A GLEAM OF LIGHT.
A few moments after Claire's door had closed for the last time,
Madeline came cautiously from her room, her slippered feet making no
sound on the softly carpeted floor. Passing Claire's door, she paused
before another, opened it gently, and stood in Olive Girard's
bed-chamber.
Evidently she was expected, for a light was burning softly and Olive
sat near it with a book in her hand, in an attitude of waiting.
Madeline seated herself at the little table as if quite accustomed to
such interviews, and said in a low tone:
"I am so glad you came to-night; are you too tired for a long talk?"
"No; tell me all that has happened since I have been absent."
"Olive, I must go away; back to Bellair," said Madeline, abruptly.
"Madeline, you are mad! To Bellair? Why, _he_ is there often now."
"He will not find me out, never fear. I _must_ go to Bellair within
the week."
Olive leaned forward and scanned the girl's face closely and long. At
last, she said: "Madeline, what is it you meditate? tell me."
"Going back to Bellair; keeping an eye upon the proceedings of Mr.
Arthur; finding out what game that man and woman are playing there;
and baffling and punishing them all."
She had been kept informed, through Henry, into whose hands had fallen
a letter in Cora's handwriting, bearing the Bellair postmark, and
addressed to Lucian Davlin, who, so Henry said, "went down, on and
off," and always appeared satisfied with the result of his journey.
Olive argued long against this resolution, but found it impossible to
dissuade Madeline.
"It is useless," the girl said, firmly. "I should have died but for
the expectation of a time when I could be avenged, and this time I
must bring about. All through my convalescence I have pondered how I
could best avenge my mother's wrongs, and my own. Now Providence has
thrown together the two men who are my enemies; why, I do not yet
know, but perhaps it is that I may make the one a weapon against the
other. And now I want to ask you some questions."
[Illustration: "Olive knows nothing of Edward Percy, and--I don't want
to tell her just yet."--page 121.]
"Ask, then."
"I shall touch upon a painful subject, and I will tell you why. After
you went away, the story of your sorrow remained with me. So I thought
the ground all over, and formed some conclusions. Do you wish to hear
them?"
Olive nodded, wearily.
"You have told me," said Madeline, assuming a calm, business-like
tone, "that Lucian Davlin testified against your husband at his trial.
Now the wounded man, Percy, stated that he recognized the man who
struck him?"
"Yes."
"Well, what was Davlin's testimony?"
"That he saw my husband stealing in the direction of the place where
the wounded man was found, but a few moments before he was struck,
wearing the same hat and hunting-jacket that the injured man testified
was worn by his would-be assassin."
"Oh!" Madeline knitted her brows in thought a moment; then--"Was the
coat and hat Mr. Girard's?"
"Yes; he had thrown them off in the afternoon, while the heat was
intense, and had fallen asleep. When he awoke, he heard them calling
him to supper. It was late in the evening when he remembered his coat
and hat, and went back to look for them. He went just at the time when
the man must have been struck, and his absence told against him in the
evidence."
"Did he find his garments?"
"No; they were found by others, not where he had left them, but nearer
the scene of the crime."
"Ah! And who was the first to discover the injured man?"
"Why, I believe it was Mr. Davlin." Olive looked more and more
surprised at each question. "Why do you ask these things, Madeline?"
The girl made a gesture of impatience. "Wait," she said, "I will
explain in good time." Again she considered. "Was there any
ill-feeling between your husband and Davlin?"
"There was no open misunderstanding, but I know there was mutual
dislike. Philip saw that Davlin was making systematic efforts to win
money from the party, and had therefore persuaded one or two of his
friends to give gaming little countenance. No doubt he kept money out
of the man's pocket."
"And what was the standing of that man and the victim, this Percy?"
"They were much together, and Philip tells me he had sometimes fancied
that Davlin held some power over Percy. Davlin had won largely from
him, and the man seemed much annoyed, but paid over the money without
demur."
"And now, how did your husband stand toward the injured man?"
"That is the worst part of the story. They had had high words only
that very day. Philip had been acquainted with Percy at school, and he
knew so much that was not in his favor, that he was unable to conceal
his real opinion of the man at all times. One day high words arose,
and Philip uttered a threat, which was misconstrued, after the attack
upon Percy. They said he threatened his life. But Percy knew that only
his honor was meant. Davlin knew this, too; must have known it, for he
was aware that the two had met before they came together with the
party."
"I can not see why Lucian Davlin should be your husband's enemy."
"I can understand that he hated Philip for the same reason that a
thief hates the light, and Philip had balked his plans."
"True; and yet--"
"And yet?" inquiringly.
"Bad as the man is, I can see but one motive that could induce even
him to swear away the liberty, almost the life, of a man who never
wronged him."
"Still, he did it," said Olive, with a weary sigh.
"True; and he did it for a motive."
"And that motive--"
"Was the strongest instinct of the human race."
"What?" eagerly.
"Self-preservation."
Olive started up with a half cry. "Madeline, in heaven's name, _what_
do you mean!"
"That Lucian Davlin threw suspicion upon the innocent to screen the
guilty," said the girl, in a low, firm tone.
"And the guilty one, then?"
"Himself. Do you think him too good for it?" sneeringly.
"No, no! oh, no! But this I had never thought of--yet it may be true."
She fell into deep thought; after a time she started up. "I must
consult a detective immediately," she said.
"You must do no such thing," cried Madeline, springing to her feet;
"why did not the detectives find this out before? Because they have
not my reasons for hunting that man down. _I_ found this clue, if it
be one. I claim it; it is my right, and I will have it. If he is to be
undone, it shall be by my hands. I swear it!"
They faced each other in silence.
Slowly Olive recalled to her countenance and voice its usual sweet
calm, and then seated herself and talked long and earnestly with
Madeline.
The little bronze clock on the mantel was on the stroke of two when
the conference ended, and Madeline retired to her own room, but not to
sleep. She sat and thought until the dawn shone in at her window.
One link was missing from the chain; no motive had been discovered for
an attack on Percy by Davlin.
"But I will find it," she muttered. Then, as a new thought occurred to
her, she caught her breath. "Claire's lover is named Percy; can it be
the same? Why did not this occur to me sooner? Why did I not ask for
his first name, and a description of him? If this man and Edward Percy
should be one and the same! Pshaw! the name is not an uncommon one,
and it may be only a coincidence. But your face is a bad one, Edward
Percy, and I shall know it when I see it again."
The sun was not high in the heavens ere Madeline was astir, for her
nature was such that strong excitement rendered rest impossible.
Moving impatiently about the grounds, she saw a familiar form
approaching through the shrubbery, and hastened to meet it.
The black visage of Henry beamed with satisfaction as he made a
hurried obeisance and placed in her hand a letter, saying:
"Master was preparing for a two days' journey when this letter came.
He threw it into his desk, and bade me lock it, and bring him the key.
His back was turned, and I took the letter before I locked the desk.
It was a long one, and from _her_; I thought you might want to see
it."
"Right, Henry," said the girl, quietly, as she opened the letter. "You
will wait for it?"
"Yes, miss; it must not be missing when he comes."
"Certainly not."
She returned to the letter, and this is what she read:
OAKLEY, October 11.
LUCIAN, _Mon Brave_:
I am in a fine predicament--have made a startling discovery.
Mr. A----has been sick, and the mischief is to pay; and his
sickness has brought some ugly facts to light.
The old man is _not_ the sole proprietor of the Oakley
wealth. That girl who ran away so mysteriously, and has
never been heard of, will inherit at his death. He can
bequeath his widow nothing. Oh, to know where that girl is!
If she is alive, my work is useless, my time is wasted. I
think the old chap must have driven her to desperation, for
he raved in his delirium of her and her words at parting.
They must have been "searchers."
Well, to add to the general interest, Miss Arthur, aged
fifty or so, is here. She is a juvenile old maid, who has a
fortune in her own right, and so must be cultivated. She
dresses like a sixteen-year-old, and talks like a fool,
principally about a certain admirer, a "blonde
demi-god"--her words--named Percy.
Something must be done: things must be talked over. Come
down and make love to Miss Arthur. _Her_ money is not
entailed.
Bring me some Periques and a box of Alexis gloves--you know
the number. Yours in disgust,
CORA MME. ARTHUR.
Madeline dropped the letter, and stood amazed. What did it mean? "Cora
_Mme._ Arthur!"
Henry stooped for the letter, and the act recalled her to herself. She
thanked him for the service he had done her; told him of her intended
departure; gave him some last instructions, and dismissed him with a
kind good-by.
[Illustration: "I took the letter before I locked the desk."--page
127.]
"It is time to act," she muttered. "Good heavens! the audacity of that
man and woman! She is married to my step-father, if that letter does
not lie; has married him for money, and is baffled there. She hoped to
become _his widow_, aha! The plot thickens, indeed! Goodness! what a
household! That bad old man, the still viler woman, dangerous Lucian
Davlin, and that funny, youthful, cross, 'conceited spinster,' Ellen
Arthur, who has a lover, and his name is--heaven save us--Percy! That
name _will_ mix itself up with my fate web, and why? Percy beloved of
Claire; Percy who brought Philip Girard to his doom; Percy the lover
of a rich old maid, are ye one and the same? Percy! Percy! Percy! I
must cultivate the Percys at any cost."
She turned and entered the house, her head bent, thinking, thinking,
thinking.