Lillian's vow or, The mystery of Raleigh House
sledge-hammer in her frightened ears; but she went calmly over to where
the apparition still was visible, and stooping, peered into the still,
calm, unearthly face. Instantly there was a low sob, a faint moaning
sound which fell upon the silence with a strange, despairing echo, and
then the vision faded away--the apparition was gone! And nothing was
left to tell the two terrified witnesses that there had been a ghostly
visitant within the room--nothing, save the memory of that which they
could not forget, which they would never forget as long as they both
should live.
With a shudder Lillian went back to the other room, to the graceful
figure in shimmering silk crouching upon the carpet, wringing white
jeweled hands in wildest terror, while shudders like convulsions passed
over her frame.
“Come, Miss Raleigh,” urged Lillian, venturing to lay her hand upon the
bowed head, “let me help you to undress and put on a wrapper, and then
I will brush out your hair, and try to help you to forget this thing.
Oh, Miss Rosamond, there is nothing there! You can see for yourself.
It is all dark now in the round room. There is nothing to fear--it is
gone. Come, sit in this easy-chair, and try to be calm and brave.”
Trembling like an aspen, Rosamond lifted her head.
“I am afraid!” she whimpered, feebly, sobbing like a child who awakes
in his sleep frightened and alarmed, full of shadowy fears of he knows
not what.
She sat gazing about her for a brief space, then she staggered to her
feet.
“Is it really gone?” she faltered. “Then I will--Oh, heavens! what
is that?” with a shrill shriek which resounded throughout the silent
house, as a sharp rap was heard upon the door of the room.
That was the last drop in the bucket; Rosamond’s self-control--such as
it was--gave way, and shriek after shriek rent the silence, while poor
Lillian stood like a statue, too terrified to move, not knowing what
to do; afraid to open the door lest Rosamond’s shrieks should redouble
in violence, yet to stand there and do nothing--good heavens! it was
maddening!
“Rosamond,” called a voice through the key-hole, “for mercy’s sake,
what is the matter? Open the door at once, I say! Are you being
murdered in there?”
The shrieks were cut short in a twinkling. Rosamond started up, pale
and breathless.
“It is mamma,” she panted, in a tone of relief, as she threw herself
into an easy-chair, with clasped hands and a face so full of terror
that it was a sight to behold.
Lillian flew to the door and unlocked it. Upon the threshold, in awful
dignity and a flannel dressing-gown, stood Mrs. Raleigh.
“What--what is the matter?” she gasped, feebly. “I heard such a
disturbance in here that I began to think the house was on fire, or
some other awful calamity had occurred, so I left my bed, threw on
a wrapper, and came here at once. Rosamond,” turning to her weeping
daughter with a face full of alarm, “what has happened?”
And then, amid sobs and tears, and wild terror unsuppressed, Rosamond
sobbed forth the story of the ghostly apparition. Her mother listened
with undisguised contempt.
“A ghost? Bah! Rosamond Raleigh, I gave you credit for a little common
sense! If ever I hear anything of this nonsense again, I shall tell
your father. He will send you off somewhere into the country”--Rosamond
shivered with disgust--“or to some place of retirement, and place you
under a physician’s care, and we will see if your nerves will give way
at every little strain. Rosamond Raleigh, you are a fool!”
She was a real Job’s comforter, Lillian thought; but perhaps it was the
proper course to take. At all events, she knew the nature with which
she had to deal. Rosamond dried her tears and leaned her head against
the soft cushions of the chair, listening, with half-closed eyes, to
her mother’s lecture.
Mrs. Raleigh went over to the door of the round room and threw it open.
One glance and she turned away with a disdainful sniff. Darkness there,
and nothing more.
“It was all a delusion--a foolish fancy!” she exclaimed, harshly.
“It was not, indeed, Mrs. Raleigh. I beg your pardon for contradicting
you, but I saw it myself.”
Lillian could not refrain from this outburst of explanation. Mrs.
Raleigh turned coldly upon her and transfixed her with a Gorgon stare.
“Did I address _you_, girl?” she demanded, severely. “We never permit
servants to speak their minds in that way. You will have to learn your
place if you remain in Miss Raleigh’s employ.”
“I do not know that I shall remain in Miss Raleigh’s employ,” returned
Lillian, quietly. “I was engaged as companion, but find myself reduced
to the position of waiting-maid. The position is not an agreeable one,
and I was not educated and trained for a servant, Mrs. Raleigh.”
“Mamma,” sobbed Rosamond, beginning to turn on the water-works once
more, “that girl will go away and will tell everybody that this house
is haunted; and she will make Mr. Lyndon think me a horrible creature,
and--”
“Mr. Lyndon, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Raleigh, with a look of disgust
too deep for words to express. “And pray, who is Mr. Lyndon, that he
should be of such importance, and his opinion so highly prized by
Grafton Raleigh’s only daughter? Rosamond, I think you forget yourself!
Jack Lyndon is only a poor newspaper _attaché_--a mere nobody, with
neither money nor position--only a handsome face and a sharp tongue to
call his own. He is the last man in the world to whom your father would
be willing to give his daughter. You must be mad to think seriously
of Jack Lyndon. Put it out of your mind at once and forever. He is a
villain to try to win your heart.”
Rosamond started to her feet, pale and wrathful, overcome by anger
which for a time was too deep for expression. Twice she opened her lips
to speak before the words which she was striving to utter were suddenly
hissed forth, sharp and shrill:
“Hush! Don’t say another word, mamma, for I will not listen. A villain!
Jack Lyndon is the best and noblest man in the round world. And poor,
without position though he may be, he is the only man for whom I have
ever really cared, and--mamma, you may as well know it now as later--I
intend to marry him.”
A low cry fell from Lillian’s lips. She could not forget his words
to her so short a time before; his tender tone and the look upon his
handsome face when he begged her to let him stand between her and the
storms of life. And yet he must have said something which made Rosamond
Raleigh believe that he cared for her, or she would never have spoken
in that way. Mrs. Raleigh flashed about at the sound of that low cry,
and her hard, cold eyes swept Lillian from head to foot.
“So you are in love with him too, are you?” she sneered.
Rosamond turned her steely eyes upon the shrinking girl.
“You must be mad,” she hissed, “if you imagine for a moment that Mr.
Lyndon has ever thought seriously of you. He is kind to everybody,
and treats all women alike. With the woman he loves, of course, it is
different,” she went on, icily. “If he has ever spoken kindly to you,
or noticed you in any way, it is because of the chivalry and deference
of his nature, but anything further is absurd.”
And then memory reminded her with a cruel little stab of Jack Lyndon’s
words to her that very evening. He had begged for a private interview
with Lillian Leigh on the following morning, and the look in his eyes
when he made the request of Rosamond revealed the secret of his heart.
He loved a woman dearly, but it was not Rosamond Raleigh! And as Miss
Raleigh remembered, her thin lips shut themselves closely together, and
the small, cold hands clinched each other fiercely, while low under her
breath she muttered, with angry emphasis:
“He shall not see her! He must not! I will manage it some way, and I
shall get rid of her as soon as possible.”
So she turned to Lillian with a peremptory gesture.
“Go to bed!” she commanded, sternly. “Last night when I wished you
to remain with me you made a great fuss; to-night you seem inclined
to remain up till morning. Go to your own room. I shall not need you
to-night, and I wish to talk with mamma.”
Thus summarily dismissed, Lillian said good-night briefly and took her
departure, sore-hearted and sad in mind and body. What did it all mean?
She had begun to trust Jack Lyndon implicitly, and to find out his
treachery was a fearful blow. She closed the door of her room behind
her and stirred the fire into a cheery blaze. Her eyes fell upon a card
lying upon the table; she picked it up and read these words penciled
upon it:
“If Lillian Leigh would gain a clew to the murderer of her father,
let her be in the grounds by the east gate to-morrow night at nine
precisely.”
Trembling like a leaf, Lillian read these words.
“A clew!” she panted, at last. “Can it be possible? What would I not
do to gain possession of it? Oh, to find out the name of the dastardly
wretch who took my father’s life I would be willing to lie down and
die.”
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in Rosamond’s room, Mrs. Raleigh was talking away in a low,
eager tone.
“You are right, Rosamond,” she said, excitedly, “Lenore Van Alstyne
has a secret--a bad secret, I am certain. And _he_ does not know
it--does not dream it--that pompous man who has bought her with his
gold! She hates him, but he does not know why. Here, I found this in
the dressing-room after the guests left last night. I saw it drop from
Lenore’s pocket. Read it, Rosamond, and tell me what you think.”
She thrust a scrap of paper into Rosamond’s hand. Her face flushed with
unholy triumph.
CHAPTER VIII.
HER LORD AND MASTER.
The wintery sunlight stole in at the windows of the breakfast-room at
Senator Van Alstyne’s sumptuous mansion. It paved a shining pathway
over the pretty crimson carpet, over the round damask-covered table,
glittering with silver and crystal and delicate Sèvres china. A bird
sung in a gilded cage amid the flowering plants in the bay-window, and
the sunlight shone over all with a soft mellow glow which even the
sparkling wood fire upon the marble hearth could not outshine. That
same sunshine danced in irreverent glee upon the top of Senator Van
Alstyne’s iron-gray head, as he sat with the morning paper before him,
absorbed in the news. But all the same there was a frown upon his brow,
and an unpleasant expression hovered about his coarse red face which
betrayed inward annoyance or trouble. And so you will perceive that
even riches can not keep trouble away, and that a man may be a senator
and a millionaire, but still know what it is to be annoyed.
He glanced up from his paper at last, and turned toward the ormolu
clock ticking musically upon the marble mantel, and the scowl upon his
face grew deeper.
“In the name of Heaven, why does not she come down?” he exploded at
length; “half past ten o’clock! Why on earth a woman wishes to remain
all day in her room is more than I can tell. I will endure her airs and
graces no longer. When I married Lenore Vane I intended--”
The click of high heels, the sweeping of silken skirts, and the door of
the breakfast-room opened and Mrs. Van Alstyne appeared.
She wore a pink surah morning-dress garnitured with yellow lace, and
her beautiful face looked like chiseled marble, as with a cold, proud,
weary manner she swept to her place at the breakfast-table.
“Good-morning, Van!” nodding slightly toward him. “Really, I am
unconscionably late! Why did you wait all this time for me?”
“Why?”
It was as though the one word had been fired off like a cannon-ball, so
sudden and sharp was the expletive.
“Simply because I have always told you, madame, that I will never take
my meals alone as long as my wife is able to come to them. If you were