Lillian's vow or, The mystery of Raleigh House
I shall punish him! As sure as I live, I shall punish him! When can you
be ready to return to America, Lenore?”
“Within the hour!” she answered, her eyes flashing, her voice ringing
forth sweet and clear--“at a moment’s notice! To vindicate my honor,
to make my traducers bow before me in humiliation, to be set right
in the eyes of the world of society--that fashionable, hypocritical
society which has eaten my bread and enjoyed my hospitality times
innumerable--I will go back at any time, Cyril--_now!_”
She was pale with excitement, her large dark eyes shining like stars,
her bosom heaving with indignation, like a beautiful, outraged queen,
as she stood in the center of the great sunlit room in an old Italian
palace, her white silk robe trailing behind her over the marble floor.
Cyril Fayne felt his heart thrill madly at sight of her glorious
beauty, this woman for whose sake he had suffered so much and so long,
this woman who, in turn, had borne so heavy a burden for his sake, and
for his love counted the world well lost. And he gnashed his teeth in
mad despair at thought of the mistake that he had made in leaving the
letter of explanation behind for Van Van Alstyne’s private perusal.
“I should have gone to him--openly and frankly--like a man,” he said
to himself, “and told him the whole truth, and claimed my wife openly
before the whole world! But Lenore, poor child! was so weak and worn
with the burden that she was bearing, so nervous and fanciful, so
broken down in spirit, that I could not bear the thought of exposing
her to his brutal rage. And so I did what I believed to be the best.
But I have acted the part of a coward in the eyes of the world, and now
I must suffer. In my blind haste and mad love for my darling, I paused
not to consider after consequences; I did not stop to count the cost to
her, dear love, who has suffered so for me. I should have remembered
the nature of the madman with whom I had to deal! I have been to blame
for my headlong precipitancy. But I had lived so long without her, had
suffered so intensely, had missed her so, that when I saw her before
me once more, and knew that my long years of searching for her were
over at last, and that she loved me still, had always loved me, that
we had been separated and kept apart by base treachery, then I struck
the blow which broke her bonds and gave her back to me. Ah, Geoffrey
Grey! Geoffrey Grey! false friend, wicked, vile traitor! the day will
surely come--oh, yes, I shall live to see it!--when we will stand face
to face, and then--”
He was pacing to and fro, his face white and drawn, his hands locked
convulsively together, upon his features the impress of mad despair. Up
and down the vast apartment he paced in stern silence.
All at once his eyes fell upon the figure of a man passing slowly down
the sunlit street between the long rows of ilex-trees. A handsome,
effeminate face, with a womanish mouth half hidden by the silky beard
and mustache of pale gold. A weak, uncertain, vacillating face, with
large, limpid blue eyes and straight, delicate features. A man for
women to rave over, jest with, and _forget_! He was sauntering idly
along in the golden, glittering sunlight, attired in a faultless gray
suit, with a red rose in his button-hole, swinging a tiny cane lazily
in one hand as he walked.
A swift glance, then an awful change passed over Cyril Fayne’s face.
With a hoarse cry, like the cry of a wild beast suddenly brought face
to face with its prey, he dashed open the great plate-glass window, and
springing through it, was upon the broken stones of the pavement in an
instant.
With one mad bound he sprung upon the dainty, smiling vision and caught
him.
“Geoffrey Grey!” he hissed between his close-clinched teeth, “I have
you at last! For years I have hunted you down, but always and ever
in vain; you would manage to elude me always. I followed you from
place to place, but when I came you would fly, and thus escape me. But
justice shall be done, vengeance shall have its own at last. You are
in my power, Geoffrey Grey, and the same world can contain us both
no longer! Villain, coward, traitor, false friend and traducer of
womankind, your hour has come!”
For just a moment the graceful figure stood transfixed with horror and
overcome with surprise, like one suddenly petrified. The smile had
died upon his lip, his face had blanched to an ashen pallor, he was
trembling in every limb. Still the white-faced Nemesis stood over him.
The coward winced.
“Don’t,” pleaded the low, musical voice, and the gray-clad figure
recoiled from the stern, threatening gaze of the other. “Do not--hurt
me--Cyril! I--I never did all that of which you accuse me. I--I swear
that I am sorry for what I have done!”
A thought flashed like an inspiration across his brain. Slowly his
grasp relaxed the miscreant, and his voice, stern and cold, asked the
question:
“Suppose that I agree to spare you, Geoffrey Grey--suppose that I
should let you go free, what are you willing to do to show your
penitence? But, bah! I am a fool to trust you, you false fiend! Stay!
if I guard you well, if I remain constantly at your side so that you
can not escape me, strive as you may, if I take you back thus guarded
to America, will you bear witness to Lenore Fayne’s innocence? Will you
take back the wrong that you have done, the evil that you have wrought,
and clear her fair name before the world? Speak, villain! And if you
agree to my proposition--remember that you can never escape me. I will
guard you always like a jailer! I will never let you out of my sight,
night nor day, until we have landed in America, and you have made
public all this vile plot against a pure woman’s happiness.
“Answer me, Geoffrey Grey! Will you try to retrieve your miserable past
by this one act of justice? Will you endeavor to atone in this manner
for the unpardonable wrong that you have done Lenore Fayne and myself,
the husband from whom your villainous treachery separated her for
seventeen long, bad, black years?”
Dead silence. The leaves of the ilex-trees swayed slowly in a passing
breeze; no sound broke the dead calm. A bright-eyed _donizella_ tripped
past; a group of ugly _lazaroni_ gathered upon the opposite side of
the street, begging alms in guttural Italian. Cyril Fayne stood like a
statue glaring down into the shrinking face of his enemy run down at
last.
“Well?” he demanded, at length, “is it yes or no?”
“Yes!” responded Geoffrey Grey, sullenly.
CHAPTER XXVII.
UNMASKED.
For just a moment Richard Raleigh stood in the corridor outside
Lillian’s room, in utter silence; then, with a muttering, he turned and
walked away. Back to the library he hastened, finding, to his relief,
that Mrs. Vernon had taken her departure. Pale and troubled, he sunk
into a seat, gazing into the fire in moody silence.
“Well, the deed is done!” he said, harshly, with a swift upward glance
into his father’s face, “and I have caught a Tartar.”
Grafton Raleigh smiled when he had heard his son’s story.
“Nonsense, Rick; I would pay no more heed to her caprices than to the
blowing of the wind. All we want is her signature.”
Richard nodded.
“Very true. But, my dear sir, the girl is capable of anything. Suppose
she refuses to sign our little document?”
Grafton Raleigh started up, pale and alarmed.
“She must sign it,” he returned, firmly. “If she is not willing we must
force her into it, that’s all. Rick, the day for scruples and foolish
hesitation is past. It is ruin if we do not get control of--”
“Hush! The very walls have ears; and since I have seen Bessie Vernon in
the house I am uneasy. This matter is of vital importance to us both;
to me it is more than you know. There is something which I have never
dared to tell you, and I prefer keeping it to myself. But, believe
me, if Lillian is not coerced into signing this paper, there will be
blacker trouble for me than you realize.”
Grafton Raleigh sighed.
“I am sorry, Richard. But then I do not anticipate much difficulty in
the matter. Let her alone until morning; then your mother must go and
see her in her room, do the maternal, treat her like a young princess,
flatter and defer to her, spoil her generally, and secure that
signature by fair means or foul. After that I will wash my hands of the
management of your wife.”
And while the worthy pair consulted together, Bessie Vernon was
standing in an anteroom where every word distinctly reached her ears,
waiting for Rosamond to come. She had accompanied that young lady home
on an errand, after which she would return to the Vernon mansion for a
longer visit. After awhile Mrs. Vernon left the anteroom and tripped
lightly upstairs, moved softly past Rosamond’s door and down the long
corridor to the wing in which Lillian’s room was situated.
Her face was pale with anger, the large, soft eyes were flashing
indignantly, the small hands clinched as though she longed to strike
some one.
“The hypocrite!” she muttered, softly; “he has just devoted himself
to me of late. And he wrote me a letter in which he spoke of himself
as fated to marry a woman whom he did not love, while his heart was
attracted elsewhere, though he did not, of course, dare to say all that
was in his mind. And now--now,” catching her breath hard, “he bursts
in upon his father with the announcement of his marriage. Ah, Richard
Raleigh, I will teach you a lesson! You shall learn that a woman’s
friendship is not to be trifled with. How dared he make me believe all
that foolish sentiment? I am provoked with myself for believing it. But
I will pay him back for his falsehood--I declare I will!”
Poor little silly moth! She had singed her wings in the flame of
flattery, and her vanity was suffering now, and her pride was horribly
wounded.
She paused at the door of Lillian’s room and rapped lightly.
“Miss Leigh!” she cried, softly, through the key-hole--“I beg your
pardon--Mrs. Raleigh--will you open the door just a moment? I have
something of importance to say to you. It is I--Bessie Vernon.”
Wondering somewhat, for Lillian had never exchanged a dozen words with
Mrs. Vernon in her life, she opened the door.
Bessie darted into the room.
“Hush!” she whispered, warningly; “do not speak a loud word. I have
not a moment to waste, for I must get back to Rosamond. I have just
learned of your marriage.” Lillian shuddered. “And I want to warn you.
If Grafton Raleigh or his hopeful son try to get you to sign a paper--a
legal document of some description--refuse to do it. Remain firm; do
not be frightened into it. Go to some competent lawyer and tell him
that these two men hold in their possession a document which I firmly
believe to be a will, and which bequeaths property--I do not know how
much--to one Lillian Leigh. The paper reads to the effect that the
testator gives his all to his beloved niece, Lillian Leigh. Hush! I
hear Rosamond! I have no time for further explanations. Good-night!”
and she was gone, leaving Lillian in a perfect whirl of excitement.
The next morning Mrs. Raleigh was induced to go to Lillian’s room and
accompany her down to breakfast. The meal was a constrained one, and
Lillian was devoutly thankful when it was over. But, like everything
in this world, it came to an end at last, and then Grafton Raleigh
invited Lillian into the library. With pale face and compressed lips
she followed him, while Richard brought up the rear.
Once in the library and the door closed, a strange chill passed over
Lillian. She felt that a decisive moment had come. Grafton Raleigh led
the way to the escritoire.
“My dear Lillian,” he began, taking a gold pen in a jeweled holder
from the silver and ebony rack, “I would like to have you sign your