XIX. THE DAY OF THE WEDDING
When Lord Bob reached Brussels on Friday he found affairs in a sorryshape. His wife's never-failing serenity was in a sad state ofcollapse. Quentin was showing wonderful signs of recuperation, andit almost required lock and key to keep him from breaking forth intothe wildest indiscretions. Gradually and somewhat disconnectedly hebecame acquainted with existing conditions. He first learned thathis wife had carried Quentin's banner boldly up to the walls of thefortress, and then--well, Lady Saxondale's pride was very much hurtby what happened there. Miss Garrison was exceedingly polite, butquite ungrateful for the kindness that was being bestowed upon her.She assured her ladyship that she was making no mistake in marryingPrince Ravorelli, and, if she were, she alone would suffer.
"I am so furious with her, Bob, for marrying Prince Ugo that I amnot going to the wedding," said Lady Saxondale.
"Whew! That's a bracer! But, by the way, my dear, did you introduceany real proof that he is the scoundrel you say he is? Seems to methe poor girl is right in the stand she takes. She wants proof, andpositive proof, you know. I don't blame her. How the deuce can shebreak it off with the fellow on the flimsy excuse that Phil Quentinand Lady Saxondale say he is a rascal? You've all been acting like atribe of ninnies, if you'll pardon my saying so."
"She is sensible enough to know that we would not misrepresentmatters to her in such a serious case as this," she retorted.
"What proof have you that Ravorelli is a villain?"
"Good heavens, Bob, did he not try to have Phil murdered?" sheexclaimed, pityingly.
"Do you know that to be a positive fact?"
"Phil and Mr. Savage are quite thoroughly convinced."
"But if anyone asked you to go on to the witness stand and swearthat Prince Ugo tried to take the life of Philip Quentin, could youdo so?" he persisted.
"You goose, I was not an eye-witness. How could I swear to such athing?"
"Well, if I understand the situation correctly, Miss Garrison is thejudge, Ravorelli the accused, and you are one of the witnesses. Now,really, dear, how far do you imagine your hearsay evidence--which isno evidence at all--goes with the fair magistrate? What would beyour verdict if some one were to come to you and say, 'Saxondale isa blackguard, a rascal, a cutthroat?'"
"I confess I'd say it was not true," she said, turning quite red.
"The chances are you wouldn't even ask for proof. So, you see, MissGarrison behaved very generously when she condescended to hear yourassertions instead of instructing the servant to direct you to thedoor."
"She was above reproach, Bob. I never saw anyone so calm, socomposed and so frigidly agreeable. If she had shown the faintestsign of anger, displeasure or even disgust, I could forgive her, butshe acted just as if she were tolerating me rather than to lowerherself to the point of seriously considering a word I uttered. Iknow the prince is a villian. I believe every word Phil says abouthim." She took Lord Bob's hands in hers, and her deep, earnest eyesburnt conviction into his brain.
"And so do I Frances I am as sure thatUgo is a scoundrel as if I had personal knowledge of histransactions. In fact, I have never believed in him. You and I willstand together, dear, in this fight for poor old Phil, and, by theLord Harry, they'll find us worth backing to the finish. If there'sanything to be done that can be done, we'll do it, my girl." And hewas amply repaid for his loyal declaration by the love that shonerefulgent from her eyes.
Quentin naturally chafed under the restraint. There was nothing hecould do, nothing his friends could do, to avert the disaster thatwas daily drawing nearer. Lord Bob infused a momentary spark of hopeinto the dying fire of his courage, but even the resourceful Britonadmitted that the prospect was too gloomy to warrant the slightestencouragement. They could gain absolutely no headway against theprince, for there was no actual proof to be had. To find the strangewoman who gave the first warning to Quentin was out of the question.Turk had watched every movement of the prince and his aides in thehope of in some way securing a clue to her identity or whereabouts.There was but one proposition left; the purchase of Courant.
This plan seemed feasible until Turk reported, after diligentsearch, that the French detective could not be found. Dickey was forbuying the two Italian noblemen, but that seemed out of thequestion, and it was unreasonable to suspect that the otherhirelings recognized the prince as their real employer. Theslightest move to approach the two noblemen might prove disastrous,and wisdom cut off Dickey's glorious scheme to give each of them "ahundred dollars to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
Quentin at last burst all bonds, and, finding himself out of thedoctor's hands, determined to make a last desperate appeal toDorothy Garrison. If that appeal failed, he would then give up thestruggle; he would at least end the suspense. He knew how difficultit would be to obtain an audience with her, but he went ahead withthe confidence of the drowning man, the boldness of the man who iswounded to the death but does not know it.
It was the Wednesday just one week before the wedding that saw thepale-faced, tall and somewhat unsteady American deliberately leavehis cab and stride manfully up the steps of a certain mansion in theAvenue Louise. Miss Garrison was "not at home," and her mother was"not at home." So said the obsequious footman.
"Take my card to Miss Garrison," said Quentin, coolly. The manlooked bewildered and was protesting that his young mistress was notin the house when the lady herself appeared at the top of the broadstairway. Phil stood in the center of the hall watching her as sheslowly descended the steps. At the bottom of the steps she paused.Neither spoke, neither smiled, for the crisis was upon them. If hewere pale from the loss of blood, she was white with the aches froma fever-consumed heart.
"Why have you come?" she asked, at last, her voice so low that thewords scarcely reached his ears.
"Dorothy," was all he said.
"You knew what I must say to you before you entered the door. Willyou let me tell you how deeply I have grieved over your misfortune?Are you quite wise in coming out before you have the strength? Youare so pale, so weak. Won't you go back to your--to your hotel andsave yourself all the pain that will come to you here?" There waspity in her eyes, entreaty in her voice, and he was enveloped in thetender warmth of her sincerity. Never had she seemed so near as now,and yet never so far away.
"Dorothy, you must know what manner of love it is that brings me toplead for the smallest crumb of what has been once refused. I comesimply, in all humility, with outstretched hands to ask your love."He drew nearer, and she did not retreat.
"Oh, it is so useless--so hopeless, Phil," she said, softly. "Whywill you persist? I cannot grant even the crumb."
"I love you, Dorothy," he cried passionately.
"Oh! Phil; you must understand that I can give younothing--absolutely nothing. For God's sake--for my sake, for thesake of that dear friendship we own together, go away andforget--forget everything," she said, piteously.
A half-hour later he slowly descended the steps, staggering like aman sick unto death. She sat where he left her, her wide, dry eyesseeing nothing, her ears hearing nothing but the words his love hadforced her to utter. These words:
"Yes, heaven help me, I do care for you. But, go! Go! I can neversee you again. I shall keep the bargain I have made, if I die at thealtar. I cannot break my promise to him." And all his pleading couldnot break down that decision--not even when she found herself forone brief, terrible instant in his straining arms, his lips uponhers.
It was all over. He calmly told his friends, as he had told her,that he would sail for New York on the first steamer, and Turkreluctantly began to pack the things. The night before he was toleave for Hamburg, the Saxondales, Lady Jane and Savage sat with himlong into the night. Prince Ugo's watchdogs were not long indiscovering the sudden turn affairs had taken, and he was gleefullycelebrating the capitulation.
The next day the Saxondales accompanied the two Americans to therailway station, bade them a fond farewell and hastened back to thehome of the Baron
St. Auge with new resolutions in their hearts. Theforepart of the ensuing week saw their departure from Brussels.Deliberately they turned their backs on the great wedding that wasto come, and as if scorning it completely, journeyed to Lord Bob'sruins in Luxemburg, preferring the picturesque solitude of thetumbledown castle to the empty spectacle at St. Gudule. Brussels mayhave wondered at their strange leave-taking on the eve of thewedding, but no explanation was offered by the departing ones.
When Dorothy Garrison heard that Philip Quentin had started for theUnited States she felt a chill of regret sink suddenly into hersoul, and it would not be driven forth. She went on to the verynight that was to make her a princess, with the steel in her heart,but the world did not know it was there. There was no faltering, nowavering, no outward sign of the emotions which surged within. Shewas to be a princess! But when the Saxondales turned their facesfrom her, spurning the invitation to her wedding, the pride in herheart suffered. That was a blow she had not expected. It was like anaccusation, a reproach.
Little Lady Jane blissfully carried with her to the valley of theAlzette the consciousness that Richard Savage was very much in lovewith her, even though he had not found courage to tell her so inplain words. A telegram from him stating that he and Quentin hadtaken passage for New York and would sail on the following daydispelled the hope that he might return.
Brussels was full of notables. The newspapers of two continents werefairly blazing with details of the wedding. There were portraits ofthe bride and groom, and the bishop, and pictures of the gowns, thehats, the jewels; there were biographies of the noted beauty and theman she was to marry. The Brussels papers teemed with the arrivalsof distinguished guests.
Overcoming Mrs. Garrison's objections, Dorothy had insisted on andobtained special permission to have a night wedding. She had dreamedof the lights, the splendor, the brilliancy of an after-sunsetwedding and would not be satisfied until all barriers were putaside.
Dorothy's uncle, Henry Van Dykman, her mother's brother, and anumber of elated New York relatives came to the Belgian capital,shedding their American opulence as the sun throws out its light.The skill of a general was required to direct, manage and controlthe pageant of the sixteenth. Thousands of dollars were tossed intothe cauldron of social ambition by the lavish mother, who, frombehind an army of lieutenants, directed the preliminary maneuvers.
The day came at last and St. Gudule's presented a scene sobewilderingly, so dazzlingly glorious that all Brussels blinked itseyes and was awed into silence. The church gleamed with the wealthof the universe, it seemed, and no words could describe thebrilliancy of the occasion. The hour of this woman's triumph hadcome, the hour of the Italian conqueror had come, the hour of thevictim had come.
In front of the house in the Avenue Louise, an hour before thebeginning of the ceremony, there stood the landau that was to takethe bride to the cathedral. Carriage after carriage passed, bearingthe visitors from the new world, to the church. All were gone savethe bride, her mother and her uncle. Down the carpeted steps andacross to the door of the carriage came Dorothy and her uncle,followed by the genius of the hour. At the last moment Dorothyshuddered, turned sick and faint for an instant, as she thought of aship far out at sea.
The footman swung up beside the driver, and they were off by quietstreets toward the church where waited all impatient, the vastassemblage and the triumphant prince. The silence inside thecarriage was like that of the tomb. What were the thoughts of theoccupants could not well be described.
"Are we not almost there, Dorothy?" nervously asked her mother,after many minutes. "Good heavens! We are late! O, what shall wedo?" cried she in despair. In an instant the somber silence of thecab's interior was lost. The girl forgot her prayer in the horror ofthe discovery that there was to be a hitch in the well-plannedarrangements. Her mother frantically pulled aside the curtains andlooked out, fondly expecting to see the lights of St. Gudule on thehill. Uncle Henry dropped his watch in his nervousness and was allconfusion.
"We are not near the church, my--why, where are we? I have neverseen these houses before. Henry, Henry, call to the driver! He haslost his way. My heavens, be quick!"
It was not necessary to hail the driver, for at that instant thecarriage came to a sudden standstill. The door opened quickly, andbefore the eyes of the astonished occupants loomed the form of amasked man. In his hand he held a revolver.
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