Kitabı oku: «The Bride of the Tomb, and Queenie's Terrible Secret», sayfa 16

CHAPTER XXXIX

On the day that Mr. Lawrence paid the reward of ten thousand dollars to the detective, Lancelot Darling was present.

He immediately wrote a check for fifteen thousand dollars and tendered it to Mr. Shelton, saying gracefully:

"Allow me also to testify some slight sense of my gratitude, although money alone can never pay the great debt we owe you!"

"Our hearty appreciation and faithful friendship shall unfailingly pay the interest, at least," added the banker cordially.

Mr. Shelton's fine features beamed with pride and joy. He felt a pardonable elation at the wonders his skill and patience had accomplished.

He felt within himself the proud consciousness that his indefatigable perseverance had nobly earned his success.

Within a few weeks he had the pleasure of seeing Doctor Pratt and Harold Colville sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years, and Doctor Heath also was duly punished for his wickedness.

The testimony of Lily Lawrence and Fanny Colville filled the thronged court-room with horror on the day of the trial.

Everyone felt that lynching would not be too bad for such villains; but the sentence of the court was duly carried out, and the wretches were incarcerated in the penitentiary.

Doctor Pratt served out his sentence faithfully. When it was ended he left the shores of America for a foreign land, not, as some may suppose, to repent of his sins, but solely to hide his dishonored head from the contempt of all who knew him, and begin again under new auspices a second career of vice and crime.

Harold Colville's patience could not uphold him, as it did his colleague, the doctor. Solitude and confinement fairly maddened him.

Within a few months after the trial he hung himself in his cell, and sent his wicked soul forth into the darkness of eternity.

Fanny Colville was thus left a widow, and on producing requisite evidence that she had been the dead man's wife, inherited his handsome property.

She took possession of his wealth, feeling herself honestly entitled to it, purchased a handsome house in the city, and brought her old mother from the country to live with her, while the friendly Mrs. Mason was duly installed as her housekeeper.

In the meantime Fanny had paid several visits to Lily Lawrence, and the two young creatures had exchanged numberless congratulations with each other on the happy termination of their mutual trials.

"I never should have recognized you, my dear," Lily said frankly at their first meeting, "if Mr. Shelton had not informed me who was coming. When I first saw you I could not believe that you were not an old woman. Now you have grown young and pretty."

Fanny laughed and blushed at the compliment, and it only made her more attractive. In truth, she deserved Lily's praise.

Her clear, dark complexion began to glow with health and strength. Her softly rounded cheeks had a soft tint glowing on them like the heart of a sea-shell.

She had beautiful eyes, large, dark and expressive, and her black hair, which Mrs. Mason had shingled close to her head, now clustered in short, silky rings about her brow, adding a charming piquancy to her pretty face.

Her dress, too, was always as perfectly elegant as wealth and taste could make it, so that many more beside Lily Lawrence considered the dark-eyed widow young and pretty.

Mr. Shelton was among the number of those who agreed with Lily.

The forlorn young creature whom he had rescued and cared for had begun to twine herself about his heart.

He was a bachelor, and forty years old, but his heart was not proof against Cupid's darts.

Now since Fanny Colville had come into his path of duty, pity and kindness had grown into love, strong, fervent, and abiding.

He strolled into her drawing-room one day a few months after her husband's death, and found her sitting cosily before the fire with a bit of fancy-work lying on her lap.

"I hope I do not disturb you," he said, noting her dreamy look. "You seemed to be thinking on some very absorbing subject when I entered."

"I was thinking of you, Mr. Shelton," returned the young widow, with a smile and a slight blush.

"Of me!" exclaimed the detective, observing the blush with a thrill of pleasure. "I hope your thoughts were agreeable ones."

"They could not be otherwise when I think of my kind friend and preserver," answered Fanny, giving him a gentle glance from her frank, dark eyes. "Oh, Mr. Shelton, when I think of myself as I was when you discovered me in that loathsome dungeon, starving and freezing in my wretched rags, and delivered me from my bonds—when I remember that and contrast it with my present happy lot, I feel that I can never repay the great debt of gratitude I owe you."

"I fear," he said, at length, "that you overestimate the value of the service I did you, Mrs. Colville. It is true, I suppose that I saved your life, but what then? Life to many is not as great a boon that they would thank one for saving it."

"Ah, but they are misanthropic," returned Fanny, brightly. "Life to me, Mr. Shelton, is a great boon. I love to live! I love to feel the warm blood rushing through my veins with the ardor of youth and hope. I love to feel my pulses bounding with life's fitful fever. Oh, Mr. Shelton, can I do nothing to show my gratitude for all you have done for me?"

The detective drew nearer and took her soft, warm hand impulsively in his own.

"Yes, dear Fanny," he said, his deep, manly voice trembling with emotion. "Give me the life I saved for my reward. Give me your own sweet self for the day-star of my future. Be my wife!"

Blushing and startled, Fanny looked up into his face, but her eyes drooped swiftly before the great tenderness in his.

The next moment she laid both hands in his and whispered, between April smiles and tears:

"Take me if I can make you happy. I ask no brighter fate."

CHAPTER XL

It was the close of New Year's Day, and Lily and Ada Lawrence stood together in the grand drawing-room, their arms fondly interlaced, the glow of firelight and gaslight shining down like a blessing on their golden heads.

Ada was perfectly lovely in an elegant costume of white cashmere and blue brocaded silk. The only ornaments of her fair girlish beauty were knots of fragrant blue and white violets.

"My darling sister," said the younger girl affectionately, "you look very weary. Sit down here in this comfortable arm-chair and rest."

She drew forward the chair as she spoke, but before Lily could seat herself two more visitors were announced. They were Lancelot Darling and Philip St. John.

Lancelot's friend was duly presented to Lily, and after a little friendly chatter Lance stole away with his darling to the quiet library.

"My dearest, I am very selfish," he said to her fondly. "I want you all to myself, that I may look at you, listen to you, and feel that my happiness is real, and not a dream from which I may awaken to the pangs of bereavement!"

They sat down together on a low divan before the glowing fire. Lancelot drew the golden head down upon his breast and pressed passionate, lingering kisses on the sweet red lips of his long-lost darling.

"My darling," he whispered, presently, "our wedding-day has been long deferred, When shall I have the happiness of claiming you before all the world?"

"Papa and Ada could not bear to give me up yet," said Lily, smiling at his eagerness.

"I do not want to be selfish, love," he said; "I know you wish to stay with them a little longer, and I know how hard it would be to them to give you up now. But you must pity my loneliness and come to me soon."

"I want to get my roses back first," she answered, demurely. "I am so weak and weary from all that I have suffered that I should be a pale and faded bride if I came to you now. You must wait, dear Lance, until I grow strong and well again before I don the bridal veil."

"How long must I wait, then?" he inquired.

"Till the roses come again," she answered; "you know how I love the summer, with its beautiful sunshine and fragrant flowers. I should like for the happiest event of my life to be associated with the sweetest month in the year. Let it be in June."

Lance was beginning a passionate protest when the door opened and Mr. Lawrence entered.

The banker looked very bright and happy as his eyes fell on the handsome pair before him.

"Here, papa," said Lily, making room for him beside her; "I am very glad you have come, for I think Lance was just about to find fault with me."

"On what pretext?" inquired her father, kissing her sweet, upturned lips.

"For cruelty," said Lance, promptly. "She actually intends to defer our marriage until June."

"Soon enough," said the banker, laughing at the young man's impatience. "You must leave us our darling yet awhile, Lance. Come and see her every day if you choose, my boy, but do not persuade her to leave us yet. It will be hard to give her up, even to you."

When the beautiful "month of roses" came round again, Mr. Lawrence had to lose both his lovely daughters.

Philip St. John had wooed and won the beautiful, girlish Ada, and Lily's bridal day was to be hers also.

Once again Lily stood in her old familiar chamber, with the robes of satin and lace trailing over the velvet carpet, and the snowy mist of the bridal veil hiding the blushes that came and went on her lovely face.

"There is no one to envy your happiness now, Lily," said Ada, as she clasped the pearl necklace around her sister's snowy neck. "That dreadful woman is dead!"

"It is so cruel a thing to remember, dear; let us try to forget the sin, and forgive the sinner!"

"Amen!" said Ada, solemnly.

Mr. Lawrence came in, and kissed and blessed them with a sadness on his face that he could not wholly hide. The only alleviation to the sorrow of that hour was the knowledge that he was giving the happiness of his beloved children into the keeping of "good men and true."

"Papa, you must not forget what I told you once before," whispered Lily, through April tears and smiles. "You will not lose your daughters; you will only gain two sons."

Lily was to go to a beautiful home on Fifth avenue, close to that of her father. Lancelot had been busy for months preparing his splendid mansion for the home-coming of his bride, and now it only awaited the sunshine of her presence to become an earthly Eden.

Ada and her husband were to live with the banker. His great house would be so lonely, the old man pleaded, with both his darlings gone. So they yielded to his wish and promised to make his house their home as long as he lived.

The grand portals of Trinity Church opened wide to admit the two lovely brides.

New York had never seen a grander marriage, nor brides so lovely, nor bridegrooms more gallant and handsome. Trinity was thronged with their friends, and the pavements outside were crowded with interested spectators. No marriage had excited so much interest for years as that of the lovely girl whose romantic story was known far and wide.

"She is beautiful as a dream," they whispered, when the first bride passed over the flower-strewn pavement to the church steps. "And the sister is equally lovely," they cried, rapturously, when the trembling Ada followed after her.

"God bless them both!" whispered a good woman who had a prominent seat in the church.

It was Mrs. Mason, the kind soul whom Lily had not forgotten when her wedding cards were issued to her friends.

So amid good wishes and blessings the fair brides passed up the stately aisle on the arms of their father, followed by a score of lovely bridesmaids in snowy flower-bedecked robes. At the altar they were met by Lancelot and Philip, and then, above the pealing notes of the wedding march, the minister's voice arose in the beautiful words of the marriage service.

Silence brooded over the throng softly as the wings of a dove, while the holy, reverent words filled the church. In the stillness the sweet responses of the brides even were distinctly audible. The rings were slipped upon their fingers, the solemn words of the benediction were spoken, and then, with the sweet strains of music echoing above their heads, the fragrance of flowers beneath their feet, and the tender blessings of friends around them, the two beautiful brides, with their chosen mates, went forth with smiles to the future that lay beaming in the sunshine of love and happiness.

[THE END.]

QUEENIE'S TERRIBLE SECRET OR, A YOUNG GIRL'S STRANGE FATE

By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER

CHAPTER I

"There is positively not a dollar left to buy a dress for Queenie and yet she will insist upon going to the ball. Could you let me have your old green silk to make over for her, Sydney?"

The small figure perched on the top of a large Saratoga trunk sprang down upon the floor, and stamped her foot so vehemently that the blue satin bow flew off from her tiny slipper.

"Wear Sydney's old green silk to the ball!" cried Queenie, indignantly. "Indeed I won't, mamma, I will stay at home first!"

"The best place for you," said her sister, Sydney, calmly. "I see no use in taking a child like you to Mrs. Kirk's grand ball."

"A child, indeed," flashed the younger sister, with a pout of her rosebud lips. "I am as tall as you, Syd, and I was seventeen yesterday. It's real mean to call me a child and leave me at home every time I get invited out. I know why it is, though. It's because mamma spends every dollar papa gives her decking out you and Georgie, and there's never a decent thing left for me to wear."

"It is because you are too pretty, my dear," laughed her father, who had entered the dressing-room unnoticed. "The girls keep you back because they are afraid you will cut them out with their fine beaux."

Sydney and Georgina flushed angrily and muttered that it wasn't so, and that papa ought to be ashamed of himself—it was all his fault that Queenie was setting herself up for a woman so fast when he couldn't afford to dress the two that were already grown decently enough for the position they had to fill in society.

The poor, worried mother, having been so quickly snubbed on the subject of the old green silk, looked on and said nothing.

"I give you every cent I can spare from my business, girls," said Mr. Lyle, in a vexed tone, "and this time I strained a point and pinched myself in order that little Queenie might have a new dress and go to the ball, too."

"But they have spent every cent upon themselves!" cried pretty little Queenie with the tears of vexation standing in her pansy-blue eyes. "The dressing-room is littered all over with their finery yet they want me to wear that horrid green silk of Syd's! A pretty fright I should look!"

"Never mind, dear, you can stay at home with your old papa. Your time will come after awhile when the girls are married and out of the way," said her father kindly, as he drew his arm about her. "Maybe it is true that I have spoiled you, dear, and that you are too young to go to such a grand ball."

"No, I am not, papa. I am quite old enough, and I know how to dance, and I love to dance, and I will go to the ball," exclaimed the pretty, willful little creature, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"But, Queenie, what on earth will you wear?" asked the poor, tired mother, who was quite worn out with the worry of keeping herself and her two elder girls well-dressed. "I have no money to give you a new dress."

Queenie stood meditating, with her head perched on one side like a little bird, her slender, arched brows puckered into a thoughtful frown.

"I'll tell you," said she at length, "I shall sell my painted fan—the white satin one that Uncle Rob sent me from Paris. It is worth fifteen dollars at least, and I can certainly get five for it. Five dollars will buy lots of white tarleton, and I can make the dress myself. There are plenty of flowers in the garden, so you see I can make a toilet for the ball," she added, half laughing.

"Sell Uncle Rob's gift!" cried mamma and the girls in concert.

"Necessity knows no law!" answered Queenie, dancing out of the room to avoid their remonstrances.

"Mr. Lyle, you really should not allow her to sell her uncle's beautiful gift!" exclaimed Mrs. Lyle, in a vexed tone.

"I certainly shall not try to prevent her," answered her husband, rather shortly. "If you had acted fairly by her and divided the money I gave you for the three girls she need not have been driven to such straits as to sell her pretty fan. Why, I gave you a hundred dollars, and she only wants five for her dress. You might have spared her that small pittance!"

"I did not think she would be contented with such a shabby dress," muttered Mrs. Lyle.

"Queenie only wants to enjoy herself," said the fond father. "She will be as beautiful and as happy in her five-dollar tarleton as Georgie and Sydney in their elegant silks."

CHAPTER II

Full of her suddenly conceived purpose, Queenie Lyle went to her room, attired herself in a neat walking-suit, and tied a blue tissue veil over her luxuriant golden ringlets.

Then carefully wrapping a paper about the box that held her painted fan, she set forth upon her errand, feeling sorry that she must part with the elegant trifle, yet determined to sacrifice it rather than forego the ball, which to her young, imaginative fancy appeared like a promised peep into fairy-land.

In the large city where she lived there were plenty of stores that dealt in fancy articles.

She entered one of these stores, and presented her fan for the merchant's inspection.

"How much will you give me for it?" asked she, childishly, coming straight to the point.

"Did you paint it yourself?" asked the man; unfurling the beautiful fan, and gazing admiringly at the delicate leaves and flowers painted upon it by a skillful hand.

Queenie laughed at the question, and the gay, musical chime attracted the attention of a gentleman a little further down the counter—a tall, dark, handsome man, who drew nearer as if fascinated, and glanced furtively at the young girl, revealing a lovely face as fresh and fair as a flower, the eyes as dark as pansies, the cheeks as pink as roses.

She was smiling that moment, and the stranger saw two dazzling rows of milk-white teeth between her parted crimson lips, and the loveliest dimples in the world in her rounded cheeks and chin.

"No, indeed," she said, in answer to the merchant. "My uncle sent it to me from Paris. It is quite French, I assure you. I would not part with it if I did not need the money very much."

"We are overcrowded with such articles, miss," said the man, carelessly, not wishing to show his anxiety to possess the elegant fan, "but to oblige you, and because you need the money, I will give you five dollars for it."

"Very well, I will take it," said little Queenie, and as she spoke she looked up carelessly and suddenly encountered the fixed gaze of a pair of burning, dark eyes.

Blushing crimson, she knew not why, Queenie dropped the sweeping lashes over her eyes, and taking her money from the merchant, hurriedly left the store.

"A pretty trifle—what will you take for it?" said the handsome stranger, stepping forward as Queenie went out.

"Twenty dollars," answered the merchant, coolly. "It is a real Parisian fan and worth more than that, but as I bought it so cheap I will let you have it at a small profit."

"Do you know the young lady from whom you bought it?" inquired the gentleman, as he laid down a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

"No, I do not; but she was a little beauty," laughed the merchant, as he wrapped up the fan and handed it to his customer.

The handsome stranger bowed and hastily withdrew with his purchase. In the street he paused, and looked up and down.

Seeing Queenie's graceful little figure half a square ahead of him, he slowly walked on after her.

Little Queenie went into a dry goods store, and invested the price of her fan in a nice quality of white tarleton. She told the obliging clerk where to send the package, and dropping her veil over her sweet face, hurried homeward.

"Queenie, oh, Queenie, come in," called Georgina, as she was passing the open door of the dressing-room. "Only think—something so perfectly splendid has happened. Guess what it is."

"You have been buying some more finery, I suppose," answered the young girl, seeing a large box in the center of the floor.

"Uncle Rob has sent us another box from Paris," announced Sydney, triumphantly.

"Dresses and jewelry both," added Mrs. Lyle, joyfully.

"You can go to the ball as fine as a queen now," laughed Georgina, diving down into the box and bringing out a parcel which she placed in Queenie's hands.

"It is for you," she said.

Queenie unrolled the tissue paper from the bundle and shook out the folds of a magnificent cream-colored brocade silk.

"Oh, how exquisite!" she exclaimed. "What has he sent you, girls?"

Sydney, who was a brilliant brunette, exhibited a rose-colored brocade as handsome as Queenie's dress. Georgina, a plump blonde, rejoiced in the possession of a costly azure satin.

"Uncle Rob is a dear darling," exclaimed little Queenie, delightedly.

"And only look here," said Mrs. Lyle, who held three jewel-cases in her lap, "he has sent you each a lovely set of jewels—diamonds for Sydney, opals for Georgina, pearls for you."

Little Queenie looked and admired until she was almost wild with delight. She clasped the pearls on her neck and arms, and held the rich brocade up before her, admiring the sheeny richness of the creamy folds.

"If you had only waited a little while you need not have sold your painted fan," said Georgie. "You can have this lovely dress to wear to Mrs. Kirk's ball."

"No, I cannot," answered Queenie, with a sigh. "Madame Dufarge would charge thirty dollars to make such a dress as this, and where could I get thirty dollars? No, I'll wear my five-dollar tarleton and the pearls to the ball, but I will put this lovely brocade away, and keep it for my wedding-dress."

"Only hear the child," exclaimed Sydney, who was twenty-five and unmarried yet. "She talks of marrying as confidently as if husbands grew on trees."

"They do for pretty girls like me," answered Queenie, with a saucy nod at her sister. "But, mamma, did Uncle Robbie write? Is he getting well? Is he coming home soon?"

"Ah, the best of the news is yet to come," exclaimed Georgina, who was in brilliant spirits. "We are to go out to Uncle Robbie, you and I, and Syd, and mamma, and have a continental tour with him. Isn't that glorious news?"

Little Queenie's bright eyes danced with joy.

"Mamma, is it true?" she panted, breathlessly.

"Yes, dear, it is quite true," said Mrs. Lyle, looking quite happy. "He has sent us a check, and we are to go over in the Europa, which sails three months from now. We are to employ ourselves in the interim polishing up our French."

"Hurrah for Uncle Rob!" exclaimed the delighted little Queenie, boyishly waving her hat around her head, "he is a perfect fairy prince. The dream of my life has been to go to Europe."

"I think you will need to polish more than your French, Queenie," exclaimed Sydney, peevishly. "Your manners are as rude as a school-boy's!"

"And yours are as prim as an old maid's!" retorted Queenie, maliciously, for Sydney's perpetual fault-finding was a thorn in the flesh to the petted little creature.

Sydney flushed crimson at the retort. Her years were verging so near to the line of old-maidenhood that she was particularly sensitive on the subject. She now said angrily:

"Mamma, can you sit silently there and permit Queenie to address me so disrespectfully?"

Mrs. Lyle looked at her youngest daughter imploringly.

"Queenie, how often have I scolded you for aggravating Sydney? Apologize to her immediately."

Queenie looked at Sydney's tearful eyes and flushed cheeks, and her tender little heart melted at once. She crossed over and put her round, white arms about Sydney's stately neck.

"Sister, do forgive me," she said, sweetly. "I did not mean a word of it. Your manners are simply perfection, and I only wish that mine were half as polished!"

"You should cultivate yourself," answered Sydney, coldly, as she put the clinging arms away from her neck, "I am ashamed of your hoydenish manners."

"I will try to cultivate myself, Sydney, indeed I will," answered Queenie, innocently. "I am so young yet, you know; I have time to learn a great many things!"

Sydney bit her lip and made no reply. There was nothing she envied so much as Queenie's tender youth, and to have it thrust upon her notice like that, however innocently, was unendurable. The silence that fell was becoming awkward, when a servant entered the room with a small parcel which she laid in Queenie's hand.

"A small boy left it at the door for you," she said, as she withdrew.

Queenie stared at the parcel in bewilderment. It had a familiar look.

"Open it, my dear," said Mrs. Lyle, curiously.

Queenie tore off the paper and a box was revealed. She took off the lid with a trembling hand. Within the box lay the painted fan she had sold an hour ago to the dealer on – Street.

"What is this?" said Georgina, stooping down.

She picked up a card that had fallen from the box. Upon it was written in a clear, bold, manly hand:

"From an unknown admirer of Miss Queenie Lyle."

"Someone has sent your painted fan back to you," exclaimed Mrs. Lyle. "How kind! But who could it have been?"

"Queenie has caught a beau!" said Georgina, laughing.

Involuntarily Queenie's thoughts reverted to the dark-eyed stranger who had looked at her in the store, but she said nothing.