind even to +debate with himself whether it were possible to as much as hint such a +query. + +Lois’ opinion of Paul Desfrayne, gathered from those fugitive glances, +was that she could never like him even as a friend. He seemed so cold, +so self-absorbed, so haughty, that her sense of antagonism deepened. +The strange, bewildering sense of magnetic attraction which had fallen +upon her during the first few moments of their unexpected meeting had +faded away, to be replaced by a firmly rooted conviction that she +could never entertain even the mildest liking for this almost stern, +melancholy looking guardian. + +Paul Desfrayne’s idea of Lois--at whom he had, indeed, hardly glanced +at all--was that, while beautiful as a statue, she was as icy as if +carved from marble. + +Deeper and darker grew the cloud upon the young man’s brow; and at +length, finding a favorable chance to escape unseen, he quitted +the softly illumined drawing-room, wherein he had deemed himself a +prisoner; and with a slow step he descended the wide, richly carpeted +staircase, revolving thoughts evidently not too pleasing. + +He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when a figure, radiant as +Venus herself, alighted from a brougham at the door, and swept over the +threshold, in all the pride and glory of the most brilliant and latest +Parisian toilet. + +It was the woman who had been sitting in the balcony in Porchester +Square the previous evening, when the weary pedestrian had stopped +Captain Desfrayne, and implored his pity. + +Almost at the moment when she alighted, she was met by a young man, who +was about to enter the mansion. + +This young man was Lady Quaintree’s only son--a fair, slender, rather +foppish young fellow, with a pale, interesting face, and a pretty, +graceful figure. + +The attention of the resplendent creature in pink satin and white +lace was turned smilingly on this young man, who stepped eagerly +forward, and offered her his arm; otherwise she must have seen Captain +Desfrayne, who gazed at her as people are supposed to stare at specters. + +A few muttered, half-broken words escaped Paul Desfrayne’s lips, and he +looked hurriedly about, with the air of an animal at bay. Then, swiftly +turning, as the two gay, laughing and flirting apparitions came up the +hall, he threw aside a crimson velvet portière, and plunged recklessly +into a room close at hand. + +It was a moderate-sized sitting-room, flooded with a soft, pure light, +and deliciously cool in contrast to the heated salons above. + +Paul Desfrayne was about to congratulate himself on the retired nook +into which he had managed to tumble; but almost at the instant when +he entered, he heard a silvery, musical voice, sounding so as to +evidence that the person who owned it was rapidly approaching from a +conservatory opening on the room--the voice of his mother, speaking in +animated conversation. + +It was impossible to retreat, though he would gladly have avoided even +his idolized mother at that moment. Nay, she was just then the last +being he desired to see. + +She would naturally be surprised to meet him here, for until this +evening he had scarcely known anything of Lord or Lady Quaintree. + +The clustered lights above the doorway, half-hidden as they were by +climbing exotics trained in prodigal profusion about slender columns, +shed their glowing beams upon an animated face and superbly handsome +figure, as Mrs. Desfrayne appeared, arrayed, as was her wont, with +faultless taste. Her companion was Lord Quaintree, the famous judge--a +tall, noble old Englishman. + +“I am free to confess, my lord,” she was saying, “that I do not at all +approve of the presence of these singing-women at reunions such as this +of to-night. They are very well in their proper places, these people.” +It would be impossible to give any idea of the insolent disdain with +which these words were uttered. “But they ought not to be allowed to +mix with----” + +She suddenly paused, as she caught sight of Paul, and, in her +amazement, stood still, gazing upon him with an expression of blank +astonishment. Half-angry with herself for being so surprised, she felt +that she was accidentally placed in an almost ludicrous position for +the moment; yet she could not as much as speak a word. + +Captain Desfrayne, for his part, could not have uttered one syllable +if his life had depended on it. He had never, in all his days, felt so +completely at a nonplus--so forlorn, so distracted, as he did at this +instant. A terrible scene he knew was at hand, and he could not tell +what might be the result. + +Lord Quaintree looked with surprise from one to the other, not being +able to comprehend what was passing before his eyes. He had never seen +Captain Desfrayne, and could not guess why Mrs. Desfrayne should be +thus betrayed into so singular a display of emotion. Conscious that +probably he might be a little in the way, he yet did not know how to +move himself off the stage with his ordinary easy grace. + +Mrs. Desfrayne was the first to speak. She exclaimed: + +“Paul!” + +Captain Desfrayne bowed. + +“At your service, madam,” he said, very simply. + +“I was not aware----Lord Quaintree, my son--my only son--Captain +Desfrayne.” + +Lord Quaintree smiled, and held out his hand. He saw that something was +amiss, without knowing what. + +“I hope to see you presently, Captain Desfrayne,” he said, with his +pleasant, urbane manner. “I must show myself up-stairs at once, or my +lady will think I have run away.” + +He left the room, surmising that the two would greatly prefer being +left together. But for very shame’s sake, Paul would have caught him by +the sleeve, and detained him as a temporary shield. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +PAUL’S GALLING SHACKLES. + + +“You are surprised to see me here to-night, Mimi,” Paul Desfrayne +said, using an old childish pet-name that always disarmed his mother. +“I came here with a friend to see Lady Quaintree”--he hesitated +painfully--“on--on business.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne opened her big blue eyes, and looked him straight in the +face. A spasm of pique passed through her heart. + +“You did not know that _I_ was acquainted with Lady Quaintree?” she +remarked, half-sarcastically, opening and shutting her fan with a +movement which he knew well of old as indicating vexation. She was +angry that he had come hither with some friend unknown to her, instead +of asking her for an introduction, and telling her of his business. + +“My dear mother, I did not know until this very afternoon that I was to +come here. I remembered, when I heard the name, that you had spoken of +her. It was she who lent you the opera-box last night, was it not?” + +“Well--well, it does not signify. I must not be inquisitive,” said Mrs. +Desfrayne, confident that she must learn all sooner or later. “Have +you heard or seen anything of the young lady you spoke of yesterday +evening?” + +“I have.” + +“You have?” cried Mrs. Desfrayne, drawing a step or two nearer to him. +“What is she like? Where does she live? Is she pretty? What is she?” + +Captain Desfrayne paused for an instant, as if perplexed at such a +volley of questions. + +“Her name is Lois Turquand, and she is the companion of Lady +Quaintree,” he then very quietly replied. + +Mrs. Desfrayne retreated several steps, as if confounded. + +“You are jesting!” she angrily exclaimed, unable to credit that she had +heard aright. + +“I presume you have seen the young lady?” + +“Miss Turquand!” Mrs. Desfrayne slowly repeated--“Lois Turquand! Oh, it +is impossible!” + +The information did not seem to afford her much pleasure, and there was +a visible expression of blank disappointment upon her face. + +The truth--or part of the truth--was that Mrs. Desfrayne had no great +liking for Lois Turquand. By nature aristocratic, proud as a duchess of +Norman descent, she cared not for persons beneath her in station, while +winning and all that was gracious to those in her own rank or above her. + +To Lady Quaintree, wife of the world-famed lawyer, she had ever paid +eager court; but Miss Turquand, the daughter of an embroideress, +a penniless nobody, she had always politely ignored. When her son +had told her of the strange will which had placed him in such an +unexpectedly advantageous position, she had built, with feminine +imaginative rapidity and skill, sparkling castles in the traitorous +air. All her life she had yearned to mix freely in society--she longed +to be a leader of fashion, a star in the hemisphere of the beau monde; +but her income was limited. Her husband, a colonel in the army, had +died almost a poor man, leaving her some six hundred a year, and to +her son an equal pittance--for such she considered it, measured by her +desires and wants. She was still young and most beautiful when left a +widow, and might have married again advantageously, but her overweening +ambition had induced her to reject more than one excellent offer, and +now it was too late to retrieve these errors of judgment--though she +still had her secret plans and schemes. + +Under a fair and smiling mask she hid many little feminine piques and +spites, and one of her pet “aversions” happened to be Miss Turquand. +She could hardly pardon the girl her roseate youth, her fresh, piquant +loveliness, her grace, spontaneous as that of a wood-nymph. For some +reason, unexplainable even to herself, she always experienced a +horribly galling sense of being old, and world-worn, and artificial, +in presence of Lois Turquand, and it created a small vindictive +sense of envy and spite that augured ill for any future attempt at +conciliation. Her short-lived dream of taking the young person left +in her son’s charge in hand, and shining in society by means of a +reflected light, was at an end. + +She could have better endured to hear that the legatee was a plain +young woman, in a vastly inferior station. It was as if her son had +held a draft of gall and wormwood to her lips, and asked her to swallow +it. + +“It is incredible!” she said, after a brief pause, during which she +kept her eyes fixed upon her son’s face. + +“You have certainly surprised me,” she added, slightly shrugging her +shoulders. “Though why I should feel surprise, I cannot tell. It is +absurd, I have no doubt. So Miss Turquand has become a young woman of +property. I long ago was determined not to be astonished at anything, +and I take a fresh resolution from to-night. Was the person who left +her this money a relative?” + +“No.” + +“Not a relative! May I ask what----Am I indiscreet in asking for any +particulars?” + +Paul Desfrayne knew that sooner or later his mother must become +acquainted with everything that the will contained. It was better to +take things with a good grace, and let her hear now, than to shrink +and keep silence, or grant half-confidences, and make bad worse, by +appearing to make a mystery of what was apparently a simple matter. + +“The old gentleman of whom I was speaking to you last night--Mr. Vere +Gardiner--has left Miss Turquand one hundred and thirty thousand pounds +unconditionally. He has left me ten thousand in the same way, but----” + +With an effort he rapidly told her the general contents of the will. + +“You marry Miss Turquand!” almost angrily cried Mrs. Desfrayne, +flirting her fan backward and forward with a nervous movement. She had +seated herself, in her agitation, while Paul remained standing a few +steps from her. + +“Such are the terms of the will. If she dies before the three years +have expired, I am to receive--I forget how many thousands.” + +“Have you seen her?” + +“I have.” + +“How do you like her?” + +“Not at all, as far as I can judge.” + +A smile, almost of gratification, rippled over the fair, smooth face of +his mother at this admission. She was on the point of exclaiming: “I am +glad of it!” but checked herself, and remarked instead: + +“How is it that I find you here alone?” + +These words recalled Captain Desfrayne to his exact position. He felt +as if he could have given worlds to speak with the old freedom to the +woman who loved him so fondly--could he but explain to her what weighed +upon his life like a constant nightmare. But it was impossible. He was +a coward, and dared not face her inevitable anger. + +“I was going away just as I saw you,” he replied, with apparent +tranquillity, though his heart for a moment had beat wildly at the +thought of making his confession. “The rooms were frightfully hot +up-stairs, and this place seemed so cool and inviting, I lingered.” + +“You will take me up-stairs, however. Does Lady Quaintree know you are +my son?” + +Captain Desfrayne had not thought of it. + +“I have such an intolerable headache!” he pleaded, anxious to escape; +and his temples throbbed to agony. “I really cannot stay.” + +“That is very unusual with you, having a headache,” said his mother. +“What is the cause of it?” + +The young man shrugged his shoulders without replying in words. + +His mother urged him, only half-believing in his excuse, to escort her +up-stairs. She had many reasons for desiring his company. Although it +was a little vexatious, perhaps, for so young-looking a woman to be +attended by a son who seemed nearly as old as she did herself, she +always wished for his escort. He was so handsome, so dignified, so +chivalrous, gallant, devoted, in his behavior--there was the mother’s +pride and glory to atone in a measure for the beauty’s mortified +vanity. At this moment she wished to see him with Miss Turquand, to +judge how far affairs were likely to go; she wanted to hear Lady +Quaintree’s opinion, and see how Miss Turquand carried herself beneath +the golden blaze of her new prosperity. But it was in vain she urged +him, and she was piqued by this odd refusal. He was determined to go at +once. + +“Well, you must call to-morrow, Paul. I am dying with curiosity to hear +all the rest, and your opinion, and so on.” + +Captain Desfrayne escaped. The balmy air cooled his fevered pulses, and +he walked rapidly away into the darkness of the summer’s night. + +“Good heavens, what an escape!” he muttered. “I don’t know what +earthly inducement could have impelled me to go up-stairs. My poor +mother! What an ungrateful villain I feel in deceiving her! It was +an accursed day when that brilliant butterfly crossed my path, and +led me away as easily as ever schoolboy was lured into a mad chase on +an idle afternoon, or peasant lout drawn into pursuit of a gleaming +Jack-o’-lantern. There is no peace, no happiness for me henceforth. +I sometimes wish my mother knew all. It would be an infinite weight +lifted off my mind; and yet I dare not--I dare not tell her.” + +The desire to be rid of this painful secret rose so strongly within his +breast, that when he had traversed several streets, he abruptly paused +to reflect on the advisability of going to the house in Porchester +Square, where his mother was staying, and awaiting her return, with the +object of telling her precisely how he was situated. + +“No,” he at length decided. “I _cannot_ do so to-night. To-morrow, +perhaps, I shall be more courageous. If this unlucky piece of ‘good +fortune,’ as I suppose some folks would style it, had not occurred, I +might have borne my secret some few years longer--maybe forever--safe +locked within my breast, there to gnaw away my life at its ease. But +this misguided old man’s absurd whim has been the fatal means of +letting in a flood of misery now and in the future upon my most unhappy +head. It is well that the girl is cold and seemingly impassive. It is +also providential that she has powerful friends, who will render my +duties merely nominal.” + +The sleepy quiet of the aristocratic street through which he was +passing with slow, undecided steps was broken by swift-rolling wheels. + +The gleaming lamps of a dashing brougham threw long gleams of light +through the semiobscurity of the somber thoroughfare, and the champ of +the horses’ feet, the jingle of the silver harness, evidenced that the +vehicle belonged to some one of wealth, if not of position. + +Paul Desfrayne’s glance was mechanically attracted to this handsome +equipage, unconsciously to himself. + +As it passed him, the face of a woman appeared at the window--the face +of Madam Guiscardini thus coming before him like an apparition for the +second time this night. + +Her face looked like some beautiful pictured head painted on a dark +background. She did not see him, but spoke to the coachman, apparently +giving him some new direction. Glancing forth like a vision, she as +rapidly vanished again, and in a moment the brougham had swept off down +one of the side streets. + +Paul Desfrayne struck his hands together with a gesture of despair. + +“She seems to haunt me to-night like some evil spirit,” he muttered. +“I did not know she was in London. Her face fills me with affright and +a sense of coming danger. Can it be true that I once fancied I loved +this woman, and that I let her crush my life forevermore with her cold, +pitiless hand? Can it be that I am her bond-slave--no longer free to +do more than move in the one dull round day by day, with these galling +shackles about me, forced to relinquish all the bright hopes of love +and happiness that bring sunshine about other men? Oh! fool, fool, fool +that I have been!” he cried, aloud. + +Then he once more quickened his steps, as if to escape from himself. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +AN UNINTENTIONAL CUT. + + +Mrs. Desfrayne then went up-stairs unattended--an arrangement not at +all to her liking, for she would fain still retain all the airs and +customs of a beauty yet in the heyday of sunshiny existence. + +She swept one searching glance round the suite of crowded rooms, +seeking the unwelcome figure of Lois Turquand. + +It was the work of some minutes discovering Lois. The young girl stood +a little apart from the throng, her graceful head slightly bent as she +listened to the earnest words of a stately dowager, who was probably +congratulating her upon her change of fortune. + +There was a dignity and a certain consciousness in Lois’ bearing which +Mrs. Desfrayne had never noticed with her before. She reproached +herself now for having been so uniformly cold and frigid with the girl, +for she adored wealth, and she judged by herself that it was impossible +the new-made heiress could overlook or forgive all the petty slights +she had suffered from the insolent widow. + +Mrs. Desfrayne was going to address Lady Quaintree, when Miss Turquand +crossed quickly, not perceiving her. She laid a detaining hand on the +young girl’s arm. + +“I am delighted to hear of your good fortune, my dear,” she said, with +a little perceptible embarrassment. + +Lois raised her clear eyes, and looked for a moment into the suavely +smiling face before her with an expression difficult to define. Then +she bowed: it was a perfectly gracious but decidedly icy inclination. +She did not answer in words; but, with an ambiguous smile, passed on. + +Never for an instant could Mrs. Desfrayne have imagined in her wildest +fancies that the tables could have been so completely turned upon her. + +It was a fine moral lesson, only, unfortunately, it fell short of +its mark; and the coldness of Miss Turquand, partly unintentional and +partly arising from habit, made the haughty woman of the world detest +yet more the girl whom she had hitherto simply ignored and noticed +as little as if she had been a piece of furniture of very ordinary +importance. + +Mrs. Desfrayne turned pale with rage. She almost wished the old man who +had made the eccentric will had been sunk to the bottom of the sea ere +he had committed his money and his ridiculous desires to paper. _That +girl_ the wife of her son! Truly, she had need be radiant with the +glitter of gold before she could possess any attractions in the eyes of +this proud and ambitious, yet narrow-minded, woman. + +Many mothers are quite willing to think with some complacence of +an ideal wife for their sons--a wife to be selected by themselves, +perhaps: a creature of the imagination. But when it comes to be a +matter of sober reality--when there is a real flesh-and-blood being, +not a stone ideal, set before them--why, it is a very different affair. + +Mrs. Desfrayne made her way to Lady Quaintree, and promised herself +that she would arrange for a long chat on this absorbing subject, if +she could persuade her good hostess to ask for her company in a drive +round the park. + +During the singing of some Italian duets by the artists who had been +gathered together for the night, she contrived to learn a good deal. + +One thing she accidentally ascertained which a little modified her +vague schemes and speculations. + +She discovered that hitherto Lady Quaintree had been in terror lest her +son Gerald should fall in love with Miss Turquand. Now this would be +the most desirable thing that could happen, even if the young girl were +shorn of half her newly acquired fortune. + +Lady Quaintree did not know she was betraying her secret wishes, but +Mrs. Desfrayne was very quick-witted, and at the same time a pattern of +tranquil discretion. + +Frank Amberley did not leave the charmed precincts of the house until +he could not stay any longer. The more the object of his passionate +attachment was withdrawn from his reach, the more mad did his longing +become to possess her. But he was an honorable man, and all should be +fair in the fight. + +He had closely watched Paul Desfrayne until that young man’s departure, +and the feeling of deep mistrust against him had painfully intensified. +It was with a profound sense of relief, however, that he found neither +Captain Desfrayne nor Lois apparently disposed to cultivate any +approach to acquaintanceship. + +For some time before the hour fixed for supper, he had hovered about +Lois, with the hope of being able to offer her his arm down-stairs. The +sharp eyes of Lady Quaintree were on the alert, unfortunately for the +success of his plans, and to his anger and mortification he saw Lois +assigned to a stranger. + +As he flung himself wearily into a hansom, and lighted his cigar for +consolation during his journey homeward, Frank Amberley had ample +subject-matter for meditation. + +Although not so bitter or remorseful, his thoughts were scarcely more +agreeable than those of Paul Desfrayne. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE NEW VALET. + + +Captain Desfrayne walked with hasty, irregular steps in the direction +of his own home. + +The servant who admitted him said that a person was waiting up-stairs, +being earnestly desirous of an interview. + +“I should not have let him wait, sir,” the man added apologetically, +“only he said he had an appointment with you for to-day, and seemed so +dreadfully disappointed because he didn’t see you.” + +Captain Desfrayne had altogether forgotten that he had desired the +Italian valet to call upon him. His conscience reproached him for what +he considered selfishness, in being so engrossed; and he hurried up to +his own apartments. + +The doors of the inner rooms were locked; but there was a pleasant +little antechamber, almost luxuriously furnished as a smoking-room. + +This was now fully lighted from a handsome chandelier; and standing at +the table in the center of the apartment was the tall, gaunt Italian +who had claimed Captain Desfrayne’s sympathy the evening before. + +The evening before! It seemed to Paul Desfrayne as if it must have been +months since he had gone through that short, half-smiling interview +with his mother. + +The table was scattered over with newspapers, magazines, French novels, +and other aids to kill time agreeably and intellectually at the same +time. + +As Captain Desfrayne entered, the Italian servant was looking at one of +the papers intently--so much absorbed that his left hand unconsciously +crushed it. + +It was that day’s issue of an illustrated paper. + +The entire page upon which the eyes of the man seemed fixed was +occupied by an oval-shaped portrait of a lady--of whom, Captain +Desfrayne could not discern. + +The fellow clenched his right hand, and shook it at the mute +representation of the beautiful woman, and muttered some words in +Italian, in so low a key that their import did not reach Captain +Desfrayne. + +The next moment the step of the latter made the valet start violently +and turn. He fumbled with the paper, and tried to turn over the pages, +but his hands were trembling so much that he was unable to do so; and +Captain Desfrayne was at the table before he could conceal what had so +much interested him. + +It was the engraved portrait of the beautiful singer who had been +sitting in the balcony in Porchester Square the evening before. + +Paul Desfrayne looked at the man, who had not had time to compose his +features. There was an expression of deadly hatred yet lingering upon +them, though he evidently tried hard to master his emotion. + +For an instant Captain Desfrayne felt an almost overwhelming desire to +speak to him about the signora; but a second thought determined him to +be silent, and appear not to have noticed the little mute scene. He +resolved, however, at all hazards, to engage this man in his service; +for his curiosity, if no deeper feeling, was strongly excited. + +“My good fellow,” he began, in a very kindly tone, “I am sincerely +sorry, but I totally forgot our arrangement. I had business of the +utmost importance to attend to, and so it slipped from my memory.” + +Gilardoni bowed very low, dexterously turning the paper as he did so. + +“I trust you will excuse the liberty I took in waiting for you, sir,” +he answered, with profound humility. “But I have no friend save you, if +I can dare to call you a friend.” + +Paul Desfrayne had resolved to take the fellow into his service, if he +were anything short of an escaped galley-slave. He did not tell him so, +however, but said very quietly: + +“I hope I may be able to show you some kindness, for you seem sorely in +need of it.” + +Gilardoni clasped his hands, and looked at the captain. + +“I will serve you truly and well, if you will let me,” he cried. + +“What recommendations--what credentials have you to show?” asked +Captain Desfrayne. + +The man eagerly unbuttoned his shabby, threadbare coat, and, diving his +thin fingers into an inner pocket, drew forth a bundle of letters and +papers. He chose one document, which he extended to Captain Desfrayne. + +“This is a written character from my poor master, sir. You knew his +writing--you will see what he says of me.” + +Captain Desfrayne took the envelope; and opening it, was about to +extract the enclosure, when a small, folded morsel of note-paper fell +out, and dropped on the table. Quick as lightning, Gilardoni snatched +it up--not rudely, but with a kind of panic expressed in his face and +in every gesture. + +Captain Desfrayne’s eye had caught sight of the characters before he +was aware that he was guilty of any possible indiscretion in looking +upon them. + +The blood rushed to his face, and then receded to his heart. Only too +easily did he recognize the ill-formed characters. It was the writing +of the woman who had influenced his life for evil--the beautiful +Signora Guiscardini. + +With infinite presence of mind, he affected not to have particularly +observed the stray, fluttering paper, and began to read the letter of +recommendation. + +More than ever, he had made up his mind to receive this man into his +service. He longed to ask him, then and there, bluntly, what the +mysterious tie might be that caused him to take so much interest in the +signora, and why he had a note written by her in his possession--a note +which he evidently feared any one else might see. + +He was unable to study the man’s face; for as he read the +recommendatory letter, he was conscious that the fellow’s keen eyes +were fixed upon him with a furtive anxiety. + +“When can you come to me?” he asked. + +A glitter as of tears of delight gleamed in those bright, half-hungry +eyes, as Gilardoni eagerly answered: + +“Any time. To-night, if you will, sir.” + +“Very well. So be it.” + +The little details of terms and so on were soon settled. Captain +Desfrayne unlocked the door leading to the inner apartments, and in a +very few minutes Gilardoni was occupied in noiselessly flitting about, +putting things straight with an almost womanly softness and dexterity. +Captain Desfrayne threw himself upon a sofa, lighted a cigar, and, +leaning back, watched him with a curiosity that was attaining an +uncomfortable height. + +“I would give a thousand pounds, if I were so rich, to know what link +there is between this poor wretch and the star singer,” he thought. +“But I am sure to know in time, I imagine, and I must not startle him. + +“Give me some of those papers that are lying on the table in the next +room,” he said, aloud. + +Gilardoni obeyed his orders with nimble alacrity, and lighted a +reading-lamp that stood on a table at the head of the couch. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +PLAYING AT CROSS-PURPOSES. + + +Captain Desfrayne selected a paper, and slowly turned over the pages +as he cut them. Some time elapsed before he spoke; for he could not +exactly frame words in which to put the question he meant to ask. + +“What part of Italy did you come from?” he inquired carelessly, +following the spiral line of cigar-smoke, as he breathed it from his +lips. + +Gilardoni looked at him with that furtive glance Captain Desfrayne had +already noticed; but replied, without seeming to hesitate: + +“From Florence, sir.” + +“Ah! Have you any relatives living?” + +“None, sir. Not one. My father and mother died when I was a young +child, leaving me to the care of a distant relative, who has since +died, and I never had either brothers or sisters.” + +The faint suspicion that had arisen in Paul Desfrayne’s mind that +the brilliant prima donna might be this fellow’s sister, was then +negatived. Probably, some humble lover of her early days, whom she had +despised, perhaps jilted? So superbly beautiful a creature, born in +an Italian village, must have had many adorers; and he knew her to be +arrogant and callous of other people’s feelings, and incredibly vain of +her own manifold attractions. + +“A countrywoman of yours,” he abruptly said, with an effort at smiling, +as he turned out the large, oval engraving of Madam Guiscardini. + +Gilardoni could not refuse to look; but he drew back his lips as some +animals do when in a fury. The action might pass for an affirmative +smile, but it was uglier than any frown. + +“Yes,” he curtly replied. + +“Did you know her?” + +Gilardoni did not respond this time; but gave his attention to a tall +vase, which he seemed to find in need of being relieved of the dust +that had accumulated round the flutings. + +Captain Desfrayne waited for a minute, and then repeated the question. + +“Why, sir, everybody knows her--everybody all over the world,” +Gilardoni answered, only half-turning round. + +He spoke with a strong effort to display indifference; but his manner +and voice both betrayed singular constraint. Paul Desfrayne was +prepared for this, and did not take any notice, but continued: + +“She was but a village girl, I suppose, when you knew her? They say she +is going to marry a Russian prince.” + +This time Gilardoni made a great effort, and, looking his new master +full in the face, with a vacant, uninterested expression, said: + +“Do they, sir?” + +There was no doubt that Gilardoni was on his guard, and would not +betray more than he could possibly help. + +Paul Desfrayne would not give up yet, for that eager desire to know +what secret reason this man had for hating Madam Guiscardini so +bitterly as he seemed to do was almost unconquerable. + +“They say,” he went on slowly, lowering his eyes, and taking a +tiny nail-knife from his waistcoat-pocket, to keep his glances +ostentatiously employed, “that the beautiful songstress is already +married.” + +These men were playing at cross-purposes. The master would have given +all he possessed in the world to have learned the secret which was of +no value whatever to the servant. Four monosyllables would have served +to unlock those dreary prison doors, and let in the light of possible +happiness upon that poor, weary soul, who was suffering the penalty of +the one mistake of his young life. + +Paul Desfrayne glanced for a swift instant at Gilardoni. The Italian’s +strong, nervous hands were clutched fast upon the top of the chair in +front of him; his face was alternately red and pale, and his eyes were +gleaming like fire. + +“Who told you that?” he demanded, in a sepulchral whisper. + +“I don’t know,” Captain Desfrayne answered, slightly shrugging his +shoulders. “People tell you all sorts of things about eminent singers +and public characters generally.” + +Gilardoni leaned his long, thin body forward, and stared his master in +the face. + +“Then where do they say her husband is?” he demanded, in the same +sibilant whisper. + +The mystery seemed clearer now. He was an old lover--perhaps once a +favorite--of madam’s. It was hardly worth the trouble of talking to the +fellow; and Paul Desfrayne felt half-enraged with himself for having +done so. But now that he wished the conversation ended, or, rather, +that he had not begun it, Gilardoni seemed determined to continue it. + +“Idle gossip all, I doubt not,” Captain Desfrayne said carelessly. +“You, who come from her native village, would be more likely than +anybody else to guess who the lucky individual might happen to be, +and where he might be found; for if she had married any one after she +quitted her village, it would have been somebody of importance.” + +“Somebody to talk about--somebody to be proud of,” Gilardoni cried, his +eyes flashing with a strange light. “If she had married a poor man----” + +He stopped suddenly; Captain Desfrayne laughed. + +“Yes,” he said. “If she had married a poor man, she would have hated +and despised him. Perhaps she did marry a poor man, and is not able to +marry the Russian prince,” he added, knocking the ash carelessly from +his cigar. + +“She would have hated and despised him,” Gilardoni repeated slowly, +with intense acrimony in his accent. “Do _you_ know whether she is +married or not?” he abruptly demanded, the keen, furtive, eager, +inquiring look in his eyes again. + +“Come, I think we have talked enough about Madam Guiscardini,” answered +Captain Desfrayne, in almost a harsh tone, rising from his couch. “I +don’t see that there can be any particular interest for you or for me +in the subject.” + +He felt quite sure now that this was some early lover, who so madly +adored the brilliant operatic star that he could not bear the thought +that she should belong to another, although she never could be his. +He felt disappointed and vexed with himself for permitting his eager +curiosity to carry him so far from his customary reserve and dignity +as to lead him into gossiping with his servant, a fellow whom until +yesterday he scarcely knew existed. + +In a softer tone he dismissed his new attendant, telling him some of +the people about the house would show him the room where he was to +sleep. Gilardoni quitted the room with a profound inclination, and +Captain Desfrayne, almost to his relief, was left alone. + +“The affair is very simple,” he muttered to himself, as he walked to +the window and threw it open to breathe the delicious air of the fair +June night--“very simple. These Italians are so susceptible, and so +revengeful. Probably _la_ Lucia flirted with him in her early days, +before the dawn of splendor and riches came upon her and led her to +think----Pooh! the story is commonplace to nausea--insipid. I don’t +care to know anything about her more than I already know. What good +would it do me?” + +He rested his head against the framework of the window, and gazed +abstractedly into the deserted street. The moon had risen in full +majesty, and was flooding every place with silver light. A party of +young men came along the pavement arm in arm, singing, as the students +in “Faust” came along that memorable night. + +Paul Desfrayne listened. The music was familiar to him; the words he +knew well, and could distinguish them. + +The first time Paul Desfrayne had heard Lucia Guiscardini sing upon +the stage, she had sung those verses. They haunted him yet. They now +brought back memories steeped in pain and bitterness. + +Wearied in body, sick at heart, he closed the window to shut out those +distasteful strains, and went with slow steps to his bedroom. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +BUILDING ON SAND. + + +Mrs. Desfrayne felt much as Alnaschar is described to have felt when +he found his radiant visions at an end. She had built up a perfect +Aladdin’s Palace of bright and fairy enjoyment, and now it had faded +completely. + +She was endowed with a lively imagination, and had rapidly conjured +up dreams as charming as they were baseless, like a boarding-school +girl building up a delicious _château d’Espagne_ with enameled bits of +painted cardboard. + +She had never liked the quiet, graceful girl who was such a favorite +with Lady Quaintree, and now she was in a fair way to hate her. What, +perhaps, angered her more than anything else was that this girl should, +of all others, have been selected by some one totally unknown to her to +be her son’s wife. + +She had no desire that Paul should marry, though she had a vague idea +that she would be glad if he discovered some wealthy and beautiful +heiress, and was successful in his suit. Jealous of any creature +who might threaten to divide with her the affections of her beloved +child, the thought that Lois Turquand should be her rival was gall +and wormwood. But she was keenly disappointed in her airy hopes and +expectations, raised on a foundation of sand as they had been, with no +knowledge whatever of the circumstances of the case. + +Like some foolish women, and also some silly men, she had a most +objectionable habit of judging and trying cases by the aid of +imagination alone, unassisted by common sense, and she was now +suffering under a result which a cooler head might have anticipated as +just possible. + +The more she thought about the matter, the more angry and disappointed +she became. Indeed, she reasoned herself into the notion that she had +been badly used somehow by somebody in some way, and resented her +injuries accordingly. + +Miss Turquand had possessed one friend more in the world than she +deemed herself entitled to count. She had now one enemy more since her +sudden rise to fortune. + +Of Mrs. Desfrayne Miss Turquand was certainly not thinking at this +exciting period. + +The young girl could scarcely realize the change in her destiny. It was +like a tale in the “Arabian Nights.” Hitherto her life had been almost +uneventful, and decidedly not unhappy. She had little occasion to look +forward to the future which lay before her, gray and shadowed, but not +dark. Her mistress, or patroness, was kind and fond of her--honestly +and truly fond, and she felt toward her as an affectionate daughter +might to an indulgent mother. Of a cheerful and contented disposition, +she had been well satisfied with her comfortable home and genial +surroundings. + +Love had not touched her, though probably she had cherished her roseate +fancies and preferences, like all other girls in their teens. Unlike +many of her sisterhood, however, she was gifted with a singularly clear +insight into character, and she was easily disenchanted. + +Lady Quaintree had met with her by accident, as it seemed. Mrs. +Turquand, left a widow at an early age, had turned her genius for +exquisite embroidery to account, and was able to acquire a large circle +of patrons. She was gentle, obliging, prompt; she engaged assistants, +and had made an income of about four hundred a year; but was unable to +provide for her only child, having to meet expenses large in proportion +to her earnings. By many little acts, she had pleased Lady Quaintree; +and at her death, Lois being about fourteen, her ladyship had taken the +child, who had not a relative in the world that she knew of, and from +that time the two had scarcely parted for a day, Lois being carefully +trained at home by excellent instructors. + +It was a trying test just now for the girl, passing through a fiery +furnace. For a girl of eighteen, beautiful, and not quite unconscious +of her beauty--for, from the nature of her position, she had been +exposed to the open fire of admiration and gallantry hardly known to +girls of a higher rank, surrounded by as sure a fence of protection as +any Chinese or Turkish princess--it was a terrible ordeal. + +The oddly devised will left Lady Quaintree in a flutter of pleasant +“bother,” for she took her protégée’s affairs in hand, and was +determined to nestle the girl under her motherly old wings more closely +than ever. The dead man’s whims interfered with a delightful little +plan which had spread into being within her constantly active brain, as +surely as they had marred Mrs. Desfrayne’s schemes. + +Her daughters were all married, and it was partly a feeling of +loneliness on their quitting the paternal roof that had induced her to +take Lois as her companion. + +She had one son. Mrs. Desfrayne did not adore her boy more devoutly +than Lady Quaintree worshiped the Honorable Gerald Danvers. In her eyes +he was the perfection of every manly grace. He was good-looking enough, +and he regarded himself as an absolute Adonis. He was good-natured when +his whims and fancies were not interfered with, and his great aim was +to go through life with as little trouble as possible. + +Lord Quaintree left the management of his son completely in the hands +of the mother. The Honorable Gerald had bitterly disappointed his hopes +and wounded his pride. He had built up a delightful little castle in +the air during the boyhood of this only son, which had been blown to +the winds when the Honorable Gerald entered his teens. + +He saw that nothing could be made of Gerald, and therefore agreed, +without a murmur, to the proposal of the mother that the youth should +become a soldier. However, he resented the denseness of this handsome, +empty pate as deeply as if it had been the poor boy’s fault instead of +his misfortune. + +The old man was not only a great lawyer and an intellectual giant, but +tender-hearted and religious, and took an interest in ragged-schools, +refuges, and various kindred institutions for the benefit of tangled +bundles of patchwork clothing. If it had been possible, he would have +put his boy into the church; but Gerald was fit for nothing. + +The Honorable Gerald imagined himself of a romantic turn of mind, and +he found Lois Turquand the prettiest and decidedly the most interesting +girl he had ever seen. So he took the idea into his head that he was in +love with her, and accordingly flirted in a languid manner with her, or +tried to do so. He did not pretend to have any “intentions,” and his +mother was certain there was not any particular danger. + +Lois treated his advances with supreme indifference. He liked to see +her open her great, serious eyes at some of his silly compliments, +half in astonishment, half in rebuke; he liked to flatter himself with +the notion that those large, brilliant, liquid eyes would soften into +ineffable sweetness if he condescended to throw himself at her feet. +He was indeed as far in love with her as he could be with anybody but +himself. + +That he should ever be so rash, so insane, as to marry her companion, +Lady Quaintree had not feared. Had he been a different kind of young +man, she might have dreaded the occasional intimate meeting between +these two. But there was no reason to be alarmed, and she sunned +herself in the bright, cheerful sweetness of the young girl’s company +without the slightest misgiving. Had she been obliged to choose any one +from love for her son’s wife, she would have gathered this charming +flower from the garden of girls. And now many would try to win Lois. +Not by birth, but by wealth, she was on a level with the sparkling +beauties about her, from whom she had hitherto been fenced off. + +Lois had another lover, though scarcely an acknowledged one: Frank +Amberley, Lady Quaintree’s nephew. The affection which had crept +into his heart day by day was strong as a current flowing down from +a mountain. From the day that Lois had entered the house of Lady +Quaintree--literally from that day, for he happened to be there the +very afternoon that the young child of fourteen had come hither--he had +watched her grow up, like some fair and beautiful plant. For four years +he had deeply loved this girl as he could never, never love again, he +knew. + +From the time he had discovered the state of his own feelings, he had +steadily sought to win her regard: that he had gained, but not the love +he prayed for. She liked and trusted him as a friend--nothing more--not +one atom more, he was well aware. His love shone upon her as the sun +shines upon glass or water--reflected back, it is true, but with +perfect coldness. + +Lois vaguely surmised that he loved her, but he had never told her so. + +Lady Quaintree ardently desired now to see Lois the wife of her beloved +son. But how about the one whom the dead old man had decreed to be the +husband of this beautiful girl? The difficulties in the way loomed +large. He certainly had not appeared very anxious the night before +to take any advantage of his position, or to seek to improve his +acquaintance with the girl thus placed under his charge. + +Great was the amazement of the Honorable Gerald when he heard of the +good fortune that had befallen Lois. + +“By Jove! what a crotchety old dolt!” was his exclamation. “Why +couldn’t he leave the girl untrammeled?” + +But he said it to himself, for Lois was standing by. + +Lady Quaintree asked her what she was going to do. + +“To remain exactly as I am, dearest madam.” + +“Absurd! Impossible, my love!” + +“If you wish me to be happy,” Lois pleaded, “you will let me go on as I +have done for these four peaceful years. I wish for no change.” + +Her ladyship glanced keenly from her son to Lois and back again, but +without perceiving the slightest sign that the desire expressed by Lois +might be dictated by some deeper feeling than affection for herself. + +“Well, my dear, be it as you will. Let us make no change for the +present, if it so please you. All I bargain for is that we do a little +delightful shopping for your benefit, darling. You must shine with the +bravest. Frank asked if we could go to his office to see the original +will; but my lord has undertaken to see that everything is right, and +to save us all trouble.” + +Again she glanced at Lois’ face as she pronounced the name of her +nephew; but not a ray of conscious pleasure, not a blush, betrayed a +spark of interest. + +“My lord is very good and kind,” she murmured. + +“And we must run down to Gloucestershire to have a peep at your Hall.” + +It was thus comfortably settled that Lois should remain with the +friends who had been so kind and considerate to her. + +“Does she care for anybody? or is she still heart-free?” Lady Quaintree +asked herself. + +Almost unconsciously, the good lady was meditating how she could find +out without committing herself or compromising her dignity. + +If wit or diplomacy could manage it, she was resolved on securing her +favorite as a wife for her son, though a couple of days before she +would not have thanked the soothsayer who might have told her that +such an event was looming in the future as a marriage between Lois and +Gerald. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +PAUL DESFRAYNE’S WIFE. + + +Lady Quaintree did not let excitement interfere with her usual plans +and daily arrangements. She had settled that they should go on +Saturday--the day after that one so memorable in Lois’ life--to the +Zoological Gardens to hear the band play; and, accordingly, at about +four o’clock, she set off with Lois and her son in the carriage. + +To Lois it all appeared as a dream. Everything was the same, yet how +different! Only a week ago had she attended her patroness to this gay +scene, then as her paid if esteemed and indulged dependent. Now how was +everything altered! Her very attire proclaimed that the tide of events +had swept over her. She thought to keep her head steady, to stand +unchanged, but it was difficult. It is as dangerous looking over an +abyss clothed with all the flowers of spring, illumined by the golden +rays of the morning sun, as to peer down from the black, beetling brow +of a precipice, jagged and repellent. + +“Heaven!” she cried, half-shudderingly, in the depths of her heart, +“keep my soul pure and unspotted. Help me to do my duty now, even if I +have failed in the days gone by.” + +It was but too sweet for a beautiful girl of eighteen to be +suddenly paid so much court, to be coaxed to drink so many a cup of +nectar-tinctured flattery. + +Great was the wonderment among the large circle of Lady Quaintree’s +friends and acquaintances at the magic change in Miss Turquand’s status +in society. No one knew the stipulations in the old man’s will. It was +only known that she was now the happy possessor of a large fortune, in +lieu of being a penniless toiler in the world’s hive. + +That day Lois Turquand might have commanded a dozen offers, some good, +some bad, some indifferently good. Many people speculated as to what +would happen next. + +“She was sure to marry at once,” everybody said. “Her beauty, her +money, and her romantic little history would surely obtain for her the +vivid interest of some more or less eligible individual.” + +The majority decided she would marry Gerald Danvers. + +Lady Quaintree had mentioned the projected visit to the Zoo, in the +hearing of Frank Amberley, and he was haunting the gates when the +little party arrived. + +Poor fellow! He could not resist coming, fluttering about the flame +that might end by consuming him. + +Gerald objected to his company, now that he had resolved on +appropriating the beautiful Lois himself. Hitherto he had never really +noticed how often or how long Frank lingered by Miss Turquand. To-day +he swelled and fumed like some ruffled turkey-cock, as Frank persisted +in walking by the young girl’s left hand, as he displayed the grace and +elegance of his irreproachably dressed person on her right. + +Lady Quaintree had meant to keep Lois near her own side, but was +obliged to loiter behind the three young people, while a dowager friend +poured some matronly confidence into her unwilling ear. + +It was a lovely afternoon, and the sun glittered down his smiles on the +gay throng, sitting in flowerlike groups, or lingering over the sward. + +The stroll was not a very lively one for the three somewhat ill-matched +companions. Frank Amberley’s heart was full of despairing love and +pain. Gerald Danvers was in a downright rage. Lois felt worried and +distrait. The two young men wished each other at Jericho, or the Arctic +regions, and Miss Turquand would not have been sorry to see herself +quit of their uncongenial company. + +At a sudden turn they came upon Captain Desfrayne, who had just +entered the gardens. He met them so unexpectedly that Lois was taken +by surprise, and so was he. They stood for a moment staring at one +another, then Paul Desfrayne recollected himself, and lifted his hat. +Miss Turquand went through the conventional obeisance. + +A few words--what they were neither knew. Captain Desfrayne exchanged +courtesies for a brief moment with Frank Amberley, and bowed to Lady +Quaintree, who was only a short way in arrear. Then he vanished as +quickly as he had appeared. + +The faint tinge of rose color on Lois Turquand’s cheeks deepened +visibly as she hurriedly passed on. A strange kind of resentment rose +up in her breast, and made her eyes glitter with anger. At a second +reflection, however, reason came to her aid. + +“It was not his fault,” she argued to herself, “that the kind old man +to whom I owe my good fortune made an arrangement which is probably as +distasteful to him as it is to me. I must not blame him. In fact, I am +very much obliged to him, for I feel I should only be rude to him if he +tried to talk to me. I don’t believe I ever could like him. He seems, +though, to have pleasant, kindly eyes, from the hasty glance I had.” + +Paul Desfrayne moved away as if from the vicinity of the plague. + +“Confound it!” he muttered, going he hardly knew whither. “What +bewitchingly lovely eyes that girl has, though she is so cold and +formal; what magnificent hair, and the grace of a queen! I wish her +better luck. Why couldn’t the old man have left his money rationally, +and not make such a silly, preposterous, aggravating muddle behind him! +Well, after all, I have nobody to blame but myself. My sins be on my +own head; only I wish nobody else had been dragged in. If it were not +for my mother, I should not care so much. Yet, after all, why need I +linger in this life of misery? Would it not be better--better to stable +my white elephant in the neighboring mews, and so let my fatal secret +out at once?” + +He laughed aloud, cynically, bitterly. + +Having escaped from the neighborhood of Lady Quaintree’s party, he took +a turn to ascertain if his mother was in the gardens, for she had sent +him a pressing message to ask him to meet her; but finding that she had +not, apparently, arrived, he walked listlessly away at random. + +Attracted by the solitary aspect of the quarter, he roamed toward the +place where the lions and tigers lay, strode to and fro with stealthy +step, or sat with magisterial gravity. + +Paul Desfrayne had walked literally into the lion’s den. + +A woman, young, strikingly handsome, dressed to perfection, was +standing in front of the center compartment. + +Madam Lucia Guiscardini! + +Had any one of the brutes strolled out of its den, and held out a +paw of greeting, the young man’s face could scarcely have worn an +expression of greater dismay. + +Had it been possible, he would have retreated. But the first sound of +his firm, light step, made the superb Italian turn. + +A heavy frown darkened her perfectly beautiful countenance, and she +steadfastly gazed upon Captain Desfrayne with much the same look as the +dangerous animals at her elbow had. + +Paul Desfrayne raised his hat mechanically. + +Madam Guiscardini took her small hands from off the railing, where they +had been placed with an odd sort of grasp, and swept a curtsy almost +ironical in its suavity. + +The young man was obliged to advance, while Madam Guiscardini would +not move an inch from the spot where she stood, continuing to gaze at +him with that disagreeable, mesmeric expression which so painfully +resembled the look of the wild beasts that made so suggestive a +background. + +“Good morning, Madam Guiscardini,” said Paul Desfrayne, folding his +arms, as if to prepare himself for a stormy interview. + +“Did you come here to seek me, Paul Desfrayne?” she inquired, regarding +him with a baleful light in her splendid eyes, defiance in every tone +and gesture. + +“To seek you!” bitterly repeated the young man. “I would go to the end +of the world to avoid you--you who----” + +“Come. It is a long time since we have met, and we may be interrupted +at any moment. If you have anything to say to me, I am willing to go +home now, and either wait for you, or let you precede me. We have not +met since----” + +“Since our wedding-morning,” Paul Desfrayne said, as she paused. “Not +for three years. I suppose you have never seen me from that day until +this moment?” + +“I have never seen or heard of you,” she angrily retorted, her eyes +flashing ominously with premonitory lightning. “I did not wish to +see you. I did not care to hear of you. I never asked a question +about you. I should not care if we never met again; and I should be +glad--_thankful_ to hear you were dead.” + +“I thank you,” said Paul Desfrayne, again lifting his hat. “If care, if +regret, if bitter self-reproaches could have killed, I should not have +troubled you to-day. It was, indeed, by no voluntary movement that I +happened to see you this afternoon. But I believe I must have sought +you ere long, to make some endeavor to arrive at a state of things +somewhat less wearying, somewhat less wretched. My life is becoming a +burden almost too heavy to be borne.” + +“You can see me any day you please to appoint,” Madam Guiscardini said +angrily. “I have no desire either to seek or to avoid you. But I do not +see what good can come of talking. Nothing can undo what has been done; +nothing could roll back the waves of that pitiless time that has swept +over you and over me.” + +“It remains to be seen what can be done, Madam Guiscardini,” Captain +Desfrayne answered, moving quite close to her, and looking intently +into her eyes. “Do you happen ever to have seen, heard of, or +personally known, a man of the name of Gilardoni?” + +The color faded completely from the cheeks, lips, almost from the eyes, +of the beautiful prima donna. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE PRIMA DONNA’S HATE. + + +Lucia Guiscardini clutched at the iron bar against which she was +half-leaning, and glared into the face of her husband, as if she would +read his innermost soul. + +“What does he know?” she whispered to herself. “How much does he know?” + +There was a dead silence for a few seconds. The signs of emotion caused +by the name of the friendless wretch who had sought his help were not +lost upon Captain Desfrayne. + +Madam Guiscardini was trying to rally her forces, and she could not +reply in words. Paul Desfrayne repeated his inquiry in another form: + +“You do know him?” + +The half-terrified woman looked straight into his eyes--those honest +eyes, so full of natural kindness and honor. + +Fear had blanched her cheeks and lips; shame, perhaps, now drove the +roseate hues in a flood back again, as she answered, in a tolerably +steady voice: + +“I do not. I have never heard of him.” + +“Ah! I don’t suppose my domestic affairs can possess any interest for +you, madam. It is merely a piece of egotistical gossip to inform you +that I have taken Leonardo Gilardoni into my service.” + +“Into your service?” + +The words were pronounced slowly, with obvious difficulty, and in a +husky voice. + +Paul Desfrayne did not evidence, by the slightest sign, any triumph at +the effect his unexpected shot had produced, but silently watched her +face. + +“Why--why have you done so? I mean, why do you tell me of it?” + +“I cannot help having an idea that you knew something of the poor +fellow at one time, though he has slipped from your memory,” Captain +Desfrayne said, very calmly, shrugging his shoulders. + +“Has he said--has he said----” + +She could not continue; the effort at control was too great. + +It was impossible to tell how much this quiet, now half-smiling, man +before her might know of the terror that haunted her day and night. + +“Has he said _what_?” demanded Paul Desfrayne, looking her steadily in +the face. + +“Said he knew me?” Madam Guiscardini coolly replied. + +But as she spoke, her fingers so convulsively twitched, as if she were +trying her utmost to curb the secret emotions of her mind, that they +snapped the delicate, carved ivory handle of her parasol. + +Paul Desfrayne, who had not once removed his eyes from her face, +laughed cynically, bitterly. His laughter had in it more of menace than +an uncontrollable outburst of violent anger. + +He thought: “What can be the secret between them?” But aloud he said, +affecting to ignore the accidental betrayal so direful as well as the +agitation of his wife: + +“He has barely mentioned your name, and then simply in a passing way.” + +“May I ask your reason for supposing I was acquainted with him?” + +“I had more reasons than one. But a chief reason was that I knew +he came from your part of Italy; and in a village everybody knows +everybody else. Had he been an old friend of yours--don’t curl your +lip: you were once as lowly placed as he, perhaps more so--you might +perchance have cared to hear something of him. The poor wretch has +been in grievous adversity, it seems: without a friend, often without +a shelter, without money; so it is probably a fortunate thing for him +that he has found a friend in me.” + +“I hope he will serve you well,” said Madam Guiscardini, in an ice-cold +tone. “It shows good taste on the part of Captain Desfrayne to +recall the fact that the Guiscardini was once a poor cottage girl in +poverty--in----” + +Her eyes flashed, and she stopped, as if afraid of rousing her +indomitable temper did she proceed. One sentence might ruin her. She +abruptly curbed herself, and swept another curtsy. + +“I have the honor to wish Captain Desfrayne good morning, and shall be +ready to receive his promised--his threatened visit----” + +“On Monday afternoon,” Paul Desfrayne said sharply, as if in positive +pain. “I can endure this slavery--this horrible bondage--no longer in +silence.” + +“On Monday afternoon be it. You know where to find me?” + +“No, I do not.” + +Madam Guiscardini looked with intent suspicion at him. She hated +this handsome young man with concentrated hate, but she respected +him profoundly, and she knew he would not utter a falsehood to gain +a kingdom. Therefore she was obliged to believe him, though she had +previously imagined that his presence in Porchester Square had been due +to some plot of which she was the object. + +She carefully watched him as she gave her address. It was like a duel +to the death, each adversary narrowly eying the movements of the other. +To her further mystification, Paul Desfrayne almost sprang back in his +amazement when he heard her name the exact place where she lived. + +“Where?” he demanded, as if unable to credit his ears. + +She coldly repeated the name of the square and the number of the house. + +“Why does he seem so astonished?” she said to herself, eying him with +a glance akin to that in the yellow orbs of the leopardess a few steps +from her. “What is the matter now?” + +“On Monday afternoon, then, we will have a further explanation, Madam +Guiscardini,” Paul Desfrayne said, mastering his surprise, and raising +his hat with the ceremony he would have used to a total stranger. + +He left her. + +“Separated from my mother by a few layers of bricks and mortar,” he +thought. “I have appointed an interview, but what good can come of it? +None. I have made my bed--made it of thorns and briers, and must sleep +therein with what comfort I may.” + +He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +“What is to be done? It would be the best and wisest course to +immediately inform my mother of the exact state of affairs. I wish I +had done so at first. I am like those very immoral little boys in the +story-books of one’s youth, who don’t tell in time, and so the agony +goes on piling up until the culprit is next to smothered. What is to be +done with this Gordian knot? I have not the courage to cut it. I wonder +they didn’t include moral cowardice among the deadly sins. I wonder +what would be the consequences if I did summon up sufficient nerve to +inform my mother of my culpable behavior three years ago? Come, Paul +Desfrayne, it must be done. Better be brave at once, and march up to +the cannon’s mouth, than be found out ignominiously some day sooner or +later. Shall it be done to-day--this evening?” + +His reverie was broken by a light, caressing touch upon his arm. +Turning round suddenly, with a strange sensation of nervous alarm, he +found his mother by his side. + +Smiling, pleasant, unsuspicious, her sunny brow unclouded by a shadow +that might possibly produce a future wrinkle, she looked deliciously +happy, and perfectly confident, to all appearance, of his trust and +affection. + +She started as he turned his face full upon her. + +“You are pale, my dear. Are you not well?” she anxiously inquired. + +“Not very well, mother. The heat--the crowd--it is such a bore +altogether, that I am weary, and I should be glad to escape.” + +“My dear Paul, I have seen so little of you lately, that I grudge to +lose you when I have fairly secured a chance of your company. But”--she +glanced round at the gay, ever-moving crowd, with its lively colors, +at the faces, dotted here and there, with which she was familiar, and +a faint smile dimpled the corners of her lips--“if you will, let us go +somewhere else. Where would you like to go?” + +“Anywhere. I want a little talk with you--one of our own old gossips, +mother. It is impossible to obtain the least chance of an uninterrupted +talk here.” + +Yet as he spoke, his heart sank within him. It seemed as if his +confession would be more difficult to-day than ever. To make his path +more thorny, that beloved face looked so confiding, so sure that there +could not be the shadow of a secret, that it would have been a thousand +times easier to walk up to the cannon’s mouth, than to speak the few +words that must break forever the steady bond linking them together. + +But for all Mrs. Desfrayne’s calm, suave looks, she was keenly watching +her son. His absence alone had hindered her from finding out long ago +that some shadow lay between them. Her practised, maternal eyes could +read him through. + +“What has happened, and why is he afraid to tell me?” she meditated, +while to outward seeming engaged in regarding the pleasant scene about +her with half-childish interest. + +Her brain ran swiftly over every imaginable train of events, possible +or impossible, that might have happened, seeking some clue to the +evident mystery. + +Not for a moment did her mind revert to what, after all, was the most +simple and obvious explanation. + +They moved to quit the gardens. + +“Is not that the Guiscardini?” she asked of Paul. + +“I believe so.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne had put up her glass, so the look and tone with which +her inquiry was answered escaped her. + +“I don’t know why,” she continued; “but I have taken an inveterate +dislike to that woman. She reminds me of a magnificent cobra. You know, +Paul, I have a foolish way of taking likes and dislikes.” + +At the next step she encountered Miss Turquand. + +In spite of her resolve to cultivate the young girl’s friendship, a +cold inclination of the head was all that passed between them. + +A warmer salutation to Lady Quaintree followed, but Mrs. Desfrayne was +too impatient to hear what her son had to say, to be able to stop just +then for a little idle, sunshiny gossip. + +Paul handed her into the brougham that was in waiting. + +It was a hired one, as Mrs. Desfrayne always remembered as she was +about to enter it. She had longed for the days when either by some +brilliant matrimonial stroke on her own part, or that of her son, she +should be the happy possessor of such carriages and horses as might +please her fancy. Yet now she was secretly determined to hinder, if +possible, her son’s acceptance of a fortune that far exceeded her most +sanguine dreams. + +With anxiety she regarded Paul’s face as he seated himself beside her. +He was ashy pale, and his eyes were bright with the brightness of fever. + +“Home,” she said to the coachman. + +Too wary to hasten the unwilling confession by ill-timed or injudicious +questions, Mrs. Desfrayne nestled back in her cozy corner, and began to +flirt her garden-fan, waiting patiently. + +It is always the first step that forms the difficulty, and even yet +Paul could not resolve on precipitating himself into those cold waters +he so dreaded. Even did he take the plunge, how could he introduce the +subject? + +The drive passed, therefore, in constrained silence. + +It was not until they were seated in the cool, pleasant room, called by +Mrs. Desfrayne her own special retreat, that Paul could break the ice. + +Mrs. Desfrayne gazed with wonderment at the handsome face of her boy, +as he sat on a low chair before her, his eyes cast down, his hands +nervously playing with the silken fringe on her dress, so unlike what +she had ever known him before. + +“Paul,” she said softly, leaning toward him, “you look like a criminal. +What is the matter with you?” + +The tone was mellow and tender, and yet with a tinge of gentle gaiety. + +Paul raised his eyes. + +“Like a criminal?” he repeated slowly. “I look like what I am. Oh! my +mother--my mother!” + +He slipped from the low chair, on his knees, and bowed his face on his +mother’s hands. She felt hot tears wet her fingers, and a great terror +seized her heart, for she adored her boy. + +“Paul,” she whispered, “tell me what has happened!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +PAUL DESFRAYNE’S CONFESSION. + + +Paul Desfrayne’s weakness did not last many minutes. + +Rising to his feet, he strode backward and forward half a dozen times; +then, pausing, he leaned his folded arms on the back of the low, carved +chair into which he had at first thrown himself. + +“You alarm me, Paul. I beseech you, tell me the worst at once,” +implored his mother. + +“You may see with what an effort I try to approach the secret which, +for three long years, has been my curse by day and by night,” answered +Paul mournfully. + +Mrs. Desfrayne threw out her hands with an involuntary gesture of fear +and amazement. + +“For three years!” she repeated, as if incredulous. + +“What do you imagine that secret to have been?” he demanded, gazing +steadfastly at her. + +“Good heavens! how can I imagine when, until this moment, I did not +know you had any concealment from me at all?” exclaimed Mrs. Desfrayne. + +Her accent was indicative half of despair, half of keen reproach. + +“As you are aware, I have just received a most singular offer.” + +“Your troubles, then, have some reference to Lois Turquand?” + +“In a measure, yes. You would wish me, if I understood you aright, to +take advantage, as far as in me lay, of this offer?” + +Mrs. Desfrayne hesitated, then cried, with vehemence: + +“Why do you not speak plainly at once, instead of harassing me by these +hints and half-confidences?” + +“Because I am afraid of the effect upon you; because I am afraid you +may never be able to forgive me.” + +“For what offense?” + +“For deceit and ingratitude toward the best and kindest of mothers.” + +“It is impossible to comprehend you. I must only wait for some key to +your singular self-reproaches,” said Mrs. Desfrayne, with a profound +sigh. + +“Three years ago I went for a holiday tour to Italy, when you were with +some friends at Wiesbaden.” + +“I recollect perfectly well. I was disappointed because you would not +join us.” + +“Would to Heaven I had yielded to your wishes!” + +“From that time I have scarcely seen anything of you, Paul. You have +visited me by fits and starts, and have never stayed long.” + +As she spoke, an idea darted into Mrs. Desfrayne’s mind. + +“After traveling about in various parts of Italy, as I kept you +informed by my letters, I reached Florence.” + +His lips trembled as he pronounced the name of the city which bore so +many painful memories for him. + +“Go on, my dear.” + +“I remained at Florence for several weeks. While there, I went every +night to the opera.” + +“A very agreeable manner of spending your evenings,” said Mrs. +Desfrayne, with assumed carelessness. + +“There was an excellent company, and the operas were admirably +selected; but I did not go for the sake of either performers or pieces: +I went, drawn thither as by a lodestone, because I was under some kind +of strange hallucination that I was in love with a young girl who had +just come out there. Perhaps I may have been in love with her. It was +folly--a madness!” + +There was no sign of emotion on Mrs. Desfrayne’s face. She sat almost +immovable as a statue, her hands loosely clasped as they rested in her +lap, her wide-open, glowing eyes alone betraying the painful interest +she felt in her son’s words. + +“For some days and nights I blindly worshiped this dazzling star from +a distance,” Paul continued, having vainly waited for some remark from +his mother. “At last I was introduced to her. She lived with some +elderly female relative, who accompanied her to the theater every +night. By degrees--very rapid degrees, for Italian girls are very +unlike their English sisters--she made me her confidant. She did +with me as she chose. For all I knew of her real nature, she might +as well have worn a waxen mask. Through the dishonesty of the man +who had trained her, she had been sold into a species of slavery to +the manager. Unaware of her own value, she had bound herself to this +fellow’s exclusive service for the term of ten years, at a salary which +the most subordinate performer would have refused with scorn.” + +“Go on,” said his mother, on whom the truth began to force itself. + +“Infatuated as I was, she easily interested me in her story, although I +had at that time no intentions of any kind beyond----” + +“Beyond flirting with the girl?” + +“I floated with the current. I was incapable of reasoning, as much so +as any one bereft of their natural senses. One night I was behind the +scenes; the house took fire. There was a fearful panic, and hundreds +were injured--many killed. This young girl clung to me, and somehow I +carried her out of the theater by the stage-door--I believe so, for I +remembered nothing from the time I caught her up in my arms until a +moment of amazed weakness, when I woke up to find myself lying in a +strange room, this girl sitting by me. I then learned that, as I rushed +out, bearing her in my arms, a blazing beam of timber had fallen, and +dangerously wounded me.” + +An exclamation escaped Mrs. Desfrayne, and she half-rose from her seat. + +“What am I to hear?” she cried, as if in anguish. “And you never told +me of this illness!” + +“Let me finish, now that I have begun. I had been ill for weeks in +the old home on the outskirts of Florence, where this girl lived, +with her aged attendant or relative. Unhappily--most unhappily--they +both imagined I was an English milord. I believe that my servant had +deceived them by bragging of my wealth and importance.” + +“How did he dare to permit you to remain in that place instead of +having you carried to your own lodgings?” demanded Mrs. Desfrayne. + +“When I fell, the girl and I were put into some kind of vehicle, +and she took me to her own home. Her object was, I believe, to have +me under the immediate pressure of her influence. When Reynolds, my +servant, heard of what had occurred, he flew to my side; but the +physician who attended me would not, or could not, hear of my removal. +Reynolds, poor soul, was seized, a day or two after, with a fever, from +which he did not recover for months.” + +“I see now the drift of your history,” said Mrs. Desfrayne, in a tone +which showed that she was wounded to the depths of her heart. “It +is the hackneyed story of the young man who falls ill marrying the +handsome young woman who nurses him.” + +Captain Desfrayne turned aside, and took a hasty stride to and fro; +then he returned, resuming his position. + +“She was, or pretended to be, full of joy and gratitude on my recovery. +During the days of my convalescence, she spoke to me fully of her +state of bondage, her anger at the injustice done her, her desire +for liberty, and affected to make no secret of what she averred was +desperate love for myself. My sympathies were enlisted for her; my +vanity was aroused in her favor. I at length----” + +“Asked her to marry you?” laughed his mother. + +“No. Her agreement with the manager bound her for ten years, under a +heavy penalty. I desired that she should leave the stage, although +I felt it would be next to an impossibility to marry this girl. I +remembered your strong prejudices against stage-performers----” + +“Ah! You did think of me once.” + +“I rarely forgot you in my most insane moments. I thought of my +position, of the traditions of my family. I would have freed her if I +could, and then fled her presence; for I felt it would be impossible to +make this girl your daughter, though her name was stainless, and she +was superbly beautiful, and gifted with talents of a certain kind. But +I could not rescue her by money from the clutches of the old wolf who +had laid a claw upon her. It would have needed thousands, and I should +perhaps have left myself penniless, and--and looking very like a fool,” +Paul added, with a cynical laugh. + +“You married the girl, then?” said Mrs. Desfrayne eagerly, anxious to +ascertain the exact position of her son, and desirous of hurrying him +to an immediate acknowledgment. + +“I offered to assist her in taking flight to Paris. At least, I +believed the suggestion was mine, but later I recollected that the +entire plan was arranged by herself, under advice of the old woman who +attended her. She was restless and impatient until we had completed +every preparation to leave Florence forever, as she intended. I cannot +realize how it came about that I was like a puppet in her hands.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne shrugged her shoulders with a kind of disdainful +compassion. + +“We started late on a Friday, the opera being closed on that night, and +arrived safely at the frontier. Then we suddenly discovered that the +old woman had not been provided with a passport. The girl whom I had +undertaken to assist wept and sobbed with terror.” + +“A preconcerted affair, my poor Paul.” + +“No doubt. We agreed that there was nothing to be done but to leave +the old attendant behind with money and instructions to follow as +early as she possibly could, and then to pursue our journey. For more +than a week we continued our flight. It seemed to me then more like +a strange, fascinating dream, than an incident of my real every-day +life. I fell more and more under the spell of this beautiful siren’s +beauty and insidious charm of manner, and by the time we reached Paris +I had completely lost my senses. About three days after we reached +our destination, I made her my wife; we were married at the British +embassy.” + +Paul’s mother clasped her hands with a cry. The point at which she +had desired to arrive even now electrified her. She could not have +explained her own feelings at that moment. Her brain seemed in a whirl +from the shock. The story gave her the idea that it was like one of +those fantastical dreams, where all the personages who appear perform +the most improbable tricks, and everybody apparently does the most +unlikely acts. + +“May I inquire the name of this amiable young person?” she asked, and +her own voice struck her as being strange. + +“It is already known to you,” answered Paul, in hollow tones. “But I +will mention it when I have finished my narration. We were married. The +ceremony over, we returned to the hotel where I had placed her, and +where I had likewise taken up my abode. Within an hour after this fatal +bond had been tied, an accidental observation on my part revealed to +her the fact that I was _not_ the rich and titled man she had supposed +me to be. I had asked her to relinquish the stage as a profession, and +she laughingly answered that as the wife of a great English milord it +would be impossible for her to continue the career to which she had +meant to devote her life. I was confounded at the mistake into which +she had so unhappily fallen, and endeavored to explain my real position +to her.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne tapped her foot on the carpet with such violence that +Paul stopped. + +“Go on--go on--go on!” she exclaimed. + +“This girl, whom I up to that moment had had the fatuity to imagine +loved me for myself alone, went on in an ecstasy dilating on the future +splendors of her lot. I at length succeeded in inducing her to listen +to me. Then I laid before her the realities of my position, my limited +income, the quietude of the life she would be obliged to lead. I spoke +of you----” + +“How dared you speak of me to a person like that?” furiously asked Mrs. +Desfrayne. + +“I--well, enough. If blamelessness of life, an unspotted name, could +have atoned for other sins, even you, mother, must have granted her +absolution. Enough. She was compelled to believe that she had made a +most fearful mistake--she was like a tiger who---- My mother, it had +been well for us--for many others--if that revelation could have come +an hour before, instead of an hour after, our ill-starred union. The +scene I never can forget. Sometimes in the dead hours of the night I am +startled awake by the fancy that I am again going through it. I wonder, +after the successive shocks of those few weeks, that I now live to give +you the miserable recital.” + +Again he paced to and fro, as if in almost uncontrollable emotion. This +time, on again pausing, he sank into the chair as if almost exhausted. + +His mother made no sign. The bitterness of her anger and disappointment +exceeded, if that were possible, his darkest forebodings. + +She continued to tap her foot on the carpet, and her jeweled fingers +twined and twisted in one another as if they must snap. This time she +addressed no inquiry to him, but sat a silent image of despair and +mortified anger. + +“Let me make an end of my story as quickly as I can,” Paul said, in +subdued tones. He heartily wished now he had let it still remain untold +until such a time as he might be driven to confess it. “La Lucia, after +storming and raging, registered a mighty oath never to see my face +again if she could help herself, never to carry into effect the vows +she had made at the altar--to hold herself free as if she had never +seen me. I can hardly tell you what she said. She ironically thanked me +for having helped her to escape from one kind of slavery, though she +found herself trammeled in another, and for my care of her during the +journey, and for the consideration and delicate courtesy I had shown +her in her unprotected state, and then swept out of the room. The next +thing I heard of my lady wife was that she had carried herself and all +her belongings off from the hotel. I never heard of her again until +Europe was ringing with her name and fame.” + +“Her name?” repeated Mrs. Desfrayne mechanically. + +“The name I had first known her under.” + +“And that was?” + +“Lucia Guiscardini.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne sprang from her seat, and began pacing to and fro in her +turn. + +“Oh! it is too much--too much!” she cried. “Ungrateful, wicked, +unloving son, is it thus you have returned the deep, unwearying +affection I have ever cherished for you?” + +“The most bitter reproaches you can level at me can never equal in +intensity those which I have heaped on my own head,” Paul replied. + +“You must have been mad to let yourself be entrapped in this way,” Mrs. +Desfrayne went on. “I can scarcely believe it is true. You are, then, +really bound to this--this singing woman who cares nothing for you, who +seems to disdain you and all belonging to you. Oh! it is incredible. +And what about Miss Turquand?” + +“I know not,” answered Paul wearily. “I wish to Heaven I had never seen +or heard of the eccentric old fogy who chose to imagine himself under +some debt of gratitude to me, for then----” + +“Folly!” angrily interrupted his mother. “Better wish you had never +seen this woman who owns you--or that you had not been so----” + +She shrugged her shoulders with an expression indescribable. + +There was a brief pause. + +“It would be as ridiculous as it would be undignified on my part to +display any resentment against you,” Mrs. Desfrayne resumed. “Of +course, you had a right to please yourself: though married in haste, +you are repenting at leisure. But what are you going to do?” + +“In what way?” + +“Good heavens! so long as that woman lives, there is not a ray of +happiness for you.” + +“I know it. It is a heavy penalty to pay for those few weeks of +forgetfulness, of lunacy, of fever; but hardly so heavy to bear as +the loss of the love and esteem of the only woman in the world I ever +loved, or am likely to love.” + +“Whom are you talking about?” hastily demanded Mrs. Desfrayne, a new +spasm of jealousy seizing her heart. + +But Paul would not answer. + +He rested his arms on the back of the chair, and laid his head on the +support thus made. This attitude brought vividly back to his mother’s +mind the days of his childhood and youth, when he had been all her +own. How often had she seen him thus, when he had been guilty of some +youthful fault or folly, and was penitent, yet half-afraid he should +not easily find pardon! + +Mrs. Desfrayne’s heart was irresistibly drawn toward her boy. With a +soft, gentle touch, she laid one of her white, jeweled hands on his +head. + +“Do you speak of me?” she asked. “Ah! Paul, it is ten thousand pities +that, having committed this fatal mistake, you did not confide in me +before. What a miserable future is before you; but you must not give +way. It must be borne. I do not reproach you. Nay, I will give you such +comfort as I can.” + +Paul caught her hands, and covered them with kisses. + +“Would that I had--would that I had told you, mother!” he cried, +looking up into her face with his open, candid eyes, from which some of +the black care had melted. “That terrible secret has stood between me +and you like some malignant black specter.” + +“I dimly felt its presence now and again,” said his mother, “though I +could not believe it possible you could deceive me. But tell me, what +do you mean to do?” + +“Nothing. What can I do?” + +“True.” + +“As for this young lady, why, I am sorry she will be driven to think +ill of me; but any explanation would be clearly impossible. She will +have a handsome fortune in any case, and probably marry some one +infinitely more to her taste than I should be. In two or three days +my leave of absence expires, and I go to rejoin my regiment near +Gloucester.” + +“I no sooner see you again than you are snatched away. It is hard, +Paul.” + +“Just at this juncture perhaps it will be better for me to be out of +your way. You will think more kindly of your absent son and his faults +and follies than you might of----” + +“Come. Let us put away that painful subject, and not recur to it unless +necessary. Of course, it is of no earthly use your giving another +thought to this Miss Turquand.” + +“I think it would be as well to confide my exact position to the lawyer +who drew up the will, and who introduced me to the young lady yesterday +evening--Amberley. I think I mentioned his name to you. He might be +able to give me a dispassionate word of advice.” + +Mrs. Desfrayne considered. + +“You see, my dearest mother, he would be able to look at the matter +from a mere business point of view, as he has no interest in the +affair.” + +“Perhaps,” Mrs. Desfrayne slowly said, “it might be as well to consult +him. I think I have met him at Lady Quaintree’s. Yes, it would perhaps +be best to speak to him about your most unhappy position.” + +Captain Desfrayne rose, and went over to his mother’s little +writing-table. As if afraid to trust to his continuance of purpose, he +sat down and wrote a few lines to Frank Amberley, asking him to make an +appointment, as he desired to consult him on a matter of importance. + +He showed the note to his mother, enclosed it then in an envelope, +addressed and stamped it, leaving it on the desk ready for the post. + +The ordeal he had so dreaded had been passed through. The terrible +secret had been revealed. Now he wished he had spoken of it long ago. + +“You are going to Gloucester? When?” + +“On Wednesday. The regiment is stationed at Holston, some miles from +Gloucester.” + +“Holston? Why, is not that near the place where Flore Hall is situated?” + +“Yes. I look forward to going over the old house once more as one of +the few pleasures in store for me down there. I feel thankful to get +away now.” + +Neither Captain Desfrayne nor his mother knew that the old Hall in +which he had spent so many days of his childhood had been left to Lois +Turquand by her dead benefactor. + +The storm had passed, leaving but little trace behind. + +Mrs. Desfrayne easily persuaded her son to remain for the rest of the +evening with her. + +On Wednesday Captain Desfrayne was to go to Gloucester. + +On Monday he was to visit Madam Guiscardini, according to the +appointment made in the gardens, though it seemed worse than useless to +renew the pain and distress he had suffered that day. + +His mother was passionately averse to his seeing the woman who had so +fatally entrapped him. + +“Nay, mother; it will be best to ascertain clearly how we are to spend +our future lives,” Paul said. “We must come to a clear understanding +some way.” + +On reaching home, he found a letter from Frank Amberley, dated that +morning, before his own had been written, asking if it would be +convenient for him to attend on Tuesday a meeting of the partners +of the firm, to go more fully into the details of business having +reference to Miss Turquand’s affairs. + +Paul Desfrayne saw it would not be so easy to shrink from his duties +as sole trustee and executor to the beautiful Lois as he had hoped it +might be. + +As he drifted into a broken, uneasy slumber that night, his last +thoughts turned upon Lois, sincerely trusting it might not be necessary +for the young girl to attend the meeting. + +Why should he have this fear--this undercurrent of aversion to +encountering his beautiful charge? + +He had seen her only twice. He persuaded himself she was cold and +beautiful as an antique statue. He argued to himself that a world-worn, +half-weary man of thirty could scarcely be acceptable to a young girl +of eighteen. He chose to feel certain that being dictated to in her +choice must of itself suffice to render him unwelcome. + +And yet he shrank with vague terror at the chance of being again +exposed to the danger of being obliged to look into those soft, +crystal-bright eyes, of glancing even for a moment into those +untroubled depths, where lay mirrored the most perfect purity, loyalty, +and truth. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +FRANK AMBERLEY’S EXULTATION. + + +Lucia Guiscardini was determined not to come face to face again with +Paul Desfrayne if she could help it. + +The evening of the day she saw him by accident at the Zoological +Gardens, she was obliged to appear at the opera. + +Never, perhaps, had she performed more resplendently, yet all the time +she was meditating how to escape a second interview. + +She settled the matter after her own fashion. + +Ordering her maid to pack up a few necessary things, she started by the +midnight train for Paris. + +“I hate him,” she said to herself, as she sank back into a dim corner +in the first-class carriage as it rattled away from Charing Cross; “and +I would kill him if I could, and if I thought nobody could find it out. +What a weak fool I must have been! But I was in too great a hurry to +secure what I rashly imagined to be a splendid prize. And to think that +I might be a princess if I were not tied by this hateful bond! Women +have crushed others before for less cause.” + +The consequence was, that when Paul Desfrayne called at the house so +strangely contiguous to that in which his mother dwelt, he was informed +that madam was not in town. + +“Not in town?” he repeated, with amazement. + +Further inquiries elicited that madam had gone away rather +suddenly--gone to Paris, the man believed, and had not left word when +she might return. + +With a sense of almost relief, Paul turned away. Just then he was glad +of a reprieve, for he felt little equal to much more violent emotion. + +He was infinitely relieved, too, by finding that Miss Turquand’s +presence had not been considered necessary at the business meeting in +Alderman’s Lane. + +The young lady had been taken down to the country, one of the partners +informed him, by Lady Quaintree, the day before, to visit the mansion +and grounds left by the testator. + +“As you are aware, Captain Desfrayne, having read the will, all the +landed estates and house property have been left solely for the use +and benefit of Miss Turquand,” remarked Mr. Salmon, a tall, large, +white-headed gentleman, of a jovial deportment and cheerful manners. + +Captain Desfrayne bowed. He had indeed seen as much in the terrible +document; but, being preoccupied by the vexatious clauses respecting +the planned union between himself and Lois Turquand, had not paid much +heed to the minor details. + +“The principal country house is, I understand, a very handsome and +substantial place,” Mr. Salmon continued, jingling his seals musically. +“I think it is situated in Gloucestershire,” he added, looking at Frank +Amberley. + +“Flore Hall, Holston, some miles from Gloucester,” Frank Amberley +replied. + +Paul Desfrayne could scarcely credit his ears. He had congratulated +himself on the hope of escape, and now it seemed he would be driven to +walk into the very jaws of danger. + +“Did I understand you to say that Miss Turquand has gone to visit Flore +Hall?” he asked of Frank Amberley. + +“Certainly.” + +Paul had the greatest difficulty in restraining himself from demanding +how long she would be likely to stay there. + +He felt much like one of those unhappy criminals who have been immured +in a dungeon, the walls of which slowly close in and crush them. + +Like one in a painful dream, he listened as affairs were laid before +him, and dry, legal questions raised and discussed. + +Every moment he resolved to plainly tell these calm, legal gentlemen +how he was situated, or else to distinctly give them to understand that +he would not undertake the responsibility. + +Perhaps he was chiefly deterred by a vague feeling that he might place +himself in a ridiculous position. It was one thing to kneel, as it +were, at the feet of a mother, who might display either anger or +sympathy, but would certainly be able to comprehend his wild story; but +quite another to unveil his heart-secrets to the cool, critical eyes of +those hard-headed, tranquil men of the law. + +The partners, observing his wearied air, his total lack of interest, +his abstracted replies, settled each mentally that Captain Desfrayne +was not much of a man of business. + +Frank Amberley alone watched him narrowly. + +“He is not mercenary, that is clear,” Mr. Amberley thought. “What are +his secret motives or reasons for such strange behavior?” + +The interview ended, and Paul Desfrayne had made no sign, save of +acquiescence. + +Papers, memoranda of various kinds, deeds, leases, and other dry +reading had been gone through, only bringing to him a bad headache. + +At last he found himself in Frank Amberley’s private room, and free +to confide as much or as little as he pleased to the man who was his +secret rival. + +“You wished to consult me on important business, I believe?” Mr. +Amberley said, when they were alone. + +“I did, if you will be kind enough to listen to me.” + +There was a long and painful pause. + +Frank Amberley had a presentiment that Captain Desfrayne was about to +give him some clue to his reasons for shunning Lois Turquand. He did +not utter a word, but began to sort some papers, to leave his visitor +free to collect his thoughts. + +“The fact is,” Captain Desfrayne began slowly, “I am placed in a most +embarrassing situation. I find myself bound, in a measure, to make love +to a young, beautiful, and wealthy lady, and bribed magnificently to +try and win her, involving her in pecuniary loss if I fail to gain her +hand and heart, when----” + +“You speak as if something interfered to hinder you from carrying out +the agreeable wishes of the late Mr. Vere Gardiner.” + +“The strongest possible reason hinders me.” + +“You would not allude to a hindrance were it not your intention to +enlighten me.” + +“The hindrance is the most valid and insuperable one that could exist. +I am already married!” + +Frank Amberley pushed his chair back the few inches that intervened +between him and the wall behind, and stared at Captain Desfrayne. + +“Already married!” he repeated. “Impossible! You are jesting, surely? +Pardon me, I am so much surprised that I scarcely know what I am +saying. May I ask why you did not mention this important fact earlier?” + +“The subject is a most painful one, for I must frankly confess to +you that my marriage has been a most unhappy one, and has never been +publicly acknowledged.” + +A thrill of joy ran through Frank Amberley’s heart. Although he could +scarcely hope to win the beautiful object of his passionate love and +devotion, at least this stupendous stumbling-block was removed out of +the path. + +“Am I at liberty to inform the partners of the firm of this?” he asked. + +“I suppose they must learn it sooner or later,” Paul Desfrayne +answered, with a deep sigh. “Therefore, I leave the matter in your +hands. I trust in your kindness and discretion not to let it be more +fully known than may be absolutely necessary.” + +“Miss Turquand ought to be informed of the state of affairs.” + +“Perhaps you will be good enough to undertake the task?” + +“A sufficiently unpleasant one.” + +“Why so? To me it would be an impossibility; but to you----” + +“It will be a mere matter of business,” Frank Amberley remarked, as +Captain Desfrayne hesitated. A slight grimace which passed over his +countenance might have served to mark the words as ironical; but it +came and went unnoticed. “Be it so. When Miss Turquand returns, I will +take care she is duly informed of the fact which you have confided to +me. She would, perhaps, be better pleased if the information came from +yourself, but as you are so averse to seeing her on the subject, why, +I must simply do as you wish.” + +“The sooner she knows the better.” + +“But,” said Mr. Amberley, as if another idea had occurred to him, “I +think you mentioned just now, when down-stairs, that you were about to +start for Gloucestershire, to join your regiment. I thought you told +Mr. Salmon that you were going to Holston to-morrow, if I understood +rightly?” + +“Quite true.” + +“I have never visited the neighborhood; but if you are anywhere near +Flore Hall”--he hesitated--“the probabilities are that you may see +Miss Turquand before I do. I have no idea how long she will remain at +Holston, and did not know a visit was contemplated: I heard of it by +accident this morning.” + +Paul Desfrayne reflected. Unhappily, his meditations were neither of an +agreeable nor a profitable nature. + +“True,” he slowly replied, speaking as if with difficulty. “I will not +seek Miss Turquand--I cannot; you must bear with what may seem like +culpable weakness; but if I should meet her----” + +“I quite understand your situation and feelings, and I hope you will +treat me as a friend,” said Frank Amberley. “I will do what I can for +you; and, believe me, I sympathize with you. Let me know if there +should be any explanation between you and the young lady, and if you do +not find a good opportunity for speaking to her on the subject, I will +undertake to act for you.” + +Paul Desfrayne looked into those kindly, truthful eyes, and held out +his hand, as if to mutely express his gratitude. Then, after a few more +words, he departed, wearily. + +“Poor fellow!” Frank Amberley thought. “They may well paint fortune as +blind. Yesterday I envied him--to-day I cannot but pity him. So this, +then, is the secret. Poor soul! what a burden to bear.” + +Captain Desfrayne found, on returning home, that Leonardo Gilardoni had +arranged everything perfectly, for the migration of the following day. + +He wished to mention to the Italian that Madam Guiscardini had +abruptly quitted London, for the sake of observing the effect the news +might have, but he could not bring himself voluntarily to pronounce her +name. + +On the Wednesday morning, he started for Holston, having bade his +mother farewell. He had spent Monday and Tuesday evening with her, and +promised to write frequently. + +After all, the old links did not seem to be so broken as he had feared +they would be, and his mother still appeared as she had ever done, all +affection and maternal solicitude. + +She had some friends in the neighborhood of Holston, and looked forward +to being able to obtain an invitation for some weeks there. + +Captain Desfrayne mentioned the discovery that Miss Turquand had come +into possession of Flore Hall--a discovery that little gratified Mrs. +Desfrayne, for the old country-seat had belonged to one of her uncles, +who had been ruined by his extravagance. + +Probably she would not have been more pleased had any wee bird +whispered to her that Lois Turquand’s mother had been lady’s-maid +within its walls to the wife of that selfsame wasteful relative. Mr. +Vere Gardiner had, in truth, purchased the house and the land belonging +to it in the hope of being able to gratify his old love by installing +her as mistress where she had once been simply a paid servant. + +“There is a fate in it all,” Mrs. Desfrayne said. “How will it end?” + +“How should it end, mother?” Paul replied, somewhat sharply. “I suppose +we have pretty well seen the end of these unpleasant affairs. The worst +has passed.” + +Poor fellow! the most bitter draft was yet to come. The end of his +fantastical life-story was very far from view. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE MISTRESS OF FLORE HALL. + + +Lady Quaintree had taken a fancy into her head that she should like to +see the old Hall which now owned Miss Lois Turquand as proprietress. +Therefore, she carried off the young girl, her maid, and a couple of +male servants, on a hasty expedition. + +“We will not send word we are coming, my dear,” she half-suggested, +half-commanded. “It will be most advisable to seize the people who have +the care of the place by surprise.” + +Her ladyship knew nothing of the fact that Mrs. Turquand had once lived +at Flore Hall in service. Lois had never heard her mother refer to +her girl days, and was equally ignorant with Lady Quaintree that the +almost elegant, proud woman she remembered as her mother had originally +occupied so obscure and humble a position as lady’s-maid to a country +squire’s wife. + +“We must engage a maid for you, my love,” said Lady Quaintree. “It will +be impossible for you to manage without one.” + +Lois laughed with some gaiety, but did not answer. + +The journey was easily performed, without adventure. The way was as +pleasant as sunny skies, beautiful, constantly changing scenery, and +easy transit could render it. + +On arriving at Holston, in the evening, Lady Quaintree found a carriage +waiting at the station, for she had sent intelligence of her advent +to some friends in the vicinity, and piqued their curiosity by hints +of the beauty and romantic history of a charming young friend she was +bringing with her. + +Not only a carriage, but a very pretty girl waited the arrival of the +expected guests. This girl was the daughter of the old friends to whom +Lady Quaintree was going to pay what she had called “a flying visit.” +She was in the waiting-room, a bare, wooden-benched nook, where her +presence seemed like the veriest sunshine in a shady place. + +She was watching from the window, and ran out on the platform when she +saw her old friend alight. + +A tall, symmetrically formed figure, attired in a coquettish style, +a fair, laughing face, enframed in a golden shower of tangled curls, +with blue, or, rather, violet eyes, carnation lips, the most dazzlingly +white little pearly teeth, small hands, and dainty, arched feet, shod +in high-heeled shoes with gleaming buckles--such would be very crude +notes for a description of Blanche Dormer. + +The train swept onward, and in a moment the platform was again silent +and deserted, leaving Miss Dormer free to indulge in her evidently +impulsive nature, by kissing and embracing Lady Quaintree in a very +ardent manner. Lady Quaintree could have pardoned her for a little less +show of affection, her ladyship being somewhat averse to being made so +free with. + +“Dearest Lady Quaintree,” cried this young lady, her voice ringing like +musical bells, “I am so glad to see you! Mama would have come to meet +you, but she is not very well. Papa had to go to dine with Sir Charles +Devereux, or he would have come. I have not seen you since those +delightful days three years ago, when we had such a delicious ‘time,’ +as the Americans say, at that old German _bade_.” + +“My dear, I have brought you a friend--Miss Lois Turquand,” said Lady +Quaintree, with gentle dignity. “I hope you two girls will like one +another.” + +The girls looked into one another’s eyes, and then simultaneously +obeyed some mysterious impulse by clasping hands. + +“You two were little girls when I last saw you, Miss Blanche,” Lady +Quaintree said, as they descended the stairs to enter the carriage. + +“I was sixteen, your ladyship,” protested Blanche. “I am nineteen now.” + +“Ah! well. Fifteen or sixteen, I suppose, is very young and childish to +an old lady like me,” smiled her ladyship. + +On their way to The Cedars, the carriage passed the barracks. + +Blanche eagerly directed the attention of her companions to the place, +and informed them that the present occupants were to leave on the +morrow, and a fresh regiment was to be installed on Wednesday morning. + +Lady Quaintree politely suppressed a yawn, and thought with mild +wonderment of how easily interested in small objects country people +were. Lois listened with equal indifference, studying the captivating +lights and shadows on her new friend’s face. + +Neither knew that it was the regiment to which Paul Desfrayne belonged +that was expected. + +Mrs. Dormer was a delightful, somewhat old-fashioned type of the +country lady. Her manners were as free and as heartily cordial as those +of her daughter, but yet, like Blanche, she was as exquisitely refined +as if all her life had been passed at court. + +Having established her guests to her entire satisfaction, she began to +make a bargain with Lady Quaintree for a more extended stay than that +contemplated. She protested against their running away after a few +hours, for Lady Quaintree had settled that by the afternoon of the next +day she and Lois should drive to Flore Hall, and, if it were at all +inhabitable, stay there perhaps a day, or a couple of days. + +Mrs. Dormer listened with lively interest to the romantic story of Miss +Turquand’s newly acquired riches, while Blanche coaxed the young girl +into the garden for a quiet talk. + +In an hour the girls had cemented a friendship that was to last till +death should them part. + +“I know Flore Hall quite well,” said Blanche, when her enthusiasm +had slightly subsided. “A dear, delicious, old-fashioned place, in +what my old nurse calls ‘apple-pie order.’ You ought to fall in love +with the house, the gardens, the plantations, the shrubberies, the +conservatories, and all the rest, at first sight.” + +Blanche went on to give a minute description of the various beauties of +the Hall and its surroundings, until she made Lois feel more desirous +than she had yet been to see her new possession. + +The next day, having been introduced to Squire Dormer, and shown the +house and grounds by Blanche, who did the honors, Lois, now full of +an eager interest, and Lady Quaintree, quite girllike in her gleeful +anticipation, went to Flore Hall. + +There were many discussions as to how they should go, but it had +been finally decided that Miss Dormer should drive them over in her +pony-carriage. + +The lanes, the meadows, the sloping uplands, speckled and dotted with +sheep and kine, an occasional gleam of sunshiny water half-hidden +by alders, clumps of willows, and long grasses, the sweet sounds +of country life, the passing jingle of the bells on a wagoner’s +horses, made the way a veritable Arcadia of summer beauty. A joyous +exhilaration filled Lois’ whole being, and she drank in the fresh, free +air as if it had been the nectar of the gods. + +A tolerably smart drive of about an hour’s duration brought the +visitors--for such they considered themselves--to the massive iron +gates of the park surrounding Flore Hall. + +Miss Dormer drew up her cream-colored ponies, to let the two ladies +obtain a general view of the outward walls and plantations, the pretty +lodge, and the surrounding landscape. + +As Lois gazed upon the scene, she for the first time realized the +dazzling change that had taken place in her position. Her varying color +betrayed the emotions of her heart; but her companions were too much +preoccupied with their inspection to have any attention to spare. + +Blanche Dormer knew the place well, but she now regarded with different +eyes the familiar spot. + +Nothing whatever could be seen of the house from the gates, for the +walls were very high, and the trees grew so close together that they +formed an apparently impenetrable screen. + +A profound, peaceful silence reigned over the place, and but for the +thin stream of smoke rising from the lodge chimney, it might have been +conceivable that this was like one of those palaces familiar in the old +fairy legends, where invisible spirits wait, and a spell lies over all. + +The mounted servant who attended the ladies alighted and rang the +bell. The clang reverberated, and but a very few minutes elapsed before +the summons was answered. + +An exceedingly pleasant-looking young rustic girl came trippingly along +the neatly kept path from the lodge to the gates, and opening a small +postern door at the side, stood, like some pretty rural figure in a +quaintly designed frame, gazing in mingled astonishment and admiration +at the visitors. + +In a moment or two a smile of recognition passed over her face as she +saw Miss Dormer, and she curtsied, awaiting some explanation of the +pleasure of the ladies. + +Lady Quaintree had ascertained the name of the housekeeper, and asked +if she were in the house. + +“Yes, my lady,” the girl said. + +“We wish to see her,” Miss Dormer said. + +“Yes, miss,” the girl again said, curtsying with rustic civility at +almost every monosyllable. + +“Open the gates, and let the ladies drive up to the house,” the groom +said. “Is your grandfather at home?” + +“Yes,” the girl answered; but she unfastened the great iron gates +herself, and let them swing back. + +Then she closed them, when the ponies had scampered through, and as +the ladies passed up the carriage-drive she ran back to the lodge, to +inform her deaf old grandfather that some visitors had arrived. + +“Upon my word,” said Lady Quaintree, as they came in sight of the +stately old pile, “you are an exceedingly lucky girl, my Lois.” + +Lois smiled dreamily. No fear, no foreboding, no distrust disturbed the +soft serenity of that moment. + +She looked up at the house, and scanned its ivy-grown walls, its noble +turrets, and quaint old windows, its carved terraces, the profusion of +radiant flowers and stately shrubs and grand old trees, the statues +that gleamed here and there from their leafy, embowering shades, the +fountain that flung up its glittering waters in the summer sunshine; +and while she mentally agreed with her friend and patroness, she felt +that this must be some glowing, fantastical dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +GILARDONI’S LOVE-GIFT. + + +Flore Hall was naturally a quiet, silent place, for it had rarely been +favored by the presence of its owners since the days when it had passed +from the hands of Squire Rashleigh, whose extravagant habits had ended +in his losing a pretty, well-cultivated estate that had been in the +family since the reign of King Henry II. + +The late Mr. Vere Gardiner would have settled tranquilly down into the +calm beatitude of a country gentleman’s existence, had he succeeded in +obtaining the long-yearned-for desire of his heart--had his one only +love consented to become his wife. + +As a bachelor, however, he preferred the busy, changeful round of a +city or town life to the stately solitude of the grand retreat he had +purchased. + +The household was left almost exclusively under the supervision of a +very capable personage--Mrs. Ormsby. This was the housekeeper whom Mr. +Gardiner had found in possession when he acquired the property, and he +did not think of displacing her. + +For a short time this excellent widow had dreamed of capturing the rich +owner of Flore Hall and its desirable belongings. She was a fine woman +and clever in her way, and at first thought the wealthy yet plain Vere +Gardiner would fall an easy victim. But, after a while, she was obliged +to relinquish her ambitious hopes, for hardly any opportunity was +offered of even meeting with the master of the stately abode where she +held vice-regal sway. Then she was fain to turn her attention to the +steward--a wiry, cool-headed old bachelor, who saw her innocent little +arts clearly enough, and amused himself by laughing in his sleeve at +the sly, good-looking widow. + +Due notice had been given to the housekeeper, steward, and servants of +the change of dynasty. At present, Mrs. Ormsby knew just the name of +her future mistress--no more, not even her age or social standing. + +Mrs. Ormsby anticipated a very grand scene indeed when Miss Turquand +should pay her first visit to the Hall. She hardly knew whether to +feel indifferent or disgusted by the impending alterations, but wisely +determined to wait the course of events. No one could tell her anything +whatever of Miss Turquand. In her imagination, the new proprietress +seemed to be a starched old maid, who might perhaps “come and settle +here, and worry my life out,” the widow fancied. Of a charming young +girl of eighteen, she never for an instant dreamed. + +When one of the few servants forming the necessarily limited household +came to inform her that three ladies wished to see her, she supposed +they were strangers, who desired permission to view the house. + +She threw down her plain sewing, and quitted the morning-room in +which she was sitting--a delightful nook, half in sun, half in shade, +affording a view of the prettiest part of the garden and of the +extensive landscape beyond. + +In her rich black silk and violet ribbons, she rustled along a +glass-covered way leading into the great square hall--this a curious +and fine example of quaint architecture. + +The ladies were at the principal door, in the pony-carriage waiting for +her. + +Mrs. Ormsby had never seen Blanche Dormer, so that the three +aristocratic-looking ladies were all equally strangers to her. She +glanced from one to the other, her eyes finally resting on Lady +Quaintree. + +“Mrs. Ormsby, I believe?” said her ladyship. + +The housekeeper curtsied affirmatively. + +Her ladyship proceeded to explain the reason for this visit, and +directed Mrs. Ormsby’s attention to the youthful owner of the house. + +Mrs. Ormsby gazed at Lois with mingled curiosity and surprise. Without +betraying any visible emotion, however, she begged the ladies to alight +and enter. + +As the late Mr. Vere Gardiner had every now and then paid a totally +unexpected visit to the Hall, and gave instructions that it was to be +constantly kept in perfect order, within and without, the house and +grounds were always ready for the closest inspection. + +The housekeeper preceded the ladies into the great oak-carved hall, and +threw open a door to the right. + +“Miss Turquand had some idea of staying here for to-night, if not for +a couple of days,” said Lady Quaintree, gazing around through her +gold-rimmed glasses. “Would you be able to accommodate us?” + +“Certainly, my lady. You would wish to dine here?” + +“If it could be managed--yes,” said Lady Quaintree. + +“I had better order your carriage round to the stables, then, my lady.” + +“My dearest Blanche, you will surely stay till morning?” said Lady +Quaintree, who seemed far more the mistress than Lois, who had wandered +to one of the long, wide windows, and was regarding the highly +cultivated garden with pleasure and interest. + +“Mama would be alarmed----” + +“Nonsense! I will send word by Stephen, your groom, that your mama is +not to expect her dear Blanchette till she sees her. Come, that is +settled.” + +To Blanche, who loved adventure and novelty, while her daily existence +bordered almost on monotony, the little escapade proposed was by no +means unacceptable. + +With the vivid fancy of a lively young girl, she already looked forward +to a not very far-distant period, when gay revels under the auspices of +her new friend should wake this fair solitude. + +Mrs. Ormsby rang the bell, and presently the ponies were seen trotting +by the windows on the side next the entrance. + +After a short rest, during which Lady Quaintree gave such information +to the housekeeper as she deemed advisable, it was settled that they +should be shown over the house. + +Then came dinner, most excellently planned and arranged by Mrs. Ormsby, +and after that a walk and a drive to see the gardens and plantations. + +As yet, it did not seem real to Lois. Lady Quaintree and her new +friend Blanche continually asked her what she thought of this pretty +place; but her replies were very brief. The dreamy smile on her lips, +however, and within the clear depths of her eyes, answered eloquently +enough. + +Every hour Lady Quaintree coveted this girl more as a wife for her son. +This retired spot had quite taken her fancy by storm, and she thought +resentfully of the man who had been selected as future owner of the +Hall and its mistress. + +Her ladyship might have dismissed the faintest spark of hope. It would +have been absolutely impossible for Lois ever to have cared in the +slightest degree for the Honorable Gerald. She had not forgotten for +one moment the handsome face, the soft, half-melancholy eyes, that had +startled her on entering Lady Quaintree’s salon on that now memorable +evening of her life. + +Perhaps, had Paul Desfrayne carefully planned the best course to arouse +a tender, half-piqued interest in the breast of this girl, he could +scarcely have devised one different from the one he was now following. + +The more resolutely Lois tried to drive away the recollection of +her mysterious trustee, the more his image seemed to present itself +obstinately before her. She found herself speculating on the reasons he +might have for avoiding her, and behaving in so rude and cold a manner +when obliged to address her. + +Only twice had she seen him, and already she was annoyed by finding +herself wondering frequently where and when she should see him again. +To her girlish mind the explanation of his coldness was easy enough. + +“He loves another, and is probably annoyed as much as I can be by the +painfully embarrassing bargain made between us by the kind old man who +has been the benefactor of us both,” she thought. + +It did not occur to her that perhaps Captain Desfrayne, while not base +enough to seek to win the splendid fortune in view by marrying one girl +when he loved another, might yet desire to save the part promised to +him by driving her to refuse to fulfil the contract. She might have +remembered that he was to receive fifty thousand pounds if the refusal +emanated from her, and only ten if he were the one to decline acceding +to the wishes of the dead old man. + +Lois Turquand, however, was as little worldly wise as Paul Desfrayne, +and her nature inclined toward romance and sentiment. + +As mistress of the house, she was consigned by Mrs. Ormsby to a +dreadfully grand, well-nigh somber state bedroom, while Lady Quaintree +and Blanche were conducted to a large, cheerful apartment, her ladyship +wishing to have her pretty country friend with her. + +Lois stood gazing around the chamber for some time after she was left +alone. Then she regarded the beautiful gardens beneath, lying bathed in +a silvery flood of summer moonlight. + +All seemed so tranquil, so calm, so sweet, Lois felt as if she could be +satisfied to let her life flow onward in this sylvan retreat without +desiring a change. + +The morning came--the morning of the day when the soldiers in occupancy +of the barracks at Holston were to give place to others. + +Lois and Blanche went out early into the grounds. The appearance of the +beautiful young owner, in so sudden and mysterious a way, had created +a profound sensation among the servants, but, although many a pair of +curious eyes darted inquisitive glances from sheltered corners, not a +soul was visible. + +The bright, pleasant, laughing voices of the girls were answered or +echoed by the wild, soft warblings of innumerable birds. + +Blanche was more full of delight and admiration than even on the +previous day. She led Lois down to a secluded path, which went +slopingly to a wide sheet of water, dancing and gleaming as if crested +with ten thousand diamonds. + +“There is a boat somewhere about here,” said Blanche Dormer. “I +remember when we came here one day for a picnic some few years ago, we +went on the water, and crossed over to that pavilion yonder. Do you see +it?--there, by the water’s edge, yonder, nearly hidden by trees and +climbing plants.” + +Lois looked across, and saw the fairylike summer-house. + +“It was an odd fancy to build it so that you could not reach it without +crossing the water,” Blanche went on. “I am an excellent oar, and I +should like to cross this afternoon, while we leave Lady Quaintree to +her siesta.” + +The girls returned to breakfast in the gayest of spirits. At that hour +Paul Desfrayne was being whirled down from London. + +In the afternoon, Gilardoni, who had attended his new master, remarked +how pale and weary he looked. + +Since the evening Gilardoni had entered Captain Desfrayne’s service, +and that very brief dialogue concerning Lucia Guiscardini had passed, +the name of the famous Italian singer had never been mentioned by +either. Neither knew that the life of the other had been blighted by +this lovely snake in woman’s form. + +Paul Desfrayne seemed too languid to make any effort to rouse himself +this day. + +Gilardoni, who appeared to have already formed a strong attachment +to the kindly man who had held out his hand in the hour of bitter +need--Gilardoni watched him with a strange sort of yearning pity and +sympathy. + +“This is no mere physical fatigue,” the Italian said to himself. “Nor +does it look like threatening illness. There is some mental strain.” + +He at length approached his master, deferentially, yet with the air of +one who intends to be heard. + +“I am sure, sir, it would do you a world of good if you were to ride +out for an hour or two,” he said. + +“Thanks for your attention, Gilardoni, but I feel too weary.” + +“Indeed, sir, I believe if you were to have a breath of fresh air, it +would make all the difference,” Gilardoni urged. “A canter along some +of those leafy roads and lanes we saw as we passed in the train would +clear the clouds off your brain. Forgive me if I make too free, but I +think----” + +“What do you think?” demanded his master, a little sharply. + +“Well, sir--I hope you won’t be displeased--I think you are weary in +mind, not in body.” + +Captain Desfrayne looked keenly at his servant for a moment or two, +then the expression that had almost attained a frown melted into a sad +smile. + +“You are not far wrong, Gilardoni,” he said, very quietly. “I have been +very much troubled of late by--by business affairs.” + +“I trust, sir, you will not consider me intrusive.” + +“Certainly not, my good fellow. I think I ought to feel indebted to you +for your kindly interest. I will take your advice, and go for a canter +before mess.” + +His horse was soon waiting for him--the animal being one of the few +luxuries Captain Desfrayne permitted himself out of his limited income. + +The Italian attended him to the gates of the barracks, and then stood +gazing after him with the kind of interest and affection so often seen +in the eyes of a faithful, attached Newfoundland dog. + +“What is the matter with him?” he thought. “Money-troubles, most +likely. He doesn’t seem the kind of man to be crossed in love--unless +the girl he wanted liked somebody else before she saw him. Perhaps that +has happened. I hope he will come back a little more cheerful.” + +Gilardoni turned to go back to his master’s rooms. As he moved, a +small, folded package lying a few steps from him caught his quick eye. +He stooped and picked it up. + +Before opening it, as there was nothing on the outside of the thin +tissue-paper to indicate who the owner might be, he felt it over with +his fingers. + +“Feels like a small cross,” he said to himself. “I wonder if the +captain dropped it when he pulled out his handkerchief just now.” + +He unfolded the paper, and displayed to view a small gold cross, such +as are worn as a pendant on the watch-chain. + +Gilardoni regarded this with an air of the most unqualified amazement, +mingled with an expression that seemed to indicate rage and contending +sensations of no very agreeable kind. For several moments he remained +as if carved in stone, fixedly looking upon the trinket. It was a +comparatively inexpensive toy, made of burnished gold, set with blue +stones on one side, perfectly plain on the other. + +“It is impossible,” Gilardoni murmured, at length, raising his eyes, +which wore a singularly startled expression. “Oh! it cannot be the +same. Why, they make these things by the hundred. How could it be +possible that it could come into the possession of Captain Desfrayne? +Yet--yet it _must_ be my fatal love-gift.” + +He abruptly turned the cross, and looked at the nethermost point. +Thereon was very inartistically cut or engraved a tiny heart pierced by +an arrow. + +“_Cielo!_” he cried, starting back. “It _is_ the same. Then has it been +dropped by the captain, or how has it come here? Am I dreaming? Am I +going mad?” + +He turned slowly, and walked toward the barracks, his head sunk upon +his breast, as if he were overwhelmed by painful reflections and +memories. + +“The moment the captain returns, I shall ask him if this was in his +possession, and how he came by it. Perhaps Lucia sold or lost it, and +it fell into the hands of some dealer, from whom he may have bought it. +Yes, that must be so.” + +Captain Desfrayne would probably not return for a couple of hours. +Gilardoni must wait with what patience he could muster. By dint of +arguing with himself, he at length almost arrived at the conclusion +that during his tour in Italy the captain had purchased the gold cross. + +That Captain Desfrayne had ever been acquainted with Lucia Guiscardini, +he did not for a moment dream. + +If the thought came into his mind that the cross had been a gift +from _la_ Lucia to the young Englishman, he dismissed it as utterly +improbable. + +The sudden finding of the trinket that bore so many mingled +recollections with it had made him feel faint and sick from emotion, +and as the slow minutes wore away he grew paler and paler. + +“She wears diamonds now that emperors scarce could buy,” he said to +himself, contemplating that tiny love-gift, “yet I doubt if any of the +gems that cluster in her jewel-boxes have given her half the rapture of +vanity and pleasure that thrilled her false heart when I clasped this +little gewgaw about her neck. She pretended she loved me, and returned +my kiss--and I had the folly to believe her true. Folly, folly, folly! +Some day I may have her at my feet, and then--aye, then----” + +He clenched his hand with frenzied rage. + +And all the time Paul Desfrayne was riding, he scarce cared whither, +under the soft, genial sunshine, that made the landscape seem a +fairy-land--riding onward, the sport of fate, to rivet yet another link +in the chain of his strange, fevered life. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +IN THE THUNDER-STORM. + + +In the afternoon, fortune, deceitful, false friend that she is, favored +Blanche Dormer’s caprice for rowing across the lake to the pretty +pavilion on the other side. + +Her mother, Mrs. Dormer, took a fancy for driving over to see Flore +Hall, and came about four or five o’clock. + +Having been escorted over the house, she was too fatigued to go into +the grounds, and, as Lady Quaintree was not sorry for an excuse to +rest, the two matrons subsided into a pleasant, gossiping chat in what +was called the blue drawing-room, with a diminutive table between them, +whereon was set a rare tea-service of Sèvres china. + +The girls readily obtained leave of absence. Blanche did not announce +her intention of going on the water, however, for she was afraid of +being forbidden to do so. + +“It seems so droll to think of a girl like you being sole proprietress +of this big house and all this ground,” Blanche laughingly said, as +they tripped down from the terrace into the garden. “Mama said there +would be a storm, but I don’t believe there will be a drop of rain.” + +A far-distant peal of thunder reverberated as she spoke, but it seemed +too far off to mean danger. + +Blanche again proposed crossing to the summer-house on the other side. + +“I am a splendid oar,” she said, smiling, “so you need not be afraid to +trust yourself to my care.” + +Lois hesitated for a few moments, but the proposition was too tempting +to be resisted. + +In a few minutes more they were floating pleasantly over the mirrored +surface of the waters. It was so calm, so dreamlike thus half-drifting +across, that both girls wished they were going an indefinite distance. + +In half a dozen minutes they were landed at the foot of the flight of +steps leading up to the summer pavilion. + +It was so quiet in this secluded spot that, to any one totally alone, +the stillness would have been oppressive. Not a breath ruffled the +leaves, not a solitary bird’s twitter broke the silence. + +The pavilion was situated in the central part of a great clump of +trees, nestling amid its rich, encircling foliage like an indolent +beauty lying among velvet cushions. + +Partly oppressed by the dreamlike silence, and the sultriness of the +day, the young girls ascended and seated themselves, Blanche on the +first step, Lois on one of the fragile wicker chairs. + +They forgot to secure their tiny bark, nor did they observe that after +a while it began to drift beyond their reach. + +Neither seemed inclined to break the silence that was partly soothing, +partly oppressive. When two people have only recently been introduced, +even if mutually desirous of extending their knowledge of one another, +it is rather difficult to start an interesting train of conversation +when the trivialities of the moment have been exhausted. + +Blanche Dormer, however, was never very long at a loss. She was soon in +the midst of a rattling talk such as she enjoyed. + +“Have you ever been in this part of the world before?” she asked. + +“Never.” + +“You have no friends in the neighborhood?” + +“None whatever. I have very few friends anywhere.” + +“You will have plenty soon,” Miss Dormer philosophically remarked. “I +understand you were Lady Quaintree’s companion?” + +“Yes. I have been with her since I was fourteen.” + +“Are you a relative?” + +“Oh! dear no. My mother was--was born in quite a different station. She +was an embroideress. But she died, and Lady Quaintree was good enough +to take an interest in me, and become my protectress.” + +“How kind! She is a dear, good soul. And so now you are a great +heiress. You had some rich relations, then?” + +“I don’t think I had a relative in the world except my dear mother,” +said Lois, a little sadly. + +Blanche Dormer opened her eyes. Miss Dormer was related to half the +wealthy commons of England. + +“No relations!” she exclaimed, forgetting that she was guilty of an +outrageous breach of good manners in thus expressing surprise. “How +very strange! I thought you had inherited this place and sacks of money +from your uncle.” + +Lois shook her head. + +“I had no uncles that I am aware of. My father died when I was a baby, +and I never heard my mother speak of his relatives. She herself was an +only child.” + +“Then why----” + +Miss Dormer stopped abruptly, and blushed a little. Lois laughed as she +noticed the hesitation. + +“Why did Mr. Gardiner make me a person of property?” she supplied. “I +cannot tell you, for, although I read his will, I have not seen the +slightest hint of his reasons for being so generous. To tell you the +truth, I have been puzzling over it ever since.” + +“What a romantic mystery! Are you sure he was not related to you, my +dear?” + +“If he had been, they would certainly have told me so.” + +“Did anybody offer you any explanation of his reasons for leaving you +his property?” asked Blanche, whose curiosity was strongly excited on +the subject. + +“No.” + +“Did you ask? Forgive me. I am afraid you will think I am taking +unwarrantable liberties in thus cross-questioning you,” apologized Miss +Dormer. + +“No, I do not think so in the least. I feel happy to think you will be +my friend,” replied Lois softly. “I did not ask any questions about Mr. +Gardiner’s will, because----” + +She suddenly remembered why she had felt tongue-tied, and her face +became suffused with crimson. Blanche, who was steadily regarding her, +was much surprised by this evidence of emotion; but, although her +curiosity was still further aroused, she had sufficient delicacy to +restrain herself, and adroitly to change the subject of conversation. + +She began to speak about the departure of troops from the barracks, +which were situated a couple of miles from the vicinity of her father’s +house. This gave Lois an opportunity of recovering her composure, for +which she felt grateful, although if Blanche had pressed her much +further she would have confided to her the embarrassing circumstances +to which Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will was likely to lead. + +As Miss Dormer chatted gaily, heavy splashes of rain came suddenly +pattering through the clustering leaves, and a vivid flash of +lightning, followed almost instantaneously by a crashing peal of +thunder, startled the girls, and made them hurriedly retreat into the +pretty pavilion. + +The day had changed as if by magic. The sky was overcast with driving +clouds like squadrons of artillery, the sun had disappeared, the whole +aspect of the bright garden and the smiling lake had altered as if by +the wave of the wand of some malicious fairy. + +A summer storm had burst over the heads of these timid girls, and they +looked at each other in dismay. It was a situation likely to become +extremely unpleasant. No one knew that they were here. Even if their +screams could be heard, it would be difficult for any one to reach the +place, as the tiny wherry was drifting about, out of reach. + +The waters of the lake began to foam and lash with frenzy. Every +instant the storm increased in fury. The girls clung to one another in +affright, unable to help shrieking when a blue-forked flame encircled +them, or a prolonged roar, as of besieging artillery, seemed to rend +the heavens asunder. + +Each moment it seemed as if they must be slain in that fervent embrace. + +A flash of lightning, more piercing than any that had preceded it, +swept in a jagged curve over the pavilion, and a peal of thunder shook +the fragile building to its foundations. Terrified almost beyond +expression, Lois clung more closely to Blanche, and then fell back +into her arms in a dead swoon. + +Before Blanche could collect her thoughts, herself terror-stricken +almost to the verge of insanity, a panel, which had looked as if merely +a portion of the highly finished decorations of the airy walls, slid +back, and a gentleman suddenly faced the young girl, as she placed Lois +in a chair. + +This gentleman was Paul Desfrayne. + +It would be difficult to say which felt or mutely expressed the most +surprise, Miss Dormer or the stranger. They gazed at one another in +amazement for a moment or two, and then the young man, lifting his cap +with mechanical politeness, advanced. + +By his military undress uniform, Blanche judged him to be one of the +newly arrived officers, but how he had appeared as if from the solid +walls, she could not conceive. + +From the position of Miss Dormer, who stood partly in front of Lois, +Captain Desfrayne could not see the fainting girl’s face, but his heart +sorely misgave him as to her identity. + +“Madam,” he said, looking at Blanche with surprise and compassion, “how +is it that I find you in such a perilous position?” + +Blanche, in a few words, explained. Then she turned again to her +friend, and, kneeling before her, tried by every device to restore her +to consciousness. + +“Good heavens, Miss Turquand!” murmured Captain Desfrayne, under his +breath. + +Faint as his tones were, however, they caught the quick ear of Blanche +Dormer. + +“You know her, sir?” she exclaimed, looking up in his face. + +“I can scarcely claim that privilege,” he replied, with icy coldness. + +He stepped quickly to the door, plucked a large, strong leaf from the +overhanging branches, which he twisted into a cup, and, filling it with +water by descending the steps and dipping it in the lake, returned, and +gave it to Blanche. + +Then he stood by, gazing with an uncontrollable interest upon the +white, delicately chiseled face of the unconscious Lois. + +“She has been alarmed by the storm?” he said presently, as Lois began +to show symptoms of returning life. “You must not remain here.” + +“How can we escape?” demanded Blanche. + +“By the way I came. It leads by a succession of corridors to a ruined +abbey, from whence again you can reach the Hall by passing through a +labyrinth of secret vaults and passages.” + +Blanche turned pale. Even this place, insecure as the shelter was, did +not appear so alarming as the way of escape indicated. + +Paul Desfrayne smiled--that half-melancholy, winning smile that had +such a charm of its own. + +“It sounds rather terrifying,” he said gently. “But as I see you have +let your boat drift away, you cannot reach the house by way of the +lake. Even if you had your boat, the waters are too dangerous to be +trusted, and this storm may not abate for a couple of hours. Do not be +afraid. I know every turn well, for I used to come here constantly when +a boy. There is no other road to the house. I presume you have come +from the Hall?” he abruptly asked. “I was informed that Miss Turquand +had come to stay for a few days there, and so I supposed----” + +“We rowed across the lake only about half an hour ago, and then the +sky looked as clear as--as if it were never going to rain any more,” +Blanche explained. + +“You have no wraps of any kind?” he added, glancing with an odd sort +of half-paternal compassion at the silken draperies of Lois, and the +cloudy azure-blue and white skirts of her beautiful friend. + +Before Miss Dormer could reply, if reply were needed--for nothing in +the shape of protection against bad weather, except one large sunshade, +was visible--Lois opened her eyes. + +The young officer drew back slightly, but he was the first object upon +which her gaze rested. + +She roused herself, and sat up. + +“Are you better, dearest?” anxiously asked Blanche. + +Lois did not answer, but tried to rise from her chair. She looked at +the young man who was regarding her with so much profound interest, and +a rosy blush overspread her face. + +“Captain Desfrayne!” she murmured. + +He advanced one step, then paused. + +“You are probably surprised to see me here, Miss Turquand,” he said. +“Perhaps not more surprised than I am to find myself within these +walls, or to discover you here. I came out for a ride, and scarcely +noticed which road my horse took, until I was overtaken by the storm. +But you must not remain here. The sooner you quit this place the +better. The storm shows no signs of abating. Will you permit me to be +your guide? Are you strong enough to walk, Miss Turquand?” + +Blanche put her arms about Lois to support her. Lois moved forward a +few steps; but the agitation, however pleasant, of the last few days, +the nervous trepidation caused by the storm, acting on a singularly +susceptible temperament, and the weakness induced by her fainting-fit, +proved too much for her to contend against, and she swayed again, +sinking into the arms of Blanche, who caught her. + +Paul Desfrayne’s lips compressed very firmly as he looked at the young +girl thus lying helpless. For a moment he reflected. + +“I must not be a coward,” he argued with himself. “What folly! It +cannot signify to me. The sooner we are out of this situation the +better.” + +Then he addressed Blanche with a calm, self-possessed manner, strangely +at variance with his real feelings. + +“You must allow me to be more than your guide. There is serious danger +in your remaining here. May I carry your friend?” + +There was no choice but to comply. He took Lois from the arms of her +companion, and lifted her in his own strong, firm clasp. He glanced +down at the pale, statuesque face as it rested against his shoulder, +but it was impossible to even guess at his thoughts from the expression +upon his countenance, which was that of perfect impassibility, though +a certain eager interest lurked in his eyes. + +Through the door by which he had so unexpectedly entered, down a long, +apparently interminable flight of somewhat steep steps, along one dim +corridor after another, until Blanche began to feel bewildered, and to +imagine herself in a dream. + +She did not attempt to address a solitary remark to the friend who +had so suddenly come like a knight of old to the rescue of distressed +damsels, but followed him with implicit faith as he strode with a quick +step onward. + +Once he turned his head and spoke, as if he guessed she must feel +mystified, or to break the current of his own unpleasant thoughts. + +“These passages are very confusing to any one not thoroughly acquainted +with the various turnings. I believe their origin is unknown, though +the tradition still exists of many a strange legend of how cavaliers +escaped their pursuers this way, and fled to the friendly sea.” + +Nothing more was said, and the strange procession moved on until the +fresh air blew in, and the dash of the sullen rain, the soughing of the +trees, told that they were near the entrance. + +Left without guidance, Blanche could not have formed the most distant +idea of where she was, or which way to take. She could see nothing but +a wide expanse of rain-blotted gray-green, looking at this moment the +picture of desolation. + +Paul Desfrayne did not emerge upon the wild, stormy scene without, +however. He pushed open a door apparently hewn from solid stone, and +entered a small, dimly lighted chapel. It was a circular building, half +in ruins, though the beautiful stained-glass windows were almost intact. + +With the most tender care, Paul Desfrayne placed his inanimate charge +upon one of the carved oaken seats, and then stood by, watching her. + +A half-sobbing sigh told that the young girl was reviving, and she +turned wildly, to seek for Blanche. + +“You are safe now, if in some discomfort,” said Captain Desfrayne, +in a reassuring tone, though he partially averted his gaze. “Will +you remain here until I summon assistance? Are you afraid to stay +unprotected? There is not the slightest fear of any intrusion. If any +living being come within these walls, it will be only some country lout +seeking shelter from the storm.” + +“Where are we?” asked Lois, looking about her as if still half-dazed. + +“Within the walls of an old ruined abbey about three-quarters of a mile +from--from Flore Hall.” He pronounced the name of the place with some +difficulty, as if it were distasteful to him. + +“But you will be obliged to go through the rain,” objected Blanche, who +was pleased by the handsome face and chivalrous bearing of the captain. + +“No. If necessary, I should not hesitate to do so. My horse is waiting +for me under shelter in a ruined stable close by, and I could soon ride +the distance. But my desire to aid you will not be put to any trial. +There are rude, covered, subterranean passages from this spot to the +Hall, and I can easily traverse them, for I know every inch of the +ground.” + +“What thanks do we not owe you, sir!” exclaimed Miss Dormer. + +Lois remained silent, her eyes bent on the ground, her color varying +with each wave of thought that passed through her brain. + +Partly rejoiced at his temporary release, partly dubious of the +propriety of quitting these timid girls, Captain Desfrayne turned to go +on his errand. + +As he did so, a shuffling noise startled the three. They turned +simultaneously, in alarm, and saw a big, shock-headed country boy, +apparently shaking himself awake, rising from a seat veiled in such +dim obscurity that none of the little group had noticed the recumbent +figure. + +The boy had taken refuge from the raging tempest here, and had after +a while dropped off asleep. Half-awakened by the voices, he had dimly +heard the conversation. + +“Please, zur,” he said, lugging at some stray locks of red hair lying +on his freckled forehead, “do’ee want onybody to run a message to thay +Hall, zur? ’Cause, if so be ’ee do, I be main glad to do it for your +honor, zur.” + +Captain Desfrayne looked at him in mingled doubt and displeasure. He +reflected for a moment or two, then said: + +“How would you get to the Hall, boy?” + +“Why, zur, along thay dark places with thay pillars.” + +“Are you sure you know the way, my lad?” + +“Zartain zure, zur. Whoy, often’s been the time when me, and Bill +Heath, and Joe Tollard, and all thay rest o’ ’em hev played hoide and +zeek in ’em. Oh! I knows thay way, zure enough.” + +It would not be possible to refuse to allow this eager substitute to go +on the pressing errand he had himself contemplated. Paul Desfrayne was +compelled to let him go. + +“Well, make haste, and bring somebody to take care of these young +ladies,” he said. “What is your name--Robin Roughhead?” + +“No, zur--George Netherclift.” + +“Well, Master George Netherclift, if ever you made haste in your life, +do so now.” + +The boy--a great lumping lad of fourteen or fifteen, with a stolid, +good-humored, red-yellow face, and a thick-set figure, clad in a +smock frock and a pair of tough corduroy trousers--started on with +more nimbleness than any one would have given him credit for. In the +silence, his clattering, hob-nailed boots raised countless echoes in +the rude, vaulted passages as he trotted along. + +An uncomfortable embarrassment succeeded his departure. Lois felt +ashamed of her weakness, and abashed in the presence of the tall, +handsome captain, unable to forget the secret link that in a measure +bound their lives together. Paul Desfrayne almost cursed the destiny +that had thus dragged him within those dangerous precincts he would +fain shun. Blanche Dormer caught the infection from these two, who were +acquainted with each other, yet seemed to make some mystery of the +matter, and so she remained silent. + +Lois dared not lift her eyes from the ground. Paul Desfrayne stood at +some distance, viewing the rain as it plashed down, and regarding the +now more rarely recurring flashes of lightning with an absent air, as +if his real thoughts were far away. + +On setting out for his ride, he had permitted his horse to take any +road that presented itself, seeing that the way led far from the +neighborhood of Flore Hall. After a while he had almost dropped the +reins on the animal’s neck, and allowed his mind to revert to the +painful subject of his most unhappy position--a subject but seldom +out of his memory. He had ridden slowly for a long distance from the +barracks when the first pattering drops of rain came splashing down. +Seeing that the sky was overcast by dense black clouds, and hearing +the distant rumbling of the thunder, he had looked about for some +convenient shelter, and then, to his great surprise, found himself +close by the ruined abbey he so well remembered. + +Dismounting, he had secured his horse in an old ruined stable, and +then entered the familiar place, his feelings not all pain, yet not +all pleasure. That any one should have ventured to the summer pavilion +he did not for a moment imagine. Wishing to see as much of the spot as +possible while he could do so in safety, he had rapidly traversed the +dim corridors, and, opening the door in the paneling of the wall, had +come upon the two young girls. + +For the first time now he recollected that he had left his faithful +Greyburn alone for some time, and feared that perhaps the poor animal +might have been frightened by the fury of the tempest. + +“I trust you will not be alarmed if I leave you for a few moments to +look after my horse. I left him, as I think I told you, in a ruined +stable close at hand; but I should be glad to know how he fares,” said +Captain Desfrayne, as the echoes of George Netherclift’s heavy steps +died away. + +“Oh! pray see him,” cried both girls. + +“I shall not be gone for more than a few minutes, and I shall be within +call,” said the young man. + +He went out, leaving the two young ladies together. As he departed, he +glanced for an instant at Lois. + +The lovely, fathomless eyes were raised to his. He gazed as if +spellbound into the dreamy, liquid depths. Then, with an indefinable +expression of mingled emotion, he abruptly disappeared behind the angle +of the old Gothic porch. + +Lois’ heart seemed to stand still for a second, then began to beat with +such rapidity that she put her hand to her side to stay its throbbing. +Then she looked at Blanche, who began to think that the mystery was +simply that the two lovers who had quarreled had unexpectedly met +again, and that pride, or the presence of a third--herself--hindered a +reconciliation. + +In answer to a question from Miss Turquand, she explained how they +had come hither. A vivid flash dyed the pale cheeks of Lois when she +learned how she had been conveyed to this unknown locality. + +How little had she anticipated a meeting such as this in wondering +where she should see Paul Desfrayne again! How little had she dreamed +of it on Saturday afternoon, when she had encountered him among the +gaily dressed loungers in the Zoological Gardens! + +It seemed as if she had known him half a lifetime now, from some +strange affinity that made his presence, his voice, his face familiar. +And yet one short week ago she had been ignorant of his very existence. + +Frank Amberley, whom she had seen almost daily for four years--the four +years that had brought her from childhood to fairest maidenhood--was +forgotten, save when actually present, and then regarded as belonging +to the most formal rank of friends. She would never, unless under +pressure of some most extraordinary difficulty, have thought of +consulting him, or seeking his aid in any way whatever. + +Blanche Dormer drew out her tiny jeweled watch. + +“What will mama think, do, or say?” she exclaimed. “It will be enough +to drive her crazy. Good heavens! my dearest Miss Turquand, they will +imagine we have been capsized into the lake when they see the boat +drifting about. When mama’s fright is over, I shall be in horrible +disgrace. Such a thing never happened in all the nineteen years of +my life. Lady Quaintree will be like a maniac. I shall never forgive +myself.” + +Lois felt Miss Dormer was speaking the truth, and could not think of +one solitary iota of consolation. + +They sat very silent, waiting for release from their exceedingly +disagreeable and irksome situation. + +Blanche was partly right in her conjectures; but fortunately not so +far as her fears pictured. The two ladies, absorbed in their ancient +memories, were so occupied that they did not observe the coming storm +till the first violent roll of thunder, or rather the advanced flash +of blue, forked lightning, made one jump from her seat with a scream, +and caused the other to drop her dainty Sèvres cup with a crash on the +white bearskin at her feet. + +They knew that the girls had gone for a walk in the grounds; but hoped +they had taken warning and returned. Lady Quaintree had rung with a +jerk for her maid, Justine, to demand if the young ladies had come in. + +Justine said she thought they had, and went off to ascertain. But, +unhappily, she had loitered, under pretense of being frightened by the +thunder and lightning, in company with a tall footman, who professed +to be very much in love with her. Partly by his persuasion to linger, +partly from her own inclination to indulge in a stolen flirtation, +she stayed until minutes stole into an hour, and she had completely +forgotten her errand. + +Finding she did not return, Lady Quaintree took it for granted the +young ladies had come in, but perhaps with drenched garments, and that +Justine was staying to help them in changing their attire. + +Fully persuaded that this must be the case, the two dames resumed their +conversation, though in a more subdued key. They were not nervous or +easily frightened by the electrical influences which had so seriously +disturbed the young girls, and, Lady Quaintree having coolly drawn the +lace curtains across the windows, they sat quite contentedly. It at +length occurred to them as odd that neither Lois Turquand nor Blanche +should present herself. + +Lady Quaintree rang again. + +“Where is Miss Turquand?--where is Miss Dormer?” she inquired of the +domestic who appeared. + +“I don’t know, my lady,” replied the man. + +“Where is my maid?” + +“I don’t know, my lady.” + +“Find her, then, and tell her to request the young ladies to come here +directly.” + +Presently the fellow came back, with the alarming information that +neither the young ladies nor Justine were to be found. + +“Good heavens!” cried her ladyship, unable to credit her ears. “Not to +be found? Impossible! Nonsense! They _must_ be found! Why, my maid left +me a short time since to seek for Miss Turquand and Miss Dormer. Oh! +this is absurd!” + +The man departed again on a search that proved useless. He presented +himself again, fearfully, to tell her ladyship so. + +The truth about Justine was that, recollecting her message suddenly, +she had flown to Miss Turquand’s room, and then to all the probable and +even improbable places where the young ladies might be found; but, of +course, without coming on any trace of the missing ones. + +Thoroughly alarmed, marveling what had become of them, and not daring +to go back to her mistress, she had darted wildly all over the house, +making inquiries of everybody she met. + +Several of the domestics had seen the young ladies go out, but no one +had seen them return. + +Forgetful, in her sore affright, of her nervous tremors in a storm, +Justine had rushed into the grounds, armed with a big umbrella +snatched up in passing through the entrance-hall. Thus her otherwise +unaccountable disappearance was to be explained. + +In a short time the entire household was astir, alarmed by the +discovery that the young ladies were not within the Hall. If not there, +where were they? Of necessity, they must be out in the grounds, perhaps +in the porter’s lodge. + +One servant ran down to the lodge, only to bring back word that the +young ladies had never been there. + +Others scattered themselves over the gardens, seeking in the +conservatories and graperies, in the plantations, in every imaginable +place. + +It was the gardener who came to the horrifying conclusion that the +girls had ventured on the lake in the flimsy boat, and had been +capsized. + +He found Justine wandering near the borders of the water in a state of +distraction. She could not tell that the boat had been safely moored +that morning and in the early afternoon, but she had paused here. + +The gardener imprudently betrayed his suspicion, and had the +satisfaction of seeing Mademoiselle Justine fall in a heap, in violent +hysterics, objurgating herself in disjointed sentences between whiles. + +In a very short time, the alarming suspicion was communicated to the +whole household, except the ladies, who were awaiting the result of the +search in terrible anxiety, but not of positive fear, for they were +sure now that the girls had sought some convenient shelter, where they +were biding till the storm ceased. + +A hurried consultation was held as to what should be done; but no one +could offer a suggestion that promised to be of the smallest service. + +The domestics retreated into a great greenhouse, where they could +command a view of the lake, the waters of which now bore a sensational +attraction in the eyes of the terrified servants. + +No one could take the direction of affairs, for they were all +subordinate servants, ignorant, and easily distracted. + +It was agreed, finally, to go and consult Mrs. Ormsby, on whom the task +of breaking the tragical surmise to the ladies would fall. + +Justine had been carried into a conservatory, to get her out of the +way, and left there with a couple of housemaids. + +A sad procession scrambled back to the house--a somewhat noisy one, for +every one had some eager, excited remark to make, or some wondering +exclamation to utter. + +Mrs. Ormsby was at the top of the broad flight of steps at the +principal entrance, watching for the earliest information. She did not +venture to remain near Lady Quaintree or Mrs. Dormer, but stood midway, +as it were, between the terrified ladies and the band of explorers. As +they approached, she could plainly see the search had been unsuccessful. + +Two or three eagerly came in advance of their fellows, their mouths and +eyes wide open, their visages full of excitement. + +They had not yet begun to make their story intelligible, however, when +a loud shout, in a boyish treble, made every one look round; and a +thick-set lout was seen running toward them, waving his hands in sign +that his business was of a most urgent nature, that would not brook +delay. This boy was George Netherclift. + +He had, they all felt at once, come with some news of the missing ones. +But what kind of news? Were they to hear confirmation of a tragedy? Or +were the young ladies safe and sound? + +George Netherclift had been running the latter part of the way, and was +considerably out of breath. As he paused, he glanced from one of the +servants to another, in doubt as to which to address. + +“Well, boy,” exclaimed Mrs. Ormsby, in a sharp tone, “what do you want? +Speak quickly!” + +“Zoombody to bring thay young ladies from thay ould abbey,” said the +boy. “Be quick, if ’ee please. They’ll be main tired waiting.” + +“They are safe and sound, then?” cried the housekeeper. “But how in the +world did they get to the ruined abbey?” + +“Doan’t know, missus. Perhaps they’ull know theysells. Will ’ee zend +zoombody quick, please?” + +Of course, three or four male servants were at once ready to accompany +him. Mrs. Ormsby at first thought of sending the carriage, but the +abbey was nearly two miles off by the road. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +PAUL DESFRAYNE’S REFLECTIONS. + + +With a heart as heavy as lead, Paul Desfrayne turned back to rejoin +the two girls, when he had ascertained that, though trembling a little +from nervous fright, his horse, Greyburn, was quite safe. He thought +what a fortunate dispensation of Providence it would have been had the +One Hundred and Tenth Regiment been ordered on foreign service--say, to +China or Timbuctoo. + +How many poor fellows had been separated from all they loved best, +never to behold adored faces more this side the grave, banished into +semisolitude, while he was forced to abide within range of his dreaded +Nemesis! + +When he again appeared within the little chapel, he was by no means +lively company. Cold, abstracted, silent, he seemed to make no effort +to arouse himself. He was thinking, indeed, as his eyes wandered to the +high windows through which the steady downpour of rain could be clearly +seen, what a striking emblem of his life this black, pitiless storm +might be. + +Lois regarded him through her long, drooping eyelashes with mingled +feelings of admiration and pique. Her belief that his thoughts were +with another gained fresh impetus. + +“Yet,” she said to herself, “why need he be so uncivil to me? Perhaps +he imagines that if he were to be ordinarily attentive, I might flatter +myself he meant to ask me to fulfil the hateful bargain. I would not +marry him if he tried to persuade me to-morrow.” + +The hot blood swept in wrathful waves over her face, just now paled by +affright and her fit of syncope. Anger made her draw her slight figure +up to its full height; and when Captain Desfrayne turned and addressed +some trifling remark to her, she replied with a frigid coldness that +struck even herself as being ungrateful and ungracious. + +Blanche was more than ever persuaded that there had been a stormy +quarrel, and that even yet neither chose to advance one step toward +reconciliation. + +It was a relief to the three when hurrying footsteps and the sound of +excited voices showed that help was at hand. + +In a few minutes several men servants, headed by the rough-pated boy +who had gone in search of them, were pressing into the chapel. One +carried shawls and wraps, and another some wine, in case the young +ladies and their deliverer should be faint. + +“Oh, dear!--oh, dear!--oh, dear!” cried Blanche, with a great sigh. +“What _will_ mama and Lady Quaintree say? How I shall be scolded and +cried over! It has been my fault entirely.” + +“We were both to blame,” answered Lois. + +“No; I planned our escapade, and persuaded you, and forgot to make our +boat fast.” + +“The boat would have been of no use to you, Miss Dormer, in such a +storm,” said Captain Desfrayne. + +“True. It has been a most unlucky affair altogether,” sighed Blanche. + +“I presume you are now quite safe in charge of these good people,” +said the young man. “There will be no impropriety in leaving you, I +trust--you and Miss Turquand?” + +He bent his eyes on the floor, fixing them on a flat tombstone at his +feet, as if feeling half-guilty in thus wishing to desert them. + +“Why do you need to leave us, Captain Desfrayne?” demanded Blanche, +in a sharp, ringing tone, indicating great surprise and a dash of +displeasure. “Are you obliged to go?” + +“I--I must return to my quarters,” answered he, still avoiding her +glance. + +“Oh! it will be impossible for you to go without seeing Lady Quaintree, +at least,” protested Miss Dormer. “Besides, it is nearer to the +barracks from the principal gates of the Hall. You must, at least, pass +through with us, and just see Lady Quaintree and mama.” + +Paul glanced swiftly at Lois. She was standing up, the pride of a young +empress dilating her figure, displayed in the turn of her head. Her +face was half-averted, as if she would not deign to take part in the +argument, but her fingers were twitching nervously in one another. + +“Why should this strange mistrust--this presentiment of deadly ill, +haunt me?” Paul asked himself. “There is no danger of my falling in +love with this girl, and as little of her honoring me with any tender +regards. Probably her heart is already fully occupied with the image of +some one else. This vague fear is simply absurd, and I must master it. +I am unwell, and my nerves are unstrung. Perhaps I may shortly find an +opportunity of explaining to her how I am really situated. It would be +better to speak to her myself than to leave the painful duty to others.” + +He gave way to Blanche’s arguments, with a tolerable grace, though +alleging that he saw no reason why he should feel it necessary to see +the elder ladies. + +One of the servants was directed to get his horse, and bring it round +to the front of Flore Hall; then the party moved in the direction of +the house. + +Lois was determined on not giving way again, but she was faint and +giddy, and at length was compelled to accept the support of Paul +Desfrayne’s arm. + +Not a word was exchanged on the way, though it seemed of a wearisome +length. + +Another profound sigh escaped Blanche as they reached the end. + +“I am thankful we have you, Captain Desfrayne, as a sort of shield,” +she half-laughingly exclaimed. “They cannot scold us so terribly when +you are by, and when you depart the worst will be over.” + +Mrs. Ormsby had informed Lady Quaintree and Mrs. Dormer of the state of +affairs; but although aware that the girls were in safety, the ladies +had fallen into dreadful agitation. + +The meeting might readily be imagined, but would baffle description. +For some minutes the elder ladies were so much absorbed by rejoicings, +tears, kisses, reproaches, that they hardly noticed the stranger. + +When Lois and Blanche had managed to give some intelligible account of +their adventures, Paul Desfrayne was obliged to undergo a fresh shower +of thanks, which were most distasteful to him. + +“How can I contrive to escape?” he was asking himself, when Lady +Quaintree startled him by saying: + +“And we must really insist on your staying to dinner, Captain +Desfrayne. You would catch your death of cold if you were to go out +again while this heavy rain lasts.” + +The young man started back. + +“You are very kind, madam,” he murmured. “But I--I could not stay, I +assure you.” + +“Come, sir, I must exercise an old woman’s authority, and forbid you +to leave us,” cried Lady Quaintree laughingly. “Your mother is, I may +say, an old friend of mine, and I could not answer to her if her son +met with any mishap on leaving any house where I might be supposed to +have a voice. We owe you the safety of these wilful girls, and you must +allow us to see to your welfare. If the rain does not abate, you must +not ride back, but, if you refuse to honor us by remaining under this +roof for the night, must accept the use of one of the carriages in the +coach-house.” + +Lady Quaintree was playing against her own interests; but common +charity would not have permitted her to let a dog go out in that +sullen, dashing, persistent rain. + +Paul Desfrayne looked at the disheartening prospect from the windows, +and resigned himself to his fate. + +Without, all looked so dismal and forbidding--out _there_, where +his evil past lay crouching, ever ready to spring up and confront +him. Within here all seemed so soft and inviting with this white and +gold, and velvet couches, and flowers in rich profusion, and these +dulcet-toned, high-bred women, symbolic of the brilliant, tempting +present, which beckoned to him, sirenlike. + +“You are very kind--too kind, madam,” he said, bowing low, and speaking +in a constrained, husky voice. + +So it was settled he should dine with them; and the girls went away to +change their dresses. + +Mama Dormer had brought a small portmanteau over in the carriage with +her, containing “a few things” required by Blanche during her brief +stay. + +Lois being in black did not need much alteration in her attire, but +by means of a trained, black skirt, and a thin, high, white bodice, +and a suite of jet ornaments, she contrived to make an effective +dinner-costume. + +By the time they rustled back to the drawing-room, where the little +party was to assemble for dinner, the servants were lighting the wax +tapers, causing a soft glitter to illuminate the apartment. + +The rain had ceased. The sultry heat began to come back, and all the +windows had been thrown open, admitting the luscious odors of the +countless flowers in the gardens. The scent of the summer roses was +almost overcoming after the rain. + +The last, dying rays of the setting sun dyed the sky, from which all +but a few floating, feathery clouds had vanished away. + +Lois and Blanche looked irresistibly beautiful as they entered the +room, the one in her simple, somber attire, the other in a shimmering +green silken robe, trimmed with white lace, and frilled fine muslin. + +As Lois came in, Paul Desfrayne’s eyes met hers, and by some mysterious +fascination, neither he nor she could remove their gaze. + +The young girl trembled from some undefined feeling--a sense of mingled +pain and pleasure. + +Paul felt as if some gauntleted hand had mercilessly compressed his +heart. He shivered as if from cold. + +“I believe some malignant genius drove me out this day,” he thought. + +Lois averted her eyes by a violent effort of will. + +“Why does he look at me like this, when he is so cold and repellent in +his manners?” she indignantly asked herself. + +Lady Quaintree caught the glance, and partly interpreted the looks of +both. + +“I wish I had had the sense to stop at home,” she said mentally. “I +am afraid my Gerald’s chance will be a small one. We really must get +away to-morrow at latest. Luckily, the gallant knight errant is pinned +safely down in this remote part of the world, and I must coax Lois to +go to Switzerland, or some other comfortable place, to give my boy a +fair start in the race.” + +Her ladyship kept a pretty sharp watch on the two young people--Lois +and her handsome young trustee. But, during dinner, nothing rewarded +her for her vigilance, or, to speak more correctly, she was absolutely +rewarded by observing that they did not once exchange a look, and only +noticed each other’s presence when obliged to do so by the etiquette of +the table. + +This apparent mutual misunderstanding puzzled her a good deal. Captain +Desfrayne’s reserved manner with his beautiful young charge perplexed +her extremely. That he should not endeavor to improve his opportunity +of obtaining favor with the young girl seemed inexplicable; and when +she found that both were evidently resolved on steadfastly declining to +pass the ice-bound line that divided them, she marveled more and more. + +“There is some undercurrent here which I do not understand,” she +thought. “It seems strange, but there is certainly some ill-will +between them. What can the matter be?” + +Had not Lois been her constant companion for the last four years, +during which time the young girl had been completely ignorant of Paul +Desfrayne’s existence, Lady Quaintree might have imagined, with Blanche +Dormer, that there was a lovers’ quarrel. + +After cudgeling her brains for an explanation of this mystery, a +possible solution presented itself. Lady Quaintree knew family pride to +be one of Mrs. Desfrayne’s weak points, and perhaps this peculiarity +might be magnified in her son. Remembering that if the refusal to obey +the old man’s whim came from his side, it would involve on his part +a heavy pecuniary loss, she concluded that he wished to induce Miss +Turquand to think him a very undesirable lover, and thus to cause the +refusal to come from her. + +This view having presented itself, her ladyship wavered in the +resolution of at once quitting Flore Hall. If Captain Desfrayne was +determined not to profit by his advantageous position, but to drive +Miss Turquand to refuse him, would he not be an eligible ally? + +Many a girl, she knew, slighted by one, eagerly if hastily accepted the +next that offered. + +Yet, until she could ascertain _why_ Paul Desfrayne did not relish +the bride proposed to him, she might be playing a dangerous game in +allowing him to be too near her lovely protégée. + +Lady Quaintree felt thoroughly perplexed and unsettled, in fact, and +could only arrive finally at the conclusion that the wisest plan would +be to let herself be guided by a cautious observation of the course of +events. + +“I wish we could have brought Gerald down with us,” she sighed. +“However, the way must be clearer in a few days.” + +At Lois’ earnest entreaty, Lady Quaintree had taken all but the actual +name of mistress in the house. She sat at the head of the table, and +played the role of hostess. Owing to her consummate tact, the dinner +did not pass so drearily as it might otherwise have done. + +She gave the signal to rise, and smilingly told Captain Desfrayne he +should have half an hour’s grace to smoke a cigar if he pleased. + +The ladies adjourned to the white drawing-room, where a soft glitter of +wax tapers shed a pleasant, mellow light. + +Squire Dormer had arranged to come for his wife and daughter at eight +or nine o’clock. When the storm broke, Mrs. Dormer had feared she +might be obliged to stay all night, but now the sky had cleared, the +sultry heat already nearly dried up the pools of water lying on the +garden-walks, and the silver moon had risen in royal splendor. + +Blanche flew to the piano--a superb instrument as far as appearance +went, but it was very decidedly out of tune. There was no music +anywhere visible, but Miss Dormer sat down and began playing morsels +and snatches of melody from recollection. Then she asked Lois to sing. + +Lois had always been accustomed to so implicitly obey the wishes +of those about her, that she did not think of refusing, but took +Blanche’s seat and ran her fingers skilfully over the keys. + +“I don’t feel very well,” she mildly protested. “But I will do my best.” + +“Don’t overexert yourself, my love,” said Lady Quaintree. + +“I should be delighted to hear you,” Mrs. Dormer remarked, almost at +the same moment. + +Captain Desfrayne heard the chords of the piano from his solitary +retreat, and, being passionately fond of music, he came out on the +terrace and moved into the leafy shadow, from whence he could view the +interior of the drawing-room without being himself seen. + +Lois had just seated herself as he took up this station. The mellow, +amber rays of the wax lights fell on her graceful figure and on her +stately head. From the spot where he stood, Paul Desfrayne could watch +her every movement. Unconsciously to himself, he drank in the sweet +poison of love at every glance as he observed the pure, statuesque +lines and curves of that queenly form, the rich, silken shimmer of the +lovely hair, the harmonious, suave grace of each motion. + +“I will summon up courage to-night, if I can possibly find an +opportunity,” he thought, “and tell her the truth. I may have a chance +of speaking to her. After to-night, it will probably be months before +we meet again, if we ever do meet. She seems sweet and amiable; she is +undoubtedly as beautiful as a dream. Probably she will pity my unhappy +position, and sympathize with my misfortunes, even if they arise from +my own folly. What a madman I have been! Truly they say: ‘Marry in +haste, repent at leisure.’ What would I not give or do to be free once +more!” + +Lois began to sing. She had thought for a minute or two, and then +struck the chords of a graceful symphony to a pathetic Irish air. + +Her voice was clear and deliciously sweet--pure as that of an angel. +Thanks to Lady Quaintree, it had been most carefully trained, and the +young girl had a sensitive feeling for the words as well as the music +of what she sang. + +Paul Desfrayne’s relentless memory went back to those feverish days +when he had listened, spellbound in that heated theater at Florence, to +the siren notes of the woman who had destroyed his happiness. + +The contrast between Lucia Guiscardini and Lois Turquand was as great +as between darkness and light. In every respect they totally differed. +The one was a magnificent tigress, regal in beauty, haughty and +unbending in temper; the other a gentle white doe, lovely and soft. + +Presently the song ceased. Blanche’s laced handkerchief stole to her +eyes for a moment, then she kissed her friend by way of thanks. There +was a little buzz of well-bred, musical voices for a minute or two, and +then the girls emerged on the upper terrace as if coming out to breathe +the fresh air. + +Paul Desfrayne drew back still farther within the sheltering gloom, +rendered all the more secure by the increasing splendor of the +moonlight, which caused strange, sudden contrasts of light and shade in +the gardens. The faint scent of his cigar might have warned the girls +of his proximity, but they did not notice it. He was, however, out of +ear-shot. + +For a moment he thought of ascending the short flight of steps leading +from the lower to the upper terrace, but feeling that in his present +depressed state he would be poor company, he elected to stay where he +was. + +Within half an hour he resolved to take leave of his entertainers, and +ride home. + +“Home!” he said to himself bitterly. “I have no home--no prospect of +home. No home, no peace, no rest. I am like a gambler who has staked +and lost a fortune at one fatal throw. And my unrest is made all the +more poignant by the tempting will-o’-the-wisp fate has sent to dance +before me, mockingly.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +BLANCHE DORMER’S SURPRISE. + + +The peace and purity of the night indisposed Lois to talk, and Blanche +was meditating on how far the proprieties might admit of her sounding +her new friend on the subject of the supposed estrangement. So neither +spoke for several minutes. + +“A night like this always reminds me of the moonlight-scene in the +‘Merchant of Venice,’” Blanche said, at length. “I was afraid the storm +would last until morning; perhaps I was also afraid mama would scold +terribly. But I think when she is really alarmed, she is too much upset +to be able to scold in proper style. I like these summer storms; the +weird lightning has such a mystic beauty of its own. I lost my head +this afternoon, but that was because we were in such a dangerous place, +and a little because I was frightened on your account, as you seemed so +terrified.” + +“I am nervous in a storm, always,” Lois said deprecatingly, for she +felt ashamed of her weakness. + +“I think it was a special mercy your friend, Captain Desfrayne, came to +our rescue. No doubt you were amazed when you saw him. But I suppose +you knew he was coming down to this neighborhood?” + +“I know nothing of his movements or plans,” Lois replied calmly. “I +never heard his name until last Friday.” + +Miss Dormer absolutely sprang back, and stared at her new friend in +speechless surprise. Her theory had been upset so precipitately that +she was at a loss for words. + +“I--I thought--I fancied--that is----” she stammered, for she felt +fairly confounded, and much as if she had walked into a trap. + +She heartily wished she could entirely control her amazement and +vexation at the absurdity of her mistake, but her looks and manner +betrayed her. + +“What do you think?” innocently inquired Lois. + +“Why--that is----” + +“You hesitate, Blanche?” + +“I am afraid you will be offended.” + +“With you? Impossible. Pray be frank with me.” + +“You promised not to be vexed?” + +“I could not be vexed with you, my dear friend. What did you think?” + +“Honestly, I thought you and Captain Desfrayne had had a lovers’ +quarrel,” Blanche said. + +Lois broke into a peal of silvery laughter, caused partly by surprise, +partly by pique and anger--not toward Blanche, but toward the unhappy +captain. She threw back her head with a little scornful gesture. + +“You thought so? What could have led you to imagine such a strange +thing?” + +“Because--I don’t know how I came to be so foolish, but--well, I saw +him look at you----” + +“At me?” + +“Aye, and you at him--come, you as good as promised not to be +cross--look and speak as if--as if--that is to say--well, in truth, +I can hardly say what caused me to jump to my odd conclusion, but I +did make the silly spring, and I find myself landed on exceedingly +unpleasant ground.” + +Lois had known Blanche only two days, although she felt a strong +presentiment that the friendship just cemented would endure for +a lifetime. Blanche was the first friend she had ever possessed, +and she was sure she might be trusted, yet prudence caused her to +hesitate before entrusting Miss Dormer with the secret of her strange +relationship with Paul Desfrayne. + +Blanche was fairly puzzled, and her feminine curiosity aroused. Quite +confident that Lois had spoken truly in saying that Captain Desfrayne +was almost a stranger to her, she yet could not help believing that +there was some good reason for her thinking that some more than +ordinary feeling caused a mutual interest or dislike. + +Lois placed her arm caressingly round Blanche’s waist, and laid her +cheek on her shoulder. + +“Blanche,” she said, “I am going to tell you something about myself and +Captain Desfrayne, which will, I have no doubt, surprise you.” + +Miss Dormer shrank a little, as if she had been guilty of trying to +surprise a confidence she was not entitled to. + +“I hope,” she said, “you do not think me inquisitive. I am sorry I +allowed myself to make any remarks.” + +Lois smiled. + +“You must let me enjoy the privileges of a friend,” she replied. “If +you will let me tell you, I think it would be a solace to me. For +although Lady Quaintree is so good and so kind, yet----” + +She paused; for it would be impossible to enter into any of the +feelings which barred a perfect confidence between herself and her late +mistress. But Miss Dormer partially comprehended, and pressed her hands +warmly in token of sympathy and encouragement. + +“No doubt you will wonder, knowing that my acquaintanceship with him +is of so recent a date--no doubt you will marvel to hear that I am +half-engaged to marry Captain Desfrayne,” began Lois. + +“My dear!” was all Blanche could say, opening her eyes as wide as they +could expand. + +“Yes. I can scarcely believe the story is real.” + +Lois repeated to her the history of Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will. Blanche +listened in silent amazement. + +“How extraordinary! Then, why--why----” + +“Pray be as frank with me as I have been with you,” Lois entreated. + +“Why does he behave in such an odd way toward you? Does the +proposition, or whatever you may call it, displease him?” + +“I have had no explanation from him, nor is one likely to take place. I +am as ignorant as you are of his opinion on the matter.” + +“What is your own?” + +“I may truly say I feel mortified and vexed by being disposed of like a +bale of goods----” + +“Not exactly, dearest girl. You are left an option.” + +“I do not like Captain Desfrayne.” + +“That can scarcely be wondered at, since he treats you so +coldly--almost rudely. What a strange old man this Vere Gardiner must +have been! Why should he take such a singular whim into his head?” + +“I do not know. You now know as much--or as little--as I do myself.” + +“It is a riddle,” said Blanche. “What does Lady Quaintree say?” + +“She is very much pleased about the money and landed property--as +pleased and interested as if I were her own child; but she has not said +much about the proposition of marriage.” + +“I suppose she wishes to see more of this gentleman. This afternoon, +when I first saw Captain Desfrayne, I liked him: he seemed nice, and +had such a gentle way with him, and his voice was pleasant. But now I +have taken a prejudice against him.” + +At this moment, Blanche caught sight of her father, Squire Dormer, who +had just entered the drawing-room, where the elder ladies sat. + +“Wait for me one moment here, dear Miss Turquand,” she said. “I will +run and ask papa if I must return to-night. Oh! I do hope he will let +me stay till to-morrow with you. Do you leave in the morning?” + +“Lady Quaintree arranges everything,” answered Lois. “It will be just +as she orders.” + +Blanche went back to the drawing-room. Lois remained on the terrace, +idly watching the weird shadows and sharp, silvery lights. + +A step on the lower terrace for a moment alarmed her. But a glance +assured her that Captain Desfrayne was the intruder on the quiet of +that place. He was near enough to be able to address her without +raising his voice. + +Not one word of the dialogue just interrupted had reached his ears. + +“Are you not afraid of taking cold, Miss Turquand?” he asked, really +for want of something better to say. + +“Thanks, no. It is such a lovely summer’s night. I am going back to the +drawing-room in one moment,” replied Lois. + +With a quick movement, Paul Desfrayne ascended the steps leading from +the lower to the upper terrace, and in an instant was by her side. + +“Miss Turquand----” he began, then his courage and the power of +expressing his scarcely formed ideas utterly failed him. + +Lois’ heart throbbed painfully for a moment or two. She looked at +Captain Desfrayne, then averted her eyes without saying a word. + +“I wished--I may not see you again for a long time, and I thought it +would be better to explain myself certain circumstances which it is of +paramount importance you should know than to trust others to do so, or +to endeavor to commit them to writing.” + +“Circumstances?” repeated Lois. “Of what kind?” + +“Circumstances connected entirely with my own history; but as--must I +say unhappily?--one who might be deemed the benefactor of us both--that +one has chosen to link our fate--your destiny and mine--together, to a +certain extent, it is your right to learn what otherwise----” + +Paul felt conscious that every little speech he had attempted had +proved a wretched failure. He feared that the task he had undertaken +would prove beyond his strength or skill. What form of words should he +use? How possibly bring the subject of his marriage forward? It was +difficult enough in one way to break the seal of secrecy on the fatal +topic to his mother; with this girl of eighteen it would be a thousand +times more so. + +“Miss Turquand,” he began, once again making another effort, “one chief +reason why I have not before informed you of these circumstances has +been that I really have not had the opportunity. The news that--in +fact, that is to say, the knowledge that I was to--in a word, the +contents of Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will came upon me like a thunderclap. I +did not even know your name until last Friday, when I had the pleasure +of seeing you for the first time. Why Mr. Vere Gardiner should have +seen fit to make such a singular arrangement, I cannot conceive. I +met him but once, so far as I am aware. He knew nothing of my private +affairs. No doubt he meant well. It would, perhaps, be ungrateful on my +part to find fault with his good intentions; but it is to be regretted +that he could not fix on some more worthy object of his bounty than +myself, or, at least, that he attached conditions to his munificent +gifts which it is absolutely impossible I can fulfil.” + +Lois’ eyes were kindling with the varying sensations that rose in her +heart as she listened. With the swiftness of an already overexcited +brain, her imagination ran rapidly through every conceivable range of +impediments, except the one that really existed. + +She looked so lovely, so graceful, so ethereal in the cross-light, +that, as Paul Desfrayne looked down upon her fair, English face and +beautiful figure, he felt a strange yearning desire to take her for +a moment in his arms, and press one kiss upon the half-open rose-bud +lips. More than ever he cursed the mad folly that had made him link +those heavy chains upon his life that might never be loosened this side +the grave. + +What was he about to tell her? Lois rested her hand on the stone ledge +of the balustrade; for she felt unnerved and agitated. + +Paul Desfrayne was silent for some moments. Lois had only spoken once +since he had joined her. + +Blanche, having ascertained to her great satisfaction that she would be +allowed to stay all night, and partly settled a newly started scheme +for a tour of some weeks with the Quaintrees, was about to rush back +to Lois’ side. But her quick glance had discovered how her friend +was employed, and she drew back before she had made three steps. She +discreetly returned into the drawing-room, and sat down at the piano. + +Lady Quaintree began to wonder greatly why Captain Desfrayne had +not come to ask for a cup of coffee, and she now missed her young +companion. It did not suit her plan of operations to let them have an +opportunity of entering into any mutual explanations of which she might +not be immediately cognizant. Therefore, observing that Blanche was +alone, she asked: + +“Where is Lois, my dear?” + +“I left her on the terrace, ma’am,” answered Blanche, turning round on +her music-stool. + +“Alone, Blanche?” + +“Yes--no. I did leave her alone; but I think she is talking to Captain +Desfrayne now.” + +“Oh, indeed! They are very foolish. I am sure they will take cold,” +said my lady, with an air of careless semi-interest. + +Blanche turned again to her board of black and white ivory keys, and +began running brilliant roulades. Mrs. Dormer asked her husband some +questions about the state of the roads after the deluge of rain that +had fallen, and in a few minutes Lady Quaintree found that she had an +excellent opportunity of rising almost unobserved, and moving across to +the windows, which all opened directly upon the terrace. + +She moved gently, with a soft, silken rustle, from one window to +another, until she arrived at one where she could command a perfect +view of the two figures standing in the moonlight. + +It thus happened that, as Paul Desfrayne spoke those words declaring +his inability to carry out any share in the dead man’s wishes, Lady +Quaintree was in the act of drawing open the window against which he +had accidentally placed himself. + +Her ladyship would have disdained to play the part of eavesdropper, +for she was a woman of high principle, although she deemed herself +justified in thus interrupting what might be a critical explanation. +She, therefore, heard nothing of what the young officer had been saying. + +Lois could not conceive why there should be such a tender sorrow in +Captain Desfrayne’s eyes, such a pathetic ring in his voice, such an +echo of grief and despair in his words. With an eager unrest, she +waited for the next words, which should explain the reason of the young +man’s inability to profit by the clauses in the old man’s will. But, +instead of the tender tones of his voice, the suave, well-bred accents +of Lady Quaintree sounded in her ears. With a great start, she turned +and faced her ladyship; Paul Desfrayne did the same. + +“My dearest pet, you really ought not to linger here in the night air,” +said my lady. “I fancy Mrs. Dormer has been wondering where you have +vanished to. Really, however, I am not surprised, the beauty of the +night has tempted you to breathe its freshness and fragrance; it is so +close and sultry within. Give me your arm, my love; I will take just +one turn, and then we will go in and let Captain Desfrayne and Mrs. +Dormer have a little music.” + +“Allow me, madam,” said the young man, offering his arm. + +Lady Quaintree passed her hand lightly through the proffered support, +and, thus escorted, promenaded to and fro for about five minutes; Lois, +on her left, attending her. Her ladyship was in charming spirits, and +to any less preoccupied companions would have been most amusing. + +The lively nothings she rattled off fell on dull and indifferent ears, +however, and she could extract little beyond abstracted monosyllables +from Captain Desfrayne, and an occasional languid smile or a +half-absent “yes” or “no” from Miss Turquand. + +“Would it be of any use offering you shelter for the night, Captain +Desfrayne?” she asked, with a winning smile. “My dear young friend +has appointed me viceroy over her house for the present. We shall be +delighted to show you as much hospitality as our means will admit.” + +“You are very kind, and I am already indebted to you for the goodness +and consideration which you have this day shown me,” answered Paul +Desfrayne. “But I really must return to my quarters to-night.” + +“It will be a long and lonely ride,” objected Lady Quaintree. “Can we +order one of the carriages for your service?” + +“No, thanks. I should greatly prefer riding.” + +“Do you need a groom, or a guide of any kind?” + +“I knew this neighborhood perfectly well when a boy, and have not +forgotten one lane or valley or hedgerow, I believe.” + +Presently Lady Quaintree turned to go in, saying they must not neglect +their other guests. + +She passed in first, Paul Desfrayne lingered for a moment, and +involuntarily fixed his eyes upon Lois. They were full of an unspoken +eloquence, and revealed volumes of despair, of regret, of deep and mute +feelings which rose like some troubled revelation. + +Lois could not but read this glance, which perplexed her more than his +few bitter words of absolute renunciation had done. + +The young man knew that this chance for an explanation was gone. When +might the next occur? He scarcely knew whether to feel relieved by the +postponement of a painful duty, or vexed by the fact that he was worse +placed than if he had remained absolutely silent. + +“I can write to her to-morrow,” he thought, though he doubted if he +could nerve himself to the task. + +“What can he have wished to tell me?” Lois asked herself vainly; +for although she racked her brain for an answer, none sufficiently +plausible presented itself. + +They were not alone for a single moment during the remaining hour that +Paul Desfrayne lingered. The Dormers went past the barracks on their +way home, but he declined a seat in their carriage, as he preferred to +ride, he said. + +He left the house with them, however, riding a short way by their +carriage, and then, putting spurs to his horse, dashed at almost a +reckless pace toward his quarters. + +It might almost be imagined that a kind of second sight, some sort +of spiritual influence, was drawing him to the place where Gilardoni +awaited him. + +As he took leave of Miss Turquand, he held her hand for some brief +moments, and again looked into the clear depths of her eyes. + +A deep sigh escaped him as he released the hand he had +half-unconsciously retained. Lois heard the sigh, and it was echoed in +her heart. + +Alas! What was the fatal impediment? Not dislike for herself--she felt +sure of that. Her pique and resentment were rapidly melting away under +the dangerous fire of love and pity. + +He left her a prey to unrest, impatience, wonderment, the only solace +being that she felt confident he would take the earliest opportunity of +giving her the explanation thus vexatiously interrupted. She surmised +that a letter might possibly reach her some time the next day, or +perhaps he might call. It would be so natural for him to come, with +the object of ascertaining how she and Miss Dormer were after their +fright. + +Somehow, she did not care to inform Lady Quaintree of what he had said, +nor did her ladyship make the slightest approach to an inquiry. But +when Lady Quaintree proposed to quit Flore Hall early the following +day, she eagerly desired to stay, alleging truly that she was anything +but well, as her fainting-fit and the alarm she had suffered had +unhinged her nerves. + +“Just as you please, my love. I will not dictate to you in your own +house, and certainly you and dear Blanche do look very pale, so perhaps +a day’s rest will be desirable. But really I shall not be able to +remain for more than one day longer. I have so many engagements----” + +And she affected to consult a dainty blue-and-gold note-book, which +assuredly did contain a sufficiently full program for the week, but +which would not have bound her if she had not found it convenient. + +With Blanche, Lois was more open. Miss Dormer came for a little while +into her room, which the girls would gladly have shared, and listened +with absorbed interest to the brief account of the mysterious words +spoken on the terrace. + +When Lois paused, Blanche reflected seriously. + +“You have not consulted Lady Quaintree yet, since he said these +singular things?” she asked. + +“No,” replied Lois, in a low, constrained voice. + +“Is it too late to speak to her now?” + +Lois shrank back. + +“I know it would be best,” she said; “and yet--and yet I do not +like to speak to her until I have something more definite to say. +She has always been kind and good to me; but you must remember that +she has been my mistress, far above me in every respect; and I can +scarcely----I know I am wrong, ungrateful, and yet----” + +Blanche smiled, and shrugged her pretty shoulders almost imperceptibly. + +“I understand,” she said, very softly. “I suppose Captain Desfrayne +will explain himself to her. I wonder much he has not tried to do so +to-night. He might easily have found, or made, an opportunity. You +have told me exactly what he said?” + +“Word for word. It seems imprinted on my memory, and every sentence +seems still sounding in my ears. I suppose I was so startled that it +made a particular impression on me.” + +“Shall I tell you what my opinion is? Probably within a few +days--perhaps to-morrow--you will learn the truth. But may I hazard a +guess?” + +“Pray tell me what you think, my dear friend.” + +Blanche fixed her eyes on the pale face of Lois. + +“It is my belief,” she said, very slowly, speaking as if +deliberately--“it is my firm conviction that he is secretly married.” + +Lois shrank back once more. Such an idea had not occurred to her; but +she could not refuse to see the probability of the suggestion. She was +unable to speak. Somehow, ice seemed to fall upon her heart. + +“Secretly married!” she at length echoed faintly. “Why should he be +ashamed or afraid to acknowledge such a thing?” + +“That remains to be seen,” replied Miss Dormer. “But I believe such +to be the fact. I have read and heard of many cases where gentlemen, +handsome and proud as Captain Desfrayne, have married persons whom they +had every reason to be ashamed of. But he may not be ashamed of his +marriage, my dear. There are many reasons why people conceal that they +are married.” + +Long after Blanche quitted her, Lois remained gazing from her open +window, painfully meditating. He was perhaps, then, already married? + +Tired, agitated, weak from fright and from the strain on her nervous +system, the young girl rested her head upon her hands, and a few tears +trickled over her fingers. She started up. + +“What folly!” she muttered. “Why do I dwell so much on the words he +spoke to-night? What does it signify? I do not care for him. He is +a stranger to me, and likely to remain such. When I have been duly +informed of the reasons why he is unable to assist me in doubling my +fortune by marrying me, there will be an end of the matter. I am +almost sorry now I did not agree to Lady Quaintree’s suggestion, and +return to London to-morrow. Probably he will send a letter to her +ladyship by his servant some time to-morrow afternoon. I do not wish to +marry him. I will never marry any one I do not love, and I have never +yet seen any one I could really care for. I will go to bed, and get to +sleep, as I ought to have done about two hours ago.” + +She did go to bed; but the effort to sleep was quite an abortive one. +Feverishly she turned from side to side, unable to rid herself of the +memory of those eloquent glances, those deeply regretful broken words, +those pathetic tones. + +Until at last she arrived at the conclusion that she would willingly +have forfeited her newly acquired fortune never to have heard of or +seen Paul Desfrayne. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE BREAK OF DAWN. + + +It was with difficulty Gilardoni could curb his impatient desire for +his master’s return. Could he by any possibility have imagined in which +direction to seek for him, he would have started off in quest before +the storm was well exhausted. But he was absolutely a stranger in this +part of the world, and for aught he could tell, his master might be the +same. + +He was perforce obliged to remain in Captain Desfrayne’s rooms in +absolute inaction, listening with keenly strained watchfulness to every +sound, every footfall of man or beast. + +Unfortunately, the rooms did not overlook the yard through which the +young officer must enter the barracks, so Gilardoni did not enjoy the +half-irritating consolation of watching the gate by which he would come. + +It was very late before there was the slightest sign of Captain +Desfrayne’s coming. + +In fact, Gilardoni at length, somehow, lost count, and was only +recalled to his eager watch by a gentle touch upon his shoulder. He +sprang to his feet, unaware that he had fallen asleep. + +Captain Desfrayne had come into the room quietly. At first he had +thought of letting the poor tired fellow have his sleep to the end in +peace; but, finding he needed his services, he had aroused him. + +“No matter, my good Gilardoni,” he said, with that pleasant, winning, +yet sad, smile that had become habitual to him. “I have no doubt you +are tired waiting for me. I am dog-tired myself. This afternoon, I was +caught in the storm, and had the good luck”--there was an imperceptible +shade of irony in his tone--“to find shelter in a friend’s house, so +was delayed. Will you----” + +The words died on his lips. Gilardoni had placed the tiny packet in the +silver tissue-paper on the table, just within the rays of the lamp, +and Paul Desfrayne’s glance happened to light on it as he spoke. + +With a hasty movement, he put out his hand to take it up, but the +Italian was more swift, and with the rapidity of lightning covered the +packet with the palm of his hand, but without removing it from the +table. + +The two young men looked into each other’s face for some moments. Not +a sound was heard beyond the monotonous tick-tick of the clock on the +chimneypiece. + +“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Captain Desfrayne. + +He recollected the night when he engaged this man as his servant--it +seemed months ago--when he had seen him clench his fist at the pictured +resemblance to Lucia Guiscardini. + +Gilardoni took up the tiny gold cross in its filmy covering, and kept +it in his hand. + +“Sir,” he said, “this morning you dropped this--as I supposed. I picked +it up----” + +“Both self-evident facts. As it happens to belong to _me_, and you +acknowledge my proprietorship, why do you not restore it to me?” said +Captain Desfrayne. “Do you know what it is?” + +Gilardoni laughed bitterly. + +“I naturally opened the packet, in order to ascertain what the contents +might be,” he responded, “for I was not certain until now that it had +really been dropped by you, sir. It is----” + +“What is it? A gold cross, a pendant for a watch-chain.” + +“More than that.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Sir, may I ask you a question?” + +“A thousand, if you will let me have my own property, and be brief +enough to let me get to bed within half an hour, for I sorely need +rest.” + +“Sir--my good master, to whom I owe so much kindness and charity--I am +not going to ask this question out of impertinent curiosity, but--but +from a sufficiently reasonable and strong motive.” + +“Come, let us have the question without further preamble.” + +“I will ask you two questions. Did you buy this cross, or was it given +to you?” + +Captain Desfrayne hesitated before replying, as a man in the +witness-box might do for fear of criminating himself. + +“It was given to me,” he at length replied. + +“By a woman?” + +Captain Desfrayne looked keenly at his questioner. The idea that he was +a former lover of the beautiful Italian prima donna’s, again occurred +to him. + +“If it will afford you any gratification to know, I do not object to +admitting that it was given to me by a woman,” he said. + +“By an Italian?” + +“By an Italian? Yes.” + +“It was a love-gift?” + +An exclamation of anger escaped Gilardoni’s master, and he impatiently +stretched out his hand. + +“Enough of this nonsense!” he exclaimed, with displeasure. “Give me +that packet, and get you to bed. Your wits are addled by the nap you +were betrayed into.” + +Gilardoni moved a step nearer to Captain Desfrayne, and, gripping him +tightly by the wrist, looked with intent, searching earnestness into +his face, as if he would read his soul. There was nothing sinister or +menacing in his attitude, gestures, or expression. He had simply the +appearance of a man carried away by some self-absorbing desire to learn +a fact of paramount interest to himself. + +“This cross,” he said, “was given to you by Lucia Guiscardini.” + +“I do not understand why the fact should interest you,” answered +Paul Desfrayne. “It certainly did come from her hand. What was Lucia +Guiscardini to you, or you to Lucia Guiscardini, that the sight of her +gifts to another should cause you so much emotion?” + +“Did she tell you where she had obtained this toy?” asked Gilardoni. + +“I did not think of inquiring. She linked it on my watch-chain one +day, and there was an end of the affair.” + +“I knew this as well as if I had been present,” muttered the Italian. +“Oh! false, wicked, traitorous serpent!” + +These latter words he spoke so rapidly in his native language that his +master did not catch their import. + +“If you knew, why the deuce have you put yourself to the trouble of +asking so many questions? I should be glad to know what you mean by +cross-examining me in this ridiculous manner. You apparently consider +you have no very good reason to like this same Lucia Guiscardini. Has +she done you any harm?” + +“She has ruined my happiness--blighted my life--that is all. No, I have +no great reason to remember her with feelings of good-will.” + +“As you have asked me some questions, I may be allowed the privilege of +retaliating. May I ask if she jilted you?” + +“No. Oh! no. Would to Heaven she had done so, and saved me these years +of bitter hate and regret!” + +“Is she your sister?” demanded Paul Desfrayne, startled by the +overthrow of the supposition he had so readily built up. + +“No. She is the only woman I have ever loved, or can ever love again.” + +“Do you still love her, or do you hate her for being so far beyond you?” + +Gilardoni regarded his master with a strange, inexplicable look, and +then broke into a low, savagely bitter laugh. + +“May I ask, sir,” he said, “if she jilted _you_? She was quite capable +of playing the coquette to amuse herself, and then laughing in your +face, for her soul was really steeped in ambitious desires.” + +“I believe, my good fellow, ambition was her besetting sin--is still, +if what folks say be true. No, she did not jilt me. But you have not +answered my question. Be frank with me. Tell me why you hate this +woman. Why do you hate her--and yet, why do you feel anger at finding +her gifts in the possession of another?” + +“This cross,” said Gilardoni, tearing it from its wrapper, and holding +it out at arm’s length, with a strange, vindictive smile, “was my gift +to her--given the day I told her I loved her, and asked her----” + +“What?” + +“She pretended she returned my love. Bah! Her heart was as cold as +ice. She cares for no one but herself. She was born a peasant girl, +yet never was princess of blood royal more proud, more insolent, more +resolved to stand above the common herd. I adored her. I was like one +bereft of his senses when she was near me. She had but to will, and I +obeyed like the basest slave. Bah! I made an idol and tricked it out +with all the graces of my love-smitten imagination, and fell down and +worshiped it. I believed that she was exactly what my weak, foolish +heart pictured her to be. I would have raised her from her ignoble +station, but not to the height she desired to climb. To be a Russian +princess, or the lady of some great English milord, was her dream.” + +“I know it,” said Paul Desfrayne, very quietly, yet he felt that some +great revelation was at hand. That the revelation was to be to his +advantage he did not hope. + +“But not at the time when I linked about her neck the chain that held +this poor little gewgaw,” cried Gilardoni excitedly. “No, no. At that +time she was barely conscious of her power to charm--just waking to +the consciousness of her dangerous charm of beauty. I was her first +victim, her first triumph. She was a girl of sixteen then; I was about +six or seven years her senior. We had been neighbors and friends +from childhood. I taught her such songs and snatches of music as I +occasionally picked up, and she loved to warble the chants and psalms +she heard at chapel. She had not discovered that she had a fortune +in her throat. If she had not found out _that_, we might have been a +happy, contented couple at this day.” + +Paul Desfrayne looked at the excited face of Gilardoni in a strange, +contemplative silence for a moment or two, as the Italian paused. The +dark, foreign face was lividly pale from passion; the dark, gleaming +eyes were burning with inward fire. + +“I thought you assured me just this moment,” observed the young +officer, “that Lucia Guiscardini had not jilted you. If you loved her, +and she declared she reciprocated your affection, why, it is to be +imagined that the course of true love must have run tolerably smooth. +A little hypocrisy, I believe, is supposed to be pardonable with the +feminine part of our common humanity. If she said she loved you, her +affection was next best to reality.” + +“She declared she loved me. I believed her,” said Gilardoni fiercely. +“I believed her because--I supposed because I wished it to be true. I +fancied no man was ever so happy as I. For a while I walked no longer +on earth, but on roseate clouds of happiness. I despise myself when +I look back on that time. Perhaps I am not the first who has been +betrayed into folly by the arts and wiles of a beautiful, treacherous +girl,” the Italian added, shrugging his shoulders. + +“You have not yet given me the slightest idea of the reason why +you so cordially dislike Madam Guiscardini, if that be her correct +designation,” said Captain Desfrayne. “You indulge in the most vehement +invectives against her, yet state no specific charge. You say you made +a fool of yourself about her, and that she laughed in her sleeve at +your declarations of affection. Certainly, very shabby on her part, +but, then, it is a thing beautiful, vain, silly women do every day. Why +should you cherish such rancor against her? I suppose she found she +could make a better market of her beauty and wonderful talents than by +disposing of them to a man who could never hope to raise her beyond the +level of, say, a wealthy farmer’s wife. Do not be too severe upon her.” + +“If she had laughed at me, and left me,” cried Gilardoni, throwing out +his hands with impetuosity, “I could have forgiven her; I might have +forgotten her. It could not have been that I could ever have loved +again; but what of that? I do not believe in love _now_. But no. She +left the poison of her treacherous touch upon my life. I could kill +her, if she were within my reach.” + +“Such hate must be justified by very serious provocation,” said Paul +Desfrayne. “May I ask how your love was turned to such bitter gall, +since your suit prospered in the first instance?” + +“By deeds of the blackest treachery.” + +“In a word, may I ask--since we are playing at the game of question +and answer--may I once more ask, why do you hate the beautiful Lucia +Guiscardini? She did not jilt you, you say--then what relationship does +she hold toward you?” + +Gilardoni turned his great dark eyes upon his master, as if in +surprise, forgetting at the moment that he had not told him of the +completing point of his story. Then he said, with a vindictive +bitterness terrible to hear, because it revealed the smoldering fire +beneath: + +“She is my wife!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +LEONARDO GILARDONI’S STORY. + + +Had the earth yawned suddenly open at his feet, Paul Desfrayne could +not have expressed more utter amazement than was depicted in his face +and in his entire attitude on hearing the declaration made by Leonardo +Gilardoni. He stared as if confounded. + +“Your wife!” he repeated, at length. + +“Certainly. My wife,” answered the valet. + +“Then--then----Great heavens, your _wife_! But it is impossible.” + +“Why should it be impossible?” almost angrily demanded the Italian. “Do +you mean it is impossible that the famous star of the lyrical stage +should be the wife of a poor, penniless fellow like myself? It must +seem strange--I don’t deny it. But in her early days she was one of +the poorest and most obscure of peasant girls, and thought Leonardo +Gilardoni, with his little piece of land, and the savings bequeathed by +his father, quite a catch. No thought of English milords and Russian +princes then.” + +Captain Desfrayne took a hasty turn or two, then again faced his +servant. + +“You amaze me,” he said. “Then how did it happen, since you loved her, +as you say, that you came to be separated from her, and how has it come +about that you appear to be utter strangers, you two? How is it that +she contemplates--if report speak true--marriage with a Russian prince, +if she is already married, the wife of Leonardo Gilardoni?” + +But as he spoke, Paul Desfrayne was thinking, with a half-dazed brain, +that if Lucia Guiscardini should prove to be the wife of this Italian +servant, her marriage with himself must have been perfectly illegal. + +If she were the wife of another, why, he must be free. But it could not +be. He had yet to hear some explanation which would inevitably shut out +from view the bright vision of happy freedom conjured up for a moment +by the wild words of Gilardoni. + +No; it was beyond hope that this poisonous sting could ever be taken +from out his blighted life. + +The lovely, pure face of Lois Turquand, as he had seen it on the +terrace in the dim, dreamy light, rose before him, as if to reproach +him for a wrong unconsciously wrought against her by his fatal marriage. + +It was evident Gilardoni knew nothing whatever of _la_ Lucia’s marriage +with Paul Desfrayne. + +The Italian was watching his master’s countenance as if anxious to +discover the current of his thoughts. There was a momentary pause. Then +Gilardoni said, less excitedly: + +“Why does she think of bettering her condition by a splendid marriage +with a great noble when she is the wife of a poor serving-man like +myself? Simply because she has destroyed the evidence of her unlucky +first marriage.” + +In spite of his better sense, a sharp spasm of disappointment seized +the heart of Paul Desfrayne. He was, perhaps, worse placed than before. +Until now, he had given Lucia Guiscardini credit for being what +she really represented herself to be, and had imagined that balked +ambition rather than absolute wickedness had led to her vile deception +and iniquitous treachery toward himself. She had seemed a wild, +undisciplined creature, ignorant of the world and its ways, cold and +reserved except on a few occasions when she had permitted him to snatch +feverish kisses from her lips, and press her in his arms. But now, if +Gilardoni’s accusations were true, she was a crafty, evil, unscrupulous +woman, who had crushed an innocent man with the hope to step up into +wealth and power. + +She was the wife of this servant, yet at any moment, did she so will, +she could claim to stand by the side of Captain Paul Desfrayne, whose +legal wife she was, until proof of a prior marriage could be obtained. +Wife of Paul Desfrayne, so proud of his untarnished family name and +descent, so adoringly fond of his mother, whose besetting sin was +family pride and love of the world’s homage. + +“Destroyed the evidence of her first marriage!” Paul Desfrayne slowly +repeated. “I cannot understand you.” + +“Sir, I will tell you the pitiful history. ’Tis not very long. As +children, Lucia and I were playmates. She was an imperious, overbearing +tyrant; but her beauty, her wiles, her artless ways, as they appeared +to be, gained for her complete dominion over my every thought and +action. I was some six or seven years her senior, and useful to +her--her slave, her jackall. + +“She was an orphan, and lived with an old woman, some distant kind of +relation. I lost my parents when about eighteen or so, and was left my +own master. When Lucia was some ten or eleven years old, I resolved +that she, and none other, should be my wife at some future day. I told +her so many, many times, and she generally agreed, laughingly. When she +was sixteen, I found that I passionately loved her. Our future marriage +had been a kind of jest until then; but at last I discovered--or +fancied such to be the case--I took it into my head that I must obtain +her love, and make her my wife, or else my heart must break. + +“I can scarcely conceive the wild state of my feelings _now_ when I +look back. I made a serious declaration of my love the day I gave +her this cross; I urged her to give me her promise, telling her how +madly I adored her, how rich I hoped to be some day by working hard, +and getting and saving money. She knew exactly how much I was worth. +She knew she would have her own way in everything--she knew how every +thought in my brain, every pulsation of my heart, was given to her. + +“I was the best-circumstanced of those she had to choose from, and I +think--I believe--some beam of liking for me flickered in her cold +breast; but I don’t know. She decided to give me her promise.” + +“Which she ratified?” said Paul Desfrayne, as Gilardoni paused. + +“Yes. We were married within a few weeks at the nearest chapel. Some +time before our marriage, Lucia’s brother who had been brought up in +France by his mother’s uncle, and reared as a priest, had come to take +charge of our spiritual affairs. We were married by him. I believed +there had never been a happier man than myself when I led the cruel, +treacherous girl away from the little altar.” + +“Go on, I beg of you.” + +“For some months all went well. Lucia commanded, and I obeyed. There +was but one will in the house--hers; nothing clashed with it, and so +nothing clouded our happiness. She was very well satisfied; she had +fine clothes, a pretty house, an adoring husband, and triumphed when +she knew she was envied by some of her girl friends. Then, one day, a +famous singer came along. He was staying in the village--it was his +native place, and he roamed about all day. One morning, he was walking +near our cottage: he heard Lucia singing in the little rose-garden. I +was away at a neighboring town. He spoke to her--inflamed her ambition +by telling her she had a fortune in her throat. She did not tell him +she was married, or let him see the ring on her finger, and he told her +she might marry an emperor some day if she pleased.” + +“Did she run away with him?” asked Captain Desfrayne. + +“She told him she would give him an answer in a week, after she had +consulted with her friends, for he asked if she would go to Florence +with him. When I returned, she was like one crazy, her eyes all +a-glitter with joy and astonished delight. I instantly told her I +would never hear of her becoming a singer, and going on the stage. She +tried coaxing, storming, threatening, entreaties, crying, sullenness, +all to no purpose. I was inflexible. During the whole of the week the +same scenes occurred every day, from morning until night--nay, for +the twenty-four hours. The eve of the day when the signor was to come +for his answer found her as resolute as at first to follow the course +pointed out to her by his selfish hand--found me as doggedly determined +to keep her from destroying her own peace and mine.” + +“You did not think you were flinging away a fortune?” said Paul +Desfrayne. + +“All I thought of was that they asked me to scatter my happiness to the +winds,” replied Gilardoni. “What did we want with fortune when we had +enough for our needs? The signor came. He must have learned that this +young girl was married, but he made no sign. She was on the watch for +him, and ran to meet him before he reached the door.” + +“Why did you not hinder them from speaking?” + +“Pooh! Unless I could have locked her up in a cell, it would have been +utterly impossible to prevent her from communicating with him. She did +not call me, but let him depart. Then she came in and told me that he +had renewed his golden promises, that she had informed him her friends +objected to her becoming a stage singer, but that she hoped to gain +consent, and had requested him to return in three or four days. He was +resolved not to lose sight of her, and waited patiently. She tried +again to shake my determination, but in vain. + +“I then thought of applying to her brother, the priest, for help in +combatting her fatal desires and intentions, but he had consented to +go to America as a missionary, and was at that time away making some +final arrangements--partly settling who should succeed him in his +humble cure. In a fortnight more he was to begin his journey. Lucia +nearly drove me frantic; but a day or two before that fixed for the +final decision, she suddenly became strangely calm and quiet, with the +horrible tranquillity of a wild beast which crouches to take its spring +upon a victim.” + +All these explanations were necessary to render poor Gilardoni’s story +intelligible; but the suspense until he should arrive at the conclusive +point in his recital was almost sickening to his hearer, for whom the +facts possessed an absorbing interest, undreamed of by the narrator. + +Captain Desfrayne did not utter a word when Gilardoni paused for a +moment. + +“Lucia had made up her mind,” the valet continued, “to close with the +alluring offers of the stranger. How do you think she contrived to get +rid of the impediments caused by my stern obstinacy, as she considered +the opposition I raised?” + +“How can I tell?” + +“She made one or two faint efforts to move me that last day; then she +drugged some wine I was to drink in the evening. Having secured a fair +start, she went off with the crabbed old man who had thus torn her from +the home she had made so happy for a few short months.” + +“Did she leave any clue to the place she was bound for?” + +“None. A few lines scrawled on a bit of torn paper told me why she had +gone, and with whom. I found this paper the next morning when I roused +myself from my deathlike sleep. The drug left me weak in body and mind; +some days elapsed before I could gain sufficient strength to form any +plan. Then I made some careful inquiries, for I wished to avoid being +talked about and laughed at by the scandal-loving old women of the +village. I found that there was a probability of finding my wife and +her new music-master at Turin.” + +Paul Desfrayne shuddered. The name of these beautiful Italian cities +always brought back feelings of pain and bitterness to his memory. + +“I traveled day and night,” Gilardoni went on. “Such little property as +I had I sold, realizing a moderate sum of money, for I needed resources +in my pursuit, and knew that the pretty, happy nest could never be +the same to me again. My information, gleaned grain by grain, proved +correct. She was at Turin. Step by step, slowly, laboriously, with the +patience of an Indian, I tracked her out. + +“My ardent love was then undergoing a change, and I felt deep anger +against her for her utter indifference to me, for her rank defiance +of my wishes, of my lawful authority. I discovered her living in an +obscure suburb with an old attendant. Every stratagem I used to obtain +an interview with her failed. I tried to bribe the old servant, or +duenna, or governess, and she first flung my money contemptuously in my +face, and then banged the gates. I wrote, but could not tell whether my +letters reached the cruel hands of my treacherous wife. + +“I watched the doors of her house, but in vain, for I afterward found +that she rarely quitted the house, and then by a small gate at the end +of the large garden, which led into a sheltered lane little frequented. +Her singing-master entered by this gate, and as I was ignorant that +there was any way of obtaining admittance except by the iron gates in +the front of the house, I was baffled in my object of waylaying and +questioning him. By dint of inquiring ceaselessly, I found out where he +lived, and one day I went to his house, and confronted him.” + +“And the result?” + +“I demanded of him my wife--he laughed at me and my reproaches, +entreaties, and threats. At last he menaced me--said that if I again +annoyed him he would hand me over to the authorities as a dangerous +lunatic. He professed to know nothing of the person I asked for. In +spite of my fury, I had the sense to think that perhaps my wife had +given him a name other than her own or mine. I endeavored to reasonably +explain the circumstances of her flight. He sneered at me for an idiot, +or an impostor, and coolly showed me the door. I thank Heaven I did not +slay him in my frenzy and despair.” + +“Then did you ever see the woman--your wife--again?” + +“By accident, I discovered the existence of the little gate at the back +of the house. I was passing down the shaded lane, and noticed the gate +open. The idea of its belonging to the house where my wife was staying +did not occur to me at the moment. I happened to glance through, and +the wild beauty and luxuriance of the large garden attracted my eyes. I +stood for some minutes inhaling the delicious odor of the flowers, when +I heard a step, and the rustle of feminine garments. + +“An instant more, and I saw--I saw my wife, Lucia, pacing slowly along +the path, her skirts trailing over the mingled flowers and weeds of +the flower-borders, her eyes cast down, her arms hanging by her side, +looking weary, and, I fancied, sad. I stood still, spellbound, as if +unable to move a step. For a second my heart melted; the mad love +I cherished rose in all its old intensity. I flattered myself that +perhaps she regretted her precipitation--I induced myself to imagine +that she was to a great extent influenced by the mercenary old dog +who had lured her away. The idea that she might welcome me with a cry +of gladness, and throw herself into my arms with tears of penitence, +unnerved me.” + +“Well?” + +“She drew nearer and nearer, unconscious of my presence, the shrubs +that grew about the door, or gate, serving to conceal me. As she came +close, when I could almost have touched her, she happened to raise her +eyes. She uttered one cry--a cry of fear, or surprise, or both, and +then stood perfectly still, as if turned to stone. I sprang toward her +with one long stride, and caught her by the arm, afraid that even now +she might elude me. + +“I do not remember what either said--it was a repetition of what had +passed before. But I do remember that when I said I would compel her +to obey me, as my wife, and told her she could enter into no contract +without my consent, she stared at me, and broke into contemptuous +laughter--laughter of defiance. She answered that she was no wife +of mine, and acknowledged the authority of no one save her nearest +relative, her brother, the priest. + +“For a moment I really thought her brain was turned. I asked her if she +could deny that her brother had joined our hands in the little chapel +of our native village. She declared I was uttering rank falsehood, or +impertinent folly. I swore I would soon prove our marriage, and bring +witnesses by the dozen. She laughed again, and said I was welcome to +indulge in my own fancies, unless they annoyed her.” + +“You said she had destroyed the evidence of the marriage,” said Captain +Desfrayne, fixing his eyes on Gilardoni, as if to read his very soul. + +“Thunderstruck, confounded, I knew not what to say. I thought it was +a ruse to get me to leave the garden, for perhaps she feared I might +enter the house, and then be difficult to dislodge. So I no longer +thought she had lost her senses, but that she was trying to do by +cunning what she could not hope to effect by force or persuasion. But +in the end she had her own way. It was of no earthly use arguing with +her, or threatening: she was immovable, and answered every sentence I +addressed to her by the same firm iteration of the fact that she was no +wife of mine. + +“She laughed insultingly when I said the law would speedily decide +between us. Perhaps she knew it was an idle threat of mine, for what +could the law do to bring again to my arms the woman I had deluded +myself into imagining loved me? I was unable to guess what she meant by +so boldly denying she had been married to me. In brief, I left her. I +lost no time, but hurried back to obtain proof of my marriage.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +A VISION OF FREEDOM. + + +“On my return to our native village, after an absence of some two +months,” continued Gilardoni, “I found that the priest, Lucia’s +brother, had departed. His successor--a stranger--received me very +kindly; but when I revealed to him my painful situation, and asked +his advice, he looked perfectly distressed. When I begged him to let +me have a copy of the register of my marriage, he told me, with much +agitation, that the book had been stolen.” + +“Stolen!--by her?” exclaimed Paul Desfrayne. + +“Without a doubt,” replied Gilardoni. “He had not arrived at the time +it was purloined. I believe that the night Lucia fled from my home she +gained access to the chapel, taking the keys from her brother’s room. +It was not until the eve of his departure that he knew anything of the +loss, for there had not been any occasion to use the book during those +last weeks.” + +“She had taken this daring means to free herself from your authority, +or the legal control you might have exercised over her?” said Paul +Desfrayne. “Had she, think you, destroyed the book?” + +He made the inquiry with a flutter at his heart. + +“I suppose so,” answered Gilardoni. “It is impossible she would have +had the folly to preserve it. The probability--the certainty is, that +she burned it.” + +“What infamy--what wickedness!” cried Paul Desfrayne. + +Gilardoni shrugged his shoulders. + +“Her insatiate ambition, her craving for wealth, station, luxury, +overmastered all other feelings,” he said. + +“Then she was free to defy you and all the world?” + +“Quite so.” + +“What did you do on making this extraordinary discovery?” + +“What could I do? No inquiries could enable me to glean the slightest +clue to the place whither her brother, the priest, had gone. I sought +in every direction my limited resources admitted of for information as +to his whereabouts, but, beyond the fact that he had gone to America, +could learn nothing.” + +“America? What part of America?” + +“I could not ascertain. Some place in South America. Afterward, when +I began to move about more freely, I might perhaps have obtained the +name of his location, but by that time I had lost all desire of even +seeing or hearing of the treacherous woman I had made my wife. I said +to myself, even if I succeeded in proving the legality of my union with +her, of what avail would it be? She would never return to me: even +if she did, she would be like another creature, not the Lucia I had +loved--the pretty, innocent girl I fancied loved me.” + +“Did you see her again?” + +“I made no attempt to do so. I wrote a few lines, bitterly reproaching +her for the crime she had committed--the double crime. Of that brief +letter she took no notice whatever. She continued, I believe, to study +with the Signor Ballarini, until fitted to appear on the stage. I do +not know what agreement she made with him; the only thing I know is +that she came out under her own name, not, thanks be to Providence, +under mine!” + +“And then she attained her desire of becoming a star of the first +magnitude,” said Captain Desfrayne, as Gilardoni paused. “She gained +the wealth, luxury, power, all but the rank she yearned for. Did you +ever see her after that day you came on her by accident in the garden +at Turin?” + +“I have at rare intervals happened to catch a glimpse of her, without +desiring to see her, driving past in her carriage, perhaps,” replied +Gilardoni. “Not even once have I had the curiosity to enter the theater +when she has been singing; the screech of some arch fiend would have +been as pleasing in my ears as her finest notes. Not once have I felt +an inclination to ask a question as to her way of life. + +“People have told me that she is one of the best of women, noted for +her charity and goodness. They little knew that he to whom they spoke +had the first right to be considered in her schemes of benevolence. +I took no care of my little money, already diminished by my searches +after her unworthy self, and after her brother. + +“The consequence was, I soon became reduced almost to the verge +of want. The good priest who had succeeded the Padre Josef, my +brother-in-law, obtained for me a situation as servant to a +nobleman--the Count Di Venosta--with whom I was when I first saw you, +sir. My life flowed in a dull current until his death; after that, +illness, poverty, misery, despair, until these last few days, when I +had the good fortune to meet with you, and you had compassion on my +friendless state.” + +Captain Desfrayne considered for some moments. Should he reveal his +painful secret to this man who had been so frank with him? He could +not resolve to do so: the humiliation would be too great. Before he +had felt his situation most painful. These revelations rendered it +well-nigh insupportable. + +That Madam Guiscardini should have the daring to plan the theft of the +marriage-register, and the nerve, the cool audacity, to carry her plot +into execution, and then refrain from the destruction of the proof she +desired to keep from all men’s eyes, was incredible. Yet a strange +thought occurred to him. + +“If no proof of her marriage with you exists,” he said to the Italian, +“how do you account for the fact that she evidently fears to accept any +of the brilliant offers they say she has received?” + +“Very easily,” answered Leonardo, with a savage grimace. “Although the +book is, or may be, no longer in existence, her brother may be found +any day, and he could prove her marriage. I do not care to seek him, +and if I did, my poverty restrains me. But she probably knows well that +if she dared to marry any of these infatuated nobles, who are ready to +throw their coronets at her feet, I should stand forth and denounce +her. If I declare her to be my wife, she must disprove my words. I, in +my poverty, can do nothing; but a rich man--such as she would desire to +wed--could seek for the man who could seal my words as truth.” + +A thrill of hope ran through the heart of his hearer. For a moment +the impulse to tell him the bitter facts of his own share in Lucia’s +miserable history almost overmastered Paul Desfrayne’s prudence. But +he resolved to make no sign until he had consulted Frank Amberley, +to whom he looked now as his chief friend and adviser in his present +difficulties. If he could get leave of absence, he meant to go to +London for some hours the next day, in order to see the young lawyer. + +“Perhaps her brother is dead,” he suggested. + +“Perhaps so,” assented the other. “But she would feel secure if such +were the case, and we should soon hear of her as princess, duchess, or +some such exalted personage.” + +“He might die, and make no sign. Missionary priests are sometimes slain +in obscure places, or die of hunger on toilsome journeys, and are never +heard of more,” Captain Desfrayne said. + +He knew full well that it was in reality her luckless marriage with +himself that fixed the bar. + +“Sir,” Leonardo said, “I think I have earned the right to ask how this +cross--my first gift to her--came from her hands into your possession.” + +This was a home-thrust. + +“She fancied I was the rich milord who might one day place a coronet +on her brow,” said Paul Desfrayne, very slowly. “I was one of her most +ardent admirers at Florence.” + +“I understand.” + +“Afterward--some time later--she discovered that I was--that I was +not the wealthy nobleman she had imagined me to be,” half-stammered +Gilardoni’s master. + +“That was enough. I comprehend. That was quite enough for her. But if +she wished to entrap you, she would have dared to consent to marry you.” + +“My good fellow, I wish to get to my room,” said the young officer, who +felt sick at heart, although a faint gleam of hope had come to him. “It +is almost break of dawn.” + +These last words struck him with a singular sense of being familiar, +as if he had uttered them in some previous stage of existence, or had +heard some one speak them at some startling crisis. + +“You must be tired out, sir.” + +Gilardoni pushed the little cross toward his master without making any +remark about it. + +“I don’t want the thing, Gilardoni,” said Paul Desfrayne, with a +half-contemptuous sigh. “It is yours of right, I doubt not. It can have +no value for me. I do not know why I have preserved it.” + +He took up the taper which his valet had lighted, and went into his +bedroom, saying he had no need of further service from Gilardoni. + +Then he closed and locked the door, and sat down on the edge of his +bed, to consider his position. + +A thousand distracting thoughts ran through his brain, but above all +dominated the one idea that he must, at any hazard, try to find out +if the Padre Josef were alive or dead. If alive, he could loose these +agonizing bonds that were cutting his life-strings. If dead---- + +If dead, then no hope remained. + +At all events, the first step would be to see Frank Amberley. + +What if he essayed another interview with Lucia Guiscardini, and, armed +with his present knowledge, sought to extort some kind of confession +from her? Should he endeavor to make her tell whether she knew, or did +not know, if her brother yet lived? + +With his unhappy experience of her obstinate and violent temper, he +could scarcely hope for any good result from seeing her. He had no +power or influence over her, could offer no inducement of any kind to +persuade her to admit anything. Too well he knew beforehand that she +would flatly deny her marriage with Leonardo Gilardoni--would probably +deny that she had now or ever had had a brother at all. She would +either laugh in his face, or storm with rage, as the humor suited her. + +To seek out the priest would demand an immense outlay, and if, after +all, the search should prove unavailing, or he should be dead, then he, +Paul Desfrayne, would be left penniless, and possibly heavily in debt. + +Would it be well to send Gilardoni on the quest? No one would seek +as he should. Each little trifle that might escape others, however +hawk-eyed, would be sure clues to his eager, vengeful glance. + +“I will decide nothing now,” he at last thought. “I will be entirely +guided by Frank Amberley’s advice. He will be able to judge what is +best, and, if the search is advisable, will be capable of estimating +the probable expenses. My liberty alone would be worth ten years of my +life.” + +For a moment the vision of what might be if his freedom were secured +presented itself before his mind, but he dared not indulge in the +dangerous contemplation of such a joy, and sank into troubled slumbers +as the first rays of the morning sun penetrated into the chamber. + +His face looked worn and weary in the fresh morning beams, as it rested +on his arm. + +The heart of his fond mother must have been melted with love and pity +had she gazed on the distressed face, and noted the restless tossing of +the wearied body, to which sleep seemed to bring no refreshment. + + * * * * * + +The day came in its inevitable course. + +Lady Quaintree and Lois made sure that they would see Captain Desfrayne +during the afternoon. Ordinary etiquette, if no other feeling, must +bring him to inquire how the young ladies fared after their fright. + +Lady Quaintree did not attempt to induce Lois to confide in her. +Lois, on her side, did not volunteer any remark beyond a very few dry +commonplaces regarding the rescue of herself and Blanche Dormer from +their perilous situation. The young girl made no sign whereby Lady +Quaintree could judge of the state of her feelings. + +Both were prepared to wait with a kind of painful uncertainty for +Captain Desfrayne’s coming. Each wished, for different reasons, that +this journey had never been undertaken. + +Had any rational excuse been at hand, each would have urged an +immediate return to London. + +The question was settled very unexpectedly. As the three ladies rose +from breakfast, a servant came in very hurriedly, the bearer of a +telegram directed to Lady Quaintree. + +Her ladyship’s hand trembled slightly as she took the paper from the +salver, and she hesitated for a moment before breaking the envelope. + +Telegrams, when unexpected, are always more or less alarming, and Lady +Quaintree could not think of any possible good reason why any one +should address one to her. She took it out, however, and, putting on +her gold-rimmed spectacles, read the curt sentences: + + “Return as soon as possible. My father ill, though not seriously so. + He wishes for you. A train leaves Holston at 12:15; the next at 2:45.” + +It was from her son Gerald. + +Lady Quaintree gave the telegram to the two girls, while she inquired +if the messenger was still in waiting. + +The youth who had come from the railway-station was called into the +room. Lois wrote an answer from Lady Quaintree’s dictation to the +effect that they would start by the 12:15 train, and this was sent by +the same messenger who had brought the telegram. + +As the visit was simply a flying one, little preparation had been +made, and the ladies’ luggage was of the most portable description; so +Justine, who was hastily summoned, had nothing to do in the shape of +packing. + +Mrs. Ormsby was sent for, and came in dignified haste. + +“We are obliged to leave a day sooner than we had arranged for, Mrs. +Ormsby,” said Lady Quaintree. “Miss Turquand is not sure of what time +she may return, and it may be a long period before I come again. But we +are both well pleased with the order and arrangement of everything in +the establishment under your control.” + +The housekeeper curtsied to imply her thanks and gratification. Her +ladyship requested that the carriage might be ready at once, as they +left by the 12:15 train for London. + +A council of war was held as to the desirability of Blanche’s +accompanying them. No time remained for consulting her parents, so at +length Lady Quaintree settled that she should go with them. + +“Even if my lord should prove more unwell than my son admits,” she +said, “you will be a great comfort to me and to our dear Lois; and if +you should find my house irksome under the circumstances, I can easily +locate you with any one of half a dozen friends, who would be delighted +to receive you, my love.” + +The three were soon equipped for their journey. As the day was soft and +warm, almost threatening to be sultry and overcoming, the completion +of their toilets consisted in donning country straw hats, dainty lace +capes, and gloves. Lady Quaintree folded a soft white shawl of fine +silky wool about her, and they descended to the carriage, having +hurriedly partaken of luncheon prepared by Mrs. Ormsby. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE EXPRESS TO LONDON. + + +“What messages are we to leave for Captain Desfrayne, my dear?” asked +Lady Quaintree of Lois. + +They had both left his name to the last, each loath to be the one to +recall it. + +Her ladyship noted, while apparently trying to master a refractory +button on her glove, that the rose tint on Lois’ cheeks deepened, and +then flowed over the rest of her face, while the long, dark lashes +drooped. + +“Dear madam,” said the young girl, “that is a question I should rather +have asked you, who know so much better than I do the proper things to +be said.” + +“Proper, my love,” repeated the old lady, smiling. “It is not a matter +of saying ‘proper’ or ‘civil’ things. What do you wish to say?” + +The color faded from Lois’ face, and then flowed back again in a +roseate glow. + +“I am sure Miss Dormer and I are both most grateful to Captain +Desfrayne for his kindness----” began Lois. + +Blanche put her hands on Lois’ waist, and gave her a gentle shake, and +a glance of reproach. + +“‘Miss Dormer!’ You unkind Lois!” she said. “I thought I had asked you +to call me Blanche.” + +Lois felt as if she must say things worthy of smiling rebuke, whether +she willed it or not. + +“Come, we must leave some message, in case the captain should happen to +call,” said Lady Quaintree. + +“Mrs. Ormsby,” she continued, turning to the housekeeper, who was +following to attend them to their carriage, “if Captain Desfrayne--the +gentleman who dined here yesterday--should come during the day, will +you be good enough to inform him that we were unexpectedly summoned to +London on the most urgent affairs?” + +“I will do so, my lady,” replied Mrs. Ormsby. + +The carriage drove off, containing the three ladies, Justine and the +one or two other servants immediately attending them. There was no time +to send for Blanche’s maid; but it was agreed that she should be sent +for at once on their arrival at Lowndes Square. + +Lois gazed at the stately Hall and its lovely grounds, with strange, +mingled feelings, as the carriage bore her swiftly away. An +uncomfortable sensation rose in her throat, as if tears of regret were +stealing from their hiding-place, as she reflected that she was in all +likelihood losing a chance of seeing Paul Desfrayne, and hearing his +promised explanation. + +“He will come to-day; and I shall not be here,” she thought. + +His face and form haunted her, try as she would to banish the +recollection. A dangerous longing, inexplicable to herself, rose in +her heart, just to see him once more. A wicked longing, she knew, if +he belonged to another. And the impediment which hindered him from +addressing her was evidently an insuperable one. His words, although +mystifying, left no doubt. + +“I wish I had never seen or heard of him,” she said to herself. “Yet +why should I let myself think of him in this foolish, weak way. My +pride, if nothing else, should forbid my wishing even to see him. It is +enough that he has assured me he can never think of me. Why do I think +about him, except as a harassing care forced on me? I have known him +but a few days; he is a stranger, an absolute stranger to me, and yet I +continue to brood over his words, and my resentment against him seems +gone.” + +The drive to the station was even pleasanter than the drive of the +day before. As yet the day was tolerably cool, and snow-white clouds +flecked a sky of purest blue. + +Lady Quaintree was not sorry to be rid of the handsome claimant to her +protégée’s hand, heart, and desirable fortune, if it were only for a +while. She could not, for all her maternal pride, be blind to the fact +that Paul Desfrayne would be a formidable rival to her Gerald, unless +the latter could secure a very firm interest in the affections of the +young lady who might be addressed by both. + +A polite guard chose a convenient compartment for the ladies. A smile, +a hasty uplifting of the finger to his cap as Lady Quaintree’s delicate +pearl-gray glove approached his brown palm, and then he closed the door +respectfully. + +But at the last moment, and just as the guard blew his whistle, a +gentleman came rushing on the platform. + +“Going by the express, sir? Here you are, sir--here you are. Not a +minute to be lost,” cried the guard. + +The good fellow had intended that the ladies should have their +compartment all to themselves; but he had no time to move from the spot +where he stood. The train began to draw its snakelike body to move out +from the station. He threw open the door, and the gentleman sprang +lightly on the step, steadied himself for an instant, and then entered. + +The three ladies turned their gaze simultaneously on their fellow +passengers, and the same exclamation escaped their lips at the same +moment: + +“Captain Desfrayne!” + + * * * * * + +Truly, Captain Desfrayne on his way to London to consult Frank +Amberley. He recognized the ladies as he balanced himself on the step +of the carriage. + +Had it been possible, he would have drawn back, and gone anywhere +rather than continue this journey in Lois’ company. For a second his +eyes met hers. New hope, clouded by pain and uncertainty, beamed in +his; fear, timid reproach, inquiry, doubt, glanced from hers. + +Blanche could not help exchanging a look of amazement with Lois, nor +could it escape her notice that the telltale crimson mounted to Miss +Turquand’s cheeks, just now so pale. + +“Captain Desfrayne! An unexpected pleasure,” said Lady Quaintree, +extending her hand, though secretly ill pleased. + +“Quite so,” answered Captain Desfrayne, himself anything but delighted. +“I had not the most distant idea you and Miss Turquand intended to quit +Flore Hall so soon.” + +He could not hinder his eyes from wandering to Lois’ face. The young +girl, filled with anger at his inconsistent conduct, averted her head, +and gazed from the window. When she stole a glance at him again, he was +looking from the window on his side, his face clouded by the care and +trouble that seemed rarely absent. + +Nobody said much during the journey; for subjects of conversation were +not readily found, and even Blanche had abundant matter for mental +consideration. + +To Lois and Paul Desfrayne, it seemed like a dream more than reality. + +The thickly clustered houses, the red-tiled roofs and chimney-pots +began to give intimation that they were nearing London. + +“We may not hope, then, to see much of you this week, at any rate?” +Lady Quaintree observed, shaking herself out of a brief slumber. + +He shook his head. + +“I must go back to Holston as soon as I can,” he replied. + +The express slackened speed, and at last rolled into the terminus. + +Gerald was waiting for his mother on the platform. He assisted her +from the carriage, leaving the care of the two young girls to Captain +Desfrayne. + +Lady Quaintree eagerly paused to make anxious inquiries about her +husband. She had moved on a few steps, and Captain Desfrayne felt he +must offer some kind of excuse to Lois for not affording her the clue +to his mysterious behavior he had promised. He laid a tremulous hand on +her wrist, and drew her some steps away from her friend. + +“Miss Turquand,” he said eagerly, looking her full in the face, a +deeply troubled, excited expression in his eyes, “I must entreat of +you not to judge me harshly, but with mercy and kindness. I merit all +your pity. I am a most unhappy man. It would have been well if I could +have explained my position last night, as I meant to do; but this is no +time or place to end the conversation then begun and interrupted. May I +beseech you to suspend your judgment until I have been able to tell you +how I am circumstanced?” + +“I have no right to judge you,” said Lois coldly. “If you are unhappy, +you have my pity.” + +She felt piqued that he fixed no time for giving her the promised +explanation. He left her still mystified. + +“Will you give me your promise not to condemn me until you have heard +my story?” urged Paul Desfrayne. + +“I repeat, I have no right to judge you,” said Lois. “Those who have +the care of me and my affairs have the best right to hear what you have +to say.” + +If her words sounded cold and repelling to her hearer, they were yet +more so to herself. She felt that she spoke harshly, and with scarcely +veiled bitterness, and, as she saw the young man droop his head, she +hastily added, with a softened tone: + +“Your language, sir, is strange and perplexing to me. You allude +to some unhappy circumstances, of which, as you say, I am entirely +ignorant. If you see fit to explain these circumstances to me, I think +you may count on my sympathy. If you do not deem it necessary that I +should be further acquainted with them, let it be forgotten that you +have ever touched on them at all.” + +The young girl, faint and agitated from contending feelings, put out +her hands like one who does not see her way clearly. Blanche, who had +drawn back, stepped hastily to her side, and gave her an arm to lean +upon. + +“My poor darling!” whispered Blanche tenderly. + +The sympathetic accents vibrated on Lois’ heart like an electric +shock. She roused herself from the momentary weakness to which she had +yielded, and extended her hand to Captain Desfrayne. + +“Adieu, sir,” she said. + +The young man caught her hand, and involuntarily pressed the slender +fingers within his own. He gazed for an instant into the dreamy eyes, +so pure, so frank, so truthful, so trusting, then, loosing the little +hand, turned away with a deep sigh. + +As he did so, Lady Quaintree looked back, and made a signal to the +girls to accompany her to the carriage, which was in waiting. She +smiled in her own gracious way upon the young officer, though she +really wished him at Jericho. + +He advanced, and lifted his hat. + +“I presume, madam, I can be of no service to you?” he said, glancing +for a moment at the Honorable Gerald, who was unknown to him. + +Lady Quaintree, remembering that the young men were strangers to each +other, introduced them. + +“If you should happen to make a longer stay in town than you count on,” +she said, “we shall be very pleased to see you, either this evening, +or to-morrow, or at any time it may suit you to come. I find my lord’s +illness is not of so serious a nature as at first appeared.” + +An interchange of civil smiles, a shake or two of the hand, some polite +valedictory salutations, and the brief whirling scene was over--past as +a dream. + +“I think I was right,” murmured Blanche, in her friend’s ear, as they +drove off in Lady Quaintree’s luxurious carriage. + +Lois tightly pressed the hand that tenderly sought her own; but did not +meet Blanche’s eye, which she feared for the moment. + +Paul Desfrayne threw himself into a hansom. + +“Alderman’s Lane,” he cried to the driver. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +FRANK AMBERLEY’S ADVICE. + + +Captain Desfrayne was at first so eager and vehement, that Frank +Amberley found it a little difficult to disentangle the strange story +he had to tell. + +The young lawyer did not find himself in an agreeable position. In the +secret depths of his heart he would have infinitely preferred that +Paul Desfrayne should remain bound. So long as his marriage was an +unalterable fact, there was no fear of his carrying off Lois. There was +scant hope for Frank himself, poor fellow; but he was asked to give +his best aid toward demolishing the great bar to her union with this +powerful rival. If she did not care for any one else--and he reflected +with a sigh that she cared little for himself--the probability was that +she would not raise any urgent objections toward fulfilling her dead +benefactor’s wishes. + +But he was generous, and scorned to act a mean and dishonorable part. +The cloud was dissipated from his grave, kind face by a sad smile, and +he said: + +“You wish to ask my advice and assistance how to proceed?” + +“I shall be most thankful if you will give me your opinion as to how I +ought to act,” answered his visitor. + +“Is there any chance of your being able to compel this--your--Madam +Guiscardini to confess whether she has or has not destroyed the stolen +register?” + +“None that I can see. She is of a most stubborn nature. Even if there +were no particular object to be gained, I believe she would obstinately +refuse to do or say anything that did not suit or please her.” + +“I am sincerely sorry for your cruel situation,” said Frank Amberley, +in a tone of profound feeling. + +“Of that I am assured,” replied Paul Desfrayne; “and I come to you in +the full confidence that you will help me to the utmost of your power.” + +“The register being, we will say, destroyed, there is no resource but +to trace out the priest who married Lucia to her peasant lover?” + +“None.” + +“But the expense would be something frightful. There would probably be +a great delay, and in the end perhaps the man might not be discovered.” + +“Could you form any idea of what the search might cost?” + +“It would necessarily depend on the persons employed. If I understood +you aright, you have not trusted your servant, Gilardoni, with the +secret of your own unhappy marriage?” + +“I have not. For one reason, I could not bear to humiliate myself; for +another, I desired to consult you before moving a step or speaking a +word.” + +“I am afraid you will be obliged to take him into your confidence. He +is master of the circumstances; he would have the strongest motive for +tracing out the missing person. He would probably be more economical +and more devoted than any stranger could be. Send him, and let him be +accompanied by a professional detective. Perhaps the search may not be +such a lengthened one as you fear.” + +Paul Desfrayne reflected for a few moments. + +“I had already resolved to abide by your advice,” he said. “Let it +be so. I would give all I have in the world to be free from the +consequences of my own mad folly. When could he set out?” + +“As soon as he could make the necessary preparations. The sooner the +better, I should say.” + +“What do you think the expenses would be likely to come to? It would be +a bitter disappointment should the search continue for a certain time, +and fail almost at the last for want of funds.” + +“Gilardoni, having traveled a good deal on the Continent, as I +understand you have implied, and being accustomed to manage for himself +and others, would be able to give you a better estimate than I could +form. In his hands, I don’t think, after all, it would be so very +great. Say ten or fifteen pounds a week. Suppose it took him ten +months, or even fourteen or eighteen, the calculation is easy.” + +“I will send him to you to-morrow, my dear friend,” said Paul +Desfrayne. “Heaven grant me a happy issue to this search. But--but the +suspense will be something unbearable.” + +“Why, you will constantly hear how the affair is progressing,” urged +Frank Amberley. “Do you think I could aid you by insisting on an +interview with--with this woman?” + +Paul shook his head. + +“I fear it would be time wasted,” he answered. “She would, perhaps, +insult and annoy you----” + +“Pshaw! Her most violent attack would only make me laugh, my dear +fellow,” interrupted Frank Amberley. “It would be amusing. In fact, +I should really like to see this lovely tigress in her own den. One +doesn’t often enjoy a chance of interviewing a beautiful fury.” + +Paul Desfrayne grasped Frank’s hands, and looked earnestly into those +open, candid eyes that yet faithfully veiled the secret that their +owner was a noble, self-sacrificing hero, offering up a possible +gleam of happiness on the altar of duty. Paul saw nothing but a kind, +pleasant, genial man, who undertook a matter of business with the +genial air of a friend. + +“I leave the affair entirely in your care,” he said, “knowing full well +that you will not neglect anything that may tend to free me from the +cruel burden that weighs me down.” + +“You give me permission to speak as fully to this Italian valet as I +may find necessary?” asked Frank Amberley. + +He lowered his gaze as he demanded this; his heart felt heavy and sad, +and he feared lest Paul Desfrayne might read his thoughts. + +“Certainly. I give you carte blanche in every way.” + +“You do not object to my visiting Madam Guiscardini?” + +“I should be rejoiced if you undertook the unpleasant task, were it +only to hear what she has to say. It would be a very different matter +bullying a fellow like Gilardoni, and tackling a practised English +lawyer like yourself.” + +“I should think so. Where is she to be found?” + +“When I called at her house on Monday, I was informed that madam had +gone to Paris, and nobody knew when she would return. On consulting the +newspapers, however, I found she was advertised to appear on Friday +night----” + +“To-morrow evening?” + +“Yes. I have been told that she prides herself on never disappointing +the public, and that she has never failed once since her first +appearance to perform on the nights for which she is announced. Her +health is excellent, and she is passionately devoted to her art.” + +“Then, if I find she refuses to see me at her house----By the way, +where does she live?” + +“She did live in Porchester Square; but may change on her return, by +way of giving a little trouble to those who may want to see her when it +does not suit her to be visited. But here is the address.” + +He scribbled down the number and name of the square on the back of one +of his own cards. + +“Have you--did you--that is to say--I mean, has any explanation passed +between you and Miss Turquand?” inquired Frank Amberley, with some +embarrassment. + +“I wished to speak to her--to tell her how unhappily I am situated,” +replied Paul Desfrayne hesitatingly. + +“Did you give her any notion of the nature of this barrier?” asked +Frank Amberley. + +“I scarcely know what I said; but I should imagine she could readily +guess to what I must allude. I accidentally traveled in her company +this morning.” + +“Indeed! Has she returned to London?” + +“Lady Quaintree received a telegram stating that her husband was +unwell----” + +“Good heavens! Unwell? I must go to Lowndes Square this evening,” +exclaimed Frank, in great concern. “Do you know what is the matter with +him?” + +Paul shook his head. + +“Lady Quaintree was my informant, and she said that the telegram +stated simply the fact, without entering into detail.” + +“I will go there directly office-hours are over. In case I see Miss +Turquand, and have any opportunity of speaking to her, is it still your +wish that I should enlighten her as to the state of your affairs?” + +“It is essential that she should not be left in ignorance,” said Paul. +“It is my duty to inform her without delay, as my silence may be +injurious to her.” But he sighed heavily as he spoke. + +“I will use my own discretion,” said Frank Amberley. “But I could not +take any important step without your special sanction. You will send +this Italian valet to me?” + +“At once--early to-morrow morning.” + +“We will set him to work directly he can make his own personal +arrangements. I will make a point of seeing madam. If I do not succeed +in obtaining an interview with her at her residence, I will endeavor to +surprise her at the opera-house. I think it best to defer engaging a +detective to accompany Gilardoni until I see him. You will not be able +to come up to-morrow?” + +“I fear not. Besides, I could not endure to be present when you inform +him of my position.” + +“Well, then, what I have to do is, firstly, this evening, to try to +find a chance of enlightening Miss Turquand; secondly, to-morrow +morning, to hold a consultation with and give instructions to this +Leonardo Gilardoni; thirdly, to-morrow evening, to endeavor to surprise +Madam Guiscardini into some kind of admission, and, if I do not see +her, I must make an opportunity of doing so on Saturday or Monday, or +some time next week. The way is plain enough. Whether it leads to a +happy harbor of rest remains to be seen.” + +“It will be impossible for me ever to thank you sufficiently,” said +Paul Desfrayne. + +“Do not speak of that,” replied Frank Amberley. “Are you obliged to +return to your quarters at once?” + +“At once; yes.” + +The two men clasped hands, and parted. + +Lady Quaintree found that her husband’s illness was not of a seriously +alarming nature, but yet sufficiently grave to justify Gerald in +sending for her. The doctor had ordered the patient to bed; but it was +not necessary for any one to remain with him to watch. Her ladyship, +therefore, with her son and the two young ladies, was at liberty to +dine as usual. + +It was not yet the hour fixed for dinner when Frank Amberley arrived at +the house. + +“Mr. Gerald went out, sir, and has not come home yet, though he said +he’d be back to dinner,” the domestic said. “But the young ladies are +in the drawing-room.” + +The servant threw open the door, announced Mr. Amberley, and then +retired. + +Throughout the house the lamps had been lighted, but were all still +turned down to a mere spark; for the long summer days had only begun +to show signs of shortening. In the drawing-room, a soft, amber glow, +subdued and mellow, mingled its rays with the dreamy semitwilight. + +At first, the profound, peaceful silence made Frank Amberley imagine +the apartment was uninhabited; but, as the door closed, a soft swish of +silken garments undeceived him. + +For a moment his heart fluttered with pain and pleasure at the +thought that he was possibly alone with Lois; but instantly after the +unfamiliar figure of Blanche Dormer presented itself. + +She had been reading one of the new magazines, nestling in a quiet +corner by one of the windows. + +It was a sufficiently embarrassing situation, as neither knew what to +say. A formal salutation passed, and then Miss Dormer meditated for a +moment or two how she could best manage to beat a retreat. + +Presently, however, these two forgot their embarrassment, and found +themselves chatting together as if they had been friends for a dozen +years. + +In about ten minutes Lois appeared, and Blanche did not then think it +necessary to run away. Miss Turquand was, of course, quite unconscious +that Frank Amberley had any special communication to make, and totally +unaware that he took any particular interest in Captain Desfrayne. + +When Lady Quaintree came down, she found the three young people sitting +near one of the windows, engaged in what seemingly was an agreeable and +almost lively conversation. As she stood for a moment at the door, an +odd thought struck her for the first time. + +“What a charming wife for Frank Blanchette would make!” she said to +herself. + +She pressed Frank to stay to dinner, and he very gladly accepted her +invitation. + +Although saddened by the absence of the master of the house, the little +dinner-party was extremely pleasant. Gerald returned just in time +to meet his mother, the young ladies, and his Cousin Frank, in the +drawing-room before they went down-stairs. + +As Frank was a member of the family, he had every right and excuse, +though not living in the house, to linger after dinner. He felt +loath to depart. Not only was every moment spent in the presence of +Lois exquisitely sweet to him; but it might be long before he could +conveniently obtain so favorable an opportunity for speaking to her as +he should probably find this evening. He was right in staying; for the +moment came at last. + +Lady Quaintree was up-stairs, Gerald and Miss Dormer were talking +together, and there seemed no immediate fear of interruption. + +Then Frank Amberley braced up his nerves, and prepared himself for the +duty he had undertaken. + +He thought it best to inform Lois of the entire story, as far as he +was master thereof, withholding the name of the lady, however, and the +fact that she had been already married when she became the wife of Paul +Desfrayne. He thought that if the search for the Padre Josef should +prove unsuccessful, as it probably might do, it would not be well +either to unsettle Lois’ mind, or to fix an additional brand on Captain +Desfrayne. + +Lois listened in dead silence, pulling out the lace of her handkerchief +mechanically. It was not until the close of the little history that she +made any comment. Frank ended at the stormy departure of the signora +on the morning of her marriage with Captain Desfrayne. + +“It is a sad story,” she said, in a low, faint tone. “I am deeply +sorry for him; and I am--I am sorry that--that his name should have +been--been linked with mine in--in Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will.” + +“I rely upon you not to let any one have a suspicion of this +unfortunate affair,” urged Frank Amberley. + +Lois assured him she would keep the matter a profound secret. She +longed to get away to the solitude of her own chamber, there to reflect +on what she had heard; but could think of no excuse. A strange, +unaccountable sinking of the heart oppressed her. + +“Why do I thus think about one who is a stranger to me, and can never +be aught else?” she asked herself. “I must dismiss the subject from my +mind forever after this night.” + +And yet she caught herself wondering when she should again meet Paul +Desfrayne, and planning how she should behave to him. + +Frank Amberley watched her face with all the eager devotion of a man +hopelessly, irretrievably in love, utterly unconscious that the bright +eyes of the pretty country girl in white muslin and blue ribbons +wandered many times his way. It was with difficulty that he restrained +a passionate, plainly worded avowal of his love and adoration, and +resisted the desire to ask Lois if there was any chance of his being +able to win the slightest return of his all-engrossing passion. + +He was pretty confident that up to this time she had not cared +specially for any one, and he believed it to be perfectly impossible +that any other human being could love her as deeply, as truly as he did. + +A few moments more, and he might have tempted his fate, and might have +gained some answer leading him to hope; but the door of the center +drawing-room opened, and Lady Quaintree came through the silken archway +between the two salons. + +Her ladyship was ill pleased to see Lois and Frank together, and +dissatisfied to notice that Gerald appeared much taken with the +lively, piquant Blanche Dormer, who was playing with a not altogether +unskilful hand at the pleasant game of flirtation. It would not suit +the inclination of Lady Quaintree did Gerald fall in love with and +marry this young girl, even if she did carry twenty thousand pounds as +her dot. + +Without appearing inhospitable--nay, she seemed to be sorry to break up +the little party--she made it apparent to Frank that it would be only +kind and considerate of him to take an early departure, in order that +the ladies might rest after their hurried journey. + +Turn which way she would, Lois could not rid herself of the haunting +figure of Paul Desfrayne. When she gained her own room, she sat down at +the foot of her bed to think. + +“I am glad, I know,” she whispered to herself. “Oh! I am sorry for +him, though I fear he scarcely deserves that any one should pity him, +when he was guilty of such folly. He ought to have had more sense--he +ought not to have allowed himself to be carried away by such a foolish +fancy. Yet it seems a heavy punishment for a passing folly. They say: +‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ Lifelong unhappiness, poor fellow! +No wonder he seems strange, and different from other people. He is +quite different from any one I ever saw. How wicked and ungrateful this +girl must have been! It is inconceivable that any creature could have +behaved so vilely toward him. He seems so good, so kind, so----What +nonsense am I running off into, when I know nothing about him!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE FIGURE ROBED IN BLACK. + + +On leaving Alderman’s Lane, Captain Desfrayne made a hurried luncheon, +and then at once returned to the station, to start therefrom back to +his quarters. + +He had forgotten to ascertain the exact hour at which the train left; +the consequence was he had to wait some five-and-thirty minutes. That +delay cost a life. + +When fairly seated in the train, Paul had full leisure for reflection. +His thoughts were not pleasant. + +He had not dared to stay to see his mother. It had been difficult and +bitter enough to tell her the fatal secret of his unhappy marriage. To +let her know the deeper humiliation in which he found himself involved +would just now be impossible. It would be time enough to reveal this +additional misery when the search proved successful; if it failed---- + +If it failed! + +“I fancied I could not be more wretched,” he thought. “I was mistaken. +Could it be possible to wring a confession from Guiscardini? Alas, no! +Her nature is absolutely callous. She would elect to be bound to me +rather than to my servant. How am I to face my servant--how am I to +tell my wretched story? My pride is trailed in the dust. My name, given +to my charge free from spot or taint, is stained and splashed with +shame.” + +It was night before he reached Holston. Arrived there, he engaged the +last rickety old fly left within the precincts of the station, and +drove to the barracks. + +The vehicle had lumbered its way almost to the gates, when Captain +Desfrayne, happening to look from the open window, to ascertain how far +it had proceeded, saw, by the long, slanting rays cast from the lamps, +a female figure, draped in black, closely veiled, hurrying along the +road toward the station. + +The mien, the step, even the somber robes, seemed somehow familiar to +Paul Desfrayne. He put his hands to his forehead in horror and despair. + +“Great heavens! It is impossible!” he cried. “Am I going out of my +senses? Is this figure conjured up by my disordered brain, or is +it--can it be--Lucia Guiscardini? It _cannot_ be--and yet--and yet it +is her very walk--her insolent bearing.” + +The wild idea that it might be her spirit for an instant crossed his +mind--a pardonable notion in the excited state of his brain, for the +swiftly gliding form looked spectral in the blackness of the summer +night, seeming more shadowy from being draped in such dark vesture. + +Recovering from the first shock, however, he hurriedly stopped the +vehicle, ordering the coachman to wait for him, and ran back in the +direction the misty form had traversed. + +He looked from side to side, and even struck with his cane the bushes +that grew by the edge of the road on either hand, but no sign betrayed +that any human creature besides himself and the old man seated on the +box of the fly were within miles. + +Distracted by contending feelings, he went hastily back to the spot +where he had left the vehicle. The driver, an old and stupid man, was +almost asleep, and stolidly awaited the return of his fare, without +troubling to guess why he had so suddenly alighted. + +“Did you see any one pass just now?” demanded Captain Desfrayne +excitedly. + +“No, sur, I can’t say I did,” replied the driver. + +“Not a woman?” + +“Not a soul.” + +“A woman dressed in black, walking very quickly toward the station?” + +“I see no one at all, sur. Be there onything wrong at all?” + +“I can’t tell. I hope not. You think, if any one passed along this +road, they must go to the station?” + +“Unless they stopped in the fields.” + +“Is your horse very tired?” + +“No--he bain’t so fresh as he moight be, but----” + +“I want to return to the station for a few minutes, and after that to +resume my way to the barracks,” said Paul Desfrayne. “Drive as fast as +you can.” + +So firmly persuaded was he of the reality of Lucia Guiscardini’s +appearance on this lonely spot that he was resolved to seek some +information of the clerk and porters at the railway. He reentered the +shaky old vehicle; the stolid old driver whipped the weary old horse, +and in a minute they were returning the way they came. + +There was just a possibility that he might surprise her at the station. +What conceivable motive could she have had for coming hither? Probably +to see Gilardoni, her legal and legitimate husband. But why visit him +in this secret manner, when at any moment she could have commanded his +presence at a place infinitely more suitable? There was not much doubt +that her apparition boded evil. + +As the fly came in sight of the station, Paul had the satisfaction of +seeing the last train for London slowly puff and snort its way along +its destined iron track. + +“Wait here until I come back,” he said to the coachman, and then rushed +into the station. + +“Did a lady dressed in black take a ticket here just now?” he asked of +the ticket-clerk. + +“No, sir.” + +Paul Desfrayne looked about for one of the porters. After a little +delay he found one half-asleep on a bench, for the last trains had +departed for the night. He shook the man by the shoulder. + +“Did you see a lady dressed in black just now? I believe she must have +gone by the train to London, and must have had a return ticket.” + +“I was not here when the train for London left, sir,” replied the man +respectfully. “The other porter was on duty--I was in the office.” + +“Where is he?” demanded Paul Desfrayne. + +He seemed destined to be baffled at every turn. + +“I’m afraid he’s gone, sir.” + +An inquiry resulted in proving the fear to be correct. Another inquiry +elicited the fact that he lived a mile and a half away across some +fields. + +In no very enviable frame of mind, Captain Desfrayne returned to his +waiting fly, to continue his broken journey to the barracks. + +“Did you find her, sur?” asked the flyman. + +The young man shook his head, too much dejected, and even physically +exhausted, to be able to otherwise reply. + +At length he reached his quarters, when he dismissed the vehicle in +which he had come. To-morrow he meant to seek once again for evidence +as to whether the lady dressed in black had been seen by any other than +himself. + +His rooms seemed strangely silent as he approached them. Gilardoni +had hitherto contrived to make his presence cheerful, and always had +a reality as well as words of welcome for his master. A bright glow +of pleasant light, gleaming through doors ajar, a slight movement of +ever-busy feet or hands, had given under his influence a faint tinge of +_home_. + +The door of the first room was ajar, though scarce perceptibly so. A +dim ray of light struggled through, as if seeking to disclose some +ghastly secret. A silence as of the grave reigned. Apparently not a +living creature was within the apartments. + +Paul Desfrayne paused for a minute or two before entering. A strange, +painful foreboding seized him. What he feared he dared not admit to +himself. + +What if that woman--Lucia Guiscardini--had come hither with some +sinister motive, and had slain her husband in one of her almost +ungovernable fits of passion? + +But no, it could not be. What end could she hope to gain? She valued +her own safety, her own ease; she prized this beautiful and splendid +world too highly to let her temper carry her to such a dangerous +extreme. + +Gilardoni had fallen asleep. The hour was late, and he was, no doubt, +weary with waiting. + +Taking up the heavy lamp, Paul held it above his head as he entered the +second chamber, which was a sitting-room. + +Directly opposite to the door, in an oblique direction, was a couch, +the first object on which Captain Desfrayne’s eyes rested. + +At full length upon this couch, in an attitude that seemed to indicate +the young man was enjoying an easy sleep, lay Leonardo Gilardoni. + +Paul Desfrayne placed the lamp on a side table, and then said rather +loudly: + +“Gilardoni, my good fellow!” + +The recumbent figure made no sign of awaking. Paul Desfrayne, seriously +uneasy, but still fighting with his fears, crossed the room, and placed +a hand on the sleeper’s shoulder. + +“Gilardoni, awake!” he said, in a voice which, spite of his effort at +self-constraint, trembled. + +Not the faintest sound issued from the pallid lips. Not a movement +showed the smallest sign of life. + +Paul Desfrayne at last placed the palm of his hand upon the temples of +the apparently sleeping man. They were almost ice-cold. + +The young officer caught the hands lying outstretched on either side +the silent, rigid form, and felt for the pulse, his heart throbbing so +violently as well-nigh to suffocate him. + +With a groan of despair, he dropped the cold hands. Leonardo Gilardoni +was dead. + +One cruel touch had sent him from the world--one touch of those +delicate waxen fingers he had loved so much and kissed with transport +so often--one little stroke from the hand of the woman he had so +fatally wasted his heart upon, the wife he had idolized, for whom he +would have laid down his life willingly in the days of his fond, blind +worship. + +Only too truly did Paul Desfrayne now understand the meaning of that +woman’s mysterious presence here. But why had she come--for what reason +had she risked her very life--what advantage did she promise herself +from this horrible deed? It was absolutely impossible she could have +heard anything of the projected search for her brother. The only idea +he could conjure up was that the Padre Josef was on his way back to +Europe. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S DIAMOND RING. + + +Paul Desfrayne’s eyes had not deceived him. He had really and truly +seen Lucia Guiscardini hurrying away from the scene of her murderous +treachery. + +A woman of insatiable ambition, she had resolved to let nothing stand +in the way of her advancement to the highest dignities she could hope +to reach. + +Ignorant, ungovernable in her temper, resentful when any one crossed +her path, or tried to hinder her from following her own fancies, she +was at once resolute in planning schemes, and unscrupulous in carrying +them out. + +During her brief flight to Paris, on escaping what she felt would be a +useless interview with Captain Desfrayne, she had reflected with all +the force of her cunning brain as to the course she should take. + +It was true that a Russian prince, reputed to be of fabulous wealth, +was devoted to her, and had offered his heart, hand, royal coronet, and +vast possessions. His diamonds alone would have been a lure to her; and +neither by day nor by night could she resist the glittering, delicious +dreams conjured up by his offers. + +She had not destroyed the marriage-register stolen from the charge +of her brother--not because she was withheld from the deed by any +conscientious scruple, but she did not know what the punishment for so +black a crime might be were she ever discovered. + +Until she accidentally saw Leonardo Gilardoni speaking to Captain +Desfrayne, she had not for some time been aware whether he was living +or dead. + +A sudden terror seized her when she found that these two men had come +together. It would have been a welcome relief if she could have been +sure they would release her from her bondage; but she knew that both +had every reason to hate her with the bitterness of men who had been +utterly ruined by her cruel hand, and she felt persuaded that they +were bent on dragging her to justice. + +She kept the book she so keenly abhorred hidden in a cabinet with a +peculiar lock and several secret drawers, and, in fear lest Leonardo +should be the means of a search being made among the papers, she +thought and thought until her head ached from sheer pain and weariness +of the desirability of burning the telltale pages. But the vague dread +of the unknown penalty withheld her, even when she once took out the +parchment-covered volume, and stood contemplating it. She had but to +ignite a taper close at hand, and the deed would be accomplished in a +few minutes. + +“But I dare not,” she shudderingly decided. “No; I must pursue another +plan.” + +With infinite caution and craftiness, she ascertained whither Paul +Desfrayne had gone, and found for certain that he had taken Gilardoni +with him. Determined to see her husband, but afraid to send for him, or +to leave any trace that they had met, she had dressed herself in plain +dark clothes, of a very different description from those she usually +wore, and had gone down to Holston. + +As the express arrived in London, the train in which she was to start +was slowly filling with passengers. From the window of the second-class +carriage, in which she had purposely seated herself, she had seen Paul +Desfrayne alight, and then linger to speak with the young lady, whose +appearance was completely unfamiliar to the Italian singer. She felt +thankful that there would be no risk of meeting him at Holston. + +A porter happened to be near the door of the compartment, and she asked +him when the next train would leave London for Holston. The man went to +look at the time-table, and returned with the information that there +would not be one until 6:15. She thanked the porter with a smile. + +“Good,” she thought to herself. “I shall have time enough for my little +talk.” + +Arrived at Holston, she walked toward the barracks, which, unless she +could not help herself, she did not intend to enter. There was a dingy, +uninviting public house in the vicinity, and a few cottages sprinkled +about. + +After a brief consideration, she went up to one of the most +decent-looking of the latter, where an old woman sat knitting by the +door. + +The old dame readily allowed her to sit down, and, after a short, +desultory talk, the signora, who affected to be a very plain person +indeed, asked the woman if there was any boy about who would run on a +message to the barracks. + +“I want to see my husband,” she said very simply. “You see, he and I +had a quarrel before he left London, and I am so unhappy. I believe I +was to blame; but I don’t want to go there, and be looked at by the men +there. My husband might be displeased by my coming.” + +The old dame sympathized with the young wife’s feelings, and readily +found a lout of a boy, who stared with all his eyes at the beautiful +stranger in the somber garments. + +Madam Guiscardini gave him a tiny note in a sealed envelope, directed +to Mr. Gilardoni, and slipped a shilling into his hand. She could not +venture to give him more, lest he should talk. The boy went, and the +signora waited, listening to the old woman’s talk, and comprehending no +more of her babble than she did of the buzzing of the bees and flies in +the neat little garden. + +Within half an hour she saw, as she looked eagerly from the window, the +well-known form of Leonardo Gilardoni rapidly approaching the cottage, +accompanied by her messenger. Her note had contained only a line or +two, in Italian: + + “Leonardo, I would see you. I have something of importance to say to + you. The bearer of this will tell you where to find me. LUCIA.” + +She was still standing by the window when he entered the diminutive +room. They had not met since that day he had surprised her in the +garden at Florence. The recollection of that day came back on both with +a rush. + +Leonardo paused on the threshold. Lucia did not move. + +“You have sent for me?” he said. + +The signora shrugged her shoulders and smiled mockingly, it seemed to +her husband. + +“Why have you sent for me?” he demanded. + +She left her place by the window, and came near to him. + +“What I have to say,” she answered, “I would not that other ears than +yours should hear. Will you walk a little way with me toward the +corn-fields I see yonder?” pointing from the window at the back of the +room. + +“It is indifferent to me where I listen to you. It is impossible you +can have aught to say that will be pleasant for me to hear,” replied +Gilardoni bitterly. + +“That remains to be seen,” she lightly replied. “Perhaps I may have +something to say that will please you very much indeed.” + +For a moment he thought that perhaps she knew her brother was coming +back, and that she desired to offer some kind of compromise, or to +throw herself on his mercy. But he followed very quietly as she led +the way down the narrow path of the garden at the rear of the cottage, +brushing past the common yet sweet-smelling humble country flowers, +until they were at the bottom, and could step unimpeded into a piece of +ground that ran between the garden and the corn-field, where the golden +grain lay like a yellow sea. + +Here no one could possibly overhear what passed, and presently they +would be out of sight of even the cottages that lay sprinkled about. +Then Lucia spoke. Her voice was firm and calm, her manner composed. + +“Leonardo Gilardoni, I acknowledge no claim you may choose to make upon +me, but I wish to be free from any annoyance you may possibly, from +spite, think fit to bring upon me. I have received offers of marriage +from a nobleman of the highest rank, and of immense wealth. It is my +purpose to accept these offers.” + +“While you are the wife of another?” exclaimed Gilardoni. + +“Prove your words,” she disdainfully replied. “But that you cannot do, +be they true or false. I have not come here to bandy words with you as +to my real position. I am well aware that, although your accusations +would be totally without foundation, yet, if breathed to his highness, +they would prejudice him against me. Therefore, I wish to silence you. +If you refuse to accede to my proposition, it does not signify your +using it as an additional proof of your base calumnies, for you will +not be able to show that I ever made it.” + +“Go on. Your proposition?” + +“If you will agree to sign a paper, acknowledging that there is not +the slightest foundation for your assertion that I have been married +before--to you--and will further agree that on signing this paper you +will depart for America, and promise never to return, I will settle ten +thousand pounds on you. Nay, do not speak. I trust to your promise, for +I know you would not break your word, nor would you promise lightly.” + +Leonardo Gilardoni broke into a bitter laugh as he folded his arms and +looked his wife steadily in the face. + +She raised her hands almost in a supplicating manner, and for a moment +he idly noticed the flash and sparkle of a wonderfully brilliant ring +upon her finger. + +“You mean this proposition seriously?” he asked. + +A malevolent light gleamed in the lustrous eyes of Madam Guiscardini, +and a spiteful smile curled round the ruby-red lips. + +“You think I love you so well that I have taken the trouble and run the +risk of secretly traveling all the way hither from London for the sake +of lightly enjoying a passing jest with you?” she sibilated. + +“Accept my offer, and see if it be really meant or not. I know you to +be of a dogged, stubborn nature. I know, to my cost, that once you take +a crotchet into your head, nothing can displace it. I once appealed to +your love--a passion I neither believe in nor comprehend--I wept at +your feet, and you turned a deaf ear to my entreaties. Silence! Hear me! + +“I never cared for you, and now I hate you! I appealed to your +_love_--now I appeal to your interest. Surely--surely--surely you +will not refuse a fortune. Surely your hate of me cannot lead you to +vindictively mar my brilliant prospects. Perhaps it is folly to admit +that a few injurious words from you could turn his highness against me; +but I am frank with you. + +“Of course, I might laugh your accusations to scorn, but the prince +might--well, your words might hurt me, for that man is as proud as +Lucifer, although his absurd infatuation, which he calls love, induces +him to lay all his earthly possessions, all his ancient prejudices, +at the feet of a ‘singing-woman.’ With ten thousand pounds you will +be rich; you will begin a new life, be happy with some meek-spirited, +pretty Griselda, who may fly to fulfil your slightest wish or command.” + +She had spoken so rapidly that, as she paused, her breath came in quick +gasps. For the first time since she had entered on this conversation, +her heart beat violently. + +“You think I would sell my soul for ten thousand pounds,” Leonardo +Gilardoni slowly said--“my soul and yours, my wife? I decline.” + +“You do not mean it! You say so that I may double the price!” exclaimed +the signora. “No. Speak. What sum do you ask to fall in with my wishes?” + +Gilardoni looked fixedly into the luminous eyes so eagerly fastened +upon him, as if he would read the innermost thoughts they so partially +revealed. + +“You know me well enough, you say, to be aware that once I have made +up my mind to what is right, nothing will turn me from it,” he coldly +replied. “I say distinctly that you are my wife, by all the laws of +Heaven and man, and while I live you cannot marry any other. I refuse +to comply with your infamous desire. I have said it. Had I the means, +I would go to South America, to seek your brother, who could prove our +marriage. What have you done with the book you stole?” + +A sudden thought seized Lucia Guiscardini. Paul Desfrayne had surely +discovered her previous marriage, and was about to send Gilardoni in +search of the Padre Josef. If so, she was probably ruined. Her plan +had been to rid herself by bribery of Gilardoni, and then to make a +proposition to Paul Desfrayne, making it a matter of mutual interest to +keep the second marriage a dead secret. + +Only too well she knew that once Gilardoni had said no, it would be +impossible to persuade him to say yes. If these two men--he and his +master--combined against her, adieu to her dazzling hopes. She had +trusted that Gilardoni’s evident poverty would render him a willing +accomplice to her nefarious scheme, and now she was furious at her +failure. + +In the event of finding her husband utterly intractable, she had +designed another and infinitely darker course, which she resolved to +carry into execution. For a few moments she remained silent, ignoring +Gilardoni’s direct question, and then she merely said: + +“Good-by, then! We shall probably never meet again. I defy you! I hope +your spite may not be able to hurt me; but I do not fear you. My offer +was made to save myself annoyance. Say what you can, the worst your +vindictive fancy may invent, your words will be but empty air. Proof +you have none. Go on your preposterous chase if you will. I care not.” + +She held out her hand mockingly. As she expected, Gilardoni refused +to clasp it, and, in affected anger at his repulse, she struck him +lightly, her closed fingers passing across his wrist. Then she turned, +and, before Gilardoni had time either to speak or detain her, she had +gained the road. + +The terrible deed she had contemplated being accomplished beyond +human recall, the miserable woman was seized with a kind of terror +and exhaustion. Having placed herself out of sight, she sat down by a +great tree, creeping under its shelter so as to remain unseen by any +one who might be passing. Daring to the last degree of recklessness in +plotting, she yet lacked the iron nerves that were needed to support +her in her criminal schemes. Faint and exhausted, she stayed here until +some time after nightfall, and then fled toward the station. + +As Captain Desfrayne passed, she was unable to recognize him, his face +and form being shrouded in darkness within the vehicle, and when he had +alighted and pursued her, she had not dared to look back. + +Gilardoni had remained motionless when she left him, immersed in +painful thoughts. + +“Good Heaven!” he said aloud; “and I once loved this woman! It would +not be spite nor hate; but were she to trap any innocent man to his +ruin, it would be my duty to speak.” + +He clasped his hands above his head in a transport of grief, and then, +for the first time, felt a slight pain. He glanced at his left wrist, +and found it smirched with crimson blood. The wound, he supposed, had +been inflicted by the large diamond ring he had noticed on his wife’s +finger. + +Binding his handkerchief about the wrist, he turned to retrace his +steps. He would have regarded that faint scratch very differently had +he known that his life-blood was already imbued with a subtle narcotic +poison emanating from one of the stones in that ring. + +As he entered his master’s rooms he was conscious of a strange +faintness and an unpleasant burning of the tongue. He had found some +difficulty in ascending the staircase, and had scarcely lighted the +lamp, when he crept into the second apartment, and threw himself on a +couch, feeling as if utterly exhausted. + +“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” he muttered, passing his +hand over his forehead. “I have taken nothing that could hurt me. +I suppose it’s a reaction. That was a painful meeting with--with +my wife. May Heaven forgive her all her wickedness toward me, +though--though----Strange, this weakness seems to increase, and my +thoughts are wandering.” + +The faintness grew worse, so did the burning in his mouth and throat. +The unhappy man rose, and endeavored to drink some water, but the +effort to swallow was too painful. + +“May Heaven forgive _me_ all my sins!” he murmured. “I believe I am +dying. Dying!” he wildly repeated, raising himself suddenly, and +looking about distractedly, then glancing down at his hand. “Dying! She +has destroyed me. Oh, Lucia--Lucia--Lucia!” + +Burning tears forced their way as he sank back. By degrees he floated +into a kind of sleep, and then he forgot everything. + +And as he lay dead in the silence of that lonely room, the woman who +had so remorselessly slain him was hastening back to the great city, +there to still further shape out the path that was to conduct her---- + +Whither--whither? + +To the almost regal chambers of her princely lover, or to the condemned +cell of the manslayer? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +FRANK AMBERLEY’S MISSION. + + +The next morning Mr. Amberley went to his office as usual. + +As he passed the door on which appeared the name of Mr. Willis +Joyner--the back room on the first floor--the dapper figure and +pleasant face of that gentleman appeared on the threshold. In spite of +his age and his gray whiskers, Mr. Willis Joyner was preferred by many +moneyed spinsters and richly jointured widows even before the grave, +handsome Mr. Amberley, who never paid any compliments, and apparently +regarded business as business, and never sweetened the sourness and +dryness of the law with the acceptable honey of soft words and smiling +glances. + +“Ah! thought ’twas you, Amberley,” said Mr. Willis. “Thought I knew +your step. Want to see you when you’ve looked over your letters.” + +“All right,” was Mr. Amberley’s very simple rejoinder, as he pursued +his upward course. + +In ten minutes or a quarter of an hour he came back. + +Mr. Willis Joyner wanted to see him about “that affair of Frampton’s,” +Frampton being a wealthy commoner who was going to marry a rich +baron’s sister, and the “affair” being one of very complicated +marriage-settlements. + +Some lively talk from the said Mr. Willis Joyner of the one part, +and some quiet listening from the said Mr. Frank Amberley of the +other part, resulted in the agreement that the younger gentleman +should repair at once to Brompton, to have an interview with somebody +concerned on some knotty and disputed point. + +Frank Amberley went off. About half an hour after his departure, a +youth came into the office with a telegram marked “Immediate.” + +“Is there any answer wanted, do you know?” inquired the melancholy +clerk to whom he delivered it. + +“No, I don’t. I’d better wait and see,” answered the messenger. + +“Mr. Amberley ain’t in. I’ll ask Mr. Willis,” said the clerk. + +Mr. Willis turned it over in his dainty white fingers, and said it must +be left for Mr. Amberley, who might be away for a couple of hours. It +was uncertain when he might be back. + +The telegram was accordingly stuck in the rack, and the bearer went +away. It was from Captain Desfrayne, informing Frank Amberley of the +sudden death of Gilardoni, the valet. + +Unconscious of the tragical revolution which had taken place in Paul +Desfrayne’s affairs, the young lawyer pursued his way, planning to +return as soon as his immediate business should have been disposed of. + +It was not until he was some distance from the office, rattling +westward in a hansom, that he remembered he had left no message in case +Gilardoni should call early in the afternoon. + +It would certainly be desirable to see Madam Guiscardini before fixing +any plan with the Italian valet; but could such a thing be hoped for as +obtaining an interview with this beautiful tigress, and even granting +that she condescended to let herself be spoken with, it was impossible +to hope that she would betray a scrap of evidence against herself. + +After some trouble, Frank Amberley succeeded in concluding his business +with the irascible old gentleman at Blythe Villas, Brompton, to whom he +had been despatched. + +Coming out from the house, he stood for several minutes on the pavement +before he reentered his waiting hansom. He consulted his watch, and +found it was yet early--only half-past twelve. + +“I can but be refused,” he said to himself. “She must be at home at +this hour, I should imagine, and, by the time I reach the place, will +have about dressed, I suppose. We can do nothing until she has had the +chance of speaking, and she might give me a clue as to the place where +her brother may be found.” + +Stepping into the hansom, he said: + +“Porchester Square.” + +On the way he laid out the sketch of one of those imaginary dialogues +which never by any possibility take place. He started by fancying +himself, after some delay, perhaps, admitted to the drawing-room of the +famous prima donna. She might or might not be there. At all events, +he would politely introduce himself by name; and then he went on to +picture the succeeding talk, ending in two ways, one conceiving her +to make fatal admissions against herself, the other supposing her to +contemptuously defy him, and laugh all his crafty advances to scorn. + +The driver of the hansom shot round the angle of the square. But when +he was within a few doors of the house where Madam Guiscardini resided, +he perceived that there was already drawn up in front of the curb +facing the portico another and far more important vehicle than his +own--a splendidly appointed brougham, the gray horses attached to which +were handsomely caparisoned in gleaming silver harness. The graceful +animals stood perfectly still, except when they half-impatiently threw +up their heads, jingling their elegant appointments, or pawed the +ground, as if anxious to start off. + +The cabman drove past the vehicle a few feet, and then drew up, to wait +further orders. + +It instantly struck the young lawyer that this might be Madam +Guiscardini’s brougham, and that probably she was going out. He had +heard that she never attended the theater in the morning when she +was to perform in the evening, so she might not be going to the +opera-house; but, at all events, she was in all likelihood on the point +of taking a drive somewhere. He determined to wait for some moments. + +“Turn the other way--right round--and then stop for a while,” he said +to the cabman. “If I should jump out very suddenly, and go into that +house, do not take any notice, but wait quietly here until I come back.” + +“All right, sir,” said cabby, obeying the first part of his +instructions. + +Frank thus faced the brougham, which he had seen in dashing past, and +could see the street-door, at present closed. + +Had Lucia Guiscardini happened to be in her dining-room, drawing-room, +or bedroom, all of which looked out on the square, she might possibly +have descried the mysterious waiting vehicle standing opposite, or +nearly opposite, to her house, and, seeing the watchful figure with the +dark-bearded, thoughtful face, might by accident have taken an alarm, +and so countermanding her orders for the drive, and denying herself on +the score of a fit of indisposition to any stranger inquiring for her, +have temporarily escaped a dangerous interview. + +But, unfortunately for herself, madam was in her dressing-room, a +dainty apartment behind her bedroom, and only separated from it +by silken and lace curtains. She was occupied in three different +ways--completing her exquisite toilet, scolding and snarling at her +French maid, and cooing over a tangled skein of floss silk, from which +peered forth an infinitesimal black snout and two bright, glittering +brown eyes. + +Dress was a reigning passion with Lucia, and this day she was doubly +absorbed, in spite of the racking state of her mind consequent upon the +daring criminal step she had taken the night before. + +Madam was going first to the opera-house, to excuse herself to the +manager, armed with a medical certificate to the effect that she was +incapable of singing that evening, from a painful attack of hoarseness. +This excuse was in reality not ill-founded, for she had taken a slight +chill in her hurried journey the previous night. + +She felt it would be utterly impossible to sing that evening. As it +was, her hands were trembling from nervous excitement; the faintest +sound, if unexpected, made her start with trepidation; her eyes and +cheeks were aflame. Had it not been that she was remarkably abstemious, +Finette would have suspected madam to be suffering from the effects of +an overdose of champagne. + +The second place to which she was bound was a garden-party, where she +had smilingly promised her princely adorer she would show herself for +at least a few minutes. + +“If I go on at this rate,” the signora thought at last, “I shall be +ill. Come what may, I must brace up my nerves, and try to compose +myself. It would be ruin to my hopes if I fell ill just now.” + +She shuddered as she fancied she might be seized with fever, and lose +her wits, perhaps, and betray in her wanderings the crime of which she +had been guilty within these past twenty-four hours. + +At length she was arrayed, all save the right-hand glove; but she +could not stay to put that on now, lest she should be too late at the +opera-house to enable the manager to make other arrangements for the +night. The little white hands were loaded with blazing jewels, that +sparkled and flashed in the light; but she no longer wore the fatal +diamond ring that had scratched Gilardoni, the valet, on the wrist. + +As she swept down the richly carpeted stairs, her movements signalized +by the soft frou-frou of her Parisian garments, she meditated chiefly +on the impending storm between herself and the director. She floated +down to the door, followed by Finette, who was carrying the tiny bundle +of floss silk, the denomination of which appeared to be Bébé. + +The door was held open by a lackey, in a plain but exceedingly elegant +livery. Madam hated all the male servants in her own and other people’s +houses, for they often reminded her of the position to which had sunk +the man whose legal wife she was. + +But there was nothing in the sweetly modulated accents, and in the +absent, preoccupied eyes of the beautiful mistress of the house to +betray any feeling either way toward the domestic as she said: + +“I shall be home about six. Dinner at seven.” + +The servant bowed, though a lightninglike glance at Finette behind the +signora’s back indicated surprise, for if madam dined at seven, she +evidently did not mean to go to the opera, at all events as a performer. + +Madam put out one tiny foot to reach her brougham, but drew back with +a deep breath that narrowly escaped being a cry of alarm. + +Standing just within the portico was a tall, gentlemanly-looking man, a +stranger to her, hat in hand, waiting to address her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE INLAID CABINET. + + +The sight of any and every stranger who spoke to or even looked at +Lucia must henceforth inevitably cause her a thrill of fear. + +She had never seen this handsome young man with the dark, grave, +penetrating eyes before, to her knowledge; yet he looked at her as if +he would read her very soul. + +Frank, the instant the door opened, had bounded from his cab, and was +waiting for the signora to issue forth. He bowed profoundly. + +“Madam Guiscardini, I believe?” he said. + +He had recognized her at the first glance, having frequently seen her +at the opera, both in London and in Paris, and being furthermore made +familiar with her strikingly marked features and imperial figure by the +innumerable photographs issued by London and Parisian firms. + +It was impossible for madam to deny her own identity. Frank noticed +that she grew pale--perceptibly so, and that the jeweled fingers of her +ungloved hand twitched nervously. + +“My name is Guiscardini,” she replied, after a slight hesitation, and +speaking in frigid accents. + +“May I beg the favor of a few moments’ private conversation with you, +madam?” asked Frank Amberley. “My business is of the utmost importance, +or I should not delay you just as you are going out.” + +“Certainly not,” angrily replied the cantatrice, her lips trembling +from mingled rage and fear. She imagined that perhaps this gentlemanly +fellow, with the handsome face and urbane manners, might be a detective +in disguise. “It is impossible, my time is not my own, and I cannot +grant you even five minutes.” + +She glanced at the jeweled watch that hung at her waist amid a +coruscation of enameled lockets and miscellaneous toys and trinkets. + +“I am sorry to be so pressing, madam, but if you will give me ten +minutes--I promise to go by the dial of your own watch--I will not +trespass longer.” + +He knew well that the business he came on could not be disposed of in +that time, but relied on the hope that she would, if persuaded to enter +on it, voluntarily extend the time. + +“Who are you, and what do you want?” demanded Madam Guiscardini +sharply, looking keenly at him. + +“My name, madam, is Amberley--I have the honor to belong to the firm of +Messrs. Salmon, Joyner & Joyner, who are solicitors.” + +“What do you want? I will not hear you, sir! Let me pass, sir. You are +rude and unmannerly not to take a reasonable refusal. Let me pass, sir, +I say--I insist!” + +She tried to push by him, in order to get to her brougham, the door of +which was held open by the powdered lackey who had been sitting beside +the coachman. + +Frank Amberley laid a firm, detaining grip on her wrist as she passed +by. + +“Madam Guiscardini,” he whispered in her ear, “you would consult +your own interest in consenting to hear me. I come from Captain Paul +Desfrayne, and I wish to ask you a few questions about Leonardo +Gilardoni.” + +This time the signora could not restrain the scream that rose to her +lips. She stared wildly about her, and then at the enemy who had so +suddenly sprung up before her. + +The idea that he was a detective became almost a certainty. He had +come to tax her with her double crime. She must be cool and quiet, she +thought the next moment, and strive not to betray herself. + +Whatever he had to say, however, must not be said before these prying, +gossiping menials. With surprising quickness, she rallied her forces, +resisted the inclination to swoon, and without answering her strange +visitor, turned back to Finette. + +“Put on your bonnet, girl, quick as lightning, and go to the +opera-house,” she said to her maid. “Tell Mr. Mervyn that I was on my +way to him, but was detained at the last moment, and that I shall not +be able to sing to-night. Take this medical certificate with you.” + +Finette took the paper, and flew up-stairs, glad of the chance of a +pleasant drive, yet vexed that she could not stay to find out the +mystery that was going on. + +Madam Guiscardini turned to Frank Amberley. + +“Follow me,” she said, in harsh accents. + +She glided up to the drawing-room, feeling at every step as if her +knees must yield under her. The young lawyer silently followed her, +wondering at the success which had attended his effort to obtain an +interview with her. + +“Now, sir, may I ask the nature of your business with me?” madam said, +when she had closed the door, across which she pulled the silken +portière to deaden the sounds from within, for she distrusted all her +servants. She advanced to the windows, as the point farthest away from +the reach of eavesdroppers, but neither seated herself nor asked her +visitor to sit down. + +“You may imagine that I have nothing very agreeable to say, judging by +the quarter from which I come,” said Frank Amberley. + +“You say you come from Captain Desfrayne? What business can you have to +transact between Captain Desfrayne and myself?” asked the signora, with +an affectation of surprise and curiosity. + +“You do not mention the other name.” + +“What other name?” + +“The name of Leonardo Gilardoni--of your husband, madam.” + +The wretched woman’s hand closed on the slender inlaid back of a chair +for support. Every vestige of color faded from her face, and her eyes +looked haggard for a moment. + +“I don’t know whom you mean,” she whispered, rather than said. + +“That is a falsehood, madam.” + +“Why should you say that? By what right or license do you come within +my house to harass--to torture me?” + +Frank Amberley was almost amazed by the singular effect his few +preparatory words seemed to have, and could not reasonably account +for it. This woman’s demeanor was entirely different from what Paul +Desfrayne had yesterday prognosticated it would be. Why should she +evidence this fear--this shrinking? He felt there must be some further +mystery to solve, some new secret to unravel. Had he known the contents +of the telegram then waiting for him in Alderman’s Lane, he would have +had a clue. As it was, he was mystified. + +Had Lucia Guiscardini, on the other hand, known the simple nature of +his errand, she would have entirely controlled herself. But she already +in fancy could imagine his arresting grip on her shoulder, and the odd +query rose in her mind: “Will he handcuff me?” + +“By what right do I come?” Frank Amberley slowly repeated, watching +every change and variation in her agitated face. “By the right of +justice.” + +“Justice? I do not understand you.” + +“Oh! yes, you do. I may as well inform you that Captain Desfrayne, +the man whom you so basely, so ungratefully entrapped into an illegal +marriage--the man whose life you have blighted, whose happiness you +have ruined----” + +“Well? Be brief, I beg of you, for, as I told you at first, my time is +limited, and most precious,” interrupted Madam Guiscardini. + +This circumlocution, however, gave her a ray of hope that her first +fear was groundless. + +“Captain Desfrayne has told me the whole miserable story of infamous +deception.” + +“What story?” + +“Come, madam, your affectation of ignorance is useless, and only a +waste of time. You cannot deny that while you hold Captain Desfrayne in +legal bondage, you are in reality the wife, by a prior marriage, of a +man who is in his service--one Leonardo Gilardoni.” + +The words “_you are_” were like the sound of a trumpet to the unhappy +woman. It was palpable that this man did not yet know of Gilardoni’s +death. The strain upon her nerves had been so fearful that she gave way +the instant the relaxation came. She fell back on the chair by which +she stood, in violent hysterics. + +Amazed by such apparently singular behavior, Frank Amberley stood by, +partly alarmed, partly resolved not to summon assistance if he could +help it, for he was determined to follow up the advantage he seemed to +have gained. + +Presently Lucia Guiscardini recovered her self-command. She was glad +none of the servants had been called, though she would have welcomed +the interruption their presence would have caused. + +“You are doubtless surprised, sir, that I should be thus overcome,” she +said. “But I am very unwell. I was on my way to the theater to tell +the director I could not appear, in consequence of sudden illness. My +nerves are overstrained. The subject of my marriage with the gentleman +you name is a distressing one to me, and one upon which I cannot enter +without painful emotion. Of the other person about whom you spoke +I know nothing. I have never heard his name. The person I have the +misfortune to call husband has evidently told you a false story. He has +treated me with meanness and cruelty, but I have been generous enough +not to betray him. Why does he send you to me?” + +“Because he thought you might listen to me where you would only laugh +in his face.” + +“What does he want of me? Let him come himself. At this moment, I wish +to see him. I have something of paramount importance to tell him.” + +“You may treat me as his nearest friend and confidant in this matter,” +said the young man quietly. “What you would say to him, you can say to +me.” + +“What guarantee have I that you really come from him?” demanded the +signora. + +“Why should I raise a fiction of such a kind? What good could I do +myself or others by deceiving you?” + +“I neither know nor care. With him I will treat--with no other.” + +“I will tell him so. But you had better hear what I have to say on +the part of Captain Desfrayne. Unfortunately, we cannot prove your +marriage with this Gilardoni. Pray, madam, may I ask you one question?” + +“Speak.” + +“How is it that if, as you declare, you have never until this day heard +of Leonardo Gilardoni, his name causes you to shudder violently?” + +“That is your fancy, sir. I have a slight attack of ague, from which I +shiver every now and then,” replied Madam Guiscardini icily. + +“I do not believe you, Madam Guiscardini; but, as I was saying, we +cannot prove your first marriage, because you have stolen the original +register, and therefore----” + +The young woman started from her seat in a kind of frenzy. A moment’s +reflection, however, caused her to sink back. + +“Mr. Amberley,” she said, very calmly, looking him straight in the face +with an expression of candor on her own lovely visage, “every one has, +I believe, a motive for what they do. You say you come hither to-day in +the name of justice. What your object may further be I do not know, as +you have not as yet deigned to enlighten me upon the precise nature of +the demand you apparently intend making upon me. I am convinced that +you, and it may be Captain Desfrayne, are deceived by the concocted +story of a man who desires to extort money. I am supposed to be rich--I +do not deny that I have a great deal of money: I am therefore regarded +as a person to be preyed upon. + +“Captain Desfrayne may be actuated by mean and cruel objects in +pursuing me, whom he has always treated in so abominable a manner--his +jealousy, his ill conduct, obliged me unwillingly to leave him, for I +desired to do my duty as a wife, though I did not love him. You and +he have, you say, listened to a story told by some man who asserts +that--that--that I was--that I was married to him. Plainly, why do you +and Captain Desfrayne lend yourselves to this infamous conspiracy? I do +not intend to tamely submit to robbery and insult, I can assure you. +Who is this man?” + +“He is Captain Desfrayne’s valet,” said Frank Amberley, who had not +attempted even once to interrupt the long harangue with which he had +been favored. + +“As I should have imagined,” said Madam Guiscardini, withering scorn +in her look and voice, a disdainful smile on her lips. “This man, whom +the world supposes to be a gentleman, because he wears the uniform of +an officer in the service of the King of England, puts his servant +forward to insult and harass me--will, perhaps, urge him to attack me +for money. You come to ask me--what?” + +Frank Amberley, who had remained standing from the moment he entered +the room until now, slightly stooped, and, leaning forward, gazed +intently into the signora’s great, bold black eyes. + +For some instants she bore this searching look; then her guilty eyes +sank, while the color flowed back to her pale face. Her hands clenched +with suppressed fury, and it was with difficulty she refrained from +giving way to a burst of rage. But she feared she might betray herself +by a word inadvertently spoken, and so remained silent. + +“You know, Madam Guiscardini, that what I have asserted is perfectly +true,” said the young man sternly. “You, the wife of the Italian, +Leonardo Gilardoni, trapped my client into a marriage with you, +believing yourself safe because you had abstracted the evidence of your +first marriage. That evidence you did not dare to destroy--it still +exists.” + +The signora raised her eyes, and looked at him in affright. + +“What evidence?” she asked. + +“The written register in the book belonging to the chapel in which your +brother married you to Gilardoni.” + +“This is infamous. What do you hope by bullying me in this manner?” +exclaimed Madam Guiscardini. + +“You asked what I wanted--why I had come. I will tell you: Before we +seek for your brother, the priest--the Padre Josef--I wish to know what +you have done with the registry-book?” + +His keenly practised eye caught a swift glance at hers, gleaming like +an instantaneous flash. + +With a strange misgiving that she was entirely betrayed--that possibly +Finette or some other servant had watched her, unseen, and reported +her secret doings--she glanced for a second at a tall cabinet standing +in a corner of the room, near the pianoforte--a curious old piece of +eighteenth-century furniture, inlaid with paintings on enamel. + +Frank Amberley lowered his gaze, and appeared simply to wait for an +answer. + +“They have, then, sent you upon this ridiculous errand?” said the +signora. “It is a fool’s message, undertaken by a simpleton.” + +“You say this story has been hatched up by designing persons, with a +view to extort money----” + +“Or by a pitiful coward who desires to harass and torment me,” +interrupted the young woman. + +“Aye. As you will. I asked you where this book is concealed. I know +you have not destroyed it. You had doubtless your own motives for +preserving such a damning piece of evidence against yourself----” + +“I foresee that I shall be obliged to dismiss you from the house, sir,” +again interrupted Madam Guiscardini, rising, concentrated fury blazing +in her eyes. “You shall not continue to annoy and insult me under my +own roof.” + +“Pardon me, madam. I do not wish to be other than courteous in +conducting this unpleasant affair. My own interest in it is less than +nothing. Did I consult my own wishes, I should not lift a finger to +coerce you. Bear with me for a few moments longer. I said, I asked you +where this registry-book is hidden away. The question was put merely to +try you.” + +“Oh, indeed! Monsieur grows more and more incomprehensible. May I hope +that this preposterous little farce is nearly played out?” + +“Very nearly, madam. The terrible drama that has been performed is +also, I believe, almost at an end. I _know_ where that parchment-bound +volume is.” + +“Indeed! Monsieur is, then, a magician--a juggler? This begins to be +amusing. I should like to see this wonderful tome. But I should hope +that your friends and clients and coconspirators have not been so +daring as to forge written evidence against me? That would be too +terrible, though I do not fear the worst they can do.” + +“The volume is near at hand,” pursued Frank, his eyes never leaving her +face for a second. As yet, every shot had told with fatal effect. + +“Near at hand,” repeated the unhappy young woman mechanically. She felt +certain now that she had been betrayed, and her suspicions fell on +Finette, the French maid, whom she had always hated and mistrusted. + +“Close at hand,” the lawyer said slowly, approaching a step toward her. +“It lies in this house.” + +“Do you mean to say that they have dared to place their forged papers +within my own dwelling?” demanded Lucia Guiscardini, twisting and +twining her fingers in and out of one another. + +But she only spoke thus to delay the last fatal moment. Not knowing +that he was proceeding chiefly upon guesswork, guided by that one swift +gleam from her own eyes, she made sure he had certain information. + +Finette had seen her open the cabinet, she thought, and had seen her +examine the suspicious-looking volume. One hope remained: the girl +might not know the secret of the spring opening the inner compartment +where the book lay crouching amid laces and filmy handkerchiefs, placed +there to deceive any casual eye that might happen to light upon the +nook so cunningly devised. + +“You cannot deny that the book is in this house--that you carry it +about with you--that----” + +“What?” + +“That it is in this very room.” + +“What more, sir? My patience, I warn you, is well-nigh exhausted. +Beware, sir--beware! My temper is not of the most angelic mold, and I +am very weary of this folly.” + +“Madam Guiscardini, I ask you plainly, is not that stolen book in +yonder cabinet?” demanded the young lawyer. + +It was his last throw, and he watched the result with a keen and eager +gaze. + +The signora made one step, with an affrighted look, as if to take +flight. Then she paused, and drew two or three deep, sobbing breaths, +like some wild animal pressed very close by the hunters. + +“You look like a gentleman,” she cried, after making some ineffectual +efforts to speak; “and you behave like a footpad. I know nothing +of the book you rave about. I have never heard of the man whose +name you have brought forward--this person in the employ of Captain +Desfrayne--I--I----” + +“You have not answered my question. Can you distinctly say the book is +_not_ in that cabinet? You dare not say so.” + +“If a denial will satisfy you, I can safely say no book of any kind is +within that cabinet,” said madam. “Our interview is at an end, and I +decline to receive you again on any pretense whatever.” + +“You dare not open that cabinet, and let me see for myself if what you +say is true,” said Frank Amberley. + +“You do not believe me, then?” + +“Candidly, I do not. I say the book is there.” + +“I--I refuse to gratify your curiosity----” + +“I thought you would. Now, the question is, what is to be done? For I +_know_ the book is there, yet if I go to obtain a search-warrant, you +will destroy it before I am fairly out of the house.” + +“You shall not have it to say that I shrank from letting you see how +preposterous your guess is,” said madam, crossing the room to the +cabinet. + +With a trembling finger, she pressed the spring that unlocked the +doors, and threw the cabinet open. + +A range of elaborately carved and gilded drawers appeared--a set on the +right and a set on the left. + +“You are at liberty to open these drawers, sir. As I have suffered your +audacity and presumption so far, I may as well let you run on in your +silly insolence to the end.” + +Frank Amberley made no reply. He availed himself of the permission to +look into the drawers, which he opened mechanically, pushing them back +without really seeing their contents. + +As he drew them out one after another, Madam Guiscardini standing by +with a fast-beating heart, he was trying to recall some dim, misty +recollection of a cabinet very similar to this, which he had seen at an +old country house in Provençal during the days of his childhood. + +He had a vague conception that about the middle of the double row +of drawers there was a spring which, properly moved, revealed the +existence of a secret hiding-place. The spring was a duplex one, but +how it was touched he could not remember. + +It would be useless to leave the signora now, with the idea of getting +a proper warrant to search the cabinet, for even if the secret were to +be solved, or the cabinet taken to pieces, she would burn the volume +the moment she found herself alone. + +Had he listened to the promptings of the Evil One, he would have made +excuses to himself, and left Lucia Guiscardini to her own devices, with +liberty to destroy the evidence that would release Paul Desfrayne, but +with sublime self-denial, he resolved to press on to the last. + +“Are you satisfied, sir?” asked Madam Guiscardini sneeringly, as she +noticed his perplexed look on closing the last drawer. + +“Very nearly so,” he replied, moving his fingers nervously over the +fine filigree work and gilded foliage down the sides of the cabinet. + +She dreaded that he would come upon the spring, and saw plainly that he +was in search of it. With a rough hand she pushed him away, crying: + +“Enough, sir--enough! Allow me to close this cabinet, for it contains +numberless articles of value, which----” + +But as she pushed Frank Amberley away, his hands touched the duplex +spring, and what appeared to be two drawers slowly folded back, sliding +in thin layers, one over another, while a fresh drawer was propelled +forward in place of the two which disappeared. + +A scream from Lucia Guiscardini told the lawyer that he had discovered +the object for which he sought. She caught at the filigree handle--it +remained immovable. + +“Leave the house, sir! I will call my servants to fling you into the +street!” screamed Madam Guiscardini, almost beside herself. + +The book once found, it would not only ruin her hopes with the prince, +but would serve as terrible evidence against her if charged with the +murder of the man Gilardoni. + +She had intended, Gilardoni agreeing to leave Europe, to make a bargain +with Paul Desfrayne, by confessing to him that she had been already +married at the time of her union with him, on condition that he took an +oath never to betray her affairs to human ear, and never to seek her in +any way whatever. + +“If you do not quit my house,” she exclaimed, trying to stand between +Frank Amberley and the fatal drawer, “I will send for a policeman, +and give you into custody on the charge of attempting to rifle these +drawers.” + +The young man did not answer. There was no longer any doubt that the +precious volume lay within a few inches of his hand. The confused +memory of the secret spring grew more hazy--he was almost in despair. +It seemed hard to be baffled at the moment when victory smiled. Quick +as thought, he ran across to the fireplace, and caught up the bright +steel poker lying in the fender. + +Before Lucia Guiscardini really knew what he meant to do, he had darted +back, and with one adroit blow smashed in the front of the drawer. + +The laces and handkerchiefs were folded about the faded, ink-stained +volume, but Frank dragged them out swift as lightning, and scattered +them at his feet. The book then lay revealed, and he snatched at it. + +Had the poisoned ring still been on Lucia Guiscardini’s finger, Frank +Amberley’s life would not have been worth a second’s purchase. As it +was, she for a moment, in her mad rage, measured the possibility of +matching her strength against his. But the next, the utter futility of +doing anything by force pressed upon her as she glared upon the tall, +slender, deep-chested, muscular figure before her. + +With a low, moaning growl, like that of a tigress deprived of her +young, she glided half-blindly under the silken archway, into the back +room, and groped there with an uncertain hand. + +Frank took advantage of this moment to rush to the window nearest. It +was partially raised, and he flung it wide open. + +The cab was still in waiting, directly opposite, on the very spot where +poor Gilardoni had stood scarce more than a week since. The driver was +sitting tranquilly on the step of his vehicle, smoking a pipe. Frank +threw the book so adroitly that it fell at the man’s feet, and called +to him. The fellow caught up the dingy volume, and was under the window +in a second. Frank dropped a sovereign in his hand, and said, in a +clear, distinct tone: + +“Drive with that book to eighty-six, Alderman’s Lane, and ask for +Mr. Joyner--give it to him; then wait, and if I am not back there in +a couple of hours, bring him here. Give that book to no other human +being, and tell no one else.” + +The man touched his hat, and ran to his cab. + +“This ’ere _is_ the very most rummiest start _I_ ever come near,” he +said to himself, as he rattled off. “I wonder whatever’s up?” + +This scene passed in a moment. As the man was mounting his box, Lucia +entered, with the same creeping, tottering, dragging step. In her hand +was a tiny, silver-mounted revolver. Her brain had almost given way, +and death, disgrace, misery seemed to point at her with gibbering, +skeleton fingers. Her one dominant thought was that she must recover +that fatal volume at all hazards. She advanced toward Frank Amberley +with the aspect of a beautiful beast of prey. + +His hands were empty; she glared about to see what he had done with his +prize. + +“Where is it?” she hoarsely demanded, speaking as if her throat were +dry. + +“In a place of safety.” + +“Where is it, I say? What have you done with it?” + +She suddenly noticed the open window, and ran to it. Then the truth +flashed upon her. + +“You have ruined me!” she screamed, rushing toward the young lawyer. +“I have nothing but disgrace and despair to look forward to. But if I +suffer, it matters not if it be for little or much, and I will have +vengeance!” + +The click of the lock of her pistol warned Frank of his imminent +danger. He sprang upon her, and tried to disarm her. But her grip was +tight, and her strength more than he had counted on, and a short, +desperate struggle for life ensued. + +As he succeeded in snatching the pistol, it went off. The report +brought the servants rushing to the room. They found their mistress on +her knees, her hair floating wildly about her, her face ashy white, her +arms entwined about her visitor, who stood with the pistol in his hand, +trying to disengage himself. + +“Seize him--seize him--he will kill me!” exclaimed Madam Guiscardini. +“He has robbed me, and would murder me!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +DEFIANCE, NOT DEFENSE. + + +As Madam Guiscardini’s servants stood gaping in amazement and affright +at the scene before them, Frank Amberley felt he had need to exercise +all the coolness and address left him. He had no desire, nor did he +believe that the mistress of the house in her more sober moments could +wish, that the police should be called in as assistants. + +“Stand back!” he thundered, in authoritative tones to the scared +domestics, at the same time leveling the pistol at them. “Heaven forbid +that I should take the life of any one here, but I will shoot the first +who dares to lay a finger on me!” + +The women squeaked, the men huddled back on one another. None cared to +risk the safety of limbs in the service of a mistress for whom not one +in the house cared a doit. + +“Madam Guiscardini knows me,” the young lawyer continued. “She knows +where to find me, if I am wanted. She has told you a falsehood. Let me +go. Stand back, all of you.” + +Her first burst of frenzied passion exhausted, Lucia Guiscardini +rapidly reviewed her position. A sullen despair succeeded her fury. +Certainly, it would not be to her interest that the police should +be called. This desperate man would probably raise a counter-charge +against her, and there would be an investigation. As he was a friend +of Paul Desfrayne’s, he must inevitably within a few hours learn the +damning fact of the death of the man Gilardoni. + +“They will set people to work,” she said to herself; “and they will +find out that I was with him yesterday. Not the cleverest chemist on +earth will be able to trace the poison, but they may trap me, for all +that.” + +This idea raced through her brain like lightning, so that she seemed +only to have time to unlink her arms from about Frank Amberley, place +her hands to her forehead as if in horror, and then fall back in an +admirably simulated swoon. + +“Stand aside, and let me pass,” again exclaimed Frank Amberley, finding +himself thus released. + +“Seize him! Don’t let him go!” faintly cried one or two in the rear of +the group in the doorway. + +“Attend to your mistress, and leave my way free,” cried Frank Amberley, +still holding the deadly weapon leveled menacingly. He was as ignorant +as any one there whether the second chamber was loaded or not, but that +signified little, as he had not the most remote intention of hurting as +much as a fly. + +With a quick, threatening step and determined air, he strode toward the +door. + +Some of the domestics fled precipitately up-stairs, others crawled back +by another door leading into the two drawing-rooms. A whispered buzz +ran round, but no one raised a hand to stay the supposed assailant of +the mistress of the house. + +Pistol in hand, he walked between the two startled groups, steadily, +with perfect sang-froid. At the top of the stairs he turned, and +went down step by step, backward, lest he should be surprised and +overpowered. No one stirred, however, though some of the women peered +over the balustrade. One of the housemaids ran and raised Madam +Guiscardini, who still remained in her convenient swoon, while the +other flew to get some water from a side table. + +Arrived in the hall, Frank Amberley opened the door, laid the pistol on +the hall table, and went out. + +“Thank Heaven, so far!” he exclaimed, aloud, as he found himself at +liberty in the open air. + +He marveled how they had let him depart, and expected to see them +rushing after him, hallooing at the top of their voices. + +A few rapid strides brought him to the corner. He had it in his heart +to take to his heels, but did not yield to the temptation. His pulses +were throbbing painfully, and he knew that much was yet to come, but he +contrived to maintain his composure. + +With joy he saw a slowly crawling hansom coming toward him. The driver +hailed him, and he threw himself into the vehicle with a sense of +relief indescribable. + +“Alderman’s Lane, city,” he cried. + +It seemed scarcely credible that he should have succeeded in so readily +discovering the inestimable treasure which had seemed utterly beyond +reach. + +On reaching his destination, the young lawyer ran lightly up the steps, +and passed into the office. As it happened, Mr. Willis Joyner was +there, reading a note which had just come for him. He looked up, and +cried out as if in surprise: + +“Hello, Amberley, is that you? What have you been up to--practising a +little mild burglary, eh?” + +“A cabman gave you an Italian register just now, did he not?” anxiously +inquired Frank. + +“He did. I put it in my safe.” + +Arrived in the chamber devoted to the use of the cheerful and +urbane Mr. Willis Joyner, Frank seized on the volume the instant +it was produced from the ponderous iron safe. In a very short +investigation--for he was an accomplished master of the Italian +language--he lighted on the register which was to set Paul Desfrayne at +liberty. + +“By the way,” Mr. Willis remarked, “a telegram arrived for you directly +after you left this morning. I had forgotten.” + +“A telegram? Did an Italian call for me?” + +“Not that I know of.” + +Frank Amberley tore open the envelope of the telegram. + +“Great heavens!” he ejaculated, when he had read the few terrible lines +of the despatch. + +They ran thus: + + “On my return last night, I found Leonardo Gilardoni lying dead in my + rooms. I fear he has met with foul play. On my way, I believe I saw + Madam G. walking at a rapid pace toward the station. I pursued; but + when I reached the station, I found the last train had just started + for London. I cannot help associating the fact of her presence here + with the death of my poor servant. Pray Heaven I may be in error in + thinking so! Inquest this afternoon.” + +Agitated by the events of the morning, Frank Amberley was inexpressibly +shocked by this fatal intelligence. Dropping the paper from his +trembling fingers, he sank into a chair, as if unable to speak. + +Mr. Willis Joyner hastily poured out some wine, which he offered to +Frank, and stood by with the tender sympathy of some gentle-hearted +woman. + +Every one in the place loved Frank Amberley, and none probably more +than the gay, superficially selfish Willis Joyner. He saw that some +very unusual circumstances had upset the general tranquillity of the +young man; and, though he could not form the most distant guess as to +the nature of the events which had occurred, he felt grieved. + +In a few minutes, Frank Amberley recovered his self-possession, and +then he gave Mr. Willis Joyner a brief, rapid outline of the strange +story, translating the register, and showing him the telegram. + +The register was transferred to the iron safe in Frank Amberley’s room, +and he at once wrote a full account of the finding of the prize, which +he sent off to Paul Desfrayne by telegraph. He did not allude to Paul’s +mention of encountering Lucia Guiscardini on the road to the station, +for he felt it would not be safe to do so, but briefly said how shocked +he had been by the intelligence that poor Gilardoni was dead. + +Lucia Guiscardini made no sign. She had played a desperate game, and +the numbers had turned up against her. Like most women who, innocent +or guilty, find themselves in difficulties, her chief idea was to seek +safety in flight. She dared not face Paul Desfrayne, for she could +expect no mercy at his hands. Bitterly did she curse the folly, the +cowardice, that had hindered her from destroying the evidence of her +marriage with Gilardoni. Deeply now did she deplore having run the +terrible risk of killing her real husband. + +On the departure of Frank Amberley, she had sullenly cleared the room +of her attendants, and then sat down to think--or to try if it were +possible to collect her scattered wits. + +Disgrace, death, were before her. But which way to turn?--whither fly? +The idea of destroying herself occurred to her disordered brain, but +then she thought _that_ resource would do when all else failed. Money +she had in plenty. Why should she give up this fair and alluring earth, +if safety could be purchased? + +“Even if they fix this marriage on me,” she reflected, “and thus +ruin my hopes of becoming a wealthy princess, they may not be able +to discover that I had aught to do with the death of Gilardoni. How +could they? Even if they find out I was in the neighborhood, who is to +prove that, granting he did not die a natural death, he did not kill +himself? The excitement of a painful interview might even bring on +heart-disease. Twenty different reasons might explain and reconcile the +facts of my being there with my perfect innocence of any complicity in +his tragical fate. Shall I defy them all, and remain, or fly?” + +She paced to and fro distractedly. + +“I will remain here,” she at last defiantly decided. “If they accuse me +of stealing the book, I will boldly declare that those three men have +entered into a plot for extorting money from me--that _he_, Gilardoni, +was the one who took it away, and that his lawyer pretended to find it +here. No one saw him take it, though he threw it out of the window. +I will swear he brought it hither, and offered to sell it to me; and +tried to bully me with a threat of exposure as being the wife of that +low-born peasant. I will risk staying. Let them do their worst--I think +I can defy them. His highness will hasten to see me to-night, when he +finds I am not at the opera: no doubt he will urge me, as he has so +often done, to marry him, and I shall yield to his entreaties. I will +no longer keep up my pretense of coyness and reluctance, but will use +my influence over him to hurry on the marriage. Once his consort I am +safe.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +FREE AT LAST. + + +Evil fate, which so often favors those who wish to follow the path +leading to destruction, smiled on Lucia Guiscardini now as of yore. + +The inquest was held on her ill-fated husband about the hour when Frank +Amberley discovered the record of that most miserable union that had +caused his death. The inquiry was necessarily adjourned, however, to +enable the medical men to examine the body more particularly. + +The emotion of Paul Desfrayne on reading the telegraphic account sent +by the friend who had so heroically sacrificed his own feelings to a +stern sense of duty may be in same measure imagined. To his overtaxed +brain, the events of these last few days began to assume the aspect of +a dream. + +Free! Quit of the consequences of those few months of infatuated folly! + +Oh! it could hardly be. No. Presently he must wake, and find it but a +tantalizing vision of the night, as he had awakened many times before, +thinking he had regained or had never lost his liberty. + +Only too well he knew he had never loved that remorseless woman, who +would have sacrificed him for her own worldly gain, who had slain his +happiness under the influence of her mistaken conception of his wealth +and position. + +He wrote back a most earnest letter to Frank Amberley. But little did +he imagine how vast was the debt of gratitude due to that noble soul. +The moment the verdict was pronounced as to the cause of Leonardo +Gilardoni’s death, he would hurry to London, he told the young lawyer. +At present it would be impossible for him to be absent. He did not +repeat the suspicions he had touched on in the telegram forwarded by +him in the morning, for that would be but to repeat an accusation he +could not in any way sustain. + +The next morning he set about making cautious inquiries, in order to +find out, if possible, whether any human being had seen the figure that +had passed him like an apparition on the way to the station. But vainly. + +No one had seen this woman. The porter at the railway-station whom +Captain Desfrayne had missed, remembered a woman coming hastily in +to catch the last train; but she, he declared, had worn a pale-green +dress, a black lace shawl, and had a snow-white Shetland fall over +her bonnet, concealing her face effectually as well. In effect, Lucia +Guiscardini had made a rapid change in her toilet almost as she entered +the station, by looping up her black skirt, changing her black cloak +for a lace shawl folded up in the small black leather bag she carried, +and changing her black fall for a white one. The black cloak, bought +expressly for this expedition, she had hurriedly folded up, and, +darting for a moment into the ladies’ room, dropped it on the couch, +making it look as if some one had forgotten it. + +The old woman at whose cottage Madam Guiscardini had appointed to meet +Leonardo Gilardoni was away, gone to see a granddaughter, who lay dying +some ten miles off. Thus Paul Desfrayne did not find her, nor did he +know of her existence. The boy had departed with her. + +No one could throw the slightest ray of light on the history of those +hours of apparent solitude which had been spent by the unhappy valet +from the departure until the return of his master on that last day of +his life. No one had seen him leave the barracks during any part of the +day--none had seen him return. + +It had happened that the boy charged with Madam Guiscardini’s message +had not needed to ask for him, because Gilardoni was walking about the +yard, and to him the lad had first spoken. + +The analyzing doctors found nothing to justify any suspicion of the +existence of poison. Such signs as were apparent resembled those of +apoplexy so closely that the most accurate judges might easily have +been deceived. They gave in a certificate to the effect that the cause +of death was apoplexy. + +It would have been worse than useless to accuse Lucia Guiscardini. Paul +Desfrayne began to persuade himself that he must have been deluded by +his own excited imagination when he fancied he saw her on that lonely, +darksome road. + +At the end of a few days he was able to run up to London. His first +visit was to Frank Amberley. + +The lawyer showed him the ink-stained, vellum-covered book containing +the brief register that would restore some light and happiness to Paul +Desfrayne’s life. Paul’s heart was overflowing with gratitude to the +friend who had regained for him the liberty that seemed gone forever. + +Fortune was resolved on favoring him now, however. On leaving +Alderman’s Lane, he went to the club of which he was a member. + +Immersed in thought, the young man was walking at a rapid pace, when a +faint, musical exclamation, and what sounded much like his own name, +caused him to awake from his abstraction, and look up. + +His eyes met those of Lois Turquand, fixed upon him with a strange, +indefinable expression that made his heart beat, while a vivid blush +overspread that beautiful face upon which he had so often meditated, to +the risk of his own peace, since he had first beheld it. + +Miss Turquand was sitting in an open carriage with Blanche Dormer in +front of a large drapery establishment. They were waiting for Lady +Quaintree, who had alighted with the view of matching some silk. + +It had been Miss Dormer who cried out Captain Desfrayne’s name. The +girls had hoped he might not have heard; but his looks showed that he +had done so. He lifted his hat, and came to the side of the carriage to +speak to the young ladies. + +The gloomy, care-worn expression had already begun to melt from his +face, and, in a manner, he was no longer the self-restrained, cold +personage he had been since the days his misfortune had gathered upon +him. + +Before she could weigh the propriety of doing so, Lois had allowed her +fingers to glide into his: and it was not until she felt a tender +pressure, scarcely meant by Paul, that she thought she should have +withheld her hand. + +“He is cruel and deceitful,” she said to herself, turning away her head +to avoid the glance which at once thrilled and distressed her. + +Some ordinary civilities and usual courtesies passed. A flower-girl +came to the opposite side of the carriage, and addressed Miss Dormer. +Paul took advantage of this passing distraction to say rapidly to Lois, +in a lower tone than he had used before: + +“Miss Turquand, I began a story the night I saw you in the country. If +I ever have the privilege of completing it, you will find that now it +will have a very different ending.” + +At this instant, Lady Quaintree issued from the shop, followed by a +shopman laden with parcels. Her ladyship had been unable to resist some +tempting novelties, and some wonderful bargains from a bankrupt’s stock. + +“Captain Desfrayne!” she said. “I did not know you were in town.” + +“I have only run up for a few hours on urgent business, madam,” he +replied. + +“We go to Eastbourne this day week,” her ladyship continued. “My +husband has been very unwell, and the physicians have ordered change of +air.” + +She added that they would be happy to see Captain Desfrayne, if he +chose to call at Lowndes Square before he left town again. Some more +civilities, and the carriage drove away. + +One long look passed between Paul and Lois--a look of mingled feeling +on his side; of inquiry, of surprise, of displeasure on hers--one of +those glances that serve to link two souls together, be it for good, be +it for evil. + +It left the young girl trembling, perplexed, agitated, more than any +words could have done. + +It told Paul Desfrayne that he had never loved till now, despite that +one terrible caprice of fancy and flattered vanity. + +But the hopes, the desires, the incipient love he had not dared +to cherish the last time he had seen this angelic creature, this +beautiful, pure English girl, who seemed to have glided across +his path to lead him from darkness and misery into light and +happiness--these feelings he might now yield to without sin. + +The air seemed full of golden haze, and even the somber figure of Lucia +Guiscardini could scarce dim the brightness of the day-dream that +surrounded him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +LUCIA’S TEARS. + + +Lucia Guiscardini had started by the night mail for Paris. + +The next morning was the one fixed for her marriage, arranged to take +place as quietly as possible at the Russian embassy. + +Fatigued, nay, utterly exhausted, she slept heavily for some hours +after her arrival at her apartments in the Rue Saint Honoré. + +When Finette came to arouse her, according to orders, she was lying +like one in a stupor, and it was with the greatest difficulty the girl +could wake her. + +“It is almost a pity not to let her sleep as long as she may,” thought +the maid, as she stood by her, looking down at the flushed face and +uneasy attitude of her slumbering mistress. + +Finette had no great reason to care much for the overbearing, +capricious prima donna, but she could perceive that she was struggling +against impending illness, and she felt sorry she should not be at her +best on her wedding-day. + +“Madam!” said Finette. “Awake! It is nearly eight o’clock, and your +bath is ready.” + +A shuddering sigh, and then Lucia relapsed into her lethargic state +again, though she was evidently suffering from the visitation of some +painful dream. + +“Madam!” again urged Finette. “It is your wedding-day. Rouse, then. It +is a glorious day--the sunshine bright and golden, scarce a cloud in +the blue sky.” + +She pressed the soft, rounded shoulder of her mistress, and shook her +with a firm yet gentle hand. For madam had given imperative orders +the preceding night that she must be awakened immediately after eight +o’clock, if not before. The entire responsibility of this lay with +Finette, for she had no other attendant with her. + +A stifled scream broke from the half-parched lips of the sleeper, and +she sprang up, throwing her hands forward, as if to defend herself. + +“No--no--no!” she shrieked. “No! Ah-h! You shall not take me. I have +not done it. Take your hands off----” + +“Madam, it is I--Finette. Do not be alarmed. Pray calm yourself. The +people in the house will be frightened. You have been dreaming. It is +your wedding-day.” + +The smooth, reassuring tones brought back the Italian’s scattered +senses, and the light of reason to her brilliant, distended eyes. +She turned her glance on the young girl standing by, and sank back, +shuddering, gasping for breath, almost on the verge of hysterics. + +“I believe--I--was dreaming. Oh, Heaven! what a horrid, awful dream!” +She covered her face with her hands, with a sobbing breath. “I am +scarcely awake now. I feel so--so tired.” + +“Your journey has fatigued you, madam. Why, you have had only a few +hours’ rest, though you slept a little in the train. Come, I suppose +madam must make an exertion, and rise. I will order the coffee.” + +“Why do you wish me to get up? Oh! my head aches so fearfully--at the +back, Finette.” + +“Madam forgets it is her wedding-day. I am sorry madam’s head is so +bad,” said Finette. + +“_Bon Dieu!_ my wedding-day!” cried Lucia, again starting up. “I had +forgotten. Give me my wrapper.” + +Finette gave her the richly embroidered silken wrapper, and then went +out to give directions about madam’s coffee. + +Lucia threw on her wrapper, and got out of bed. A few tottering steps, +and she fell back, flinging her arms on the coverlet in blank despair. + +“I believe I am going to be ill,” she cried, aloud. “But I must not be +ill until I have been made a princess. Oh! this sickening pain in my +head. But I must not give way at the last, after daring so much. What +folly! It is simply fatigue. I ought not to have stayed there till the +last moment, and then taken such a hurried flight.” + +She lay in a half-stupefied state, however, making no effort to raise +herself, as if she felt it would be useless. Then hot, blinding tears +of rage and despair began to rain over her arms, on which she rested. + +So absorbed was the unhappy creature by her terrors and doubts, her +feeling of physical exhaustion, her dread lest her forces should fail +her at the last, that she did not notice the return of Finette. + +The girl stood on the snow-white, fleecy rug just inside the door, in +an attitude and with an expression which showed that she was utterly +confounded by the scene before her. + +Madam had been in all varieties of humors--in violent, stormy frenzies +of rage, sullen, depressed, ill-humored, exhausted, wearied--but never +before like this. + +Finette’s idea was natural, and yet, hitherto, undreamed of, for her +lady had seemed, if not the least in love with her handsome prince, +certainly pleased and eager to welcome him. + +“She does not like him,” thought the waiting-maid, “and is only going +to marry him for his money and his title; perhaps she likes somebody +else. But it will never do for her to go on in this way.” + +The girl was pleased at the prospective vision of being confidential +maid to a rich princess--the position would offer so many advantages in +addition to the increase of social dignity. It ill-suited her that the +marriage should be put off, and she was superstitious enough to regard +as most unlucky a postponement of the wedding-day. + +It was not until she was close beside her that Lucia gave any sign of +being aroused. + +“Come, madam’s nerves are giving way,” said Finette smilingly. “Time +is flying, and madam knows how long it takes to dress. Sit in this +great easy chair, and steady yourself, while I brush out your hair. +Come, they say people always fall into a terrible way just before they +get married, though when the dreadful words have been spoken by the +clergyman, they begin to laugh at themselves for being so silly. It is +quite proper to cry on one’s wedding-day, madam.” + +She lent the support of her youthful arm to Lucia, who rose +mechanically, as if in a dream, and placed her before the +dressing-table, a fairy picture of lace, silver, carved ivory, and gold. + +Then she proceeded to array the bride, who exerted herself when desired +to do so, but otherwise sat or stood like a lovely inanimate statue or +waxen figure. + +Although it was to be a strictly private marriage, the only attendant +on herself being Finette, Lucia had prepared a toilet of the most +recherché quality. A pure, white silk, covered with rare and costly +laces, a hat of elfin workmanship, over which was thrown a square of +tulle, frilled and embroidered petticoats, proclaimed her bridal state. +With a great yearning, she had desired white satin and a lace veil, and +to wear some of her diamonds, but was obliged to stifle the wish. + +When she was dressed, Finette left her sitting by the open window, the +balcony of which was heaped with exquisite flowers. + +The girl--her only bridesmaid--went to attire herself in her own room, +which adjoined that of her mistress. + +“What has happened to me?” Lucia asked herself in affright. “What means +this weakness, this sense of a sudden blank? Shall I be able to go +through my morning’s work? What will happen next? Shall I live to enjoy +my honors, my wealth, my prince’s adoration? Nay, I must strive against +this pain and depression and fear.” + +Rising, she began to walk to and fro, with uncertain, wavering steps, +swaying from side to side unconsciously. + +Presently Finette returned, arrayed in a really charming manner in a +cloud of pretty, fresh, embroidered muslin. In her hand was a large +bouquet of the most choice blossoms, fit for the bride of a king to +carry. + +“See, madam,” she exclaimed gaily; “here are some flowers, this moment +sent. There was no name left, but you will guess from whom they have +come.” + +Lucia took the flowers, and put the bouquet up to her pale face, +without making any remark. + +“See how the sun shines--a happy omen!” continued the girl lightly, as +she gathered up her mistress’ handkerchief, gloves, and little ivory +fan. “The carriage waits--we shall be in good time.” + +Lucia recovered her strength, and in a certain degree her spirits. They +descended to the carriage, and drove to the Russian embassy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S MADNESS. + + +The prince was waiting impatiently the arrival of Lucia at the Russian +embassy. A tall, graceful man, some fifteen years older than his bride, +with a somber yet gentle face, jet-black eyes and beard, and dressed to +perfection. + +A friend on whom he could rely was his only companion. He did not at +present wish his relatives or any one of his large circle of friends +and acquaintances to know anything about this union. + +The ceremony was gone through, the necessary signatures given, and +Lucia Gilardoni, widow of the man scarce above the rank of peasant, +child of parents hardly equal to petty farmers, was the lawful wife of +this proud Russian noble on whose arm she leaned. + +Exultant, yet weighed down by an inexplicable dread of approaching +evil, the newly made princess swept down the aisle of the little +chapel, on her way to his carriage. Suddenly she clutched the prince’s +arm, and drew back, as if horror-stricken. With her disengaged hand she +pointed to a dim corner, her great black eyes widely opened, the pupils +distended. + +The prince looked to see what caused her overwhelming terror. Nothing +was visible, as far as he could descry. + +“What is it, my dearest love?” he tenderly asked, stooping to gaze into +her pallid face. + +“There--_there_!” she whispered. “He is there. They said he was dead. +They pretended I killed him. But he is there. He is not dead--or is it +his spirit?” + +“Of whom do you speak, my own dear one?” asked the prince. + +“My husband--Gilardoni. He stands there, and gazes at me with eyes of +fire. Is he dead or living?” + +She continued to point with her finger, her arm stretched out, her +neck craned, her eyes full of a horror too great for words. + +“There is no one here but ourselves,” said the prince, a vivid terror +seizing on his heart with a viselike grip. + +The others regarded her with consternation, but could not venture to +obtrude themselves on her notice--the prince’s friend, and the girl +Finette. + +A deathly silence succeeded. The bride dropped her pointing finger, +while retaining her clutch on her newly wedded husband’s arm, but she +continued to gaze at the phantom conjured up by her disordered fancy. + +“He is gone,” she whispered, with a great, gulping sigh. “Did you not +see? He melted away into the shadows. Take me away before he returns.” + +The prince hurried her to the door, then down the steps, and into his +carriage. His friend placed the girl Finette in her mistress’ carriage +and directed the coachman to take her as quickly as his horses would go +to the Hotel Fleury, in the Rue de Richelieu, where the newly married +couple were to sojourn in a magnificent suite of apartments for a +couple of days previous to starting for Switzerland. + +With a fear too deep for expression the prince watched his lovely +idol as she lay trembling within his encircling arm. Her face was of +a ghastly pallor, and her eyes were fixed with an absolutely vacant +look on the opposite side of the carriage, but it was difficult to +conjecture whether she was consciously thinking or not. + +Those betraying words of hers: “They said he was dead--they pretended +I had killed him--my husband--Gilardoni!” echoed in the brain of the +prince like a beating pulse. Had she, then, committed some fearful +crime, and had her reason given way under the sting of conscience? + +But no--no, a thousand times no! It was impossible. With a love, a +loyalty wasted on its object, he refused to believe anything ill of his +beloved one. + +“My own--my wife!” he murmured fondly. + +Lucia shivered, but made no response. They drove fast, and were soon at +the gates of the stately pile where the bride was to be lodged suitably +to her rank. + +The prince lifted her from the carriage, and drawing her hand once more +within his arm, led her up to the wide, richly carpeted staircase to +the suite on the first floor. + +Finette had preceded her mistress by five or ten minutes, and was +waiting with the other servants near the entrance. The newly married +pair walked through the bowing files of lackeys, and passed into the +principal sitting-room--a long, lofty salon, glowing with softly +modulated colors, rare china, mirrored panels, rich draperies, and +flowers. + +The prince closed the door, and sat down on a stool by the trembling +Lucia. + +“My dear love,” he said, with the deepest anxiety, yet resolved on +giving her the opportunity of granting some explanation, “what happened +to you in the chapel just now?” + +“I don’t know,” she vacantly replied. “What?--how?--I do not recollect. +I felt very ill.” + +“You are not well now.” + +“No; I am not.” + +“You seem totally different from your usual self.” + +“I feel so--I feel like--I cannot say how I feel--my brain is on fire.” + +“What did you mean by----” + +“By what?” she sharply demanded, turning on him the full gleam of her +resplendent eyes, to which the light of reason for a moment returned. + +“In the chapel you fancied you saw some one.” + +“I fancied? How strange! I forget,” Lucia replied, laughing gaily. +“Whom did I fancy I beheld?” + +“You said some very singular words, my dear love.” + +“What did I say?” + +But before he could speak a word in reply, her glance became again wild +and uncertain. She shuddered as if seized with ague, and then leaned +forward, as if she again saw the phantom conjured up by her disordered +brain in the chapel. + +“He is here!” she whispered, half to herself. “He has followed to +claim me. I can never escape him now. There is blood upon his wrist, +where----It is useless to struggle. I must give way to my destiny. +But I will never go with you,” she exclaimed, raising her voice. +“Never--never!” + +The prince caught her hand, which she snatched away, as if terrified, +looking at him with a vacant eye, that evidently did not recognize him. + +“You shall not take me,” she fiercely cried. “I did not do it--I swear +I did not! I was not there.” + +The prince rose, and, approaching a table heaped with elegant and +costly trifles, rang a hand-bell sharply. + +Almost instantly the violet velvet portière of the chief entrance was +raised, and an obsequious lackey stood waiting his lord’s commands. + +“Send Mademoiselle Finette here,” was the brief order. + +In a moment the girl had replaced her fellow servant. A brief, +searching glance showed her that something was wrong; but _what_ she +could scarcely tell. + +“Come here,” said the prince. + +He placed her in front of his bride, who was now leaning her head on +her hand, resting against the stool, apparently lost to all around her. + +“Madam!” exclaimed the waiting-maid, in consternation at her vacant yet +wild aspect. + +“What is the matter with her?” demanded the prince. “Has she ever been +like this before?” + +“No, monseigneur--no, no, never. Something has happened,” replied the +trembling maid. + +“Something terrible--something awful,” cried the unhappy prince, in +an agony of despairing love and fear. “Do you know if anything has +occurred to overthrow her reason?” + +“I know nothing, monseigneur. Madam has always been so quiet in her +life, although perhaps a little passionate in her ways, sometimes. +Madam--madam, speak to me--to your poor Finette,” pleaded the girl, +taking the passive hand that lay in her mistress’ lap. + +A dumb spirit seemed to have seized upon the miserable victim of her +own sins and crimes. With a swift glance at the maid, she averted her +head coldly, and resumed her gaze into empty space. + +Some crude idea had got into her dazed brain that she would betray +herself if she spoke, and she had resolved on keeping utterly silent. +The prince she had apparently forgotten. + +“Remain with her,” said he. “I shall return presently.” + +He went to his own private sitting-room, and, going to a desk, wrote +a few lines to the most eminent doctor among those who devoted their +sole attention to the study of lunacy. Then he rang for his valet--an +elderly, severely respectable-looking man, with a tranquil manner. + +“Do you know where to find this medical man?” the prince asked, showing +him the envelope. + +“I believe, monseigneur, he lives in the Rue de Rivoli--but I can +easily find out,” answered the valet. + +“Do so. Take the brougham, and do not return without him. It is a +matter of life and death for me. Do not lose a moment--but wait for him +if he should be absent.” + +The doctor was not absent. He returned with the confidential servant +within a quarter of an hour, and presented himself in the sitting-room, +which the prince had not quitted, for he dared not go back to the +presence of his distraught bride. + +Accustomed as the medical man was to every variety of painful case of +lunacy, his face betrayed some signs of surprise and compassion as he +listened to the story of the unhappy Lucia’s loss of reason, but he +expressed no opinion, simply bowing as he rose to obey the entreaty of +the bridegroom that he would see the princess. + +“Pardon me, if I stay here until you come back to me,” said the prince, +his ashy face showing only too plainly the suffering at his heart. “I +dare not accompany you. I love my wife ardently, passionately--and----” + +“Remain here,” gently replied the medical man. “I shall not keep you +long in suspense.” + +The prince flung himself face downward on a lounge as his valet +conducted the doctor from the room. He began to fear that this awful +shock would end in depriving him of reason. Throbbing pulses surged +like waves in his ears, and his senses threatened to desert him. + +The slow-dragging minutes went on, on, on, steadily, monotonously, and +at length the prince felt he could not remain thus supinely waiting any +longer. In reality, half an hour had elapsed from the moment he was +left alone, but it seemed like many hours. + +Rising, he was about to go to the salon, but as he raised himself, the +portière was drawn aside, and the physician stood again before him. + +The sad, grave face told its own tale, but the prince could not be +satisfied. + +“Doctor, how have you found her? What news do you bring me?” he cried +desperately. + +“The worst. Reason has utterly fled, never, I fear, to return. There +has been some fearful pressure on the brain and nervous system. It +would be as well to have a consultation, however, for sometimes these +difficult cases are deceptive.” + +But his judgment was only too firmly established on further inquiry. +Lucia adhered to her crazed resolve not to utter a word, though her +frequent terror and fixed look showed that she still believed herself +closely watched by the figure she imagined she had seen in the chapel +at the Russian embassy. + +But she had caused a terrible suspicion of the truth to dawn in the +mind of the last victim of her ruthless ambition. The prince reflected +upon the subject until he arrived at a tolerably correct surmise of the +facts of the case. + +A man of prompt resolve and speedy action, he at once settled in his +mind the course he should pursue, when he had recovered from the +stunning effects of his first horror. For a few days Lucia was to +remain in her own apartments while the further inquiry was conducted, +then he would take her to Switzerland, and there place her in a pretty, +secluded villa among the mountains, guarded and waited upon by a +trustworthy band of servants, under the immediate direction of Finette, +who agreed to accompany her ill-fated mistress. + +This was done. From time to time, the prince went to see her; but she +displayed the most utter indifference toward him, and never once gave +the slightest sign of recognition. + +A strange fancy seized her after a while--that this Swiss retreat was +the villa and garden at Florence, where she had pursued her studies for +the stage, and where she had lived until she made her escape, through +the intervention of Paul Desfrayne, to Paris. + +But she always remained totally dumb. Not the most strenuous effort +could induce her to break that terrible silence. Even in singing, which +she practised with the assiduity of her early student-days, she would +use no words, only the vowels employed in the chromatic and diatonic +scales. Her voice was infinitely richer, fuller, sweeter than it had +ever been, and frequently the prince would enjoy a melancholy pleasure +in listening beneath the window to the dulcet waves of birdlike melody. + +She loved to deck herself with the splendor of a queen; and in this +fancy the prince freely indulged her, though he never employed the +slightest portion of her large fortune for this object. The horror +which might have crushed his love when he was forced to believe that +she might have committed the crime of which she had accused herself was +tempered by the most profound pity for her distraught state. + +Happily, no other love came to make the life of this betrayed man +a burden to him, therefore the chains with which he had been so +treacherously bound did not gall as they might have done. + +A few were trusted with the terrible secret of Lucia’s loss of +reason--the director of the London opera-house, and one or two others. + +When the emissaries of justice came to seek for her--to accuse her of +her sacrilegious theft, they found her forever beyond the reach of +earthly law. + +The Supreme Judge had seen fit to allot her a punishment before which +her accusers drew back in solemn awe and dread. + +Thus ended the race upon which the lovely and gifted Lucia Guiscardini +had entered with such a high heart and iron nerve. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE SOUND OF WEDDING-BELLS. + + +It was a bright day at the seashore, and the beach was crowded. + +Lord and Lady Quaintree were at Eastbourne, with the Honorable +Gerald and “the two girls,” as Lois and Blanche were affectionately +designated. Frank Amberley had come to spend his few weeks of holiday +here. + +Paul, by the advice of his colonel, had seen the Italian consul in +London. The consul had looked grave, listened to his story, received +the register, and said: + +“The matter shall have every attention, and in all probability we shall +communicate with you shortly respecting it.” + +Some months, after all, elapsed before Captain Desfrayne received any +communication, and then he learned the painful facts of the unhappy +Lucia’s third marriage and the loss of her reason. + +He made every effort to find her on settling the affair at the Italian +consulate--but vainly, and was obliged to relinquish the attempt. Then +he repaired to Eastbourne. The agitation of these last few weeks had +told terribly on his health, although he was rejoicing with unspeakable +joy over his recovered liberty. + +He knew that the Quaintrees had chosen the place; indeed, that had been +the attraction for him. And Frank Amberley had seen him during his +visit to London, and mentioned his intention of coming. + +Captain Desfrayne set off to pay a visit of ceremony to Lady Quaintree. + +On the way, however, the scene was so bright, so alluring, so unlike +what he had been condemned to for some time, that he paused to +contemplate it. + +How many minutes he lingered he did not know, but he was aroused from a +bitter-sweet day-dream by hearing some one address him by name. It was +Frank Amberley. + +The young lawyer had left a party seated on the beach to come and +intercept Paul; but returned to them, followed by his treasure-trove. + +Paul’s heart beat violently, for he perceived Lois Turquand, dazzlingly +beautiful as a sea-nymph. He knew not what he said, either to the +ladies or to Lord Quaintree and his son, and sat down mechanically when +Blanche moved a little to make room for him on the beach. + +The remarks, the replies, the notes, and queries, were all commonplace +enough, so Paul could keep up a show of attention without betraying his +abstracted state of mind. + +“Charming, indeed,” he had just returned, to an observation of Lady +Quaintree’s--Lois was absolutely silent. + +Frank Amberley, too loyal to gain any advantage by treachery, would +have explained to Lois that the sad story he told her had ended less +tragically than it threatened to do; but he had not yet found any +opportunity of speaking to Miss Turquand undisturbed. He had, in fact, +preceded Captain Desfrayne by only a couple of days. + +Gerald had continued to devote himself to Blanche, in spite of his +mother’s evidences of displeasure. Lady Quaintree had begun to despair +of being able to secure Lois as a daughter-in-law. Blanche was amused +by the little flirtation into which Gerald had drawn her, but she cared +not a straw for him; while the grave, handsome face, the soft, musical +accents of Frank Amberley began to dangerously haunt her dreams. + +The little party rose, and Paul Desfrayne accompanied them a short way. +For part of the time he found himself lingering behind the others, with +Miss Turquand. + +An almost irrepressible desire to confide in her rose in his heart; +but he crushed the wish, for this was neither the time nor place. A +few impetuous words, however, gave her an inkling of the change that +had come to him, and she glanced up at him. A look of passionate +admiration--of dawning love--made her blush deeply and avert her head, +and hurry a few steps to rejoin the others. But when they were about +to part, she gave him her hand with a little happy smile of confidence. + +The tranquil, sunlit days glided by, and lengthened into weeks. + +Frank Amberley, fully conscious of the risk to his peace involved by +lingering, could not tear himself away. But by degrees he discovered +the charm, the beauty, the sweetness of the innocent Blanche’s +character, so was in a fair way of being consoled. Happily for himself, +he was not one of those who love but once and forever. + +Paul Desfrayne did not tell his painful story all at once, and Lois +spared him much of the distress involved in the recital, but by degrees +she became aware of all the sad details; and she gave him all the pity +and sympathy of her fresh young heart. + +The Honorable Gerald found some one more appreciative and more warmly +disposed in his favor than the pretty Blanche, and transferred all the +devotion he had to offer to the more accessible divinity. + +Paul was left pretty much to his own devices in winning the prize held +out to him so strangely. + +It was not a difficult task. Never did wooing prosper more hopefully. + +The last few days of this brief, delicious holiday were fast winging to +the dim past. + +Nay, the last evening had come--a soft, cloudless, moonlit night, when +the very air seemed to breathe of love. + +Gerald was away; Blanche and Lady Quaintree were taking a farewell turn +on the sands; Lord Quaintree was asleep. Lois had stayed at home, for +she had a tolerably clear idea that Paul would come, and he had looked +a hope that he might find her alone. + +The young girl was sitting in the long, flower-wreathed balcony, the +mild, silvery moonbeams falling over her like a radiance, making her +look some lovely ethereal spirit. + +Paul did come, as she anticipated. The dim, mysterious light did not +betray the glowing blush upon her beautiful face, the sparkling, happy +light in her eyes. She did not hear his step upon the carpet, nor see +him, but some electrical sympathy told her he was approaching. + +With a soft, welcoming, trustful smile, she held out her hand, which +he took, but omitted to release. Then he sat down close to her, yet +slightly behind her chair, as if even now he scarcely dared to believe +that the promise of the future could be true. + +A murmuring conversation, too low for ears less acute than those +attuned by love to hear, and then Paul gently folded Lois in his arms. +Then, after a pause, he slipped a diamond ring of betrothal upon her +finger, and she was his promised wife. + +Vere Gardiner’s dying wishes had come to a happy fruition, after all. +And the story ended like the delightful old fairy-tales, with a joyous +clash of merry wedding-bells. + +But this time there was no rash marrying in haste. Almost a year +elapsed, by the influence and desire of Lady Quaintree, before the +pretty bridal-party met in Flore Hall, about six weeks before the +marriage of Frank Amberley and Blanche Dormer. + +The echoes of the harmonious wedding-bells sound as yet through the +wedded life of Paul and his true love. Adieu, care; farewell, sorrow, +for the inevitable cares and sorrows are shared, so fall lightly. + +Sometimes a faint cloud comes over Paul’s face as he thinks of the +one act of folly which had so nearly ruined his life; but he tries to +forget the forbidding past, and to sun himself in the love and bright +smiles of his wife and two little angel-children, baby Lois, and her +elder brother, Paul. + + +THE END. + + +“Her Heart’s Delight,” by Bertha M. Clay is the title of No. 301 of the +NEW BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY. It is a story that the readers of this series +will not find lacking in the skill that Bertha Clay displays in telling +a vivid romance. + + + + +POPULAR COPYRIGHTS + +New Eagle Series + +_Carefully Selected Love Stories_ + + +There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an +impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author’s +work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete +works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, +May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, and other +writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention. + + +_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_ + + 1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 2--Ruby’s Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 9--The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming + 12--Edrie’s Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 17--Leslie’s Loyalty By Charles Garvice + 22--Elaine By Charles Garvice + 24--A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice + 41--Her Heart’s Desire By Charles Garvice + 44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 50--Her Ransom By Charles Garvice + 55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 70--Sydney By Charles Garvice + 73--The Marquis By Charles Garvice + 77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 79--Out of the Past By Charles Garvice + 84--Imogene By Charles Garvice + 85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold By Charles Garvice + 88--Virgie’s Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 95--A Wilful Maid By Charles Garvice + 98--Claire By Charles Garvice + 99--Audrey’s Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 102--Sweet Cymbeline By Charles Garvice + 109--Signa’s Sweetheart By Charles Garvice + 111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 117--She Loved Him By Charles Garvice + 119--’Twixt Smile and Tear By Charles Garvice + 122--Grazia’s Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 130--A Passion Flower By Charles Garvice + 133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 136--The Unseen Bridegroom By May Agnes Fleming + 138--A Fatal Wooing By Laura Jean Libbey + 141--Lady Evelyn By May Agnes Fleming + 144--Dorothy’s Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 146--Magdalen’s Vow By May Agnes Fleming + 151--The Heiress of Glen Gower By May Agnes Fleming + 155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 157--Who Wins By May Agnes Fleming + 166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won By May Agnes Fleming + 174--His Guardian Angel By Charles Garvice + 177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 181--The Baronet’s Bride By May Agnes Fleming + 188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 199--Geoffrey’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 203--Only One Love By Charles Garvice + 210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 213--The Heiress of Egremont By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 215--Only a Girl’s Love By Charles Garvice + 219--Lost: A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 223--Leola Dale’s Fortune By Charles Garvice + 231--The Earl’s Heir By Charles Garvice + 233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 236--Her Humble Lover By Charles Garvice + 242--A Wounded Heart By Charles Garvice + 244--A Hoiden’s Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 250--A Woman’s Soul By Charles Garvice + 255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 257--A Martyred Love By Charles Garvice + 266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 267--Jeanne By Charles Garvice + 268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake By Charles Garvice + 272--So Fair, So False By Charles Garvice + 276--So Nearly Lost By Charles Garvice + 277--Brownie’s Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 280--Love’s Dilemma By Charles Garvice + 282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 283--My Lady Pride By Charles Garvice + 287--The Lady of Darracourt By Charles Garvice + 288--Sibyl’s Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 292--For Her Only By Charles Garvice + 296--The Heir of Vering By Charles Garvice + 299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 300--The Spider and the Fly By Charles Garvice + 303--The Queen of the Isle By May Agnes Fleming + 304--Stanch as a Woman By Charles Garvice + 305--Led by Love By Charles Garvice + 309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffs By May Agnes Fleming + 312--Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift By Charles Garvice + 315--The Dark Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 317--Ione By Laura Jean Libbey + 318--Stanch of Heart By Charles Garvice + 322--Mildred By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 326--Parted by Fate By Laura Jean Libbey + 327--He Loves Me By Charles Garvice + 328--He Loves Me Not By Charles Garvice + 330--Aikenside By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 333--Stella’s Fortune By Charles Garvice + 334--Miss McDonald By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 339--His Heart’s Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 344--Tresillian Court By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 345--The Scorned Wife By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 347--The Eyes of Love By Charles Garvice + 348--The Hearts of Youth By Charles Garvice + 351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 352--Family Pride. Vol. I. By Mary J. Holmes + 353--Family Pride. Vol. II. By Mary J. Holmes + 354--A Love Comedy By Charles Garvice + 360--The Ashes of Love By Charles Garvice + 361--A Heart Triumphant By Charles Garvice + 362--Stella Rosevelt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 367--The Pride of Her Life By Charles Garvice + 368--Won By Love’s Valor By Charles Garvice + 372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 373--A Thorn Among Roses. + Sequel to “A Girl In a Thousand” By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 380--Her Double Life By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 381--The Sunshine of Love. + Sequel to “Her Double Life” By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 391--Marguerite’s Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 399--Betsey’s Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 440--Edna’s Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice + 449--The Bailiff’s Scheme By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 450--Rosamond’s Love. + Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme” By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 451--Helen’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 456--A Vixen’s Treachery By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 457--Adrift in the World. + Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery” By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice + 464--The Old Life’s Shadows By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 465--Outside Her Eden. + Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows” By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 474--The Belle of the Season By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 475--Love Before Pride. + Sequel to “The Belle of the Season” By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 481--Wedded, Yet No Wife By May Agnes Fleming + 489--Lucy Harding By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 495--Norine’s Revenge By May Agnes Fleming + 511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 512--A Heritage of Love. + Sequel to “The Golden Key” By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 520--The Heatherford Fortune. + Sequel to “The Magic Cameo” By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 531--Better Than Life By Charles Garvice + 542--Once in a Life By Charles Garvice + 548--’Twas Love’s Fault By Charles Garvice + 553--Queen Kate By Charles Garvice + 554--Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 557--In Cupid’s Chains By Charles Garvice + 630--The Verdict of the Heart By Charles Garvice + 635--A Coronet of Shame By Charles Garvice + 640--A Girl of Spirit By Charles Garvice + 645--A Jest of Fate By Charles Garvice + 648--Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 650--Diana’s Destiny By Charles Garvice + 655--Linked by Fate By Charles Garvice + 663--Creatures of Destiny By Charles Garvice + 671--When Love Is Young By Charles Garvice + 676--My Lady Beth By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 679--Gold in the Gutter By Charles Garvice + 712--Love and a Lie By Charles Garvice + 721--A Girl from the South By Charles Garvice + 730--John Hungerford’s Redemption By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 741--The Fatal Ruby By Charles Garvice + 749--The Heart of a Maid By Charles Garvice + 758--The Woman in It By Charles Garvice + 774--Love in a Snare By Charles Garvice + 775--My Love Kitty By Charles Garvice + 776--That Strange Girl By Charles Garvice + 777--Nellie By Charles Garvice + 778--Miss Estcourt; or Olive By Charles Garvice + 818--The Girl Who Was True By Charles Garvice + 826--The Irony of Love By Charles Garvice + 896--A Terrible Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 897--When To-morrow Came By May Agnes Fleming + 904--A Mad Marriage By May Agnes Fleming + 905--A Woman Without Mercy By May Agnes Fleming + 912--One Night’s Mystery By May Agnes Fleming + 913--The Cost of a Lie By May Agnes Fleming + 920--Silent and True By May Agnes Fleming + 921--A Treasure Lost By May Agnes Fleming + 925--Forrest House By Mary J. Holmes + 926--He Loved Her Once By Mary J. Holmes + 930--Kate Danton By May Agnes Fleming + 931--Proud as a Queen By May Agnes Fleming + 935--Queenie Hetherton By Mary J. Holmes + 936--Mightier Than Pride By Mary J. Holmes + 940--The Heir of Charlton By May Agnes Fleming + 941--While Love Stood Waiting By May Agnes Fleming + 945--Gretchen By Mary J. Holmes + 946--Beauty That Faded By Mary J. Holmes + 950--Carried by Storm By May Agnes Fleming + 951--Love’s Dazzling Glitter By May Agnes Fleming + 954--Marguerite By Mary J. Holmes + 955--When Love Spurs Onward By Mary J. Holmes + 960--Lost for a Woman By May Agnes Fleming + 961--His to Love or Hate By May Agnes Fleming + 964--Paul Ralston’s First Love By Mary J. Holmes + 965--Where Love’s Shadows Lie Deep By Mary J. Holmes + 968--The Tracy Diamonds By Mary J. Holmes + 969--She Loved Another By Mary J. Holmes + 972--The Cromptons By Mary J. Holmes + 973--Her Husband Was a Scamp By Mary J. Holmes + 975--The Merivale Banks By Mary J. Holmes + 978--The One Girl in the World By Charles Garvice + 979--His Priceless Jewel By Charles Garvice + 982--The Millionaire’s Daughter and Other Stories By Chas. Garvice + 983--Doctor Hathern’s Daughters By Mary J. Holmes + 984--The Colonel’s Bride By Mary J. Holmes + 988--Her Ladyship’s Diamonds, and Other Stories By Chas. Garvice + 998--Sharing Her Crime By May Agnes Fleming + 999--The Heiress of Sunset Hall By May Agnes Fleming + 1004--Maude Percy’s Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 1005--The Adopted Daughter By May Agnes Fleming + 1010--The Sisters of Torwood By May Agnes Fleming + 1015--A Changed Heart By May Agnes Fleming + 1016--Enchanted By May Agnes Fleming + 1025--A Wife’s Tragedy By May Agnes Fleming + 1026--Brought to Reckoning By May Agnes Fleming + 1027--A Madcap Sweetheart By Emma Garrison Jones + 1028--An Unhappy Bargain By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1029--Only a Working Girl By Geraldine Fleming + 1030--The Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1031--The Man and His Millions By Ida Reade Allen + 1032--Mabel’s Sacrifice By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1033--Was He Worth It? By Geraldine Fleming + 1034--Her Two Suitors By Wenona Gilman + 1035--Edith Percival By May Agnes Fleming + 1036--Caught in the Snare By May Agnes Fleming + 1037--A Love Concealed By Emma Garrison Jones + 1038--The Price of Happiness By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1039--The Lucky Man By Geraldine Fleming + 1040--A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen + 1041--The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard + 1042--The Bride’s Opals By Emma Garrison Jones + 1043--Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming + 1044--Thorns of Regret By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1045--Love Will Find the Way By Wenona Gilman + 1046--Bitterly Atoned By Mrs. E. Burke Collins + 1047--Told in the Twilight By Ida Reade Allen + 1048--A Little Barbarian By Charlotte Kingsley + 1049--Love’s Golden Spell By Geraldine Fleming + 1050--Married in Error By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1051--If It Were True By Wenona Gilman + 1052--Vivian’s Love Story By Mrs. E. Burke Collins + 1053--From Tears to Smiles By Ida Reade Allen + 1054--When Love Dawns By Adelaide Stirling + 1055--Love’s Earnest Prayer By Geraldine Fleming + 1056--The Strength of Love By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1057--A Lost Love By Wenona Gilman + 1058--The Stronger Passion By Lillian R. Drayton + 1059--What Love Can Cost By Evelyn Malcolm + 1060--At Another’s Bidding By Ida Reade Allen + 1061--Above All Things By Adelaide Stirling + 1062--The Curse of Beauty By Geraldine Fleming + 1063--Her Sister’s Secret By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1064--Married in Haste By Wenona Gilman + 1065--Fair Maid Marian By Emma Garrison Jones + 1066--No Man’s Wife By Ida Reade Allen + 1067--A Sacrifice to Love By Adelaide Stirling + 1068--Her Fatal Gift By Geraldine Fleming + 1069--Her Life’s Burden By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1070--Evelyn, the Actress By Wenona Gilman + 1071--Married for Money By Lucy Randall Comfort + 1072--A Lost Sweetheart By Ida Reade Allen + 1073--A Golden Sorrow By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1074--Her Heart’s Challenge By Barbara Howard + 1075--His Willing Slave By Lillian R. Drayton + 1076--A Freak of Fate By Emma Garrison Jones + 1077--Her Punishment By Laura Jean Libbey + 1078--The Shadow Between Them By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1079--No Time for Penitence By Wenona Gilman + 1080--Norma’s Black Fortune By Ida Reade Allen + 1081--A Wilful Girl By Lucy Randall Comfort + 1082--Love’s First Kiss By Emma Garrison Jones + 1083--Lola Dunbar’s Crime By Barbara Howard + 1084--Ethel’s Secret By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1085--Lynette’s Wedding By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1086--A Fair Enchantress By Ida Reade Allen + 1087--The Tide of Fate By Wenona Gilman + 1088--Her Husband’s Other Wife By Emma Garrison Jones + 1089--Hearts of Stone By Geraldine Fleming + 1090--In Love’s Springtime By Laura Jean Libbey + 1091--Love at the Loom By Geraldine Fleming + 1092--What Was She to Him? By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1093--For Another’s Fault By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1094--Hearts and Dollars By Ida Reade Allan + 1095--A Wife’s Triumph By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1096--A Bachelor Girl By Lucy May Russell + 1097--Love and Spite By Adelaide Stirling + 1098--Leola’s Heart By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1099--The Power of Love By Geraldine Fleming + 1100--An Angel of Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1101--True to His Bride By Emma Garrison Jones + 1102--The Lady of Beaufort Park By Wenona Gilman + 1103--A Daughter of Darkness By Ida Reade Allen + 1104--My Pretty Maid By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1105--Master of Her Fate By Geraldine Fleming + 1106--A Shadowed Happiness By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1107--John Elliott’s Flirtation By Lucy May Russell + 1108--A Forgotten Love By Adelaide Stirling + 1109--Sylvia, The Forsaken By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1110--Her Dearest Love By Geraldine Fleming + 1111--Love’s Greatest Gift By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1112--Mischievous Maid Faynie By Laura Jean Libbey + 1113--In Love’s Name By Emma Garrison Jones + 1114--Love’s Clouded Dawn By Wenona Gilman + 1115--A Blue Grass Heroine By Ida Reade Allen + 1116--Only a Kiss By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1117--Virgie Talcott’s Mission By Lucy May Russell + 1118--Her Evil Genius By Adelaide Stirling + 1119--In Love’s Paradise By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1120--Sold for Gold By Geraldine Fleming + 1121--Andrew Leicester’s Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1122--Taken by Storm By Emma Garrison Jones + 1123--The Mills of the Gods By Wenona Gilman + 1124--The Breath of Slander By Ida Reade Allen + 1125--Loyal Unto Death By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1126--A Spurned Proposal By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1127--Daredevil Betty By Evelyn Malcolm + 1128--Her Life’s Dark Cloud By Lillian R. Drayton + 1129--True Love Endures By Ida Reade Allen + 1130--The Battle of Hearts By Geraldine Fleming + 1131--Better Than Riches By Wenona Gilman + 1132--Tempted By Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1133--Between Good and Evil By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1134--A Southern Princess By Emma Garrison Jones + 1135--The Thorns of Love By Evelyn Malcolm + 1136--A Married Flirt By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1137--Her Priceless Love By Geraldine Fleming + 1138--My Own Sweetheart By Wenona Gilman + 1139--Love’s Harvest By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1140--His Two Loves By Ida Reade Allen + 1141--The Love He Sought By Lillian R. Drayton + 1142--A Fateful Promise By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1143--Love Surely Triumphs By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1144--The Haunting Past By Evelyn Malcolm + 1145--Sorely Tried By Emma Garrison Jones + 1146--Falsely Accused By Geraldine Fleming + 1147--Love Given in Vain By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1148--No One to Help Her By Ida Reade Allen + 1149--Her Golden Secret By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1150--Saved From Herself By Adelaide Stirling + 1151--The Gypsy’s Warning By Emma Garrison Jones + 1152--Caught in Love’s Net By Ida Reade Allen + 1153--The Pride of My Heart By Laura Jean Libbey + 1154--A Vagabond Heiress By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1155--That Terrible Tomboy By Geraldine Fleming + 1156--The Man She Hated By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1157--Her Fateful Choice By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1158--A Hero For Love’s Sake By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1159--A Penniless Princess By Emma Garrison Jones + 1160--Love’s Rugged Pathway By Ida Reade Allen + 1161--Had She Loved Him Less By Laura Jean Libbey + 1162--The Serpent and the Dove By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1163--What Love Made Her By Geraldine Fleming + 1164--Love Conquers Pride By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1165--His Unbounded Faith By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1166--A Heart’s Triumph By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1167--Stronger than Fate By Emma Garrison Jones + 1168--A Virginia Goddess By Ida Reade Allen + 1169--Love’s Young Dream By Laura Jean Libbey + 1170--When Fate Decrees By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1171--For a Flirt’s Love By Geraldine Fleming + 1172--All For Love By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1173--Could He Have Known By Charlotte May Stanley + 1174--The Girl He Loved By Adelaide Stirling + 1175--They Met By Chance By Ida Reade Allen + 1176--The Lovely Constance By Laura Jean Libbey + 1177--The Love That Prevailed By Mrs. E. Burke Collins + 1178--Trixie’s Honor By Geraldine Fleming + 1179--Driven from Home By Wenona Gilman + 1180--The Arm of the Law By Evelyn Malcolm + 1181--A Will Of Her Own By Ida Reade Allen + 1182--Pity--Not Love By Laura Jean Libbey + 1183--Brave Barbara By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1184--Lady Gay’s Martyrdom By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1185--Barriers of Stone By Wenona Gilman + 1186--A Useless Sacrifice By Emma Garrison Jones + 1187--When We Two Parted By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1188--Far Above Price By Evelvn Malcolm + 1189--In Love’s Shadows By Ida Reade Allen + 1190--The Veiled Bride By Laura Jean Libbey + 1191--The Love Knot By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1192--She Scoffed at Love By Mrs. E. Burke Collins + 1193--Life’s Richest Jewel By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1194--A Barrier Between Them By Evelyn Malcolm + 1195--Too Quickly Judged By Ida Reade Allen + 1196--Lotta, the Cloak Model By Laura Jean Libbey + 1197--Loved at Last By Geraldine Fleming + 1198--They Looked and Loved By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1199--The Wiles of a Siren By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1200--Tricked Into Marriage By Evelyn Malcolm + 1201--Her Twentieth Guest By Emma Garrison Jones + 1202--From Dreams to Waking By Charlotte M. Kingsley + 1203--Sweet Kitty Clover By Laura Jean Libbey + 1204--Selina’s Love Story By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1205--The Cost of Pride By Lillian R. Drayton + 1206--Love Is a Mystery By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1207--When Love Speaks By Evelyn Malcolm + 1208--A Siren’s Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1209--Her Share of Sorrow By Wenona Gilman + 1210--The Other Girl’s Lover By Lillian R. Drayton + 1211--The Fatal Kiss By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1212--A Reckless Promise By Emma Garrison Jones + 1213--Without Name or Wealth By Ida Reade Allen + 1214--At Her Father’s Bidding By Geraldine Fleming + 1215--The Heart of Hetta By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1216--A Dreadful Legacy By Geraldine Fleming + +In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the +books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New +York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance +promptly, on account of delays in transportation. + + +To be published in July, 1926. + + 1217--For Jack’s Sake By Emma Garrison Jones + 1218--One Man’s Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + + +To be published In August, 1926. + + 1219--Through the Shadows By Adelaide Fox Robinson + 1220--The Stolen Bride By Evelyn Malcolm + + +To be published in September, 1926. + + 1221--When the Heart Hungers By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1222--The Love that Would Not Die By Ida Reade Allen + + +To be published in October, 1926. + + 1223--A King and a Coward By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1224--A Queen of Song By Geraldine Fleming + + +To be published in November, 1926. + + 1225--Shall We Forgive Her? By Charlotte May Kingsley + 1226--Face to Face with Love By Lillian R. Drayton + 1227--Long Since Forgiven By Mrs. E. Burke Collins + + +To be published In December, 1926. + + 1228--As Light as Air By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1229--When Man Proposes By Emma Garrison Jones + + + + +The Dealer + + +who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The +fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the +merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH +NOVELS are superior to all others. + +He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered +book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one +of our novels to any one, because he has our assurance that nothing +except clean, wholesome literature finds its way into our lines. + +Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise +tradesman, and it is fair to assume selects the other articles he +has for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his +paper-covered books. + +Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer. + + + STREET & SMITH CORPORATION + 79 Seventh Avenue New York City + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes: + + +Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. + +Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by +the transcriber. + +Due to a typographical error, an incorrect line of text (duplicated +from an earlier page) was printed on page 36 of the book used as the +basis for this edition. This has been replaced here with the correct +phrase: “never left him. What would she say when she learnt” which was +sourced from an overseas serialization of the work under the title +_Married in Haste_, with the correct text located in the Wednesday, +April 5, 1899 issue of _The Maryborough Chronicle_ newspaper. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75137 *** |