THERESA’S WARNING.
Theresa was much more cheerful the following morning. There might yet
be happiness for her and the man she loved so much. He had declared
his intention of quitting England that very day and devoting his life
to her. Surely her all-absorbing passion for him would meet with some
return!
“I know that the sight of his old love, and the memory of the old
days have revived much that has lain dormant within him, but he
is mine--mine--and I love him best! Why should she steal away my
happiness? I who am so lonely and sad. If he were free to make his
choice, which would he take? Ah, my love is no mere outward show. For
his sake I would willingly lay down my life!”
She had forgotten the vendetta, but that very day she had a note thrust
into her hand by an urchin who had found his way to her apartments
unobserved.
In astonishment and horror she opened it and read the following:
Lady Theresa Annesley, daughter of Lambert Egerton and Theresa
Ludovic, remember the death of Count Crispi cries still for vengeance.
You and yours are forever under the ban until the hateful blood of
your people is wiped from off the face of the earth. Think not to
escape us. The executive awaits the signal to strike.
In a moment all sunshine was blotted away, and she stood pale,
trembling and hopeless.
In this way Sir Harold found her, and his heart smote him with
remorseless pangs.
“If you don’t wish it, Theresa,” he said, “I will not go out at all
to-day. Your pallor frightens me. Tell me, child. What is your trouble?”
He waited anxiously, fearfully. If Theresa asked him to stay with her,
then he might never see Lady Elaine again. It was a terrible sacrifice,
but he was prepared to make it.
For one brief space she hesitated, then burst into a storm of tears.
“No, darling, you must not forego every pleasure for my sake,” she
sobbed. “Have I not surrounded you with a network of perplexities
and dangers already? I am frightened--not for myself, but for my
beloved husband! See! You ought to read this. A danger menaces you, my
love--the danger of death!”
He took the paper, and his face flamed with fury.
“The cowards!” he hissed--“the pitiful, wretched cowards! Theresa, this
is a mere, contemptible threat! Why was the boy not seized? I will get
to the root of it if half my fortune is spent in so doing!”
He made inquiries from the hotel clerk, the burly _commissionaire_
in the doorway, the servants about the hall. Then he was driven to
Scotland Yard and placed the matter in competent hands. Money was no
object. The wretches must be brought to justice, and his wife’s person
properly guarded.
He returned and told her what he had done, and she said, in reply:
“I am glad for your sake, Harold, but I am very much afraid. My father
ought not to have hidden this from me!”
Then she looked up at him, with a mournfulness in her eyes that he
never forgot.
“My husband,” she said, “I am going to make a strange request of
you--a request which I hope that you will grant, because I know that it
is for your good.”
“Well, Theresa? Sweet one, don’t look at me in that way! Your eyes will
haunt me forever. Now, what is it you want?”
“Sir Harold, I want you to divorce me! I was reading only recently
in some paper that a marriage under any serious misapprehension was
practically null and void--that the law would unhesitatingly set it
aside. I ask you this with a breaking heart, because I love you as no
other can love you--knowing that I am but a clog--a menace to your
future happiness!”
“Theresa--Theresa! What has put this madness into your tender, loving
heart?”
He took her in his arms and held her to him tightly. He showered upon
her words of endearment.
“A little while, Theresa, and all these worries will have melted like
mists in the sun. You are too sensitive--too imaginative. Oh, the
thought to me is horrible!”
After lunch, one of the smartest detectives in London was sent to
Sir Harold from Scotland Yard. The liberality of his reward for
the apprehension of the letter-writer was a strong incentive. He
was closeted with Annesley for half-an-hour, and finally pocketed
unimportant letters and addressed envelopes which had been received at
the hotel since his stay there.
“You must be perfectly frank with me in all things,” said the
detective. “If I appear to be curious concerning your private affairs
I shall only have one end in view, and that is the elucidation of this
little mystery. My theory is already formed, and I do not think that I
shall be far out when my deductions are complete.”
“You have _carte blanche_ so far as I and my household are concerned,”
Sir Harold told him. “To-night we leave for Paris, and you may send me
news of your progress there. I will telegraph my address to you.”
The detective went away, and, half-an-hour later, Annesley was in a
hansom, being driven to Lady Elaine Seabright’s villa in Hyde Park. He
had promised his wife that he would not be gone long, and left Stimson
to prepare everything for their departure by the Dover express.
Lady Elaine’s address was Lyndhurst Villa, and Sir Harold told the
cabman to stop within fifty yards of the house.
When the hansom pulled up he sprang out, and the man pointed with his
whip to a little Queen Anne building half-embowered in trees, saying:
“That is Lyndhurst Villa, sir.”
“Thank you. I shall not be gone long. Wait here for me, please.”
For a minute his heart beat into his throat, and his eyes were blinded
with mist; then he pushed resolutely onward into the presence of the
one whom he would love as long as life lasted.
He was admitted by Nina, who conducted him into a prettily-furnished
drawing-room.
“Her ladyship will not keep you waiting long, Sir Harold,” the maid
said, quietly. She could not find it in her heart to forgive the man
who had ruined her mistress’ life.
She withdrew, and in a state of great agitation he paced the floor. Why
had he come? It was needless pain for both. It was unfair to his wife.
He might have explained all to Lady Elaine by letter. It would have
been much more simple--much easier.
At last there was the rustle of a woman’s dress, the door opened
softly, and his lost love stood before him. How ethereal she looked.
Had the vision appeared unexpectedly he would have believed that it
was a visitant from the spirit world.
“Elaine!”
There was a great sob in his voice, and he held out his arms, but she
did not respond.
“Sir Harold,” she replied, softly. “You must not forget the bar between
us. You must not forget your wife! I was perhaps wrong to grant this
interview, but I wish to look upon you for the last time--to hear
your voice once more. My hero is not yet dethroned, and I desire to
vindicate myself----”
“Stop!” he cried. “Oh, my God, this is too much for human hearts to
bear! Elaine, come and sit beside me; let me place my arms about
you--pillow your head upon my shoulder, while I tell you all that has
happened to me since that day when you drove me forth! It may be the
last time, Elaine; it may be the last time that we shall meet on earth,
and I want to carry it through life and to the grave a pleasant memory.
Do not forget what we have been to each other--what we are to each
other still! When you know all you will not blame me, and then----”
He covered his eyes with his hands, and she was instantly beside him.
“If I am sinning, Heaven forgive me. Surely the sin will be expiated by
the martyrdom that is mine!”
Bit by bit, he told his wonderful story--the story of his utter
oblivion--the story of his awakening--of his brotherly love for the
sweet girl whom he called wife--of his utter despair.
“But my duty is clear, Elaine; I could never shut my eyes to that,
although I should be sorely tempted were Theresa other than she is.”
“I feel that I must love her,” Lady Elaine replied. “Love her because
she loves you, Harold! You see what my pride--my silly pride--has
done for us, but in some way all the evil that has ever befallen me
is attributable to your cousin--to Margaret Nugent. She it was who
professed to know your moods and to whom I listened blindly for advice.
This is no palliation for the fault--for the folly I committed; but
I cannot help thinking that she had some ulterior motive in parting
us--that she perhaps cared for you herself.”
He was thoughtful for a little while, and then remarked, sternly: “You
cannot both be wrong. Poor Theresa distrusts Margaret.”
“It is fatal to one’s happiness or even peace to permit some people
to enter into the secrets of their lives,” continued Lady Elaine,
“and I have thought lately that if I had obeyed the wishes of Colonel
Greyson, and permitted him to carry my letter of recall--my complete
surrender--to you, how different things might have been.”
“Why did you not send that letter, Elaine?” he said, sadly.
“Ah, you have forgotten, Harold. I sent it by Margaret Nugent, and she
told me that you scoffed at it, and cast it to the winds.”
“I never received that letter, darling,” he replied, starting up, a
bitter imprecation on his lips against his false cousin. “I never
received that letter--I swear it! At last I believe that light is
breaking upon me! The night that we first met, Colonel Greyson said
that Margaret would be jealous, and I laughed at what I considered the
absurdity of the idea. And the stories of your engagement to Rivington?
Ah, what a blind fool I have been!”
He heard of the terms of the late earl’s will with wonderment and
regret.
“I cannot understand it, if your father knew nothing of Rivington’s
private character,” he said, “or he may have been blinded to everything
in his obstinacy and determination to have his own way.”
A silver-tongued clock on the mantel-piece chimed the hour of five, and
Sir Harold started up in dismay.
“I must go, Elaine. Kiss me, darling, for the last time! Oh, the misery
of it.”
He embraced her fiercely, saying, hoarsely:
“If you are in trouble at any time call me to your side, Elaine; I
shall never be more than two or three days’ journey away. Promise me,
my lost love!”
“Yes, I will send to you if my trouble is serious--if our old lawyer
cannot combat with it,” she said.
“And your fortune shall be restored to you. I will see Mr. Worboys
within two months’ time. That will be soon enough. Between us Rivington
can be brought to his knees. In the meantime I shall not be idle, and
will drop the lawyer a few lines. You will understand later, Elaine.”
Another frantic, hopeless embrace, and, seizing his hat, he almost ran
from the room--there was a bang of the outer door, and he was gone.
As the cab whirled away in obedience to his wild words, “Home again!
Lose not a moment!” the figure of a man appeared from behind a mass of
evergreens which grew in the shadow of a spreading and leafy maple. It
was that of Viscount Rivington.
He took a final glance through the drawing-room window, where Lady
Elaine was kneeling, her face buried in the cushions of a lounge,
paused irresolute, then glided into the street, a savage imprecation
upon his lips, hate in his flashing, black eyes.
“So this is why my love is spurned!” he muttered. “Why my life is to be
utterly wrecked! He is her lover still. What unlucky fate has brought
them together again? What of the story of his shattered memory? God!
Has Margaret deceived me also, or is there a mine beneath her also
which is soon to explode? How long has he been visiting here? Had
I chanced upon them unawares--but, bah! I saw her in his arms, he a
married man! I heard her sobs, and I hate her for it! Now it is my turn
to woo, aye, and to win! My Lady Elaine shall be my wife at any cost.
I am upon the very brink of disaster, a disaster which will forever
place me beyond the pale of decent society. I shall be an outcast--a
pariah--a thing to be avoided! I have tried soft measures--tender
appeals, declarations of a love which has now turned to gall and
wormwood! My lady, you have only yourself to blame, and desperation is
my master!”
He looked up and down the street, and continued at a rapid pace to Hyde
Park Corner, from whence he took a cab to Charing Cross post office. A
telegram was sent to Lady Gaynor, as follows:
Your presence is required in town. I am staying at the Metropole.
After a hasty dinner, he decided to play his first card, and went to
the Victoria Hotel in quest of Sir Harold Annesley.