CHAPTER XXVII.
“WE SHALL NEVER MEET AGAIN.”
Lady Elaine was toying with the breakfast that it was impossible for her to eat, and thinking with a hopeless kind of bitterness of the misery that had come into her life, when Nina suddenly entered the room, her face betraying strong agitation.
“My lady, there is a person in the drawing-room who insists upon seeing you. I cannot say whether she is young or old, but I fancy that she must be young by the sweetness of her voice. She is closely veiled, and speaks nicely.”
Nina stopped to regain breath, adding, “She will not give her name, my lady.”
“I do not wish to be bothered, Nina,” said Lady Elaine, wearily. “This is an extraordinary hour for visitors. Possibly the person is engaged in some charitable pursuit. Tell her that she can state the nature of her business to you.”
“I have done everything in that way, my lady,” the maid declared. “I think that it will be best for you to see her.”
“No, I cannot be bothered. I am weary of everything, Nina.”
Then the maid stammered: “I was to tell you, my lady, that—that she came from Sir Harold Annesley.”
Lady Elaine started, her face turning deathly white. Was Sir Harold ill? Had some fresh misfortune befallen him?
“You are sure of this, Nina?” She held one hand to her throbbing heart.
“Quite sure, my lady.”
“Then I will see her. Bring the lady to me here. This room is warm, and I fear that I dare not try to walk. My limbs are shaking with nervous dread.”
Nina glanced at her mistress, a pitiful look in her eyes, and left the room.
One minute, and she returned, a black-robed, girlish figure behind her.
“A mere girl,” thought Lady Elaine. “How could Nina be doubtful whether she were young or old?”
“This is the lady from Sir Harold Annesley, your ladyship,” said Nina.
Elaine rose and bowed to her visitor, and was conscious of being closely scrutinized.
Then, at a sign from her mistress, Nina softly withdrew, and the stranger spoke.
The tones were soft, tremulous, and flute-like, and there was a world of pathos in every note.
“You are Lady Elaine Seabright?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, gently. She knew not why her heart went out in tenderness to this black-robed figure. Perhaps it was in sympathy, because she, too, mourned a lost one.
“You are very beautiful, Lady Elaine,” continued the visitor, half-dreamily, “and I have wanted to see you so much! I wanted to see the woman whom Sir Harold loved first—and loves best.”
A haughty light flashed into Elaine’s eyes, but the words that rose to her lips were checked by the girl tossing aside her veil, and revealing a face of wondrous beauty.
“I am Theresa,” she said. “I am Sir Harold’s unhappy wife.”
She dropped into a lounge, and shed passionate tears.In a moment Elaine was beside her, and murmuring soothing words to poor Theresa.
“I cannot understand why you should come here, Lady Annesley,” she said. “Sir Harold loves you fondly. Why should you call yourself unhappy!”
“I wanted to see you. Oh, I have longed so much to see you—to know if you were good and true! My husband loves me, yes, but not as he loves you. While in the delirium of fever he told me so, and I know that he has seen you recently—that a bitter parting has taken place between you. Lady Elaine, you will never know how happy we were once, in the garden of roses, where I learned to worship my king. Oh, if I could have died then, what a blissful death it would have been!”
“You must forget that Sir Harold and I ever cared for each other,” Lady Elaine said, gently. “It is all over and past, you and he are now husband and wife.”
Theresa looked at her mournfully.
“I wanted to see you,” she went on, “and now I am satisfied. I do not wonder that he loves you best. I have heard much of the shameful story which parted you, and then Sir Harold only married me out of pity for my helplessness, while I loved him, even as you may never love him, Lady Elaine! For my sake he has sacrificed all that makes life worth the living. He does not know that I am here—he will never know unless you tell him. He does not even dream that I have any knowledge of your whereabouts; but I wished to look upon your beautiful face once, and that is why I am here.”
“Lady Annesley, I have parted from Sir Harold forever,” Elaine said. “He came here yesterday to say good-by. His words concerning you were only words of love.”
Theresa did not reply, but gazed wistfully at Lady Elaine.
“Kiss me once,” she said, after a little while. “I am going now, and we shall never meet again!”
Elaine knew not what to say. After all, Theresa was but a child, and she pressed her lips fondly to the girl’s cold cheek.
“Yes, we shall meet again, Lady Annesley,” she whispered. “In the future, when the pain in our hearts is less. After all, life is but a feverish dream, and our longings are never satisfied.”
Theresa smiled sadly, but there was a sweet, saintly expression on her lovely face that Elaine never forgot.
“I am much happier now that I have seen you,” she said. A long-drawn sigh escaped her, and she added “Good-by.”
She rose to her feet, and Lady Elaine walked with her into the hall, the door of which was standing open, for the early autumn morning was warm and balmy.
There was a last farewell, and then the lovely, little, black figure was gone.
An inexpressible mournfulness seemed to be in the very air, and for a long time Elaine wandered from room to room, a strange feeling of unrest upon her. She could not forget the sorrowfulness of Theresa’s last good-by. It seemed to echo about her like a voice from the spirit world.
Late in the evening the little household was startled by an imperative knock, followed by a sharp ring at the doorbell.
The woman who did the duty of housekeeper obeyed the somewhat noisy summons, and a man handed her a sealed letter, saying:
“For Lady Seabright. Hurry up, ma’am; there’s an answer wanted!”
Nina received the letter from the housekeeper, and promptly conveyed it to her mistress.
This is what Elaine read:
Lady Elaine Seabright is requested by Sir Harold Annesley’s medical adviser to come to the Victoria Hotel at once if she wishes to see Harold alive. He has met with a street accident, and is fast sinking. His one desire is to see Lady Elaine before he dies. Her ladyship is advised to lose not an instant, but to accompany the bearer of this urgent appeal. A closed carriage has been sent for her exclusive use.
Lady Elaine Seabright is requested by Sir Harold Annesley’s medical adviser to come to the Victoria Hotel at once if she wishes to see Harold alive. He has met with a street accident, and is fast sinking. His one desire is to see Lady Elaine before he dies. Her ladyship is advised to lose not an instant, but to accompany the bearer of this urgent appeal. A closed carriage has been sent for her exclusive use.
She read the letter twice, and then stood white and rigid. Had this anything to do with Lady Annesley’s visit? What tragedy had been committed?
“Nina,” she said, “Sir Harold is dying. He has sent for me. You must help me dress at once! I am going to him. Fetch my hat and cloak. That is all I shall want.”
“My lady, must I accompany you?” the maid asked, after rapidly obeying the order.
“No, Nina; I do not see the necessity for it. I may have to remain all night. Oh, merciful Heavens! How disaster follows upon the heels of disaster!”
In a few minutes she was ready, and Nina followed her to the door.
“How dark it is, my lady!” she said.
A huge figure loomed forward, and a man’s voice said:
“The kerridge is here, my lady. I ain’t had no time, your ladyship, to light my lamps; in fact, the order came so sudden that I clean forgot ’em.”
“Lead the way,” commanded Lady Elaine.
The man obeyed, and she saw a four-wheeled cab harnessed to a powerful horse.
“Do not sit up for me,” she said to Nina, “I will telegraph to you in the morning.”
She stepped into the carriage, the door was banged fast, and the next moment the horse plunged away under the stinging lash of the whip. Almost at the same instantLady Elaine felt that she was not alone, and a terrible dread seized upon her. What did it mean? Against the purple darkness of the night, through one of the windows, she had clearly seen a man’s profile! Then, as her eyes became accustomed to the blackness about her, his form was apparent like a misty shadow.
A cold chill seemed to rest upon her heart, but, by a desperate effort, she spoke:
“Can you tell me if Sir Harold’s condition is as hopeless as the physician appears to think in the note he has sent to me?”
She waited, but there was no reply. The strain was too awful to bear. She uttered a wild shriek, and a hand was clapped to her mouth, while a sinewy arm clasped her waist. She gasped for breath, and then relapsed into insensibility under the powerful fumes of something pressed to her palpitating nostrils.
The man pulled the checkstring, and the carriage stopped.
“It’s all right, Bulger,” said the voice of Viscount Rivington. “Drive carefully now, so that we do not attract any needless attention. Straight to Sim’s alley, King’s Cross.”