Ten minutes after Lottie fell senseless beside the stone steps of the Palace Augustus, a slight, girlish figure came quickly down the street. It was dressed in black, the only spot of relief being the fur lining of the hood which almost concealed her face. Though she was quite alone, she walked with a fearless and confident bearing, like one whose safety was insured. As she came near the gateway of the palace, a man, bearing the unmistakable signs of a footpad, approached her stealthily, but after a glance at the half-shrouded face, he made a bow, and spreading out his hands toward her, with respectful and almost awed deprecation, stood aside to let her pass.
Margaret, for she it was, returned the salutation with a gentle inclination of her head, and went on her way.
As she walked along in the starlight, a strange feeling of peacefulness, that for all its serenity had something of elation in it, pervaded her. She had just come from visiting a child down with the fever, which is as characteristic of Naples as its bay, or its volcano, and the blessings which the mother of the little one had called down upon Margaret's head, seemed to have borne fruit.
To-night, as she looked up at the stars, she could bring herself to think of Blair with a feeling of forgiveness and tenderness which she had not, as yet, been capable of.
In this life he could never be her own again, never; but perhaps in that mysterious after-life toward which they were all drifting, he would, in some way, come back to her. That he had loved her, even while sinning against her, she felt convinced; and to-night, as she walked through the silent streets, his face came before her, and his voice rose in her memory with a strange distinctness. In fancy she was back again at Leyton Court and at Appleford, and a reflection of these times, in all their glorious coloring of happiness, fell upon her spirit in the dark street, and illuminated it with a curious sadness that had a tinge of joy in it.
"Oh, Blair, my love, my love!" she murmured, looking up at the stars, very much as he had done about an hour before, "we shall never meet again here on earth, but who knows what may await us up there?"
As she lowered her eyes with a gentle sigh, she saw thefigure of Lottie huddled up in a scarcely distinguishable mass beside the doorway of the Augustus Palace; she stopped immediately, and kneeling beside the unconscious girl, spoke to her gently. At first she thought that the girl was dead, but she detected a faint movement of the heart, and raising her head upon her knee, she moistened her lips with some eau-de-Cologne.
The light was so dim that she did not recognize her, and she was loosening the worn shawl and chafing the thin hands that hung limply at her side, when a man and woman came down the street.
Margaret beckoned to them. After a glance, they were keeping on their way; but she called to them, and hearing her voice their manner changed, and they hurried forward.
"A poor girl who has fallen in a swoon," explained Margaret.
"Looks like dead, signorina," said the man, shrugging his shoulders Italian fashion. "Best fetch the police: dead people give trouble to the most innocent."
"Oh, no, no; she is not dead, indeed!" said Margaret, earnestly.
"That's not what you said when the signorina nursed you through the ague, ungrateful pig!" exclaimed the man's wife, with charming candor. "What shall we do, lady?"
"If I could get her somewhere out of the street," said Margaret, anxiously. "I think she has fainted from hunger."
"Like enough," said the man. "It's a most popular complaint, lady!"
"I'll take her to our rooms, signorina," said the woman promptly. "Lift her, Tonelli!"
The husband obeyed with half sullen resignation, and the pair carried Lottie to a house in one of the small streets. They laid her on the bed; and Margaret, after dispatching the man to her house for wine and food, and setting the woman to light a fire, threw her fur cloak over the girl, and then, and not till then, carried a light close to her.
As she did so the lamp nearly fell to the ground, for she recognized in the girl she had rescued, the woman who had dealt her the blow that had wrecked her life. There, lying motionless and senseless, was Blair's real wife!
She set the lamp down and staggered back to a chair.
"The signorina is tired and ill!" exclaimed the woman of the house, gazing at her sympathetically. "Will not the signorina leave the girl to my care, and go home to rest? You wear yourself out for the poor, lady!"
"No, no!" said Margaret, fighting against the weakness which threatened to master her. "It—it is only a little faintness. Is the fire all right? Yes? Then will you go down and warm some of the wine Tonelli will bring, and bring it up to me?"
The woman left the room, and Margaret once more bent over the unconscious Lottie.
Yes, it was the same woman! But how came she to be lying in the streets of Naples, in rags, and evidently half-famished? Had Blair deserted her again?
All the while she was pondering she was using means to bring warmth and life back, and presently the woman of the house came up with the hot wine.
Margaret succeeded in getting some through the white lips, and after awhile Lottie opened her eyes. They rested upon the lovely face for some seconds vacantly, but presently a gleam of intelligence shot across them, and she tried to raise herself upon her elbow, staring wildly at what she took to be a vision.
"Do not move," said Margaret, softly. "You are weak and ill. Drink some of this wine."
Lottie took the cup and drained it feverishly.
"Give me some more," she gasped. "Give me anything to wake me from this dream. Do you hear? Wake me, or I shall go mad! I tell you I can see her standing there in front of me!" and she pointed to Margaret wildly. "I've often fancied I've seen her, but never so plainly as now. Wake me! for Heaven's sake, wake me!"
"Try and keep quiet," said Margaret, soothingly; but at the sound of her voice Lottie only grew more excited.
"There! I can hear her speaking! What is it she says? I know I did it! I plead guilty, my lord! But it was not me only. Where ishe? Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord. Send me to prison, if you like, but don't let him go scot-free. He is worse than I am! It was he who put me up to it—and now he leaves me to starve! Yes, he did! He threatened me, told me that he'd have me charged, and that he'd swear he knew nothing about it. Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord!"
Then she sank down, as if exhausted; but presently she started up with a cry of terror and clutched at Margaret's arm.
"Blair! Blair!" she shrieked, and at the name poor Margaret winced and could scarcely suppress a cry. "Blair will be killed! I heard them say so! Quick! Find him—stop the fight! The prince will kill him! Blair is no match for him—I heard them say so. Oh, for the love of Heaven,don't stand there doing nothing, but find them and stop them!"
The woman of the house crept to the bed, and looking down curiously shrugged her shoulders.
"She is English, lady, is she not? She is in the fever and raves; is it not so? What is it she says?"
"I—I am afraid she is delirious," said Margaret, scarcely knowing what she answered. "Will you go for the English doctor and beg him to come to me at once?"
Lottie caught the word doctor, and raising herself on her elbow, held out her hand imploringly.
"Oh, never mind me!" she panted. "What does it matter about me? It's Blair—Blair you must save! Don't you believe me? I tell you I heard them talking about it before I fell—where was it?" and she put her hand to her head and sank back with a groan.
Margaret sat beside the bed, with one of the girl's wasted, burning hands held tightly in her own.
She could not think—the meeting was too strange and mysterious to permit of her doing that—but she sat in a kind of dull stupor, even after the doctor had come and gone again.
The night passed away, and morning dawned, and with the first streak in the east Lottie awoke.
That she was no longer delirious was evident by her eyes, but she turned pale and started, as they fell upon Margaret.
"It was no dream, then!" she said, in a low voice, covering her face with her hands. "It was really you who sat beside me?"
"Yes, it was I," said Margaret, sadly and shyly, for it Came flashing upon her that this woman, after all, was Blair's wife. "I am glad you are better. I will go now," and she rose, a little stiffly.
Lottie put out her hand.
"No—stay," she said, with a frightened, nervous glance. "I—I have something to tell you! Oh, if I only knew how! Don't be angry with me more than you can help. Punish me if you like, but don't say much to me. I've done the cruellest thing that ever one woman did to another, and I deserve to be shot——" At the word she started up, and flung out her arms. "What is the time? is it morning? Not morning! Do not tell me that! Oh, great Heaven, how long have I been lying here? Oh, too late, too late!" and she rocked herself to and fro.
"Why are you too late, and for what?"
"To save him! To save Blair! Didn't I tell you? It seems to me that I have been raving about it for hours!He and the Prince Rivani are to fight this morning. This morning! It is light now!"
"Blair—Lord Leyton; your—your husband!" said Margaret, holding on to the bed to support herself.
"My husband!" Lottie almost shrieked; then she laughed wildly and hysterically. "No! not my husband,but yours!"
"Mine!" said Margaret, her eyes fixed on the flushed face and desperate black eyes.
"Yes; yours, yours, yours!" cried Lottie. "Oh, can't you understand? No! You are so good and true, that you cannot believe there are such fiends in the world as me and Austin Ambrose!"
"Austin Ambrose!" was all Margaret could falter.
"Austin Ambrose! The cruellest, cleverest scoundrel on earth!" cried Lottie, tearing at her clothes and flinging them on as she spoke. "It was he who tempted me to go down to that place in Devonshire, and pass myself off as Blair's wife——"
"Pass yourself off as——Then—then you are not his wife?"
"No, and never was!" cried Lottie.
"Then——Oh, stop!—give me a minute! No!—don't touch me! I'm not going to faint!" for Lottie had sprung forward to catch her. "I will not faint; only give me a minute. I am Blair's wife!—Blair's wife! Say it again!" and the poor soul, white and red by turns, held up her hands to the wickedly weak and erring Lottie.
"I'll say it a thousand times; I'll beg your forgiveness on my knees; I'll do anything to atone for what I've done—but not now!" she exclaimed fiercely. "For while we are talking here, murder's being done; for it is murder to pit a man against Prince Rivani, and that's what they have done with Blair—Lord Ferrers, I mean!"
"Ah!" Margaret caught her breath, and pressed her hand to her heart for a moment; then she snatched up her cloak and flung it round her, and sprung to the door.
Lottie had just succeeded in getting on her ragged clothing, and put out a hand, humbly and imploringly, to stop her.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
Margaret put her hand away with simple dignity, and, looking at her, replied:
"To savemy husband!"
Mr. Austin Ambrose left the boudoir a happier man than he had ever been before during the whole course of his life.
There is a keener joy in the anticipation of success and victory which the actual success and victory themselves cannot produce. In his mind's eye he saw himself—as he had pictured to Violet—lying at her feet in some sunny, vine-clad villa in Spain. Those two by themselves, with no one to share or dispute his claim to her! With Blair either dead of Prince Rivani's rapier thrust, or away in England with Margaret! Yes, success had come to him at last. Not only would he have won the woman he loved with a passion which he had nourished and fostered and secretly fed during all those long and bitter months, but he would have secured wealth as well, for he had not managed Blair's estate for Blair's benefit alone, but had contrived to feather his own nest pretty considerably; besides, Violet still held her own money, and it would now become his!
He was so filled with the ecstasy of anticipation that he could have stopped on the great staircase, and raised the house with his exultant laughter, had there not been still something to do before he could admit that all was ready.
Always looking forward to this supreme moment, he had arranged with one of the drivers of the pair-horse carriages to expect a summons from him, and, slipping on a cloak, he went out to the corner of the street and gave the man his instructions. He was to wait at the corner of the cathedral until he, Austin Ambrose, arrived with a lady. The man was then to drive to the station as if for his life, and regardless of anything. Then he returned to the palace, and hastily packed a small portmanteau. He had scarcely finished it when Blair's valet knocked at the door, with General Trelani's card.
Austin Ambrose slipped on a dressing gown over the traveling suit, for which he had exchanged his other clothes, and received the general with calm serenity and dignity.
"You expected me, doubtless, and I will not detain you with apologies for the lateness of the hour," said the general, a stiff and soldier-like old man, to whom duels were very ordinary matters indeed. "I may add that my principal, Prince Rivani, will not accept an apology."
Austin Ambrose bowed.
"The Earl of Ferrers has no intention of offering one," he said, quietly.
The general inclined his head.
"As the person challenged, the earl has the choice of weapons," he said.
"Though, like most Englishmen, I am unfamiliar with the etiquette of the duello, I am aware of that. Lord Ferrers chooses swords."
The general looked rather surprised.
"Indeed! In honor, I am compelled to remind you, sir, that his highness is skilled with the rapier; if pistols would be considered more fair——"
"Thanks, general, but the earl has made his choice."
"Then nothing remains to settle but the hour and place," said the general, suavely.
"Will half-past five be too early?" asked Austin Ambrose.
"No hour will be too early for us, sir," said the general, blandly, "and I would recommend the field behind the hospital. It is quiet and secluded at that hour——"
Austin Ambrose assented, and the general looked at his watch.
"My mission is finished, sir," he said. "Pray convey my devoted respects to the earl."
Austin Ambrose bowed him out, and then returned to his room and completed his preparations. He sat down and wrote a short note.
"The meeting is for half-past five in the field behind the hospital. Do not wait for me. I have gone into the town and will join you to the minute."
He rang the bell and gave the note to Blair's valet, then locking the door, flung himself on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep, but the effort failed for a time.
His acute brain was still at work picturing the incidents as he imagined them. At half-past five he and Violet would be speeding over the frontier. Blair would go to meet Prince Rivani; they would wait a quarter of an hour, half, perhaps; and then, the prince growing impatient, the general would offer to act as second for Blair; the two men would fight, and there would be no doubt as to which would fall. With pistols, Blair, who was a good shot, would stand something of a chance; but with swords, Rivani, whose skill was proverbial, must win. With his eyes closed he could see Blair lying stretched out upon the ground, with a thin streak of crimson creeping snake-like across the breast of his shirt, and at the vision a fiendish smile of satisfaction curved his lips.
Then he must have slept, for presently the sound of a church bell smote upon his ear, and with a start he sprung from the bed, and stealthily drew the curtains a little apart.
Yes, the dawn was breaking, the hour of his triumph was approaching.
Wrapping himself in his cloak, and with a fur over his arm for Violet, he caught up his valise, and with cat-like step made his way to the boudoir.
The door was ajar, as he had left it a few hours ago, but he paused and softly whispered her name.
There was no answer, and he crept in.
He had expected to find her there ready dressed, and waiting for him, but the room was empty. He went to the door of the bedroom and, knocking gently, cautiously called to her.
Still there was no answer, and after a moment's hesitation, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and he opened it and entered. The room was dimly lighted by a small shaded lamp, and for the moment he could distinguish nothing clearly, but the next he saw a figure lying on the bed. It was she. She was lying as if she had fallen backward in a fit of exhaustion, her pale face turned upward, one arm hanging by her side, the other thrown across the bed.
"Asleep? My poor darling!" he murmured. "But I must wake her! There is no time to be lost!"
Still she did not move, and he took her hand.
Something—its icy coldness, perhaps, or its irresponsive lifelessness—sent an awful pang of fear through him that was like the stab of a knife.
Still holding her hand, he caught up the lamp and held it above her head, his eyes scanning her face.
The next instant the lamp dropped from his grasp, and with a stifled cry, he reeled like a drunken man, and fell at her feet!
Blair wrote his letters—there were not many, for Austin Ambrose had so entirely undertaken the management of the vast estates that Blair knew very little about any business pertaining to them.
He commenced a letter to Violet herself, but after several attempts tore it up. He would see her before he started for the meeting, and say good-bye as cautiously as he could.
Then he went out, and, leaving the city behind, wandered into the country beyond.
Still thinking of Margaret and the picture which in so mysterious and strange a manner photographed her and her death, he returned to the palace, and was surprised to find that it was past four.
He went straight to his rooms, and there, on the dressing-table, found Austin Ambrose's note.
Blair destroyed the note, then had a bath, and dressed himself with more than his usual care, doing it with his own hands, and without summoning the valet.
Then he sighed. He could not go on this errand of life or death without saying "good-bye" to his wife. And yet he shrank from it as he now shrank from nothing else connected with the affair. But it had to be done, and he went into her apartments and knocked at the bedroom door which Austin Ambrose had closed after him. There came no answer, and Blair, after waiting for a minute or two, turned away.
He went to the writing table, and taking out a sheet of the scented paper stamped with its gold coronet, wrote a line.
"Good-bye, Violet! Heaven send you every happiness.Blair."
"Good-bye, Violet! Heaven send you every happiness.
Blair."
This he put in an envelope and laid it on the slope where she would see it when she entered the room; which she would do about ten o'clock. If he came out of this affair alive he should return long before that hour and could destroy the note.
Then he put on his cloak, and as quietly as possible left the house. The morning air struck coldly, and with a little shudder he turned up the collar of his coat and lit a cigar.
As the clocks chimed half-past five he reached the ground behind the hospital. A carriage and pair stood under the shelter of some trees, and near it was a group of three men. Blair distinguished the prince by his height; the second man was the general, and the third Blair judged to be the doctor; but Austin Ambrose was not there.
"My friend Mr. Ambrose has not arrived, I see," said Blair cheerfully. "I'm very sorry; but I have no doubt he will be here directly. He left word that he would be here before me."
"He will arrive in a minute or two, no doubt," said the general.
Blair went and leaned against a tree and smoked his cigar placidly. The prince stood at a little distance with folded arms, looking like a statue—a statue of implacability—the other two paced up and down.
A quarter of an hour passed, and the prince beckoned to the general.
"What is the meaning of this delay?" he demanded haughtily.
"His lordship's second has not arrived, your highness."
The prince's face darkened.
"It is a trick—a subterfuge!" he said, with suppressedrage. "When he comes, he will be accompanied by the police, no doubt."
The words were spoken with such an icy distinctness that they reached Blair.
His face flushed, and he flung his cigar away and approached the others.
"Some accident has detained my friend, general," he said. "It is getting late, and if we wait any longer we may be disturbed. Will one of you gentlemen do me the favor of acting for me?"
The two men looked blank; such an arrangement was utterly opposite to all etiquette.
Blair smiled cheerfully.
"Pray don't mind saying no. I am quite willing to dispense with a second."
This suggestion certainly could not be entertained, and after a hurried conference the doctor offered his services; the general and he selected a level piece of ground, and the doctor brought a couple of swords.
"You have brought no weapons, my lord," he said. "The prince begs you will make choice."
Blair chose one at haphazard, then took off his cloak, and coat and waistcoat, and turned up his wristbands.
The doctor eyed him approvingly.
"If the result depended upon strength, my lord," he said, "I should have little fear for you, but——"
"Strength is little to do with it, I know," said Blair smiling; "never mind, sir, I will try not to discredit you."
"You are sure there can be no apology?" said the doctor earnestly.
Blair shook his head.
"I fear not. I think if I were to apologize, the prince would not accept it. He has set his heart upon a fight, and"—he smiled again—"I am not at all inclined to balk him."
The doctor shrugged his shoulders; there was a short and hurried conference between the two seconds, and then they placed their men.
The prince stepped up to his position slowly, and took his stand with that calm, resolute expression on his face which indicated a settled purpose. The gray of coming morning fell upon the open space, the white shirts of the duelists shining out conspicuously in the half light. The general stood at a little distance between them, his handkerchief in his hand, and both men fixed their eyes upon it. Then it dropped and they approached each other slowly and steadily, and looked into each other's eyes.
And in the prince's fixed gaze Blair read his intendeddeath-warrant. He returned the look calmly, almost cheerfully, and the next instant the shining blades crossed with a sharp, hissing sound.
For a few moments each kept his guard, each man trying his adversary's strength.
It had occurred to Blair that he might succeed in wresting the sword from the prince's hand, and in doing it sprain his wrist, and so render him incapable of resuming the duel; but he was speedily convinced of the futility of such an attempt. Though so much slighter than Blair, the prince's wrist was like steel, and let Blair bear ever so heavily, his giant's force was met by its equivalent in steel. Of a certainty there was no chance of disarming the prince.
"His lordship is a better swordsman than I expected," murmured the general. "I always thought that Englishmen did not know how to fence!"
"This man is one of a thousand," said the doctor. "If the prince should only lose his temper he may stand a chance."
The general shook his head.
"He never loses either his temper or his head when he means business, and he means it this morning; look at his face," he added, significantly.
The doctor nodded.
"What can the earl have done to offend him so deeply?" he muttered. "Some woman, I suppose?"
The general nodded succinctly.
"Per Bacco! they are splendidly matched!" he exclaimed, in a low tone of admiration.
At present, indeed, it seemed as if the chances were equal, for, though the prince had made several passes that ought to have carried his sword through Blair's body, Blair had parried them skillfully and gracefully, and still stood untouched.
The prince's face darkened and he paused, for he thought he read Blair's intention. He would wait until the prince had scratched him or inflicted a slight flesh wound, and then declare himself satisfied, the seconds would interfere, and he, the prince, would be balked.
With compressed lips, he commenced the attack again, and, seizing a favorable opportunity, permitted his opponent's sword to cut his arm.
Blair lowered his weapon instantly, and the seconds sprung forward.
"A touch, your highness," said the doctor, in a tone of relief. "My lord, you are satisfied, I presume?"
Blair inclined his head, and wiped the tip of his sword, but the prince smiled grimly.
"Pardon me," he said, slowly, without removing his eyes from Blair's face. "It is a mere scratch, and will not serve as an excuse,even for Lord Ferrers!"
There was so deadly an insult in the tone as well as the words, that Blair's face flamed, and his fingers closed over his hilt.
"When his highness is rested, I am ready to resume," he said, quietly.
The seconds drew back reluctantly.
"Now he will kill him," muttered the general. "Mark my words! At the next thrust Rivani will run him through."
Cautiously, and yet with deadly intentions, the prince resumed the attack. The shining blades gleamed in the pale morning light, and hissed like snakes as they seemed to cling together; Blair put all the science he knew into it, but he felt that the moment would come when the sharp steel, that seemed like something human—or rather diabolical—in its persistence, would slip past his guard and finish the chapter for him; and presently he felt as if a hot iron had pierced his left shoulder; it was followed by the sensation of something warm trickling down his side, and he knew that he was wounded.
The two seconds sprung forward, but it was Blair who waved them back.
"Nothing, nothing!" he said. "Do not interfere, please!"
It would have been dangerous to have persisted in any attempt to stop the men, for the swords were flashing and writhing furiously; the prince was losing his calm; if it went altogether, it would leave him at Blair's mercy.
"By Heaven, it is my man who will be killed!" said the general, with an oath. "What possesses him? Look! he will be in the earl's power directly. Ah!—--"
The exclamation was wrung from him by a pass of Blair's that the prince parried so narrowly that Blair's blade cut his sleeve from elbow to wrist.
The faces of the two men were white as death, their teeth set, their eyes gleaming with that fire which springs from hearts burning for a fellow creature's life.
Another moment would settle it, one way or the other, and Blair, whose strength was beginning to tell, was wearing down the prince's guard; the seconds were, all unconsciously, drawing nearer and nearer in readiness for the fatal moment, when a woman's shriek clave the air, and two figures seemed to spring from the ground, and fling themselves upon the prince.
Blair sprung forward and picked up the prince's sword, and was offering it to him when one of the women released her grasp of the prince, and turning to Blair with outstretched arms, uttered his name.
He started and shuddered as if he had been shot, then, with his eyes fixed on the pale, lovely face before him, began to tremble. The fact was, the poor fellow thought that he was dead, and that this was his Margaret coming to meet him in the other land!
"Blair!" she breathed, trembling like himself, and drawing a little nearer; "Blair, do you not know me?"
Then he uttered a cry—a cry of such agony, of doubt, and fear, and longing, that it went to the hearts of all who heard it. It touched two of them with pity, but the third—the prince's—it turned to fire.
"Stand aside!" he cried, passionately, and he thrust Lottie from his arm. "Stand aside! Your victim shall not save you, you heartless scoundrel! Here, in her presence, you shall pay the penalty!" and he sprung forward with his blade pointed.
The men rushed toward him, but Margaret was before them. With a cry she flung herself upon his breast, and seizing his arms, held them up with a strength almost superhuman.
The prince looked down at her face with wild anguish.
"You, you!" he uttered, reproachfully. "You step between me and this villain!"
"I see no villain, prince!" she said, panting, her eyes fixed on his face. "He who stands there is—my husband!" Then she slid from him and sank with an indescribable cry of love and joy upon Blair's breast.
The prince leant on his sword, and he stood looking at them with a wild amazement that seemed to hold the general and the doctor as if in a trance.
The general was the first to recover himself. With his eyes still fixed on Blair and Margaret, who stood gazing into each other's eyes speechlessly, he went up to the prince, and gently took the sword from his grasp.
"Come away, your highness," he said, in a whisper, "this is no place for us."
"Her husband! Her husband!" breathed the prince, like one in a dream. "Impossible!"
"It looks only too possible," said the general gravely. "Doubtless Lord Ferrers will offer a full explanation later on, but this is no time for it."
"That it isn't, but you can take my word for it that it's true!" said a voice, broken with a sob.
It was Lottie's. The general turned and stared at her.
"You are Miss Leslie's—that is, the countess'—friend, madam?" he said, still staring at her in amazement, that overwhelmed his politeness.
"No, her worst enemy, but one," said Lottie, in her old curt manner. "Oh, I can't tell you half of the story, but if you want to know, it was I who separated them," she said defiantly, through her tears. "But," she added pathetically, "it was I who brought them together again!"
"This is strange!" murmured the general. "Come away, Rivani!"
The prince started as if from a trance and strode toward Blair and Margaret.
"One word, my lord!" he said hoarsely. "You know, you have known from the first, the reason for our meeting. Will you tell me, as man to man, that it had no basis? Will you pledge me your word that you have not injured this lady, for alas, I cannot trust her! It is her heart that has spoken——"
"As man to man I pledge my word that I have not knowingly injured this lady," said Blair brokenly. "She is my wife, Prince Rivani!" then his voice failed him, and he drew Margaret closer to him with a passionate pressure.
The prince bowed, his face white as death, his lips quivering.
"That is sufficient," he said. His eyes turned to Margaret. "Madam, will you forgive me? It was for your sake——" he stopped.
With a sob. Margaret put out her hand to him. He took it, bent over it as if to kiss it, then, as if he could not trust his forced composure another moment, he let it fall and strode away.
Two minutes afterward Blair and Margaret and Lottie were left alone.
What pen could describe the joy which fell upon those two hearts, so long parted by worse than death, but now reunited! Mine shall not attempt it. For a time they stood, her head resting upon his breast, his arm holding her tightly, as if he feared that the next moment he might lose her again. For a time they could only speak in broken, passionate murmurs and it was not until Lottie timidly drew near them that Blair led Margaret to a fallen tree and implored her to tell him how it came to pass that she, whom he had mourned as dead, was now again in his arms.
For an hour they sat, while with many breaks and much faltering, she told the strange story, he listening the while in an amazement that almost overwhelmed his joy. He forgot Lottie, forgot that the city had awakened into its daily life, and above all, he forgot that another woman claimed to be his wife; that, at no great distance, Violet Graham was awaiting him.
It came upon him suddenly, so suddenly that he almost sprung to his feet with a cry of terror and agony.
"Oh, Blair, be calm!" said Margaret, clinging to him, for she thought that he had suddenly realized who it was that had wrecked their lives, though she had cautiously and carefully refrained from mentioning Austin Ambrose. "Be calm, dearest. All our trouble is over now. Let him go. What does it matter? Promise me, Blair—Blair, my love, my husband!"
He groaned, then he started.
"Let him go! Him? Who?"
His wildness frightened her, and she would have soothed him and put the question by, but Lottie was within hearing, and it was too much for her.
"Who? Why, Austin Ambrose!" she exclaimed.
"Hush, hush!" said Margaret, warningly, and she held up her hand haughtily, for, much as Lottie had done to restore her to happiness, she could not endure the sight of her or the sound of her voice.
"Hush!" exclaimed Lottie, half indignantly. "What! are you going to let him go on trusting that wolf in sheep's clothing any longer? Why, it's past reason! Give him a loophole, and he'll ruin everything yet. I know him and you don't, no, neither of you, and Blair—I mean Lord Ferrers—least of all. Why, my lord, you two would never have been parted but for Austin Ambrose."
"Austin! Austin!" echoed Blair.
Then Lottie poured out the story of her villainy and her weakness. Out it came, despite Margaret's commands and entreaties, and, like a lava torrent, it seared Blair's heart.
White and speechless he listened, until, almost breathless, Lottie cried in conclusion:
"And he is down at the palace still, and he'll ruin everything yet if you don't crush him. Oh! I know what he is. He is there with her——"
"Her! Who?" asked Margaret, bewildered.
Lottie stopped short and looked aghast. She had forgotten Violet Graham, the woman who stood before the world as the Countess of Ferrers, as Blair's lawful wife.
Blair held up his hand.
"Not a word more!" he said. "Go, now, Lottie. I—I will send for you later."
Lottie hung her head and left them, and for a few minutes Blair sat silent, feeling as if some fiend had dashed the cup of joy from his lips again.
How was he to tell this lovely angel whose image had never left his heart's throne, this lovable woman who clung to him as if to sever from him would be death to her, how could he tell her that, thinking her dead, he had taken another woman as his wife!
He could not then, at that supreme moment, at any rate.
He rose, still with his arm round her.
"Dearest," he said in a whisper. "You must go home—to your own home for the present——"
Margaret started and looked at him, then her face went white, but she said nothing, not one word.
"For the present," he repeated, almost beside himself. "In an hour or two I will come to you. Tell me where?"
She told him falteringly, yet calmly.
"You can trust me! Surely you can trust me! Ah, if you knew what it costs me to part with you for a single second! But it must be—it must be!" he groaned. "Believe in me, trust me, dearest Margaret, my wife, for a few short hours longer! You will?"
She looked up at him for a second with a deep earnestness, then she laid her head upon his heart and he kissed her.
With a consideration and a delicacy peculiarly Italian, the prince had left his carriage, and Blair led her to it. He stood and watched it as it drove away, with all that he cared for in life, with the treasure so marvelously restored to him, then he turned toward the city.
He seemed to be walking in a dream. What was this task that lay before him? He was to go to Violet Graham and say, "you are no longer my wife—you never have been my wife! Begone!" It was true he owed her no pity, for she had gained her ends by an unscrupulous alliance with the traitor who had marred and ruined so large a portion of his life; but—still—it was from love of him that she had sinned! And now to go to her and tell her that Nemesis had fallen upon her, and that henceforth she must go before the world a thing for scorn to mock at.
With Austin Ambrose, Blair knew how to deal; there would be no hesitation there. Two or three short words, followed by one blow. But Violet——!
Slowly he made his way to the palace. Servants wererunning to and fro in the vast hall, the sounds of life were filling the air which a short time back was so still and quiet.
He entered the hall and mounted the stair with dragging step. In the corridor his valet stood aside to let him pass, and regarded his pale face with covert curiosity.
"Is—is her ladyship down yet?" asked Blair.
"No, my lord; it is not her ladyship's time for rising yet."
Blair glanced at the clock.
"No, no," he said. Then his face darkened. "Will you go to Mr. Ambrose's room and send him to me?" he said.
"Mr. Ambrose has gone into the city, and has not returned yet, my lord," said the man. "I thought your lordship knew——"
"Wait in the hall until he returns, and ask him to come to me," said Blair.
He passed on and entered Violet's boudoir. His note lay on the table where he had left it, and he tore it in pieces and dropped it on the fire. Then he paced to and fro, stopping to listen now and again.
All was still in Violet's room, and he began to ask himself the question if it was necessary for him to see her. Could he not write and tell her all that he had discovered; could he not break it to her in some way? Why should he not leave the place with Margaret alone, within an hour or two, and see Violet no more?
But his spirit rebelled against the suggestion. It seemed unmanly and unworthy. No, he would go through with his task to the bitter end. First Violet, then the other conspirator, Austin Ambrose. Still he waited. The hands of the clock toiled round the dial, and chimed the hour. With a start he nerved himself and knocked at the door. No response followed, and he knocked again and again, more loudly. Then he opened the door and entered.
The next instant he staggered back with a cry of horror.
Stretched upon the bed was the woman he had made his wife, and lying at her feet was the man who had been at once her dupe and her master. As Blair bent over to raise her, he fell back shuddering, for he saw that she was dead! At the same instant the white hand of the man lying at her feet dropped lifelessly and slid away. Blair, who had been about to strike him, saw a small vial lying at his feet.
Small as it was, it had contained sufficient poison for Austin Ambrose. It was the vial he had carried in hisbreast for months past, for which he had felt that night when he thought that Blair had discovered his villainy. It was for this that he had plotted and schemed with a heartless ruthlessness that an Iago might have envied! To find the woman he had loved and entrapped snatched by Death from his grasp in the very hour of his triumph, and to finish his career—a Suicide!
About twelve months after what the newspapers called "The Mystery in High Life at Naples," on a very bright day in June, the Earl of Ferrers and Margaret, his wife, were standing at the open window of the drawing-room at the court.
This window commands the best view of the drive, and it seemed by the intentness with which the two pairs of eyes watched it that they were expecting some one.
Leyton Court always looks at its best in June, and it has never looked better than it did this year, for the earl had spent a great deal of money on the place—"a small fortune," as it was said. A new wing had been built; the old part of the house redecorated; but above and beyond all, an addition had been made to the picture-gallery, which raised it to the first rank in England.
This had been done "to pleasure" Margaret, the countess, whom the world rightly regarded as one of its best and noblest artists. This same world, too, had gone slightly mad over the countess, and would have been delighted to make her the sensation of the season. For, consider! she was not only the wife of a wealthy earl, but the heroine of as romantic a history as the modern world wots of. Even now people did not know the full particulars, did not know more than that the countess was supposed to have died, and that the earl had, in all innocence, married Violet Graham; and that Violet Graham had died of heart disease at Naples, and Mr. Austin Ambrose had poisoned himself—for love of her. All this the world knew, but it was still ignorant of the details, of the diabolical plot which Austin Ambrose had woven, and so nearly successfully. But it knew enough to make Margaret a "sensation," and it was quite prepared to meet her in saloons and ballrooms, and point at her in the park, and fight for introductions to her, and intrigue to get her to its concerts and dinner-parties.
But Margaret had declined to be made a sensation of. Immediately after the tragedy at the palace at Naples, both she and Blair disappeared, not together, as the worldhinted, but separately; and it was only through the appearance of her pictures at the various European galleries that people were made aware of her existence.
For months Margaret lived in a seclusion as impenetrable as that of a Trappist, and it was not until Blair had fallen ill and sent for her that she had gone to him. Then the rumor went round that Leyton Court was being done up, and that the earl and countess were going to live there just like an ordinary couple who had not been the hero and heroine of romance.
"I hope they won't be late," said Blair, looking at his watch and then staring down the drive.
"The trains are always late—unless you want to catch them, then they are fatally punctual!" said Margaret. "I feel as if I were growingoldwaiting for them!"
He turned and looked at her with that smile of combined devotion and admiration which the man wears who is both husband and lover.
"You don't look very old, Madge," he said. "In my eyes you seem younger than when I saw you first. What is it you use? Some magical cosmetique, eh?"
"I don't generally tell my toilet secrets, but I will just this once. It is a capital preparation, Blair, and, but that you look so ridiculously boyish yourself, I'd recommend you to use it. It isCosmetique de Felicite——"
"Which translated means——? You know I don't know two words of French."
"Which translated means 'Cosmetic of Happiness,' you ignorant young man!" and she stole a little closer and looked up at him invitingly.
He put his arm round her and kissed her, and of course she pretended to be indignant.
"Right, before the window, and these people likely to come at any moment, sir!" she exclaimed.
"I wish they would come," he said. "I hate waiting for people. Let us go out and meet them."
"Very well!" she responded, and dashed off for her hat.
In two minutes they were walking side by side down the avenue, and they had not got very far before the Court carriage came bowling up the smooth road.
"There they are, Blair! Hold up your hand or they'll pass us! Florence! Florence!"
At the sound of her musical voice a girlish head appeared at the carriage window, and a girlish voice shouted an eager greeting. The coachman, looking rather scandalized at this want of ceremony, pulled up, and Prince Rivani and the Princess Florence sprung out.
The two men shook hands warmly, each looking intothe other's face with that frank, steady glance which denotes a stanch friendship; and the two girls embrace, and laugh, and almost cry in a breath.
"Oh, you dear creature!" exclaimed the princess. "Isn't this just like you to come and meet us? And we thought it was only a young couple love-making as they strolled along, for you had got hold of each other's hand, just like two sweethearts; did you know that?"
Margaret blushed.
"We are two sweethearts," she whispered, almost piteously.
Then Margaret turned to the prince, who was waiting for his share of the greeting.
The prince looked older than when we saw him last, but as he took Margaret's hand in his and pressed it warmly, he was able to meet her clear, pure eyes without a trace of embarrassment or reserve. Good blood has many advantages over the ignoble sort, and not the least is the power to conquer self. In the twelve months that had passed since he stood opposite Blair, and sought to take his life, Prince Rivani had fought a sterner fight even than that memorable one at Naples; the fight with a passion which had threatened to absorb his life, and he had conquered so completely that he could return the gentle pressure of Margaret's hand with one of brotherly affection.
"If I cannot have her for lover and wife," he had sworn to himself, "at least, I will have her for friend!"
It was a noble and unselfish vow, and he fought for strength until he had accomplished it.
"And now, when you can tear yourselves apart, you two," said Blair, with a smile, addressing the two ladies, who displayed a great disposition to linger under the trees, and talk for the remainder of their lives, "perhaps we'd better go to the house."
"And what a lovely place it is!" exclaimed the princess. "I always thought the Villa Capri the beautifulest house in the world, but it is ahovelcompared to this. Oh how happy you must be, dear!" she added in a whisper.
"Yes," said Margaret, with her quiet smile; "yes I am very fond of the Court, but I think I am happy because I am the wife of its master!"
Florence glanced at Blair as he strode along beside the prince in earnest conversation.
"What a splendid fellow he is, dear," she said in a low voice, not altogether free from awe. "Do you know, if I weren't so fond of him—you aren't jealous?—I think I should be a little afraid of him. The stories we are always hearing about him since we came to England! It isalways how Lord Blair—they always call him Blair!—rode in such and such a race, and how he swam such and such a river, and fought such and such a man, and what a magnificent place Leyton Court is, and how lovely and famous the Countess of Ferrers had become! Why, when some people heard we were coming to stay with you they looked at us as if we were going down to Windsor Castle!"
Margaret laughed with all her old light-heartedness.
"You always were a terrible flatterer, Florence!" she said.
"Now, that's a shame, for it prevents me saying what I was going to remark; but I'll say it all the same. Margaret, do you know that I should scarcely have known either of you?"
"Really? We have both grown so gray!"
"You have both grown so ridiculouslyyoung!" retorted the princess emphatically. "I don't mean that you ever looked old, that's absurd of course; but you were so grave and quiet and sad. Don't you remember the first day I saw you I said you reminded me of mamma? That you were so—so—what is the word you English are so fond of?—so sober! That's it! And now you speak and laugh like a young girl again!"
And Margaret answered her almost as she had answered Blair.
"Do I, dear? It must be because I am so happy!"
And indeed it was a very happy little party in the small dining-room that night. Blair was like the old Blair, full of stories of his wild youth, ready with the old light laughter; just the same Blair who used to win the hearts of old and young in the time before Austin Ambrose had commenced to set his snares.
They were so merry in a wise fashion, so light-hearted, that they had forgotten the past entirely; and it was not until the two ladies had left the room—the princess beseeching the two gentlemen not to leave them alone in the drawing-roomtoolong, in case they should quarrel—that Blair grew suddenly quiet.
"I can't tell you how I have looked forward to this visit, Rivani," he said. "I have been looking forward to it since that day in Florence when we shook hands at parting, and you promised to come and stay with us."
"I am very glad to come," said the prince, with sincere earnestness. "Gladder still to see you so well—and the countess."
"You thinks she looks well?" said Blair, his face lighting up at once.
"She looks the picture of youth and health and happiness,"said the prince, quietly, "and more beautiful—you will pardon me—than ever in my eyes."
"And in mine, old fellow!" said Blair, holding out his hand.
There was silence after that significant meeting of the palms, then Blair said, "Any news?"
The prince was silent a moment.
"No, not much," he answered, after a pause. "All you wished done I have had carried out."
He referred to two graves in the cemetery at Naples which he had undertaken to keep in order—two graves covered with huge slabs of black marble, one bearing the initials "A. A." and the other "V. G."
Blair nodded, and his face grew cloudy for a moment.
"And Lottie?"
"Lottie doesn't need your generous assistance any longer," said the prince, with a smile. "She is now one of the most famous young ladies in Italy. I forgot to send you the paper containing an account of her great success in the new spectacular play"—he had not forgotten, but had remembered with some consideration that the paper would only recall the past and its old bitterness—"she took them by storm, I assure you, and for weeks our volatile people were raving about her; for that matter they are raving still," and he laughed.
Blair smiled, but his face was still clouded, and the prince laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Blair, forgive me, but I think the time has now come when the past may be allowed to bury its dead. That it may do so the more completely I want you and Lady Ferrers to assist me in a short ceremony."
Blair looked at him inquiringly.
"Will you ask her ladyship if she will kindly show me round her studio?" said the prince gravely. "She knows how devoted I am to the art of which she is so great a mistress!"
"Certainly," said Blair, rising, and still puzzled.
They went into the drawing-room, where Margaret and the princess were sitting very close together, and Blair whispered a few words to Margaret.
She got up directly, and drew the princess' arm through her own.
"Follow me," she said; and she led them to the magnificent studio which Blair had built for her.
Here, amongst costly pictures and rare statues gleaming in the reflected light of antique curtains of deep reds and blues of Oriental dyes, she showed them her latest work.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed the prince. "Beautiful! Ah! if Alfero could but be here! Do you know what he said when I told him that I was coming to see you?"
"No," said Margaret; "but everything that was kind and thoughtful I am sure," she added.
"He told me to convey his devotion to you, and say that he looked forward to the hour when he should be able to kiss your hand; then he sighed and added, 'and tell her not to forget that she is an artist as well as a great English lady. Anybody can be a countess, but Heaven only sends us such a painter as she is at long intervals. Tell her to put the paint-brush and the palette first and her coronet afterward!'"
"That was like him!" said Margaret softly. "How much I owe him! You shall take my answer back, prince. But, see; do you think I have been idle?" and she looked modestly at the pictures on the wall and on the easel.
"No," he said. "No," then he was silent a minute; "but there is one thing I wish you would do—it is for myself. I want you to alter a picture of yours I have got."
"Really!" she cried eagerly. "Of course I will!"
"Thanks!" he said gravely, "I knew you would not refuse me. I will go and fetch it, for I have brought it with me."
He left the room, and the other three waited expectantly. While he was gone, Margaret took up her palette and brush, and absently began mixing some colors.
He re-entered the room presently with a canvas-inclosed case, and, unlocking it, placed upon the easel the famous picture of the Long Rock.
Blair uttered an exclamation, but Margaret stood and regarded it in silence, though her face was very pale.
"I want you to alter this for me," said the prince, gravely and gently. "Can you not guess how?"
She looked up at him inquiringly, then, reading his meaning in his eyes, she took up a large brush, filled it with black paint, and in another minute the picture had disappeared.
Florence uttered an exclamation of dismay, but the prince inclined his head, and as Margaret turned and hid her face on Blair's breast, he said:
"That is what I wanted. Now, in deed and in truth, my friends, we may say that the past is blotted out; not even the shadow of it can mar the happiness of your future; a future made bright with a love that has been tried in the furnace and found not wanting."
And this is the reason why Lady Ferrers' great masterpiece,which set all Italy talking and made her famous, can never be found, and some art critics are beginning to doubt whether, after all, it could have been so good as Signor Alfero and others declared it to have been; and whether some of her later pictures, which dealt with the bright side of nature, may not be far better than the mysterious work which has disappeared so strangely.
[THE END.]