"On Friday evening last a young man, a foreigner, of the name of Gaston Hyle, who had been stopping at the Star Hotel, Havre-de-Grace, was accidentally drowned while boating on the river. His body has not yet been recovered."
"On Friday evening last a young man, a foreigner, of the name of Gaston Hyle, who had been stopping at the Star Hotel, Havre-de-Grace, was accidentally drowned while boating on the river. His body has not yet been recovered."
No, nor his body never was recovered.
Mary Grey, for form's sake, remained a week at Havre-de-Grace, affecting great anxiety for the recovery of that body. But she shut herself up in her room, pretending the deepest grief, and upon this pretext refusing all sympathizing visits, even from the ladies who had shown her so much kindness on the night of the catastrophe, and from the clergy, who would have offered her religious consolation.
The true reason of her seclusion was that she did not wish her features to become familiar to these people, lest at some future time they might possibly be inconveniently recognized.
As yet no one had seen her face except by night or in her darkened room. And she did not intend that they should.
Her supposed grievous bereavement was her all-sufficient excuse for her seclusion.
At the end of the week Mary Grey paid her bill at the Star, and, closely-veiled, left the hotel and took the evening train for Washington,en routefor Richmond.
In due time she reached the last-named city and took up her residence at her old quarters with the Misses Crane, there to wait patiently until the marriage of Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish should give her the opportunity of consummating their ruin and her own triumph. Meanwhile poor Craven Kyte's leave of absence having expired, he began to be missed and inquired for.
But to all questions his partner answered that he did not know where he was or when he would be back, but thought he was all right.
Fortune is merry,And in this mood will give us anything.—Shakespeare.
Fortune is merry,And in this mood will give us anything.—Shakespeare.
Fortune is merry,And in this mood will give us anything.
—Shakespeare.
Alden Lytton prospered wonderfully. Not once in a thousand instances can a young professional man get on as fast as he did.
Usually the young lawyer or doctor has to wait long before work comes to him, and then to work long before money comes.
It was not so with Alden Lytton.
As soon as he opened his office business came in at the door.
His first brief was a success.
His second, and more difficult one, was a still greater victory.
His third, and most important, was the greatest triumph of the three.
And from this time the high road to fame and fortune was open to him.
The astonishing rapidity of his rise was explained in various ways by different persons.
Emma Cavendish, who loved and esteemed him, ascribed his great prosperity to his own splendid talents alone.
Alden Lytton himself, full of filial respect, attributed it to the prestige of his late father's distinguished name.
And the briefless young lawyers, his unsuccessful rivals at the bar, credited it to the "loud" advertisement afforded by his handsome office and the general appearance of wealth and prosperity that surrounded him.
No doubt they were all right and—all wrong.
Not one of these circumstances taken alone could have secured the young barrister's success. Neither his own talents nor his father's name, nor the costly appointments of his office, could have done it; yet each contributed something, and all together they combined to insure his rapid advancement in his profession.
While Alden Lytton was thus gaining fame and fortune, Mary Grey was engaged in mystifying the minds and winning the sympathy and compassion of all her acquaintances.
From the time of her return from Philadelphia she had exhibited a deep and incurable melancholy.
Everybody pitied her deeply and wondered what could be the secret sorrow under which she was suffering.
But when any friend more curious than the rest ventured to question her, she answered:
"I have borne and am still bearing the deepest wrong that any woman can suffer and survive. But I must not speak of it now. My hands are bound and my tongue is tied. But the timemaycome when a higher duty than that which restrains me now may force me to speak. Until then I must be mute."
This was extremely tantalizing to all her friends; but it was all that could be got from her.
Meanwhile her face faded into a deadlier pallor and her form wasted to a ghastlier thinness. And this was real, for she was demon-haunted—a victim of remorse, not a subject of repentance.
The specter that she had feared to look upon on the fatal night of her crime—the pale, dripping form of her betrayed and murdered lover—was ever before her mind's eye.
If she entered a solitary or a half-darkened room the phantasm lurked in the shadowy corners or met her face to face.
It came to her bedside in the dead of night and laid its clammy wet hand upon her sleeping brow. And when she woke in wild affright it met her transfixed and horrified gaze.
Her only relief was in opium. She would stupefy herself every night with opium, and wake every morning pale, haggard, dull and heavy.
She must have sunk under her mental suffering and material malpractices but for the one purpose that had once carried her into crime and now kept her alive through the terror and remorse that were the natural consequences of that crime. She lived only for revenge—
"Like lightning fire,To speed one bolt of ruin and expire!"
"Like lightning fire,To speed one bolt of ruin and expire!"
"Like lightning fire,To speed one bolt of ruin and expire!"
"I will live and keep sane until I degrade and destroy both Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish, and then—I must die or go mad," she said to herself.
Such was her inner life.
Her outer life was very different from this.
She was still, to all appearance, a zealous church woman, never missing a service either on Sundays or on week-days; never neglecting the sewing-circles, the missionary meetings,the Sunday-schools, or any other of the parish works or charities, and always contributing liberally to every benevolent enterprise from the munificent income paid her quarterly by Miss Cavendish.
Since her return from Philadelphia she had not resumed her acquaintance with Alden Lytton.
They did not attend the same church, and were not in the same circle. It was a very reserved "circle" in which Mary Grey "circulated;" while Alden Lytton sought the company of professional and scholarly men.
Thus for months after their return to Richmond they did not meet.
Alden Lytton in the meanwhile supposed her to be still in Philadelphia, filling a position as drawing-mistress in the ladies' college.
It was early in the winter when they accidentally encountered each other on Main Street.
On seeing her form approach, Alden Lytton stepped quickly to meet her, with an extended hand and a bright smile; but the next instant he started in sorrowful surprise, as his eyes fell on her pallid face, so changed since he had seen it last.
"My dear Mrs. Grey, I am so glad to see you! I hope I see you well," he added, as he took her hand, but his looks belied his "hope."
"I am not well, thank you," she answered plaintively, and her looks did not belie her words.
"I am very sorry to hear it. How long have you been in the city?" he next inquired, holding her hand and looking at her with eyes full of pity.
"I have been back some time," she answered, vaguely. "I was forced to leave my situation from failing health."
"I did not know that you had returned or I should have called on you before this. But," he added, perceiving her physical weakness, "I am wrong to keep you standing here. I will turn about and walk with you while we talk. Which way are you going? Will you take my arm?"
"Thanks, no, Mr. Lytton. I can not take your arm; and neither, if you will forgive me for saying it, can I receive a visit from you. The world is censorious, Alden Lytton. And in my lonely and unprotected position I dare not receive the visits of gentlemen," she answered, pensively.
"That seems hard, but doubtless it is discreet. However, that will all be changed, I hope, in a little while. In a very few months, I trust, your home will be with my beloved wifeand myself. I know it is Emma's desire that you should live with us," he said, still kindly holding her thin hand.
"Is your wedding to come off so soon?" she inquired.
"Yes, in a few weeks, and then we are to go to Europe for a short holiday, and afterward take a house in the city here," said Alden, smiling.
"I wish you every joy in your wedded life. And now, Mr. Lytton, you must let me go," she said, wearily.
"One moment. You do not write to Emma often, do you? I ask because only a week ago, in one of her letters to me, Miss Cavendish wrote that she had not heard from you for nearly three months, and requested me to find out your address, if possible. I wrote back in reply that I believed you to be at the Ladies' College, in Philadelphia," he said, still detaining her hand.
"I am a bad correspondent. My hand is still lame. Just before I left here for Philadelphia I sent Miss Cavendish an acknowledgment of the last quarterly sum she sent me. I told her then that I was about to go to Philadelphia on particular business. I have not written to her since."
"And that was nearly three months ago. That is just what the matter is. She wishes to find out your address, so as to know where to send the next quarterly instalment of your income, which will soon be due."
"Tell her that I have returned to this city, and that my address is the same as that to which she last wrote."
"I will; but do you write to her also. I know she is anxious to hear directly from you."
"I will do so," she replied; "though I am the worst possible correspondent. Now good-day, Mr. Lytton."
"If I may not call to see you, at least I hope that you will let me know if ever I can serve you in any manner," he said, gently, as he pressed the pale hand he had held so long and relinquished it.
They parted then, and saw no more of each other for some days.
Alden went on his office, full of pity for the failing woman, who, he said to himself, could not possibly have many months to live.
But his feelings of painful compassion were soon forgotten in his happiness in finding a letter from Emma Cavendish lying with his business correspondence on his desk.
There was really nothing more in it than appeared in just such letters that he received two or three times a week; only she told him that she had written to Mrs. Grey at the Ladies'College, Philadelphia, and had not received any answer to her letter.
Before doing any other business, Alden Lytton took a half-quire of note-paper and dashed off an exuberant letter to his lady-love, in which, after repeating the oft-told story of her peerless loveliness and his deathless devotion, he came down to practical matters, and spoke of their mutual friend Mary Grey. He told Emma that Mrs. Grey was in the city again, where she had been for some weeks, although he had not been aware of the fact until he had met her that morning on Main Street while on the way to his office.
He told her of "poor Mary Grey's" failing health and spirits and ghastly appearance, and suggested those circumstances as probable reasons why she had not written to her friends during the last three months.
Then he went back to the old everlasting theme of his infinite, eternal love, etc., etc., etc., and closed with fervent prayers and blessings and joyful anticipations.
As a consequence of this, two days afterward Mary Grey received a tender, affectionate, sympathetic letter from Emma Cavendish pressing her to come down to Blue Cliffs at once and let them love her and nurse her back to health and happiness. And this letter inclosed a check for double the amount of the usual quarterly stipend.
Miss Cavendish, for some coy reason or other, did not allude to her approaching marriage. Perhaps she deferred the communication purposely, with the friendly hope that Mary Grey would visit her at Blue Cliffs, where she could make it to her in person.
Mrs. Grey, who did not dare to let her true handwriting go to Blue Cliffs, lest it should be seen and recognized by Mrs. Fanning, and who could not disguise it safely either, without some fair excuse to Emma Cavendish for doing so, put on a tight glove, and took a hard stiff pen and wrote a short note, full of gratitude and affection for Emma and all the family, and of complaints about her wretched crippled finger, that made it so painful for her to write, and prevented her from doing so as often as she wished; and of her still more wretched health, that hindered her from accepting her dear friend's kind invitation.
In reply to this letter, she got another, and a still kinder one, in which Miss Cavendish spoke of her own speedily approaching marriage, and pressed Mrs. Grey to come and be present on the occasion, adding:
"My dearest, youmustmake an effort and come. Alden himself will escort you on the journey, and take such good care of you that you shall suffer no inconvenience from the journey. You must come, for my happiness will not be complete without the presence of my dear father's dearest friend—of her who was to have been his bride."
"My dearest, youmustmake an effort and come. Alden himself will escort you on the journey, and take such good care of you that you shall suffer no inconvenience from the journey. You must come, for my happiness will not be complete without the presence of my dear father's dearest friend—of her who was to have been his bride."
This loving and confiding letter was never answered or even acknowledged by Mrs. Grey. It was entirely ignored, its contents were never mentioned to any one, and itself was torn to fragments and burned to ashes.
Two more letters of precisely the same character were written to her by Miss Cavendish; but they suffered the same fate at the hands of Mrs. Grey.
She had a deep motive in ignoring and destroying those letters. She did not wish the world ever by any accident to find out that she had been informed of the approaching marriage of Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish before it had taken place, or in time to prevent it.
Two weeks passed, and then she received a visit from Mr. Alden Lytton.
She received him alone in the front drawing-room.
He apologized for calling on her after she had forbidden him to do so, but said that he came on the part of Miss Cavendish to ask if she had received certain letters from Blue Cliff Hall, and to renew, in Emma's name, her pressing invitation to Mrs. Grey to come and be present at the approaching wedding.
"Emma wishes me to take charge of you on the journey. And I assure you, if you will intrust yourself to me, I will take such tender care of you that you shall know neither fatigue nor inconvenience of any sort," he added, earnestly.
"I can not go," she answered, coldly.
"Ah, do, for your friend's sake, change your mind," pleaded Alden.
"I can not," she answered.
"But Emma will be so disappointed!"
"I can not help it if she should be. I can not be present at the wedding," she repeated, faintly.
"But why not? Why can you not go?" persisted Alden.
"Man—man," she burst forth, suddenly, as her whole face changed fearfully, "how can you ask me such a question? Do you forget thatwewere to have been married once?—thatweloved each other once? But you threw me over. Now you invite me to your wedding with my rival! And you ask me why I can not go! Do you take me for a woman of wood or stone or iron? You will find me a woman of fire! I told you not to come here—to keep away from me! If you had had sense to perceive—if you had had even eyes in your head to see with, you would have obeyed me and avoided me! I told you not to come here. I tell you now to go away. I will not be present at your wedding. Make what explanation or excuse to Miss Cavendish you please. Tell her, if you like, that the heart you have given her was first offered tome—that the vows you have made to her were first breathed atmyfeet! Tell her," she added, with keen contempt, "that you are but a poor, second-handed article, after all! Now go, I say! Why do you stand gazing upon me? Go, and never come near me, if you can help it, again! For I fancy that you will not feel very glad to see me whennextwe meet!" she hissed, with a hidden meaning, between her clinched teeth.
Alden Lytton was so unutterably amazed by this sudden outbreak that he had no power of replying by word or gesture. Without resenting her fierce accusation, or even noticing her covert threat, he stood staring at her for a moment in speechless amazement.
"Are you going?" she fiercely demanded.
"I am going," he said, recovering his self-possession. "I am going. But, Mrs. Grey, I am more surprised and grieved than I have words to express. I shall never, willingly, voluntarily approach you again. If, however, you should ever need a friend, do not hesitate to call on me as freely as you would upon a brother, and I shall serve you in any way in my power as willingly as if you were my own sister."
"Ur-ur-ur-r-r!" she broke forth, in an inarticulate growl of disgust and abhorrence.
"Good-bye!" he said, very gently, as he bowed and left the room.
Nothing but sympathy and compassion for this "poor woman," as he called her, filled his heart.
Her outbreak of hysterical passion had been a revelation to him; but it had shown him only half the truth. In its light he saw that she loved him still, but he did not see that shehated her rival. He saw that she was jealous, but did not see that she was revengeful.
He reproached himself bitterly, bitterly, for ever having fallen under her spell, for ever having loved her, or sought to win her love, and for thus being the remote cause of her present sorrows.
He had never confided to Emma Cavendish the story of his first foolish, boyish love, and sufferings and cure. For Mary Grey's sake he had kept that secret from his betrothed, from whom he had no other secret in the world.
But now he felt that he must tell Emma the truth, gently and lovingly, lest Mary Grey should do it rudely and angrily.
For Mary Grey's sake he had hitherto been silent. For his own and Emma Cavendish's sake he must now speak.
He went straight to the telegraph office and dispatched a message to Miss Cavendish, saying that he should be down to Wendover by the next train to pay her a flying visit.
Then he hurried to his office, put his papers in order, left some directions with his clerk, and hastened off to the railway station, where he caught the train just as it started, and jumped aboard the cars while they were in motion.
It was midnight when the Richmond train reached Wendover, and Alden Lytton went to the Reindeer for the night.
Early in the morning he arose and breakfasted, and ordered a horse to take him to Blue Cliff Hall.
Just as he was getting into the saddle Jerome, the colored footman from the Hall, rode up holding two papers in his left hand, and staring at them with perplexity.
"Halloo, Jerome, how do you do?" called out Mr. Lytton, cheerfully.
The boy looked up, and his surprise and perplexity instantly mounted to consternation and amazement.
"Well, dis yer's witchcraf', and nuffin else!" he exclaimed.
"What is witchcraft, you goose?" laughed Alden.
"Look yer, massa," said Jerome, riding up to his side and putting the two papers in his hand, "you jes look at dem dere!"
Alden took the papers and looked as required.
Both papers were telegrams. One was his own telegram to Emma Cavendish, saying:
"I shall be down to see you by the next train."
The other was a telegram from Emma Cavendish to himself, saying:
"Come down at once."
"Well, what of all this? Here is a message and its answer. What is there in this like witchcraft?"
"Why, massa, 'cause de answer came afore de message went, and you yerself come quick as enny. Dere's de witchcraf'."
"What do you mean?"
"I knowed as de telegraf was fast, and likewise de steam cars, but I didn't know as dey was bof so fast as to answer a message afore it was axed, and fetch a gemman afore he was sent for. But here's de answer, and here's you."
"This is all Hebrew to me."
"Which it is likewise a conundrum to me," retorted Jerome.
"Tell me what you have been doing, and perhaps I shall understand you," laughed Alden Lytton.
"Well, massa, this mornin' by daybreak Miss Emmer sent for me, and gave me this," he said, pointing to the young lady's telegram. "And, says she:
"'Jerome, saddle the fastest horse in de stable and ride as fast as you can to Wendover and send this message off to Mr. Lytton. Lose no time, for we want him to come down here as soon as possible.'
"Well, Massa Alden, I didn't lose no time, sar, nor likewise let de grass grow underneaf of my feet. I reckon I was in de saddle and off in about ten minutes. But fast as I was, bress you, sar, de telegraf was faster! When I got to de office and hand de message in to de gemman dere I says:
"'Send it off quick, 'cause Miss Emmer wants Massa Alden to come down right away.'
"'All right,' he says. 'De young gemman will be down by de next train. And here's yer answer to yer message.'
"And sure nuff, Massa Alden, he hands me this yer," said Jerome, pointing to Alden's own telegram. "And here's you too! Now, what anybody think ob dat if it a'n't witchcraf'?"
"It is a coincidence, my good fellow. I was coming down, and I telegraphed Miss Cavendish to that effect. When you brought her message to the office you received mine, which must have been delayed. It is a coincidence."
"Well I s'pose a coimperence is a fine book-larnin' namefor witchcraf'; but it's all the same thing after all," persisted Jerome.
"I hope they are all well at Blue Cliffs," said Mr. Lytton, who felt some little uneasiness connected with Emma's telegram.
"Yes, sar, dey's all purty well, 'cept 'tis de ole madam. She a'n't been that hearty as she ought to 'a' been."
"I hope she is not seriously ill."
"No, sar; dough I did leave a message long o' Doctor Willet to come out dere dis morning; but you know de ole madam do frequent send for de doctor."
"Come, Jerome, we must get on to the Hall," said Mr. Lytton, as he rode out of the inn yard and turned into the road leading to Blue Cliffs, followed by the servant.
Emma Cavendish, who was on the lookout for Jerome, was surprised and delighted to see her lover ride up first, attended by her messenger.
"It's witchcraf', Miss Emmer!" exclaimed Jerome, as he got out of his saddle to take the young gentleman's horse.
"It is a coincidence," laughed Alden, as he ran up the steps to greet his beloved.
"Well, dat's de Latin for witchcraf', Miss Emmer; but it's all de same t'ing in English," persisted Jerome, as he led away the horses.
"Jerome tells me that grandma is not well. I am sorry to hear it," said Alden, as he walked with Emma into the house.
"Grandma is nearly ninety years old, and she can not ever be well in this world; but she will soon be very well indeed, for she is very near her eternal youth and health," said Emma, with tender, cheerful earnestness.
Alden bowed in silence as they entered the drawing-room together.
"Grandma told me to telegraph for you to come down at once, Alden. She thinks that she can not be here many days, and perhaps not many hours. And she wishes to see you at once. Will you go to her now, dear, or would you rather go to your room first?"
"I will go to see madam first. I have but ridden from the Reindeer this morning, and so I am neither fatigued nor dusted. I telegraphed you yesterday that I was coming down to see you to-day, and my telegram should have reached you yesterday; but it seems to have been delayed. I left the city by the noon train and reached the village at midnight. So I happened to meet Jerome just after he had taken my delayedtelegram from the agent, which he supposed to be a magical answer to your message."
"The whole arrangements of telegraph wires, steam engines, gas-lights and lucifer matches are magical to him," said Emma, smiling. "And now stay here a moment, dear, and wait until I go and let grandma know that you have come," she added, as she went out of the room.
Emma Cavendish found the old lady sitting up in her easy-chair by the sunny window, looking very white and fragile and serene.
"Alden has come, grandma, dear. When Jerome went to send the telegram off for him he found Mr. Lytton in Wendover. Mr. Lytton had just arrived from Richmond and was about to start for Blue Cliffs. It was a coincidence," said Emma, sitting down by the old lady.
"It was a providence, my dear child—a providence which has saved two days in time that is very short. And so he is here?" said the old lady, caressing the golden hair of the girl.
"Yes, dear grandma, he is here and waiting to come to you the moment you are ready to receive him."
"Tell him to come now. And do you come with him."
Emma left the room, and soon returned with Alden Lytton.
"Welcome, my son! Come here and embrace me," said the old lady, holding out her arms.
Alden went and folded the faded form to his bosom and pressed a kiss upon the venerable brow, as the tears sprang to his eyes; for he saw that she was dying.
"Alden, I am going home. I must go. I want to go. I have been here so long. I am very tired. I have had enough of this. I want to go home to my Father. I want to see my Savior face to face. I want to meet my husband and my children, who have been waiting for me so long on the other side. What are you crying for, Emma?"
"Because I can not help it, grandma. I know I ought not to cry, when you will soon be so happy," sobbed the poor child.
"And when I am going to make you and your worthy young lover so happy, my love. Come, wipe your eyes and smile! I shall soon be very happy, and I want to make you and Alden as happy as I can before I go. Now sit down, both of you, and listen to me."
Alden and Emma sat down, one on each side of her.
She was a little tired with the words she had already spoken,and she put a small vial of ammonia to her nose and smelled it before she went on.
"Now," she said, as she put aside the vial and gave a hand to each of the young people, "I want you to attend to me and do exactly as I bid you."
"We will indeed," answered Alden and Emma, in a breath.
"I wish you would be married here in my presence tomorrow morning."
Alden Lytton gave her hand a grateful squeeze.
"You should be married to-day, if there were time to make the necessary arrangements."
"Are there any really necessary arrangements that can not be made to-day?" Alden inquired, eagerly.
"Yes, my son. A messenger must take a letter to Lytton Lodge to explain the circumstances, and to ask your sister Laura and your aunt and uncle Lytton to come immediately, to be present at your marriage with my granddaughter. If the messenger to Lytton Lodge should start at noon to-day, as he must, he will hardly reach the Lodge before night. Nor will your relatives be able to reach here before noon tomorrow. So you see the necessity of the short delay."
"Yes, certainly," answered Alden.
"Another messenger must take a similar letter to Beresford Manors, to summon my son and my youngest granddaughter, and your worthy guardian, Mr. Brent, who is on a long visit there. And it will also take about twenty-four hours to bring them here."
"Yes, of course," admitted Alden.
"I say nothing of the time it will take to get a license and to fetch Mr. Lyle, who must perform the ceremony, because that can be done in a few hours."
"If it were possible, I would like to have Mary Grey summoned by telegraph to attend the wedding," said Emma.
"Ah, yes, certainly she ought to be here; but there is scarcely a chance, the time is so short," said Mrs. Cavendish, as she again resorted to the vial of ammonia.
"Mrs. Grey is in very bad health. She would not come," explained Alden.
"Go, now, my dear children. I am very tired, and I must sleep a while," sighed the old lady.
And Emma and Alden kissed her and left the room.
In the passage outside they met Mrs. Fanning, who seemed to be waiting for them.
She cordially welcomed Mr. Lytton, of whose arrival shehad heard from the servants. And then she inquired of Emma how Mrs. Cavendish was getting on.
"She grows weaker in the body and stronger in the spirit with every successive hour, I think," replied Miss Cavendish.
"Well, my dear, I only wished to ask you that, and to tell you that I have had lunch laid in the little breakfast room, if Mr. Lytton would like any," said Mrs. Fanning, who now took equal share in all Emma's housekeeping cares.
But Alden, when appealed to, declined the lunch and hinted that they had better see to sending off the messengers to Beresford Manors and Lytton Lodge immediately.
And that same noon the letters were dispatched.
Alden Lytton had come down to Blue Cliffs for the purpose of confiding to Emma Cavendish the story of his first boyish passion for Mary Grey, and of the violent manner in which it was cured forever. But finding all the circumstances so opposite to what he expected to find them, he changed his purpose. He could not bring himself to add another item to the disturbing influences then surrounding Emma.
That afternoon, also, Dr. Willet came to Blue Cliffs, and Emma had to accompany him to the bedside of her grandmother, and afterward to hold quite a long conversation with him in the library.
A few minutes after the doctor left the house, Mr. Lyle, who had heard of the illness of Mrs. Cavendish, arrived to inquire after her condition.
Emma had to receive the minister and accompany him to her grandmother's chamber, and to stay there and join in the prayers that were offered for the sick woman.
Mr. Lyle remained with the family all the afternoon; and having received from Mr. Lytton a notice of the ceremony he was desired to perform the next day, he promised to be at Blue Cliff Hall again punctually at noon, and then took leave.
Very early the next morning Alden Lytton mounted the swiftest horse in the Cavendish stables and rode to Wendover to procure his marriage license.
He did not stay long in the village, you may be sure; but, leaving his horse to rest and drink at the Reindeer trough, he hurried to the town-hall and took out his license, returned to the inn, remounted his horse, and rode immediately back to Blue Cliff Hall.
As he rode up the avenue toward the front of the house he saw that there had already been some arrival. A large lumbering old family carriage was being driven, empty, around toward the stables.
Alden quickened his horse's pace and rode up to the door, dismounted, threw his reins to Peter, the young groom, who was waiting to take the horse, and then ran up the steps into the house.
He almost immediately found himself in the arms of his sister Laura, who had run out to receive him.
"Oh, Alden, my darling, I am so delighted! I wish you so much joy!" she exclaimed.
"Only the occasion that has hastened my happiness is a sad one to others, Laura, my dear," answered the young man, gravely.
"I don't think so at all. I have seen Mrs. Cavendish. I never saw a happier woman. She is so happy that she wishes to make everybody else as happy as she is herself," said Laura.
As she spoke John Lytton came lumbering into the hall.
"Alden, boy, how do? I never was so astonished in my life! But under the circumstances I hope that it is all right to hurry up things in this a-way. Your Aunt Kitty couldn't come; nyther could your grandmother nor the gals. Fact is, they hadn't the gownds to appear in. But they wish you joy; and so do I. For, though I do think you might a-looked higher, because the Lyttonses is a much older family than the Caverndishers, and, in fact, were lords of the manor when the Caverndishers were hewers—"
"Uncle John," broke in Alden, with a laugh, "pray let that subject drop for the present! And follow Jerome, who is waiting to show you a room where you can brush your coat and smooth your hair, and—"
"Make myself tidy for the wedding? All right, my boy! March on, Jerome!" said John Lytton, good-humoredly, as he followed his guide upstairs.
As he disappeared another carriage rolled up to the front door, and Dr. Beresford Jones, Electra and Mr. Joseph Brent—Victor Hartman—alighted from it and entered the house.
Alden and Laura Lytton stepped forward to receive them.
Electra seized and kissed Laura in a hurry, while the gentlemen were shaking hands, and then she flew to Alden and congratulated him with much effusion.
"Now, Laura, take me where I can change my dress quickly. I brought a white India muslin with me to wear, for I am to be bride-maid, of course! So are you, I suppose.But you haven't changed your dress yet. Where is Emma? What is she going to be married in?"
"Be quiet, you little Bohemian!" said Laura, cutting short Electra's torrent of words. "Don't you feel that this is no ordinary wedding? The occasion, if not a sorrowful one, is at least very serious. Come, I will take you with me to my own room. We are to lodge together in the south-west room, as usual."
"But are you to be a bride-maid?" persisted the "little Bohemian."
"Yes; and to wear my white tarletan dress and white rose wreath," answered Laura, as they went off together.
"Where's Emma, and what's she doing? as I asked you some time ago."
"She is in her chamber, dressing for the ceremony."
"She hasn't got her wedding-dress made yet; that I know. What's she going to be married in?"
"She will wear her white satin trained dress, with white lace overdress, which she had made for the last May ball, you remember."
"Oh, yes! I didn't think of that."
"And she will wear that rich, priceless cardinal point-lace veil that was her mother's. And she will wear her grandmother's rare oriental pearls. There, you little gipsy! Are you answered?"
"Yes. And she will be magnificent and splendid, even if she is gotten up in a hurry," said Electra, as she followed her companion into their room.
Alden Lytton, under the unusual circumstances attending the sudden wedding, and in the surprise of his own unexpected happiness, had not once thought of the necessity of making a proper toilet for the occasion. But when he heard the girls, who never, under any circumstances, forget such a matter, talking of their dress, he glanced down at his own suit, and then hurried off as fast as he could to his room to improve his appearance.
While the younger members of the family party were at their toilets, Dr. Beresford Jones was in the "Throne Room," closeted with his mother.
Madam Cavendish, weak as she was, had insisted upon being arrayed grandly, to do honor to the wedding of the only daughter of the house.
She wore a rich crimson brocade dressing-gown, a costly camel's-hair shawl, and a fine point-lace cap. She now reclined very wearily in her easy-chair, and held in her handthe vial of ammonia, which she applied to her nose from time to time.
After a little while she said to her son:
"Go and inquire if they are nearly ready, Beresford. I fear—I fear my strength will scarcely hold out," she faltered, faintly.
Dr. Jones opened the door to go upon this errand, and immediately perceived that it was unnecessary.
John Lytton and Mr. Lyle were coming up the stairs, and the little bridal procession was forming in the hall below.
Mr. Lyle came in and spoke to Dr. Jones.
"With Mrs. Cavendish's permission, even now, at the last moment, we must make some slight changes in the programme," he said.
"Well?" inquired Dr. Jones, pleasantly.
"I was to have performed the ceremony and you were to have given the bride away?"
"Yes."
"Well, we must change that. Mr. Lytton has but one groomsman. I must act in that capacity also. You will please perform the ceremony, and Mr. John Lytton here will have the honor of giving the bride away."
John Lytton bowed.
"I am quite willing. I will speak to Mrs. Cavendish," said Dr. Jones, who went to his mother's chair and explained the situation to her.
"Certainly; be it as you will," she said.
Mr. Lyle then returned to the foot of the stairs and placed himself beside Laura Lytton, who was acting as first bride-maid.
John Lytton and Dr. Jones remained in the room.
The little bridal procession soon entered and ranged themselves in order before the minister.
Emma, as Electra had said, looked beautiful as a woman and elegant as a bride. Her bride-maids also were very fair to see.
The ceremony was commenced with great impressiveness.
Old Mrs. Cavendish listened with the deepest attention, leaning back in her easy-chair and sniffing at her bottle of ammonia.
John Lytton gave away the bride as if he were making a magnificent present at his own expense.
Emma Cavendish not only wore her mother's bridal veil, but was married with her mother's wedding-ring.
Dr. Beresford Jones pronounced the benediction.
And Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish were made one in law, as they had long been in mind and heart.
The bride rose from her kneeAnd she kissed the lips of her mother deadOr ever she kissed me.—E. B. Browning.
The bride rose from her kneeAnd she kissed the lips of her mother deadOr ever she kissed me.—E. B. Browning.
The bride rose from her kneeAnd she kissed the lips of her mother deadOr ever she kissed me.
—E. B. Browning.
The benediction was scarcely spoken before the fair bride left her bridegroom's side and moved softly and swiftly to the side of the easy-chair, where the form of her ancestress lay reclining.
All eyes followed her strange action, as she knelt beside the chair and took the wasted hand of its occupant in her own. And some saw what Emma had been the first to discover—that the happy spirit of the aged lady was even then departing.
She spoke no word more, but slowly raising her hand she laid it gently, as in silent blessing, on the bowed head of her young descendant, and so, with a radiant smile, passed away heavenward.
"She's dropped asleep, my dear," said honest, stupid John Lytton, bending over to look at the closed eyes and peaceful face.
"She has fainted. This has been too much for her," said Mrs. Fanning, catching up the vial of ammonia and coming with the intention of administering it.
"She is neither sleeping nor swooning. She has risen," said Emma.
And, calmly putting aside the useless drug, she arose and reverently pressed a kiss upon the lifeless lips.
A moment of deep silence followed her words.
Then Dr. Jones, the son, himself an aged man, drew near and tenderly took up the lifeless hand and looked into the motionless face, and with a profound sigh turned away.
While this group was still gathered around the chair of death, the door was silently opened and the family physician entered the room and stood among them.
"She is gone, Doctor Willet," said the son, turning to greet the new-comer.
The physician nodded gravely to the sorrowing speaker, bowed to the assembled friends, and passed through them, asthey made way for him to approach the body. He felt the wrist, where there was no pulse, looked into the eyes, where there was no light, and then, with a grave and silent nod, he confirmed the opinion of Dr. Jones.
Electra, who had been incredulous all this time about the reality of the death, and was anxiously watching the face of the physician, now burst into violent weeping, and had to be led from the room by Joseph Brent—Victor Hartman.
Emma stood, pale as marble, with her eyes cast down, her lips lightly pressed together, and her hands closely clasped.
"Take your young bride away also, Mr. Lytton. She is exerting great self-command now; but she can not much longer control her feelings," said Dr. Willet.
"Come, love," whispered the bridegroom, as he passed his arm gently around the waist of the now weeping girl and drew her away from the scene of death.
Mr. John Lytton followed them out, with the half-frightened air of a culprit stealing away from detection.
There now remained in the room of death the aged son, Dr. Beresford Jones, the family physician, Dr. Willet, the minister of the parish, the Rev. Mr. Lyle, and the two ladies, Mrs. Fanning and Laura Lytton.
"She passed away very gently, without the least suffering," said Mrs. Fanning.
"I thought she would do so. Hers has been a really physiological death, of ripe and pure old age," answered the doctor.
After a little more conversation the gentlemen withdrew, leaving the remains to the care of the two ladies, while they went to commence arrangements for the funeral.
Four days after this the body of Mrs. Cavendish was laid in the family vault, beside those of her husband and her son, the late governor.
The old lady had been long and widely known, and deeply and sincerely loved and honored, and her funeral was as largely attended as had been that of her son, some years before. After these solemn offices had all been performed the friends assembled to consult and make arrangements for the temporary disposition of the family left behind.
It was settled that Mrs. Fanning should remain at Blue Cliff Hall, in charge of the establishment, with Laura Lytton as her guest and companion.
Dr. Jones and Electra would, of course, return to Beresford Manors. They would be accompanied by Mr. Joseph Brent—Victor Hartman—who had grown to be a great favorite with the aged doctor, and in truth almost indispensable to his comfort and entertainment.
Mr. Lyle went back to the duties of his ministry at Wendover.
And finally, as there was now a vacation of the courts, and the young barrister was temporarily at liberty, Alden Lytton decided to take his young bride to Europe for their bridal tour.
On their way to New York they stopped for a day in Richmond, because Emma wished to see her old "friend," Mrs. Grey, before leaving for Europe.
Alden Lytton, though he felt persuaded in his own mind that Mrs. Grey would not receive them, yet promptly complied with his fair bride's wish.
So, the morning after their arrival at the Henrico House, in Richmond, Alden took a carriage and they drove to the old Crane Manor House and inquired for Mrs. Grey.
But, as Alden had foreseen, they received for an answer that Mrs. Grey was not at home.
Upon further inquiry they were told that she had left the city on business and would not return for a week.
And Alden Lytton rightly conjectured that she had gone away, and was staying away, for the one purpose of avoiding Emma and himself.
So the young bride, with a sigh, reluctantly resigned all hope of seeing her unworthy "friend" before sailing for Europe.
Early the next morning the newly-married pair took the steamboat for Washington, where in due time they safely arrived, and whence they took the train for the North.
They reached New York on Thursday night, had one intervening day to see something of the city and to make some few last purchases for their voyage, and on Saturday at noon they embarked on the magnificent ocean steamship "Pekin," bound from New York to Southampton.
We must leave them on board their ship, and return and look up Mary Grey.
After Mrs. Grey's last interview with Alden Lytton, during which, partly because she lost her self-command and partly because she did not care longer to conceal her feelings, she had thrown off her mask, she sat down to review the situation.
"Well, I have betrayed myself," she mused. "I have let him see how I really feel about this marriage engagement between him and Emma Cavendish. He knows now how I loved him; if he has eyes in his head he sees now how I hate him.
"All right. I have now no further reason to deceive him. He has served my utmost purpose for his own and her own destruction. I no longer need his unconscious co-operation. I have his honor and his liberty, and her reputation and peace, in my power and at my mercy.
"And I have done all this myself, without the voluntary help of any human being. I have used men as the mechanic uses tools, making them do his work, or as the potter uses clay, molding it to his purpose.
"Let him marry Emma Cavendish. I can part them at any moment afterward and throw them into a felon's prison, and cast her down from her proud place into misery and degradation.
"Icouldstop their marriage now, or at the altar. But I will not do that; for to do that would be only to disappoint or grieve them. But my vengeance must strike a deeper blow. It must degrade and ruin them. I will wait until they have been married some time. Then, in the hour of their fancied security, I will come down upon them like an avalanche of destruction."
In the feverish excitement of anticipating this fiendish consummation of her revenge she almost forgot her heinous crime, and ceased to be haunted by the hideous specter of her murdered lover.
It was on the fifteenth of the month, when she happened to take up the morning paper.
She turned first—as she always did—to the column containing notices of marriages and deaths.
And her face grew wild and white as she read: