Slighted love or, At her heart's expense
desperately into the night and the gloom? Oh, it was like some terrible
dream!
“And what was she doing there, watching Craig Severn? Why did she kill
him? Was it for my sake, or does she know even that that frantic girl
was I? I do not believe that she does,” she decided.
Italy had read the paragraphs in the papers relating to Craig Severn’s
mysterious death; she wondered, like every one else, how the body had
come to be in the river.
For all of that night was blank to her from the moment when she had
fallen senseless in a pool of Craig Severn’s spurting life-blood.
She had read about the lovely young widow who, believing her husband
true to her and bitterly lamenting his death, had offered, out of her
small fortune, a reward for the apprehension of his murderer.
“How can men be such fiends as that man was while his wife believed him
so true and fond?” she thought, with a shudder; and just then a voice
sounded in her ear--a very low and gentle voice.
“You look deathly pale and ill, child; you ought to lie down. Permit me
to assist you to your room.”
She was glad of the offer, and quickly put her small hand on the
offered arm, going out with a small bend of the head to the others, and
followed by a glance of jealous hate from Alys Audenreid.
Francis Murray bent his tall head gently to his trembling companion.
“I did not mean to deceive you,” he said gently, “but--before I take
you to your room--may I speak to you a few minutes in the library?”
She bowed in silent surprise. What was it now? Was he going to scold
her for something?
Opening the door, he led her to a luxurious sofa.
“Rest there while I talk to you,” he said kindly, and the tired head
dropped wearily on the silken pillow.
“Emmett has told me everything,” he said. “I am sorry you could not
make him happy as he wished. He is good and true. You need not believe
what Mrs. Dunn said on the yacht.”
“Yet she is your friend,” the girl returned pointedly.
“Yes--a friend of the family--Percy Seabright introduced her to us,
and we made friends with her for his sake. Yet she is in some ways
not quite admirable--a strong nature, full of prejudices, and--but we
will not discuss the guest beneath our roof--that would be ungenerous.
Suffice it to say, she and Emmett Harlow disliked each other, and
she--made a mistake. She as much as acknowledged she was wrong,
remember.”
“Yes,” she faltered.
“And so I want you to believe in Emmett Harlow, child. He is good and
noble. If you could have married him, it would have been a good match.”
“I am not looking for a match of any sort, Mr. Murray.”
“Perhaps not; you are such a child. Yet Emmett could have made a new
world for you. He is rich, you know.”
“What does that matter? I should never marry a man for his money!”
He gave a short laugh of veiled approval.
“For what, then--love?”
“No, nor even love while this dark shadow of a mother’s disgrace rests
on my name. Do you think I could drag down a man to my level, and
through his love for me bring shame upon him? No; but if I loved a man
and he loved me, I should say to him: ‘If you indeed love me, help me
to clear my mother’s memory from the tragic shadow resting on it, and
then I will marry you.’”
Her white arm supported her dark head, and her eyes flashed with
intense fire. The loose, curling tresses fell away from her brow and
made a rich frame for the small, pale face and exquisite white throat.
It flashed over him how maddeningly beautiful she was--beautiful beyond
all other women.
“No man can ever help you to do that, Italy, for, alas! it is beyond
mortal power,” he sighed.
“I do not believe you!” she flashed wilfully.
But he regarded her with intense pity.
“You are like a helpless little canary beating its wings against its
prison-bars,” he said.
“And I will beat my wings until I am free--until my mother’s name is
vindicated!” she exclaimed, and again the grave eyes surveyed her in
pain and pity, and he breathed:
“God help you, poor child!”
It made her angry. She rose to go.
“One word!” he exclaimed, barring her way. “Italy, I think my mother
has told you that I was selfish about the library--that I liked no one
to come here. She made a mistake. Will you consider yourself free
to come when you choose, to use my books, anything you like, feeling
yourself fully welcome?”
His face was flushed--eager. She colored suddenly, too.
“Thank you. Yes, I will come,” she said, moving to the door.
And as he again gave her his arm she murmured very low:
“Do not think me ungrateful to you for helping to save my life because
I have not thanked you yet. Believe me----”
“Do not mention it,” he said abruptly and led her in a strange,
embarrassed silence to her own door.
CHAPTER VIII.
A MOTHER’S HATE.
At breakfast the next morning Alexie said regretfully:
“Heigho! It is but a few days to the first of September, when we shall
all have to go home.”
“We must get all the fun we can out of these last few days,” cried
Percy Seabright, as gaily as a boy, and then Ralph Allen said:
“Yesterday, before Italy’s accident, the folks on the yacht were
proposing a moonlight party, and wanted us to join them.”
“A moonlight party!” they all echoed.
“You see,” went on Ralph, “the idea is this: You pick out a picturesque
place, and sit up to see the moon and sun rise. You have refreshments
with plenty of hot tea and coffee; you walk on the beach, you tell
stories, you sing, you recite, and perhaps go sailing. I am told
that the chaperons frown on courting; but if we can get Mrs. Dunn to
chaperon us I am sure she will be more lenient out of sympathy for us.”
“Splendid!” they all cried, for the plan was full of the romance and
poetry so dear to youthful hearts.
Mrs. Murray alone tried to throw a damper over them.
“You will catch cold and be sick the next day.”
“We can dress warmly,” said Alys. “I am sure it will not hurt any of us
who are used to the climate. But perhaps Miss Vale had better stay at
home. She is not used to the raw, eastern winds of Massachusetts.”
“I am going, though. I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” declared Italy,
with a spice of girlish diablerie, and thus it was settled.
But Alys was at the point of tears. She wanted to have Francis Murray
all to herself on this moonlight party; but she foresaw that he would
have to divide his attentions between herself and Italy. She wished now
that Emmett Harlow had not gone away.
That night she talked alone with her aunt, complaining bitterly of
Francis Murray’s indifference.
“He will never care for me. I have given up all hope of it. He has eyes
only for that hateful foreign girl!”
“Indeed, you are mistaken, dear. Mrs. Murray thinks he was quite angry
because Italy refused Emmett. That looks as if he was anxious to get
rid of her, don’t it?” replied Mrs. Dunn soothingly.
“Oh, if I could only be sure of it,” Alys cried hopefully. “But if she
goes on this moonlight party I shall give up all hope. Can’t you hint
to Mrs. Murray to keep her at home?”
“I’ll try, dear, and you must keep up hope; she shall not take him
from you. I am watching over your interests all the time,” said the
scheming aunt, who was very fond of this niece who resembled her in
her disposition.
Alys retired much consoled, for she knew that her aunt would stop at
nothing to gain her ends.
She was gone, and Mrs. Dunn lay back at ease in her armchair, the loose
folds of her gorgeous silk dressing-gown falling richly about her, her
strange eyes gleaming with excitement. She mused softly:
“I have Percy Seabright in my power now, and he shall trifle with me
no longer. Twice he has postponed our marriage for idle reasons, but I
will bear it no longer, and when Alexie marries Ralph, in January, my
own wedding shall come off, too, and Alys shall marry Francis Murray
then, also, if I can manage it. And I will manage it, unless I have
lost my cunning. Francis Murray is losing his head over that girl, I
can see it plainly, but his mother will not permit him to marry her,
even if he could so far forget himself. But she must be driven away
from The Lodge soon, or she will outwit me.”
Then a softer light came into the large blue eyes.
“I feel happy to-night, knowing that Percy does not love Italy,” she
thought. “Oh, I have been miserable believing that he did, but, of
course, I know better now after what happened to-day. How cleverly I
shielded his crime, and punished Emmett Harlow at the same time. And
now Percy’s dangerous secret is mine, thank the Fates, but yet I wonder
why he hates Miss Vale, and wants her dead?”
Mrs. Dunn thought she had the game in her own hands the next day,
when Francis Murray announced at noon that he was compelled to go into
Boston for the day, to meet some old friends who were passing through
and had written for him to join them in their brief stay in the city.
“You will probably be off on your moonlight party before my return,” he
said.
“But you will join us there--oh, do say you will join us there!”
exclaimed Alys pleadingly.
“Thank you, I shall be very glad to come,” he answered; then he looked
at his mother. “Do not look for me home this evening, for I shall
probably be late, and I will go from the station to join the party,” he
said.
He went away, and soon Mrs. Dunn found an opportunity to speak alone
with her hostess.
“Mrs. Murray, you look unhappy,” she purred sympathetically.
“Oh, no, I am not feeling well to-day, that is all, Mrs. Dunn.”
“My dear friend, you cannot deceive me like that. I am such a true
friend to you and yours that I take the privilege of offering you my
sympathy. You _are_ unhappy, and it is because you see the growing
infatuation of your proud son with this girl, this Italy Vale, whom no
man ought to marry because of the stain she will bring upon his name.
Oh, it is terrible, the daughter of a vile murderess aspiring to wed
one so proud and noble as Mr. Murray!”
Mrs. Murray’s cold, proud face was bitterly troubled.
“I do not want to be unkind to Italy Vale,” she said. “She has a claim
on us, and she needs a home, so I cannot conscientiously send her away,
and yet I own I am troubled as you describe. Francis has shown strange
interest in her, and--and it would break my heart for my son to ally
himself to the daughter of a wicked murderess. I will try to keep them
apart.”
“That is right. No one could blame you,” cried the wily adviser, and
Mrs. Murray, taking courage from her sympathy, declared decidedly:
“She shall not go to-night. Francis will not be here to contradict my
authority, and I am determined she shall stay at home.”
And that very hour she said to Italy:
“You look quite pale and ill from your dreadful experience yesterday,
and you must not think of going out on the beach with the party
to-night.”
“Dear Mrs. Murray, I would not miss it for anything! The very idea has
a fascination for me. Please do not oppose my going. I will wrap up
warmly, and not take cold,” pleaded Italy.
“I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I am sure you are not well
enough, and I distinctly forbid your going,” was the calm reply, in a
tone of assured authority that forbade remonstrance.
Italy’s heart sank with disappointment at the arbitrary command, but
she offered no rebellion, and saw the gay party leaving for the tryst
with unshed tears in her proud dark eyes. She was young, and in spite
of her sorrows, had looked forward with eagerness to the moonlight
party, which, to her girlish fancy, seemed full of romantic promise.
Mrs. Murray’s cold refusal seemed unjust, cruel.
“And,” she said to herself bitterly, “she has no good reason for it.
It is only an exhibition of despotic power. She secretly hates me, and
likes to make me unhappy.”