“WE SHALL NEVER MEET AGAIN.”
Lady Elaine was toying with the breakfast that it was impossible for
her to eat, and thinking with a hopeless kind of bitterness of the
misery that had come into her life, when Nina suddenly entered the
room, her face betraying strong agitation.
“My lady, there is a person in the drawing-room who insists upon seeing
you. I cannot say whether she is young or old, but I fancy that she
must be young by the sweetness of her voice. She is closely veiled, and
speaks nicely.”
Nina stopped to regain breath, adding, “She will not give her name, my
lady.”
“I do not wish to be bothered, Nina,” said Lady Elaine, wearily. “This
is an extraordinary hour for visitors. Possibly the person is engaged
in some charitable pursuit. Tell her that she can state the nature of
her business to you.”
“I have done everything in that way, my lady,” the maid declared. “I
think that it will be best for you to see her.”
“No, I cannot be bothered. I am weary of everything, Nina.”
Then the maid stammered: “I was to tell you, my lady, that--that she
came from Sir Harold Annesley.”
Lady Elaine started, her face turning deathly white. Was Sir Harold
ill? Had some fresh misfortune befallen him?
“You are sure of this, Nina?” She held one hand to her throbbing heart.
“Quite sure, my lady.”
“Then I will see her. Bring the lady to me here. This room is warm, and
I fear that I dare not try to walk. My limbs are shaking with nervous
dread.”
Nina glanced at her mistress, a pitiful look in her eyes, and left the
room.
One minute, and she returned, a black-robed, girlish figure behind her.
“A mere girl,” thought Lady Elaine. “How could Nina be doubtful whether
she were young or old?”
“This is the lady from Sir Harold Annesley, your ladyship,” said Nina.
Elaine rose and bowed to her visitor, and was conscious of being
closely scrutinized.
Then, at a sign from her mistress, Nina softly withdrew, and the
stranger spoke.
The tones were soft, tremulous, and flute-like, and there was a world
of pathos in every note.
“You are Lady Elaine Seabright?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, gently. She knew not why her heart went out in
tenderness to this black-robed figure. Perhaps it was in sympathy,
because she, too, mourned a lost one.
“You are very beautiful, Lady Elaine,” continued the visitor,
half-dreamily, “and I have wanted to see you so much! I wanted to see
the woman whom Sir Harold loved first--and loves best.”
A haughty light flashed into Elaine’s eyes, but the words that rose to
her lips were checked by the girl tossing aside her veil, and revealing
a face of wondrous beauty.
“I am Theresa,” she said. “I am Sir Harold’s unhappy wife.”
She dropped into a lounge, and shed passionate tears. In a moment
Elaine was beside her, and murmuring soothing words to poor Theresa.
“I cannot understand why you should come here, Lady Annesley,” she
said. “Sir Harold loves you fondly. Why should you call yourself
unhappy!”
“I wanted to see you. Oh, I have longed so much to see you--to know if
you were good and true! My husband loves me, yes, but not as he loves
you. While in the delirium of fever he told me so, and I know that he
has seen you recently--that a bitter parting has taken place between
you. Lady Elaine, you will never know how happy we were once, in the
garden of roses, where I learned to worship my king. Oh, if I could
have died then, what a blissful death it would have been!”
“You must forget that Sir Harold and I ever cared for each other,”
Lady Elaine said, gently. “It is all over and past, you and he are now
husband and wife.”
Theresa looked at her mournfully.
“I wanted to see you,” she went on, “and now I am satisfied. I do not
wonder that he loves you best. I have heard much of the shameful story
which parted you, and then Sir Harold only married me out of pity for
my helplessness, while I loved him, even as you may never love him,
Lady Elaine! For my sake he has sacrificed all that makes life worth
the living. He does not know that I am here--he will never know unless
you tell him. He does not even dream that I have any knowledge of your
whereabouts; but I wished to look upon your beautiful face once, and
that is why I am here.”
“Lady Annesley, I have parted from Sir Harold forever,” Elaine said.
“He came here yesterday to say good-by. His words concerning you were
only words of love.”
Theresa did not reply, but gazed wistfully at Lady Elaine.
“Kiss me once,” she said, after a little while. “I am going now, and we
shall never meet again!”
Elaine knew not what to say. After all, Theresa was but a child, and
she pressed her lips fondly to the girl’s cold cheek.
“Yes, we shall meet again, Lady Annesley,” she whispered. “In the
future, when the pain in our hearts is less. After all, life is but a
feverish dream, and our longings are never satisfied.”
Theresa smiled sadly, but there was a sweet, saintly expression on her
lovely face that Elaine never forgot.
“I am much happier now that I have seen you,” she said. A long-drawn
sigh escaped her, and she added “Good-by.”
She rose to her feet, and Lady Elaine walked with her into the hall,
the door of which was standing open, for the early autumn morning was
warm and balmy.
There was a last farewell, and then the lovely, little, black figure
was gone.
An inexpressible mournfulness seemed to be in the very air, and for
a long time Elaine wandered from room to room, a strange feeling of
unrest upon her. She could not forget the sorrowfulness of Theresa’s
last good-by. It seemed to echo about her like a voice from the spirit
world.
Late in the evening the little household was startled by an imperative
knock, followed by a sharp ring at the doorbell.
The woman who did the duty of housekeeper obeyed the somewhat noisy
summons, and a man handed her a sealed letter, saying:
“For Lady Seabright. Hurry up, ma’am; there’s an answer wanted!”
Nina received the letter from the housekeeper, and promptly conveyed it
to her mistress.
This is what Elaine read:
Lady Elaine Seabright is requested by Sir Harold Annesley’s medical
adviser to come to the Victoria Hotel at once if she wishes to see
Harold alive. He has met with a street accident, and is fast sinking.
His one desire is to see Lady Elaine before he dies. Her ladyship is
advised to lose not an instant, but to accompany the bearer of this
urgent appeal. A closed carriage has been sent for her exclusive use.
She read the letter twice, and then stood white and rigid. Had this
anything to do with Lady Annesley’s visit? What tragedy had been
committed?
“Nina,” she said, “Sir Harold is dying. He has sent for me. You must
help me dress at once! I am going to him. Fetch my hat and cloak. That
is all I shall want.”
“My lady, must I accompany you?” the maid asked, after rapidly obeying
the order.
“No, Nina; I do not see the necessity for it. I may have to remain all
night. Oh, merciful Heavens! How disaster follows upon the heels of
disaster!”
In a few minutes she was ready, and Nina followed her to the door.
“How dark it is, my lady!” she said.
A huge figure loomed forward, and a man’s voice said:
“The kerridge is here, my lady. I ain’t had no time, your ladyship, to
light my lamps; in fact, the order came so sudden that I clean forgot
’em.”
“Lead the way,” commanded Lady Elaine.
The man obeyed, and she saw a four-wheeled cab harnessed to a powerful
horse.
“Do not sit up for me,” she said to Nina, “I will telegraph to you in
the morning.”
She stepped into the carriage, the door was banged fast, and the next
moment the horse plunged away under the stinging lash of the whip.
Almost at the same instant Lady Elaine felt that she was not alone,
and a terrible dread seized upon her. What did it mean? Against the
purple darkness of the night, through one of the windows, she had
clearly seen a man’s profile! Then, as her eyes became accustomed to
the blackness about her, his form was apparent like a misty shadow.
A cold chill seemed to rest upon her heart, but, by a desperate effort,
she spoke:
“Can you tell me if Sir Harold’s condition is as hopeless as the
physician appears to think in the note he has sent to me?”
She waited, but there was no reply. The strain was too awful to bear.
She uttered a wild shriek, and a hand was clapped to her mouth, while a
sinewy arm clasped her waist. She gasped for breath, and then relapsed
into insensibility under the powerful fumes of something pressed to her
palpitating nostrils.
The man pulled the checkstring, and the carriage stopped.
“It’s all right, Bulger,” said the voice of Viscount Rivington. “Drive
carefully now, so that we do not attract any needless attention.
Straight to Sim’s alley, King’s Cross.”