Kitabı oku: «The Bride of the Tomb, and Queenie's Terrible Secret», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XXXVI

It was the twenty-fourth of December and Mr. Lawrence sat alone in his elegant office at the bank, musing sadly before the glowing fire in the grate.

The banker looked worn and sad, and now and then a heavy sigh parted his well-cut lips, and a dimness crept over his fine blue eyes.

He was thinking of his beautiful elder daughter whose tragic death had well-nigh broken his fatherly heart.

He brushed his handkerchief across his eyes and sighed heavily.

There was a knock at the door and a clerk entered with Mr. Shelton's card.

"Ah!" said Mr. Lawrence. "Show the gentleman in, Mr. Styles."

Mr. Shelton entered with suppressed excitement beaming from every feature. His greeting ceremonies were brief and hurried.

"Mr. Lawrence," he said directly, "I have a carriage in waiting outside. Will you do me the honor to ride several miles with me this morning?"

"You have made some important discovery?" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, rising excitedly.

"Yes," answered the detective, "but I cannot explain until we are on our way. We have not a minute to spare!"

They hurried out and took their places in the carriage.

"Driver, you have your directions," said the detective to the man on the box. "Do not forget. Drive fast and overtake the other carriage if possible—if not, try and get within sight of it at least."

"Is there another carriage?" inquired the banker, bewildered.

"Yes," said Mr. Shelton. "I have sent a carriage ahead of us containing four policemen, and they are secretly following another carriage. The first carriage contains Doctor Pratt, Harold Colville, and a priest. They are on the way to the place where the body of your daughter is concealed, and we are on our way to secure and arrest them."

"You are perfectly certain, I hope," said Mr. Lawrence, trembling with excitement.

"Yes, success is assured," said Mr. Shelton, with a ring of triumph in his clear tone.

"Thank God!" exclaimed the banker fervently. "At last my poor Lily's desecrated corpse may rest in a fitting sanctuary."

He leaned over and wrung the detective's hand gratefully.

"God bless you, my friend, for the patience and perseverance that have brought this result at last," he said.

The detective was deeply moved by the emotion of the elder man.

"Mr. Lawrence," said he, bending forward and speaking in low, impressive tones, "prepare yourself for a wonderful revelation! Are you strong enough to bear tidings of great joy?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Shelton?" inquired the banker with a start. "Alas! what joyful tidings can come to me, broken-hearted as I am at the loss of my daughter?"

The detective leaned forward and laid his hand on the banker's arm.

"Mr. Lawrence," he said, in a voice that vibrated with feeling, "it is not the corpse of your daughter that I am about to restore to the desecrated vault, but the living, beautiful Lily that will be given back to your heart and your home!"

Mr. Lawrence fell back against the cushion of the carriage like one stricken with death, so great was the shock of the detective's revelation. Mr. Shelton took a small flask from his pocket, and forced some wine between his white and gasping lips.

"I feared these joyful tidings would unnerve you," said he, gently. "Calm yourself, my dear sir. Your daughter, whom you have mourned as dead, yet lives. It was her own living self that you saw in your hall that night, not her spirit!"

"Oh! God be thanked! Lily lives!" repeated the banker in a low voice of ecstasy.

Shelton put his head out of the carriage window a moment.

"We have caught up with the officers' hack," said he. "Now we are all right. Driver, just keep on at your present pace. We do not need to go faster."

"Every moment seems an hour," exclaimed the banker, in a fever of anxiety and impatience. "Oh, to think that my darling lives! And yet, oh, God! what would be her feelings on learning that her betrothed will wed another to-night!"

"Do not distress yourself about that marriage, Mr. Lawrence," answered the detective. "I assure you it shall never be consummated."

"Ah! you think she will generously yield him to Lily when she finds that she is still living?" said the banker; "but you do not know Mrs. Vance. Nothing would induce her to release her victim from the toils she has wound about him."

"Perhaps I know more of Mrs. Vance than you suppose," said Mr. Shelton. "For instance, Mr. Lawrence, you believe that your daughter committed suicide—do you not?"

"It was the jury's verdict," said the banker.

"Mr. Lawrence, your daughter was as happy and as much in love with life as you believed her to be. She never attempted to commit suicide," said the detective, firmly.

"She did not? Then who—what—?" began the banker, in a maze of bewilderment.

"The dagger that pierced her innocent breast was driven home by the murderous hand of Mrs. Vance!" was the reply.

Fear, horror and amazement were blended on the pale, excited features of the listener. His gray head fell back against the cushions of the carriage, and he struggled helplessly for speech in which to express his feelings. Mr. Shelton again had recourse to his convenient flask of wine.

"I fear I am exciting you too much with my astonishing revelations," said the detective, kindly. "I do not wonder at your emotion, for my own agitation at learning these facts was great. How much more poignant must your feelings be than mine were, under the circumstances that affect you so closely."

"The viper! The serpent that stung the hand that warmed and fed her!" exclaimed the banker, bitterly.

"You may well say so," said Mr. Shelton. "She has indeed proved herself a monster of ingratitude! But to-day she will find herself foiled and ruined. She has but a few hours remaining to her now of her fancied security and happiness."

"God be thanked!" said the banker; "and, oh! Mr. Shelton, are we almost there? The time seems so long. Forgive a father's impatience, but you cannot imagine what suspense I suffer, what longings overwhelm me at the thought that I shall soon clasp my darling Lily to my heart again!"

"We shall soon be there now. Patience, my friend," said the detective. "Believe me, I sympathize in your impatience to behold your daughter again."

"You are a noble fellow, Mr. Shelton," said the banker. "You will not find me ungrateful."

The carriage slackened its pace, and Mr. Shelton put his head out of the window.

"We are there," he exclaimed in a voice that trembled with excitement and triumph, while his manly, handsome features beamed with joy.

The carriage stopped and Mr. Shelton descended, followed by the banker, who trembled so that he could scarcely stand upon the ground.

The four officers had already descended from their vehicle and stood respectfully awaiting Mr. Shelton's approach. The empty carriage of Pratt and Colville stood in waiting before the door.

At a word from Mr. Shelton they all ascended the steps, and the detective rang a furious peal upon the bell.

The summons was unanswered. Mr. Shelton rang again and again with a like result.

"What will you do now?" asked Mr. Lawrence, in a perfect fever of dread and impatience.

"Burst in the door!" said the detective, in a ringing voice.

At the word the four officers fell to furiously with their clubs upon the door. A few moments of their impetuous battering sufficed to burst it in, and they all bounded tumultuously into the hall.

A neat-looking maid-servant stood at the bottom of the stairway, looking frightened and indignant. It was none other than Mary Brown.

"Woman," said Mr. Shelton, imperiously, "lead the way to Miss Lawrence's room immediately!"

"It's against orders, sir," said Mary, sullenly.

"No matter, do as I bid you!" thundered the impatient detective.

"Miss Lawrence has company, sir, and the orders are not to admit any one."

"Push her aside, men; we will hunt for Miss Lawrence ourselves," said the detective sternly.

Strong hands forced Mary aside from her position on the stairway. Several domestics, attracted by the noise, had hastened up from the regions of the basement and stood staring stupidly, but did not offer any resistance to the officers' power. The men began to mount the stairs rapidly, and Mary Brown rushed frantically after them.

"Oh! for the Lord's sake, gentlemen," she panted, "don't burst in the doors up-stairs, and let the poor crazy people out upon us. They will murder us all."

"Will you do as we told you, then?" asked the detective, sharply.

"Oh! yes, yes," whimpered Mary, running along in front of them. "This way, gentlemen."

She stopped, at length, and indicated the door. It was locked, but the officers' clubs demolished it directly, and not a moment too soon were they for what was progressing within that room.

The villanous priest who was desecrating his holy office by this sacrilege, stood in the center of the floor with his prayer-book open at the marriage service, from which he was slowly reading. Colville stood in front of him, and the united efforts of the worthy doctors, Pratt and Heath, were employed in holding up the form of Lily Lawrence beside him.

With a scream of horror Mr. Lawrence rushed forward, and snatching his daughter from their villanous hold, he folded her tightly to his heart. She looked up an instant with a wild and piercing shriek, and seeing the beloved face of her father, dropped unconscious in his loving arms.

CHAPTER XXXVII

"Harold Colville, Doctor Pratt and Doctor Heath, you are under arrest," cried the detective, in a ringing voice that fell on the ears of the villanous trio like the trump of doom. "Officers, secure your men."

There was a brief struggle, accompanied by loud cries and oaths, then the superior power of the policemen triumphed, and each man had his prisoner handcuffed and reduced to grim silence. The fourth officer had collared the fat little priest, who was struggling in his grasp.

In the meantime Mr. Lawrence had been vainly striving to restore the consciousness of his fainting daughter. He had laid her upon the bed, and was wildly chafing her cold hands, while he called her by every term of love his fond affection could devise.

"Here, woman," said Mr. Shelton to Mary Brown, who lingered in the hall looking in at the scene, "come and lend a hand in reviving the young lady. She has fainted."

Mary hurried in with alacrity, and Lily was soon restored to partial consciousness, to the great delight of her father. She lay quite still, with half-open eyes, contemplating the banker's face with an expression of languid ecstasy, though she trembled excessively.

"I must get my prisoners away at once," said Mr. Shelton. "Do you think you are strong enough to return to the city with us now, Miss Lawrence?"

She looked up in languid inquiry at the strange yet kindly voice addressing her so respectfully, and made an effort to rise, but fell backward wearily. Doctor Pratt turned about sullenly.

"In my character of a physician," said he, shortly, "I would advise you not to remove the young lady for several hours. She needs complete rest for a little while to recover from the shock she has sustained. You can take my advice or not, as it pleases you."

Mr. Shelton looked at the banker. He in turn looked inquiringly at the pale face of his daughter.

She answered in feeble tones:

"Perhaps he is right. I feel completely exhausted now. Allow me an interval of rest, and then, oh! how gladly I will leave this place with you, dear papa."

"I will take these men into the city, then," said the detective, "and return for you, Mr. Lawrence, as we intend to search the house thoroughly. It is strongly suspected that some persons as sane as you or I are confined here through the wickedness of their relatives and the connivance of this man, Dr. Heath. I will leave two officers on guard here while I am away."

He went out, followed by the officers with their prisoners. Mary Brown followed after, and the banker was left alone with the daughter who had been so strangely restored to him after he had mourned her as dead for many months. He bent down and clasped her in his arms, and his joyful tears rained upon her sweet, white face.

A smile of heavenly sweetness beamed on her pale face. She lay still a little while, nestling against her father's breast, trying to picture to herself the ineffable sweetness of the re-union that awaited her. She pictured to herself the happiness that would shine in the dark eyes of her lover when she came back to him as one from the dead. Her heart began to beat tumultuously, and a tinge of color crept into her wasted cheeks. She closed her eyes to shut out the hateful sight of her prison walls, and fancied herself at home with the loved ones instead.

In the meantime Mr. Lawrence was gazing sadly on her pale and wasted features, marking the mournful ravages privation and sorrow had worked in that once blooming face.

"My Lily," he said, in a tone of anguish, taking up one delicate hand and looking at the blue veins wandering so clearly over its surface, "you have grown to be a lily indeed. How white and wan you look."

She trembled and clung closer to his breast.

"Ah! papa," she murmured, "they tried to starve me into compliance with their wishes. But though my strength failed and my beauty faded, I would not give up, though I thought I should have died with the weakness and the horror of it all."

"The devils!" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, smothering a stronger malediction between his lips.

"Papa," she said, in her weak tones, "you know all, do you not? How Mrs. Vance hated me for Lancelot's sake? How she tried to murder me?"

"Yes, my dear," he answered, gently. "Thank God, her wicked attempt did not succeed. A terrible retribution awaits her."

"Papa, I can forgive her now since I am restored to you all again," said Lily, sweetly. "Cannot we let her go away and not punish her for her cruelty? I hated her at first, but that is all over with now since she has failed in her endeavor. You know it was all because she loved my Lancelot."

"My love," said the banker, "your sweet forgiveness is angelic; but the secret of Mrs. Vance's crime is in other hands than mine. However much we might wish to shield her from the consequences of her sin we could not do so. The law will have to take its course."

He did not tell her of the marriage that was to take place between her lover and Mrs. Vance that night. In her weak state he feared to shock her by the disclosure. He hoped that they would reach home before the appointed time, and forestall the dreaded event, and he resolved that the knowledge of it should never come to Lily's hearing.

Mr. Shelton returned in a few hours and instituted a search. As he had suspected, several sane persons were found confined in the house, and these were set at liberty, swearing deadly vengeance against Dr. Heath and sundry wicked relatives. The evening was far advanced, and the detective began to see the necessity of his hastening Miss Lawrence away if they were to reach Fifth avenue in time to stop the contemplated marriage of Lancelot to Mrs. Vance. He accordingly stated the fact to Mr. Lawrence.

Lily was feeling stronger and better, and declared her desire to start immediately. The carriage was made as comfortable as possible with pillows and cushions, and the young girl was lifted tenderly into it.

They then set forth rapidly on their journey, but the early winter twilight had given place to night before they reached the banker's house.

Lily's heart beat rapidly as they reached home. She remembered the last time she had glided up those steps, worn and weary, but, oh! so happy in the prospect of reunion with her loved ones, and the cruel hand that had snatched her away in the moment that she beheld the faces she had so longed to behold. She clung convulsively to her father's arm as they stepped upon the pavement.

"Courage, dear," he whispered, feeling how she trembled, and how nervously she glanced about her. "You are safe, love. No one can harm you now."

"Oh! papa," she whispered, after her first startled glance around her. "What does all this mean? Is Ada giving a party?"

Mr. Lawrence glanced up in dismay. He knew what to expect, but he had fondly hoped to reach home before matters went so far.

The mansion was brilliantly lighted from top to bottom. A silken awning extended from the house out to the street to shelter the heads of the guests from the few flying flakes of snow that whirled homelessly through the bitter cold air. They stepped from the carriage upon an elegant Turkey carpet that led to the marble steps.

Every arrangement betokened a grand reception, and as they walked through the wide hall, lined with staring servants, the notes of the wedding march pealed forth from the grand organ in the music-room.

"Oh, God, if we should be too late!" whispered Mr. Lawrence to the detective.

"It seems that we are just in time," whispered Mr. Shelton reassuringly.

"Must we take Lily in with us?" asked the banker dubiously.

"Yes," was the firm reply, and at the words all three stepped across the threshold of the open drawing-room door.

What a startling sight met the eyes of the fair young girl so strangely restored to her home and loved ones!

The room was crowded with guests, elegantly arrayed, the men in their fine black reception suits, the women in their satins and laces and sparkling jewels. Hot-house flowers were in profusion everywhere. A beautiful horse-shoe, formed with white flowers, depended from the ceiling, and beneath it Lily saw a group that seemed to freeze the blood in her veins to solid ice.

Brilliantly beautiful, flushed with love and triumph, Mrs. Vance stood there in elaborate bridal robes, leaning on the arm of a splendidly handsome young man. His face was slightly turned away, but Lily knew it was none other than her own betrothed, Lancelot Darling, who was listening so calmly there to the opening words of the beautiful marriage service read by the lips of the white-haired and venerable clergyman. At one glance she took in the whole appalling scene, and then a shriek of agony, loud, piercing, horror-stricken, broke from the lips of the stricken girl, thrilling every heart with terror.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

So wild and startling was that anguished scream that even the bride and groom sprang apart and looked toward the door in terror.

Lance saw his lost darling standing there, clinging to the arm of her father, the dark hood thrown back from her head, and her golden hair streaming over her shoulders and about her lovely face, now convulsed with pain and grief.

With a wild prescience of the truth, he rushed forward and with a ringing cry of joy caught his darling to his heart.

At the same moment the clear, full voice of the detective pealed through the large apartment thronged with wedding guests, with the suddenness of a trumpet call.

"Mrs. Vance, I arrest you for the attempted murder of Lily Lawrence, and that of Haidee and Peter Leveret!"

The detective had instantly recognized her form as that of the woman he had seen walking in the road near the Leveret house the day of the murder, and the conviction rushed upon him with the suddenness of a flash of lightning.

None who were present ever forgot the look of the guilty woman as those clarion tones fell upon her ears.

Her brain was reeling with horror, her heart beat to suffocation's verge as she beheld Lancelot clasping her rival to his heart.

When the detective's ringing voice with its dreadful accusation reached her hearing, she turned her face on him a moment, and its expression of awful horror and black despair was fearful to behold.

The next instant she threw up her arms with a wail of agony, and fell down in a writhing heap upon the floor.

The aged minister, who stood nearer to her than the rest of the guests, hastened to lift her up, though he was trembling so perceptibly he could hardly stand.

As he raised the dark head on his arm and turned her face upward to the light, a stream of blood gushed from her lips and poured its crimson rain upon the stainless whiteness of her bridal robe and veil.

"She has burst a blood vessel," said a physician in the crowd, now coming forward. "She will die."

The words reached her ears as they knelt around her trying to stanch the life tide flowing thick and fast from her lips. Her dark eyes opened and stared up into their faces with a mute despair awful to behold.

She must die! That was the only triumph that was left her out of the full cup of happiness pressed to her lips overflowingly but a moment ago! She might cheat the scaffold of its prey—that was all! Life with all its pleasures and luxuries lay before her just a moment before—now, darkness and the grave! Like one in a dream she seemed to recall words carelessly heard in the past that lay behind her forever beyond recall:

"The wages of sin is death!"

They gathered around her, the awe-stricken guests, with their pale, pale faces and gala attire, and looked at her dying before them with the awful stain of murder on her soul—that beautiful woman with the bridal wreath crowning her coronal of dark hair, and her satin robe deluged with her life-blood—such a beautiful, beautiful sinner!

Her haunting eyes roved over their faces restlessly, seeking, seeking for one face that was not there. He stood apart with Mr. Lawrence and Ada, showering caresses on the pale, almost fainting girl lying on a sofa, with her dear ones clustered round her. Mrs. Vance could not see them, but her quick intuition told her the truth, and the groan that burst from her lips brought with it a fresh torrent of life-blood.

"She wishes to see someone, I think," said the physician, interpreting her yearning look.

She gave him a glance of assent, and, with a violent effort, pronounced almost unintelligibly the name of "Lance."

Mr. Shelton, who had stood beside her, carried the message to Lancelot, but in his passionate anger against her the young man refused to go, and the detective went back without him.

"He refuses to see you," he said, with a pitying glance at her ghastly face.

The streaming blood had ceased to flow for the moment, and as the physician wiped the stains from her gasping lips, she whispered, brokenly:

"Bring Lily!"

The gaping throng parted to admit Mr. Shelton, with Lily Lawrence clinging to his arm. She knelt down, trembling, and took into her own white, innocent hand the crimson-stained one that had thrust the dagger into the gentle bosom.

Her blue eyes beamed with the soft compassion of an angel's as she looked down upon the fallen woman.

"I am here, Mrs. Vance," she said, in her sweet, flute-like voice. "I am not angry now. I forgive you everything—freely!"

But Mrs. Vance pushed away the hand that held hers as if its soft clasp hurt her.

"I do not want forgiveness," she gasped, in broken, yet defiant tones. "I want—Lance. Bring—him—to me."

Silently the young girl turned away, followed by the wondering and admiring glances of all.

She came back at last, bringing with her the reluctant one for whom the dying woman waited longingly. He bent down over her, trying to hide his horror and aversion under a mask of calmness.

The dark eyes, fast growing dim, lighted up with passion as she looked upon his face.

"I wanted—to tell you," she gasped, faintly, "that—that all my—sin—was for—love of you, Lance!"

He bowed in silence. He had no words with which to answer her passionate avowal.

"She is going very fast," said the physician, in a whisper.

Mr. Shelton bent over her.

"Do you confess your crimes?" he inquired, in a low voice.

Her eyes left Lancelot Darling's face one moment, while she gazed into that of the detective.

"You are—my—accuser?" she faltered.

"I am," he answered, briefly. "Do you confess?"

She did not answer. Her gaze had gone back to Lancelot Darling's face, searching its cold, immovable outlines longingly. The white-haired man of God bent over her gently.

"Do you confess your sins?" he inquired.

No answer. Her dying gaze was fixed on the one beloved face to the exclusion of all other earthly objects. The minister touched her arm gently.

"I pray you," he said, "do not suffer yourself to die with your unconfessed sins lying heavy on your soul."

She heard the words, and spoke faintly to her idol:

"What is it they want—of me—Lance?"

"To confess your crimes," he said, coldly. "Oh! Mrs. Vance, are you indeed guilty of all with which you are accused?"

"All, all!" she murmured, hollowly. "I tried—to kill Lily—first, you see—then when I felt safe—from detection—old Haidee learned my secret—and threatened to tell you—you, my darling! So I poisoned her and the old man both—to save myself. But, Lance—it was all for love of you!"

There was neither regret nor repentance in her tone—nothing but passionate love and despair. He did not answer, and she broke forth wailingly:

"Oh! Lance, do but say that—you—are sorry—that I must die! Say that—you might have learned to love me—poor me—if you had not learned—my fatal secret!"

Lance turned his head away that he might not see the agonized pleading of her eyes, and seeing that he could not answer her, the minister again spoke gently:

"Mrs. Vance, the time for human love is over with you now! Look rather to the Divine love that is able to pardon your sins though they be as scarlet. Do you repent?"

"Repent!" she echoed, with a wild and chilling laugh. "Repent! No, never! Were it all to do over again, and the prize the same, I would wade through seas of blood to reach my darling's heart! All for love, and—my soul—well—lost!"

With the wild, defiant words, a fresh stream of blood poured forth from her lips.

There was a gasp, a spasmodic tremor of all the features, a convulsive quiver of the limbs, and the soul of the guilty woman went wandering forth into the vast arcana of eternity!

"The wages of sin is death."