Kitabı oku: «Jolly Sally Pendleton: or, the Wife Who Was Not a Wife», sayfa 15

CHAPTER LII

Tears were falling from Bernardine's eyes and sobs were trembling on the tender lips, she could restrain her feelings no longer, and, catching up the thin, shriveled-up figure of the dear little old spinster in her arms, she strained her to her heart and wept.

"Ah, my dear girl. You are the good angel who took me in and cared for me, believing me to be a pauper.

"And now know the truth, my darling Bernardine. I, your distant kinswoman, am very rich, far above your imagination. I have searched for you since that fire, to make you my heiress– heiress to three millions of money. Can you realize it?"

Bernardine was looking at her with startled eyes, her white lips parted in dismay.

"Now you can understand better why I am here as the guest of Margaret Gardiner and her proud mother? The wealthy Miss Rogers, of New York, is believed to be a valuable acquisition to any social gathering. I loved your mother, my fair, sweet, gentle cousin. I should love you for her sake, did I not love you for your own."

"You will make the necessary arrangements to leave Mrs. Gardiner's employ at the earliest moment, my dear, for I wish you to take your place in society at once as my heiress."

But much to Miss Rogers' surprise, Bernardine shook her head sadly.

"Oh, do not be angry with me, dear Miss Rogers," she sobbed, "but it can never be. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind intentions, but it can never be. Heaven did not wish me to be a favorite of fortune. There are those who are born to work for a living. I am one of them. I have no place in the homes of aristocrats. One fell in love with me, but he soon tired of me and deserted me."

"He will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as my heiress," declared Miss Rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curly head.

"No, no!" cried Bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you are poor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all the trappings of wealth about you. I say again, I thank you with all my heart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but I can not accept it at your hands, dear friend. Build churches, schools for little ones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind, hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. I am young and strong. I can earn my bread for many a long year yet. Work is the only panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."

"Nay, nay," replied Miss Rogers; "let me be a judge of that. I know best, my dear. It will be a happiness to me in my declining years to have you do as I desire. The money will all go to you, and at the last you may divide it as you see fit. Do not refuse me, my child. I have set my heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see you robed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. I will not say more upon the subject just now; we will discuss it – to-morrow. I shall go down and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that I have found you, Bernardine. Early to-morrow morning we will let Mrs. Gardiner and her daughter Margaret into our secret, and they will make no objection to my taking you quietly away with me – at once. Do not let what I have told you keep you awake to-night, child. I should feel sorry to see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright and cheerful."

With a kiss, she left Bernardine, and the girl stood looking after her long afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not a dream from which she would awaken presently.

The air of the room seemed to stifle Bernardine. Rising slowly, she made her way through one of the long French windows out into the grounds, and took a path which led in the direction of the brook around which the alders grew so thickly.

She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hardly noticed which way her footsteps tended. All she realized was, that she was walking in the sweet, rose-laden grounds, away – far away – from the revelers, with the free, cool, pure air of Heaven blowing across her heated, feverish brow.

"An heiress!" She said the words over and over again to herself, trying to picture to herself what the life of an heiress would be.

If she had been an heiress, living in a luxurious, beautiful home, would Jay Gardiner have deserted her in that cruel, bitterly cruel, heartless fashion?

She never remembered to have heard or read of the lover of a wealthy heiress deserting her. It was always the lovers of poor girls who dared play such tricks.

How shocked Jay Gardiner would be when he heard that she was – an heiress!

Would he regret the step he had taken? The very thought sent a strange chill through her heart.

The next instant she had recovered herself.

"No, no! There will be no regrets between us now," she sobbed, hiding her white face in her trembling hands. "For he is another's and can never be anything more to me save a bitter-sweet memory. To-night I will give my pent-up grief full vent. Then I will bury it deep – deep out of the world's sight, and no one shall ever know that my life has been wrecked over – what might have been."

Slowly her trembling hands dropped from her face, and, with bowed head, Bernardine went slowly down the path, out of the sound of the dance-music and the laughing voices, down to where the crickets were chirping amid the long grasses, and the wind was moaning among the tall pines and the thick alders.

When she reached the brook she paused. It was very deep at this point – nearly ten feet, she had heard Miss Margaret say – and the bottom was covered with sharp, jagged rocks. That was what caused the hoarse, deep murmur as the swift-flowing water struck them in its hurried flight toward the sea.

Bernardine leaned heavily against one of the tall pines, and gave vent to her grief.

Why had God destined one young girl to have youth, beauty, wealth, and love, while the other had known only life's hardships? Miss Rogers' offer of wealth had come to her too late. It could not buy that which was more to her than everything else in the world put together – Jay Gardiner's love.

The companionship of beautiful women, the homage of noble men, were as nothing to her. She would go through life with a dull, aching void in her breast. There would always be a longing cry in her heart that would refuse to be stilled. No matter where she went, whom she met, the face of Jay Gardiner, as she had seen it first – the laughing, dark-blue eyes and the bonny brown curls – would haunt her memory while her life lasted.

"Good-bye, my lost love! It is best that you and I should never meet again!" she sobbed.

Suddenly she became aware that she was not standing there alone. Scarcely ten feet from her she beheld the figure of a man, and she realized that he was regarding her intently.

CHAPTER LIII

For a single instant Bernardine felt her terror mastering her; it was certainly not an idle fear conjured up by her own excited brain.

The clock from an adjacent tower struck the hour of midnight as she stood there by the brookside, peering, with beating heart, among the dense shadow of the trees.

She gazed with dilated eyes. Surely it was her fancy. One of the shadows, which she had supposed to be a stunted tree, moved, crept nearer and nearer, until it took the form of a man moving stealthily toward her.

Bernardine's first impulse was to turn and fly; but her limbs seemed powerless to move.

Yes, it was a man. She saw that he was moving more quickly forward now, and in a moment of time he had reached her side, and halted directly before her.

"Ah!" he cried in a voice that had a very Frenchy accent. "I am delighted to see you, my dear lady. Fate has certainly favored me, or, perhaps, my note reached you and you are come in search of me. Very kind – very considerate. They are having a fine time up at the mansion yonder in your honor, of course. Knowing your penchant for lights, music, laughter, and admiration, I confess I am very much surprised to see that you have stolen a few minutes to devote to – me."

Bernardine realized at once that this stranger mistook her for some one else – some one who had expected to see him. She tried to wrench herself free from the steel-like grasp of his fingers, that had closed like a vise about her slender wrist; but not a muscle responded to her will, nor could she find voice to utter a single sound.

"Let us come to an understanding, my dear Mrs. Gardiner. I do not like this new move on your part."

It was then, and not till then, that Bernardine found her voice.

"I am not Mrs. Gardiner!" she exclaimed, struggling to free herself from the man's detaining hold on her arm.

The effect of her words was like an electric shock to the man. He reeled back as though he had been suddenly shot.

"You – are – not – young Mrs. Gardiner?" he gasped, his teeth fairly chattering. "Then, by Heaven! you are a spy, sent here by her to incriminate me, to be a witness against me! It was a clever scheme, but she shall see that it will fail signally."

"I am no spy!" replied Bernardine, indignantly, "No one sent me here, least of all, young Mrs. Gardiner!"

"I do not believe you!" retorted the man, bluntly. "At any rate, you know too much of this affair to suit me. You must come along with me."

"You are mad!" cried Bernardine, haughtily. "I have, as you say, unwittingly stumbled across some secret in the life of yourself and one who has won the love of a man any woman would have been proud to have called – husband!"

"So you are in love with the handsome, lordly Jay, eh?" sneered her companion. "It's a pity you had not captured the washing millionaire, instead of pretty, bewitching, coquettish Sally," he went on, with a fit of harsh laughter.

"Sir, unhand me and let me go!" cried Bernardine. "Your words are an insult! Leave me at once, or I shall cry out for help!"

"I believe you would be fool-hardy enough to attempt it," responded her companion; "but I intend to nip any such design in the bud. You must come along with me, I say. If you are wise, you will come along peaceably. Attempt to make an outcry, and – well, I never yet felled a woman, but there's always the first time. You invite the blow by going contrary to my commands. My carriage is in waiting, fortunately, just outside the thicket yonder."

Bernardine saw that the man she had to deal with was no ordinary person. He meant every word that he said. She tried to cry out to Heaven to help her in this, her hour of need, but her white lips could form no word.

Suddenly she felt herself lifted in a pair of strong arms, a hand fell swiftly over her mouth, and she knew no more. Sky, trees, the dark, handsome, swarthy face above her and the earth beneath her seemed to rock and reel.

Carrying his burden swiftly along a path almost covered by tangled underbrush, the man struck at length into a little clearing at one side of the main road. Here, as he had said, a horse and buggy were in waiting.

A lighted lantern was in the bottom of the vehicle. He swung this into the unconscious girl's face as he thrust her upon the seat. He had expected to see one of the servants of the mansion – a seamstress, or one of the maids, perhaps – but he was totally unprepared for the vision of girlish loveliness that met his gaze.

While he had gazed with fascinated eyes at the faultlessly beautiful face of Bernardine, his heart had gone from him in one great, mad throb of passionate love.

"This lovely bird has walked directly into my drag-net," he muttered. "Why should she not be mine, whether she loves or hates me?"

CHAPTER LIV

On and on the dark-browed stranger urges the almost thoroughly exhausted horse, until after an hour's hard driving he comes upon a small farm-house standing in the midst of a clearing in the dense wood.

Here he drew rein, uttering a loud "Halloo!"

In answer to his summons, two men and a woman came hurrying forward, one of the men going toward the horse.

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed the woman, amazedly, "Victor Lament has brought the young woman with him."

"No comments!" exclaimed Lamont, harshly, as he lifted his unconscious burden out of the buggy.

"And why not, pray?" demanded the woman, impudently. "Why should I not make comments when my husband is your pal in all your schemes; that is, he does the work while you play the fine gentleman, and he doesn't get half of the money by a long shot?"

"But I insist upon knowing now," declared the woman. "Who is the girl you are carrying in your arms, and why have you brought her here – of all places in the world?"

By this time they had reached the house, and Lamont strode in and laid his unconscious burden upon a wooden settee, which was the only article of furniture the apartment possessed.

"Why don't you answer, Victor Lamont?" cried the woman, shrilly. "Ten to one it's some girl whose puny, pretty face has fascinated you, and you're in love with her."

"Well, supposing that is the case," he replied, coolly; "what then?"

"I would say your fool-hardiness had got the better of your reason," she replied.

"That is the case with most men who do so foolish a thing as to fall in love," he answered, carelessly.

"Keep an eye on the girl, and do not let her leave this farm-house until after our work around here is done."

"I will promise under one condition," replied his companion; "and that is that you will not attempt to see the girl, or speak to her."

"Do you think I am a fool?" retorted Lamont.

"I do not think; I am certain of it – where a pretty face is concerned," responded the woman, quickly and blandly.

"I shall make no promises," he said, rudely turning on his heel. "Attend to the girl; she is recovering consciousness. You dare not permit her to escape, no matter what you say to the contrary. I must return to the Gardiner mansion to direct the movements of the boys. They will be waiting for me. Order a fresh horse saddled, and be quick about it. I've already wasted too much time listening to your recriminations."

Very reluctantly the woman turned to do his bidding. She saw that she had gone far enough. His mood had changed from a reflective to an angry one, and Victor Lamont was a man to fear when he was in a rage.

As soon as the woman had quitted the room, Lamont returned to his contemplation of the beautiful face of the girl lying so white and still on the wooden settee, as revealed to him by the light of the swinging oil lamp directly over her head.

The longer Victor Lamont gazed, the more infatuated he became with that pure, sweet face.

"You shall love me," he muttered; "I swear it! Victor Lamont has never yet wished for anything that he did not obtain, sooner or later, by fair means or foul; and I wish for your love, fair girl – wish, long, crave for it with all my heart, with all my soul, with all the depth and strength of my nature! I will win you, and we will go far away from the scenes that know me but too well, where a reward is offered for my capture, and where prison doors yawn to receive me. I will marry you, and then I will reform – I will do anything you ask of me; but I must, I will have your love, or I – will – kill – you! I could never bear to see you the bride of another."

CHAPTER LV

"Yes, you shall marry me, though Heaven and earth combine to take you from me!" muttered Victor Lamont, gazing down upon the pure, marble-white face of Bernardine. "It is said that some day, sooner or later, every man meets his fate, and when he does meet that one of all others, his whole life changes. The past, with all those whom he has met and fancied before, is as nothing to him now, and his dreams are only of the future and that elysium where he is to wander hand in hand with the one he loves.

"Hand in hand – will I ever dare clasp in mine that little white hand that I know must be as pure and spotless as a lily leaf? Would not my own hand, dark and hardened in sin, ay, bathed in blood even, wither away at the contact?

"If I had lived a good, honorable, upright life, I might have won the love and the respect of this young girl. If she knew me as I am, as the police know me, she would recoil from me in horror; but she must never know– never! I do not think she saw my face – ay, I could swear that she did not. I will tell her that I was a traveler happening to pass and saw her at the mercy of a ruffian, and rescued her.

"I will have her thanks, her heartfelt gratitude. I will tell her that I will see her safely back to her friends, as soon as my horse – which became lame in the encounter – is able to make the journey, which will not be later than a day or two at the furthest. In the meantime, I will comfort her, pity her, sympathize with her.

"I have always been successful in winning the hearts of women without scarcely any effort on my part whatever, and I vow that I will win this girl's.

"The La Gascoigne sails in three days from now. I will sail away in her, and this beautiful treasure shall sail with me as my bride, my beauteous bride.

"I will turn everything into cash. I will see young Mrs. Gardiner, and at the point of a revolver, if need be, cause her to beg, borrow, or steal a few thousand more for me from that handsome, aristocratic husband of hers.

"Then I will desert this gang that hang like barnacles about me, that know too much about me, and would squeal on me any moment to save themselves if they got into a tight place. I will go so far away that they will never get money enough together to attempt to follow me."

The clock on the mantel of an inner room warned him that time was flying swift-winged past him.

He stooped to kiss the beautiful, marble-like lips, that could not utter a demur, locked as they were in unconsciousness; then he drew back.

Even in her utter helplessness there was something like an armor about her – even as the innocent bud is encompassed and protected by the sharpest thorns from the hand that would ruthlessly gather it.

"The kiss from those pure lips must be freely offered, not stolen," he muttered; and turning on his heel, he hurried quickly from the apartment while that worthy resolution was strong upon him and his good impulses in the ascendency.

Mrs. Dick was suspiciously near the door; in his own mind he felt sure that she had been spying upon him through the key-hole.

"Your horse is ready, Victor Lamont," she said.

"It took you a long time to go upon your errand," he replied, tauntingly. "No doubt you harnessed the horse yourself, to spare that lazy husband of yours the trouble of doing it," he added.

The woman muttered something between her teeth which he did not quite catch; nor did he take the trouble to listen.

Vaulting quickly into the saddle, his mettlesome horse was off quite as soon as he could grasp the reins, and in an instant he was lost to sight in the dense gloom which precedes the dawn.

It was quite light when Victor Lamont reached the spot by the brook-side – the spot where he had met the lovely young stranger but a short time before.

What a strange fate it was that caused him to discover a flask of brandy in the pocket of the saddle!

That was his failing – drink! He had always guarded against taking even a single draught when he had an important duty to perform; but on this occasion he told himself he must make an exception.

"I will drink to the health of my beautiful bride to be," he muttered, raising the flask to his lips; and he drank long and deep, the brandy leaping like fire through his veins.

He had not long to wait in his place of concealment ere he heard the sound of footsteps.

Looking through the heavy branches, he saw the figure of a woman – a familiar figure, it seemed to him – moving rapidly to and fro among the blooms.

He called to her, believing this time he was face to face with young Mrs. Gardiner, when he found to his keen disappointment it was only Antoinette, the clever French maid.

She should take a message to her mistress, he determined; and tearing a leaf from his memorandum-book, he hastily penciled a note to Sally Gardiner, which he felt sure would bring her with all possible haste to the place at which he awaited her.

"Give this to your mistress with dispatch, Antoinette," he said.

He knew the golden key that would be apt to unlock this French maid's interest to do his bidding. As he spoke, he took from his pocket-book a crisp bank-note, which he told the girl she was to spend for bon-bons or ribbons for herself.

He had always made it a point to fee the French maid well, that he might have a powerful ally in the home of his intended victim.

The money, together with a little judicious flattery now and then, had won Antoinette completely over.

As Victor Lamont sat on the mossy bowlder by the brook-side, watching and waiting, he observed, early as the hour was, that the servants of the mansion had begun to bestir themselves. One hour passed after Antoinette had returned to the house; then another.

Young Mrs. Gardiner did not come to the rendezvous.

"Why is she not here?" he asked himself; and for the first time in his life he quite lost control of himself in a fit of terrible anger, and to calm himself he had recourse more than once to the silver flask which he carried in his breast-pocket.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed; then slowly one, two, three, four – another five; then replacing his watch in his pocket, and quivering with rage, Victor Lamont started for the house.