by Duchess
CHAPTER XII.
Slowly and with difficulty they coax Sir Adrian back to life. Ringwoodhad insisted upon telling the old housekeeper at the castle, who hadbeen in the family for years, the whole story of her master's rescue,and she, with tears dropping down her withered cheeks, had helpedRingwood to remove his clothes and make him comfortable. She had alsosat beside him while the captain, stealing out of the house like athief, had galloped down to the village for the doctor, whom he hadsmuggled into the house without awaking any of the servants.
This caution and secrecy had been decided upon for one powerful reason.If Arthur Dynecourt should prove guilty of being the author of hiscousin's incarceration, they were quite determined he should not escapewhatever punishment the law allowed. But the mystery could not be quitecleared up until Sir Adrian's return to consciousness, when they hopedto have some light thrown upon the matter from his own lips.
In the meantime, should Arthur hear of his cousin's rescue, and knowhimself to be guilty of this dastardly attempt to murder, would he nottake steps to escape before the law should lay its iron grasp upon him?All four conspirators are too ignorant of the power of the law to knowwhether it would be justifiable in the present circumstances to placehim under arrest, or decide on waiting until Sir Adrian himself shallbe able to pronounce either his doom or his exculpation.
The doctor stays all night, and administers to the exhausted man, asoften as he dares, the nourishment and good things provided by the oldhousekeeper.
When the morning is far advanced, Adrian, waking from a short butrefreshing slumber, looks anxiously around him. Florence, seeing this,steps aside, as though to make way for Dora to go closer to him. ButMrs. Talbot, covering her face with her hands, turns aside and sinksinto a chair.
Florence, much bewildered by this strange conduct, stands irresolutebeside the bed, hardly knowing what to do. Again she glances at theprostrate man, and sees his eyes resting upon her with an expression inthem that makes her heart beat rapidly with sweet but sad recollections.
Then a faint voice falls upon her ear. It is so weak that she is obligedto stoop over him to catch what he is trying to say.
"Darling, I owe you my life!"
With great feebleness he utters these words, accompanying them with aglance of utter devotion. How can she mistake this glance, so full oflove and rapture? Perplexed in the extreme, she turns from him, asthough to leave him, but by a gesture he detains her.
"Do not leave me! Stay with me!" he entreats.
Once again, deeply distressed, she looks at Dora. Mrs. Talbot, rising,says distinctly, but with a shamefaced expression--
"Do as he asks you. Believe me, by his side is your proper place, notmine."
Saying this, she glides quickly from the room, and does not appear againfor several hours.
By luncheon-time it occurs to the guests that Arthur Dynecourt has notbeen seen since last evening.
Ringwood, carrying this news to the sick-room, the little rescuing partyand their auxiliaries, the nurse and doctor, lay their heads together,and decide that, doubtless, having discovered the escape of hisprisoner, and, dreading arrest, Arthur has quietly taken himself off,and so avoided the trial and punishment which would otherwise havefallen upon him.
Ringwood is now of opinion that they have acted unwisely in concealingthe discovery of Sir Adrian in the haunted chamber. By not speaking tothe others, they have given Dynecourt the opportunity of getting awaysafely, and without causing suspicion.
"Is it not an almost conclusive proof of his guilt, his running away inthis cowardly fashion?" says Ethel Villiers. "I think papa and LadyFitzAlmont and everybody should now be told."
So Ringwood, undertaking the office of tale-bearer, goes down-stairs,and, bringing together all the people still remaining in the house,astounds them by his revelation of the discovery and release of SirAdrian.
The nearest magistrate is sent for, and the case being laid before him,together with the still further evidence given by Sir Adrian himself,who has told them in a weak whisper of Arthur's being privy to hisintention of searching the haunted chamber for Florence's bangle on thatmemorable day of his disappearance, the magistrate issues a warrant forthe arrest of Arthur Dynecourt.
But it is all in vain; even though two of the cleverest detectives fromScotland Yard are pressed into the service, no tidings of ArthurDynecourt come to light. A man answering to his description, but wearingspectacles, had been traced as having gone on board a vessel bound forNew York the very day after Sir Adrian was restored to the world, and,when search in other quarters fails, every one falls into the readybelief that this spectacled man was in reality the would-be murderer.
So the days pass on, and it is now quite a month since Ringwood andFlorence carried Sir Adrian's senseless form from the haunted chamber,and still Florence holds herself aloof from the man she loves, and,though quite as assiduous as the others in her attentions to him, seemsalways eager to get away from him, and glad to escape any chance of a_tete-a-tete_ with him. This she does in defiance of the fact that Mrs.Talbot never approaches him except when absolutely compelled.
Sir Adrian is still a great invalid. The shock to his nervous system,the dragging out of those interminable hours in the lonely chamber, andthe strain upon his physical powers by the absence of nutriment forseven long days and nights, had all combined to shatter a constitutiononce robust. He is now greatly improved in health, and has beenrecommended by his doctors to try a winter in the south of France orAlgiers.
He shows himself, however, strangely reluctant to quit his home, and,whenever the subject is mentioned, he first turns his eyes questioninglyupon Florence, if she is present, and then, receiving no returningglance from her downcast eyes, sighs, and puts the matter from him.
He has so earnestly entreated both Dora and Miss Delmaine not to deserthim, that they have not had the heart to refuse, and as Ringwood is alsostaying at the castle, and Ethel Villiers has gained her father'sconsent to remain, Mrs. Talbot acting as chaperon, they are by no meansa dull party.
To-day, the first time for over a month, Florence, going to her easel,draws its cover away from the sketch thereon, and gazes at her work. Howlong ago it seems since she sat thus, happy in her thoughts, glad in thebelief that the one she loved loved her! yet all that time his heart hadbeen given to her cousin. And though now, at odd moments, she has feltherself compelled to imagine that his every glance and word speaks oftenderness for her, and not for Dora--still this very knowledge onlyhardens her heart toward him, and renders her cold and unsympathetic inhis presence.
No, she will have no fickle lover. And yet, how kind he is--how earnest,how honest is his glance! Oh, that she could believe all the past to bean evil dream, and think of him again as her very own, as in the dearold days gone by!
Even while thinking this she idly opens a book lying on the table nearher, where some brushes and paints are scattered. A piece of paper dropsfrom between its leaves and flutters to the ground. Lifting it, she seesit is the letter written by him to Dora, which the latter had brought toher, here to this very room, when asking her advice as to whether sheshould or should not meet him by appointment in the lime-walk.
She drops the letter hurriedly, as though its very touch stings her,and, rousing herself with bitter self-contempt from her sentimentalregrets, works vigorously at her painting for about an hour, then,growing wearied, she flings her brushes aside, and goes to themorning-room, where she knows she will find all the others assembled.
There is nobody here just now however, except Sir Adrian, who is lookingrather tired and bored, and Ethel Villiers. The latter, seeing Florenceenter, gladly gathers up her work and runs away to have a turn in thegarden with Captain Ringwood.
Florence, though sorry for this _tete-a-tete_ that has been forced uponher, sits down calmly enough, and, taking up a book, prepares to readaloud to Sir Adrian.
But he stops her. Putting out his hand, he quietly but firmly closes thebook, and then says:
&n
bsp; "Not to-day, Florence; I want to speak to you instead."
"Anything you wish," responds Florence steadily, though her heart isbeating somewhat hastily.
"Are you sorry that--that my unhappy cousin proved so unworthy?" he asksat last, touching upon this subject with a good deal of nervousness. Hecan not forget that once she had loved this miserable man.
"One must naturally feel sorry that anything human could be guilty ofsuch an awful intention," she returns gently, but with the utmostunconcern.
Sir Adrian stares. Was he mistaken then? Did she never really care forthe fellow, or is this some of what Mrs. Talbot had designated asFlorence's "slyness"? No, once for all he would not believe that thepure, sweet, true face looking so steadily into his could be guilty ofanything underhand or base.
"It was false that you loved him then?" he questions, following out thetrain of his own thoughts rather than the meaning of her last words.
"That I loved Mr. Dynecourt!" she repeats in amazement, her colorrising. "What an extraordinary idea to come into your head! No; ifanything, I confess I felt for your cousin nothing but contempt anddislike."
"Then, Florence, what has come between us?" he exclaims, seizing herhand. "You must have known that I loved you many weeks ago. Nay, longbefore last season came to a close; and then I believe--forgive mypresumption--that you too loved me."
"Your belief was a true one," she returns calmly, tears standing in herbeautiful eyes. "But you, by your own act, severed us."
"I did?"
"Yes. Nay, Sir Adrian, be as honest in your dealings with me as I amwith you, and confess the truth."
"I don't know what you mean," declares Adrian, in utter bewilderment;"you would tell me that you think it was some act of mine that--thatruined my chance with you?"
"You know it was"--reproachfully.
"I know nothing of the kind"--hotly. "I only know that I have alwaysloved you and only you, and that I shall never love another."
"You forget--Dora Talbot!" says Florence, in a very low tone. "I think,Sir Adrian, your late coldness to her has been neither kind nor just."
"I have never been either colder or warmer to Dora Talbot than I havebeen to any other ordinary acquaintance of mine," returns Sir Adrian,with considerable excitement. "There is surely a terrible mistakesomewhere."
"Do you mean to tell me," says Florence, rising in her agitation, "thatyou never spoke of love to Dora?"
"Certainly I spoke of love--of my love for you," he declares vehemently."That you should suppose I ever felt anything for Mrs. Talbot but themost ordinary friendship seems incredible to me. To you, and you alone,my heart has been given for many a day. Not the vaguest tenderness forany other woman has come between my thoughts and your image since firstwe met."
"Yet there was your love-letter to her--I read it with my own eyes!"declares Florence faintly.
"I never wrote Mrs. Talbot a line in my life," says Sir Adrian, more andmore puzzled.
"You will tell me next I did not see you kissing her hand in thelime-walk last September?" pursues Florence, flushing hotly with shameand indignation.
"You did not," he declares vehemently. "I swear it. Of what else areyou going to accuse me? I never wrote to her, and I never kissed herhand."
"It is better for us to discuss this matter no longer," says MissDelmaine, rising from her seat. "And for the future I can not--willnot--read to you here in the morning. Let us make an end of this falsefriendship now at once and forever."
She moves toward the door as she speaks, but he, closely following,overtakes her, and, putting his back against the door, so bars heregress.
He has been forbidden exertion of any kind, and now this unusualexcitement has brought a color to his wan cheeks and a brilliancy to hiseyes. Both these changes in his appearance however only serve to betraythe actual weakness to which, ever since his cruel imprisonment, he hasbeen a victim.
Miss Delmaine's heart smites her. She would have reasoned with him, andentreated him to go back again to his lounge, but he interrupts her.
"Florence, do not leave me like this," he pleads in an impassioned tone."You are laboring under a delusion. Awake from this dream, I imploreyou, and see things as they really are."
"I am awake, and I do see things as they are," she replies sadly.
"My darling, who can have poisoned your mind against me?" he asks, indeep agitation.
At this moment, as if in answer to his question, the door leading intothe conservatory at the other side of the room is pushed open, and DoraTalbot enters.
"Ah, here is Mrs. Talbot," exclaims Sir Adrian eagerly; "she willexonerate me!"
He speaks with such full assurance of being able to bring Dora forwardas a witness in his defense that Florence, for the first time, feels astrong doubt thrown upon the belief she has formed of his being amonster of fickleness.
"What is it I can do for you?" asks Dora, in some confusion. Of late shehas grown very shy of being alone with either him or Florence.
"You will tell Miss Delmaine," replies Adrian quickly, "that I neverwrote you a letter, and that I certainly did not--you will forgive myeven mentioning this extraordinary supposition, I hope, Mrs.Talbot--kiss your hand one day in September in the lime-walk."
Dora turns first hot and then cold, first crimson and then deadly pale.So it is all out now, and she is on her trial. She feels like theveriest criminal brought to the bar of justice. Shall she promptly denyeverything, or--No. She has had enough of deceit and intrigue. Whateverit costs her, she will now be brave and true, and confess all.
"I do tell her so," she says, in a low tone, but yet firmly. "I neverreceived a letter from you, and you never kissed my hand."
"Dora!" cries Florence. "What are you saying! Have you forgotten allthat is past?"
"Spare me!" entreats Dora hoarsely. "In an hour, if you will come to myroom, I will explain all, and you can then spurn me, and put me outsidethe pale of your friendship if you will, and as I well deserve. But, forthe present, accept my assurance that no love passages ever occurredbetween me and Sir Adrian, and that I am fully persuaded his heart hasbeen given to you alone ever since your first meeting."
"Florence, you believe her?" questions Sir Adrian beseechingly. "It isall true what she has said. I love you devotedly. If you will not marryme, no other woman shall ever be my wife. My beloved, take pity on me!"
"Trust in him, give yourself freely to him without fear," urges Dora,with a sob. "He is altogether worthy of you." So saying, she escapesfrom the room, and goes up the stairs to her own apartment weepingbitterly.
"Is there any hope for me?" asks Sir Adrian of Florence when they areagain alone. "Darling, answer me, do, you--can you love me?"
"I have loved you always--always," replies Florence in a broken voice."But I thought--I feared--oh, how much I have suffered!"
"Never mind that now," rejoins Sir Adrian very tenderly. He has placedhis arm round her, and her head is resting in happy contentment upon hisbreast. "For the future, my dearest, you shall know neither fear norsuffering if I can prevent it."
* * * * *
They are still murmuring tender words of love to each other, though agood half hour has gone by, when a noise as of coming footsteps in theconservatory attracts their attention, and presently Captain Ringwood,with his arm round Ethel Villiers's waist, comes slowly into view.
Totally unaware that any one is in the room besides themselves, theyadvance, until, happening to lift their eyes, they suddenly become awarethat their host and Miss Delmaine are regarding them with mingledglances of surprise and amusement. Instantly they start asunder.
"It is--that is--you see--Ethel, _you_ explain," stammers CaptainRingwood confusedly.
At this both Sir Adrian and Florence burst out laughing so merrily andso heartily that all constraint comes to an end, and finally Ethel andRingwood, joining in the merriment that has been raised at theirexpense, volunteer a full explanation.
"I think," says Ethel, aft
er awhile, looking keenly at Florence and herhost, "you two look just as guilty as we do. Don't they, George?"
"They seem very nearly as happy, at all events," agrees Ringwood, who,now that he has confessed to his having just been accepted by EthelVilliers "for better for worse," is again in his usual gay spirits.
"Nearly? you might say quite," says Sir Adrian, laughing. "Florence, aswe have discovered their secret, I think it will be only honest of us totell them ours."
Florence blushes and glances rather shyly at Ethel.
"I know it," cries that young lady, clapping her hands. "You are goingto marry Sir Adrian, Florence, and he is going to marry you!"
At this they all laugh.
"Well, one of those surmises could hardly come off without the other,"observes Ringwood, with a smile. "So your second guess was a pretty safeone. If she is right, old man"--turning to Sir Adrian--"I congratulateyou both with all my heart."
"Yes, she is quite right," responds Sir Adrian, directing a glance fullof ardent love upon Florence. "What should I do with the life sherestored to me unless I devoted it to her service?"
"You see, he is marrying me only out of gratitude," says Florence,smiling archly, but large tears of joy and gladness sparkle in herlovely eyes.