Slighted love or, At her heart's expense
Mr. Gardner’s presence was announced at that moment, and she hurried
down, to find him awaiting her in the little parlor quite alone.
“Read this. Do not ask me why, but read it,” she cried, thrusting the
_World_ into his hand.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses and read, while she paced impatiently
up and down like some beautiful caged creature.
“Well?” he asked, laying the paper down.
She paused in front of him, the incarnation of wild emotion, trembling,
her eyes glowing like stars.
“You have no clue yet?” she demanded hoarsely.
“None. I have never chanced upon a more baffling mystery.”
“You hold the key to it all in your hand,” she replied, with a gesture
toward the paper.
“Explain,” he cried eagerly.
“Look you,” she said, “that girl was murdered by her dearest
friend--mark you, her dearest friend! And my father, my poor father,
met his death in the same fashion. The murderer is Percy Seabright!”
“Impossible! He could prove an alibi. He was in New York.”
“I do not believe it. Investigation might prove the falsity of the
assertion. Let me tell you everything,” and she poured forth rapidly
the facts her mother had told her on Christmas day.
“Mrs. Vale did not tell me any of these facts,” he said, with a sudden
frown.
“She did not deem them of the least importance. It was merely by
accident that she told me,” explained Italy.
“And yet they are really of the gravest importance. You did right to
send for me. I am almost convinced that your theory is correct. I have
thought Mr. Seabright strange at times. His manners, alternating from
reckless gaiety to the deepest gloom, were not those of a well-balanced
person. And his eyes, so dark, so glittering, I have sometimes thought
there was something uncanny in them. You know he was a student of
hypnotism, and I have seen him try to influence people with a cold,
hard stare that made me nervous. Yes, now that you have thrown so much
light on my darkness, I begin to suspect him. That diary you place so
much stress on may be concealed in his country home. It will be quite
easy for me to introduce some person into the house to search for it.”
“Pray do so. I place all my hopes on the contents of that diary.”
“You are sanguine. It will never be found, I fear. But we will try to
trap our game without it. But be wary, Italy. Keep your suspicions to
yourself, lest he escape us. He must be watched every step now. Ah! I
have just thought of his marriage. You know it takes place in January,
and he sails for Europe on his bridal-tour. He will outwit us.”
There was dismay in his voice and face.
“You have a week to work in!” she exclaimed.
“Too short, my child. Ah, if only it could be postponed! Indeed, it
ought to be, for, although I don’t admire his fiancée, we ought not to
let her wed such a monster as we may prove him to be.”
“Mrs. Dunn is no saint, sir,” Italy replied, with a curling lip of
utter scorn.
She hesitated a moment, then said:
“Mr. Gardner, I believe I know a way to prevent the marriage at the
eleventh hour, and, if necessary to the success of our plans, I will
not hesitate to use my power. But I will not do so yet. If all else
fails, send me a note the last day, and I think I can prevent the
bridal-tour and keep him here.”
He looked at her a little curiously, but she shook her head, and said:
“It would not be right for me to explain, for it would involve the
betrayal of another’s secret. I wish to avoid that, if possible, and
nothing would tempt me to reveal it unless in the event of peril to
myself from keeping it!”
He left her; but one week later, on the very day of the bridal, there
came to her a little note that said simply:
“Get that marriage postponed, if you can. I have discovered too much
to permit him to escape.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE DESERTED BRIDE.
Ralph and Alexie had, some time before the wedding-day, entirely
changed their plans for the bridal-trip.
They had decided that they did not care to cross the ocean in January,
and a Southern town was decided on instead. Then they would return to
occupy the beautiful home that was being built for them in Winthrop,
and in the spring they would go abroad where Ralph’s parents were still
sojourning.
But Mrs. Dunn adhered rigidly to the original plan. The great ambition
of her life was to take rank as a society woman, and she believed
that a European tour would confer upon her an enviable éclat. Nothing
would have induced her to forego this great dream of her life, and
the prospective bridegroom grimly resigned himself to the inevitable,
although chafing in secret against his doom. But there was no retreat
he knew. Mrs. Dunn held over his head like the sword of Damocles his
guilty secret. He could not afford to risk its betrayal, so he was
preparing to go like a lamb to the nuptial altar.
And now the final hour was at hand, and the bridal-train was entering
the aisle of one of the most beautiful churches in Boston to the gay
strains of the wedding-march.
Ralph Allen was as handsome as a picture, and Alexie was dazzling in
satin and pearls and misty veil, all of lustrous white. In her train
of bridemaids Italy came second to Alys--poor Alys, who was signally
disappointed in her plan of making the third bride on this occasion.
Mrs. Dunn, in her character of a widow, did not wear pure white, but
was elegantly robed in brocaded lavender silk and diamonds, with a
point-lace veil obscuring her plump charms. She carried a bouquet
of heliotrope and white japonica instead of orange flowers. Her
bridegroom, dressed in the height of style, wore a bored expression, as
if he wished the affair well over.
Every one was looking at the bridal-party, of course, or many would
have seen that beautiful Italy was trembling as though under the stress
of deep anxiety. They would have thought it but natural excitement over
a wedding, but the cause lay deeper yet. She was in a fever of unrest
and anxiety, and as she looked at the bared, handsome face of Percy
Seabright, she thought to herself:
“He must surely have received the anonymous note. Is it possible that
he calmly disregards it? Steeped to the lips in crime himself, he
coolly disregards Mrs. Dunn’s sin, and will marry her just the same.
Yet I have heard it said that the vilest men preferred good women!”
She could think of nothing but that in a few more hours Percy Seabright
would be on the broad ocean, secure for months and months from the
punishment for his guilt that she hoped to soon bring home to him. Over
and over she asked herself:
“Did he receive the anonymous note? Can it be he has missed it by some
strange fatality?”
Ralph had turned from the altar with blushing Alexie on his arm, the
happiest young husband in the world.
The marriage-service was being solemnized now for Percy Seabright and
Ione Dunn.
“Foiled!” Italy murmured to herself, and she could have fallen down in
the midst of that perfumed throng of fashionables and cried out aloud
in her despair. But she had to wear a mask of smiles over her keen
defeat and congratulate the bridal couples. Yes, even Percy Seabright
and his triumphant bride, although her lips were so stiff they could
scarcely speak the words, and her little hand, even through her glove,
was icy cold.
The bridal-party returned to Mrs. Dunn’s house for a short reception,
and then traveling-dresses were donned and the carriages were driven
away amid a shower of rice and good wishes. Percy Seabright and his
bride drove rapidly to the great ocean steamer on which their passage
had been taken.
Mrs. Seabright was all smiles and joy despite the moody cloud that
lowered on Percy’s brow. She did not know that during the wedding
reception a messenger-boy had brought him a letter marked “Important.”
He led her into a saloon, then said quickly:
“Ione, dear, I must leave you here a moment while I go back on shore
to speak to some one. You see, I have forgotten----” the rest of the
words were inaudible in the babel of voices and noises that signalize a
great steamer’s leaving her mooring to cross the broad Atlantic, but he
left her side.
They were afloat, and a great cheer rose up from the shore. Mrs.
Seabright looked anxiously around for her husband. In the great crowd
of passengers she could not distinguish his form.
“My husband--oh, they have left him on shore!” she shrieked, in the
wildest dismay.
Was there ever a more awkward contretemps? A bride starting on her
wedding-journey alone far across the wide Atlantic! The passengers
crowded around and offered their sympathy, assuring her that her
husband would be certain to follow on the next steamer.
Somewhat propitiated by the attention she was receiving, the bride
dried her tears and dwelt hopefully on the prospect of greeting her
Percy on the other side within a few hours of her own landing. The
captain even told her that if her husband sailed on the next steamer
he had the probability of reaching there first, as it was celebrated
for its speed. But when they had been only three days out the captain
approached her with a letter in his hand, saying:
“A gentleman on shore gave me this letter for you just before we
sailed, and asked me not to deliver it until to-day.”
“A letter for me!” and Mrs. Seabright’s heart gave an excited thump
against her side as she took it from the captain’s hand and sank
nervously into a steamer-chair before she opened it.
It was a little odd receiving a letter in this fashion. It startled her
for a moment, then she took courage and tore it open. And the contents
startled her still more.
The beautiful chirography was that of her new-made husband, and ran
this way:
“MADAM: I fear it seems discourteous to leave you to pursue your
wedding-journey alone, but it would do the greatest violence to my
feelings to accompany you.
“Although I am not a model man myself, I have a prejudice in favor of
good women that makes it impossible I should live with you. You forced
me into this marriage, so I consider myself entirely justifiable in
deserting you.
“Your boasted power over me is at an end, as I am informed of a crime
_you_ have committed that quite equals, if not transcends, mine, since
mine was unsuccessful, and yours did not fail.
“Briefly, then, while I was absent last August, a friend of mine was
murdered in my country house by a shot fired through the window, as he
was about to embrace a young girl. His name was Harold Severn, and the
mystery of his fate has never been solved, as his body was afterward
placed in the river by persons, no doubt, who wished it out of the
house.
“But there is one person who knows how Harold Severn was killed.
The murderess was seen at the window as she dropped the pistol,
and--recognized as Mrs. Dunn! The witness of your crime has mercifully
spared you, but felt impelled to inform me, in order to save me from
marrying you. Unfortunately the letter came too late, but in time at
least to give me this signal triumph over you.
“I confess I am filled with wonder over your reasons for killing
Harold Severn. Can it be he was secretly your lover, and you were
jealous of his fair companion? And who on earth was the girl, anyway?
I mean to trace her out.
“Fair Ione, we are quits. You hold a dangerous secret of mine and I
hold a yet more fatal one of yours. You understand that we will have
to mutually respect these secrets.
“Adieu, madam, and bon voyage.
“PERCY SEABRIGHT.”
She sat there on the cold, wind-swept deck, reading that letter as if
turned to stone, her face dead-white, her peculiar eyes a-glitter with
greenish fire. The blue and sunny sky, the blue and rippling sea all