MARGARET’S ATONEMENT.
Like a man bereft of all reason, Sir Harold Annesley paced his wife’s
room, the words of her last letter seeming to eat into his brain like
molten fire.
“Poor Theresa!” he said, at last. “What must have been your mental
sufferings to drive you to this? A life’s devotion can never repay such
wonderful love as yours!”
He clasped one hand to his burning brow, and looked about him
mournfully. The place was fragrant with her sweet presence, like the
perfume of a flower that is dead.
He stepped to the window, and gazed at the busy crowd below. Then the
full force of Theresa’s meaning burst upon him, and he cried aloud in
his agony.
He reverently placed the letter in his pocketbook, and rang for
Stimson. The valet was near at hand, and came quickly into the room.
“Lady Annesley has gone away, Stimson,” his master said, brokenly,
“has left me with some mistaken notion of giving me my freedom. She
heard something last night, when I was angry with that scoundrel,
Rivington--something concerning Lady Elaine Seabright, and her heart is
broken. Stimson, I must find her if all London has to be searched. Her
words may be wild and irresponsible, but my heart reproaches me sorely.
Now, try and remember what she said to you last, and how she looked.”
The valet could only repeat what he had already stated.
“It seems,” Sir Harold said, “that the fates are all against me. I
have been detained at every turn against my will.”
He sprang up resolutely.
“There is nothing that you can do, Stimson, and I am incapable of
sustained thought at present. Within an hour, though, the whole
machinery of the law shall be put in motion.”
He stepped swiftly away without another word, and, jumping into a cab,
was driven to Scotland Yard once more.
The inspector readily granted him an interview, and listened in
amazement to his latest trouble.
“Only an hour since I learned from Asbury that the anonymous
letter-writer was within reach when wanted, and I concluded that your
troubles were nearly at an end, Sir Harold,” he said.
“This is merely an outcome of the disgraceful affair,” Annesley
replied, savagely clinching his hands. “My poor wife has evidently been
driven out of her mind with fear--more upon my account than her own.
Now, sir, what can be done?”
“Notice must be promptly given to every police station in the
metropolis. The railway station and hotels must be watched. Now, if she
had less start of us, the matter would be as simple as A B C. For the
present, leave it in my hands, with a carefully-written description of
Lady Annesley’s dress, etc. I have no doubt that Asbury has the whole
case at his fingers’ ends, and I really do not think that you have
reason for so much alarm. Women take strange fancies into their heads
at times, Sir Harold. Let us hope that you will find her at your hotel
when you get back.”
Annesley shook his head. “The moment that Mr. Asbury is available let
him come to me,” he said.
“I am sorry that he is not here now,” was the reply. “I telephoned to
his private office only a few minutes before you came in, and hear that
he is out of London until the evening. You may depend, however, that we
will do our best for you, Sir Harold.”
Annesley went back to his hotel, but there was no news of Theresa. He
sent for copies of the evening papers, and was almost afraid to read
them, lest there should be some awful story concerning his wife.
At this unhappy moment Stimson announced Miss Margaret Nugent, and a
wild hope sprang into his heart, to be as quickly dispelled when he saw
his cousin standing before him alone, wonder and alarm in her face at
sight of his misery.
“So it is you!” he cried, harshly.
“Harold--dear Harold!” Margaret said, “what is the matter? I am leaving
London to-day for home. Until last night I have been visiting a friend
living at Bayswater, and I have come to see Theresa--because I have
been very miserable about something.”
“You have driven her from me--perhaps to her death,” he replied,
flashing upon her a glance of bitter contempt, “wretched woman that you
are!”
“You know, then----” she murmured, her lips white and dry.
“Know!” he sneered. “I have had detectives following your every
movement. I will have you made a public example of unless you bring my
wife back to me, slanderer and liar that you are!”
She dropped upon her knees before him, and sobbed bitter tears.
“Oh, Harold! this from you to me! I who have loved you so well! Let my
love for you be my excuse. I have hated all who have seemed to come
between us; first, Lady Elaine, and then poor, confiding Theresa. Since
I penned that wretched letter my life has been a torture to me. I have
been appalled by the misery that I and Viscount Rivington have already
caused you, and yet the gulf between us has but widened. And now I am
humiliating myself as woman was never humiliated before. I came back
to-day to tell your wife all. I knew that she would forgive me--if she
could not forget. I knew that I shall never forgive myself. Do you not
believe me, Harold? Do you not see that I have hardly been responsible
for my actions? I think that I must have been mad! I have only just
realized the hideousness of my folly--of my wickedness. My love for
you, and my jealousy of all others who came between us, have blinded
me utterly and completely. Pity me, Harold, though I am not deserving
of one moment’s consideration from you. Remember the old days--the old
days of our childhood--when I deemed that you were all my own. Remember
when you petted me, and made me love you! and I never dreamed that any
other girl could come between us. I regarded you as my very own! Was
it not I who waited in patient expectancy for your return from abroad?
Was it not I who gloried in your conquests? And then, when I believed
that I was about to taste the sweets of life, the bowl was ruthlessly
snatched from my lips. God and myself alone know the bitterness of
my trial! I hated all who stood between you and me. I hated Lady
Elaine Seabright--I hated the gentle-hearted Theresa; but I have been
mad--mad! But at last I have wakened, and it shall be my duty to make
atonement!”
Her anguish was terrible to see, but he said, sternly:
“If my innocent Theresa is not restored to me I will never forgive
you, Margaret Nugent. I will never look upon your hateful face again!
There is no pity in my heart for you--there never will be. Go, and find
Theresa!”
She rose to her feet, her face wet with tears, and turning, silently
left him. No punishment could equal the anguish that had pierced her
heart. The man whom she had sinned for spurned and hated her!
“I will find Theresa,” she whispered to herself; “and I pray to God
that I may not be too late, or I shall live hereafter marked with the
brand of Cain!”
She did not seek advice anywhere, but went straight to Euston station.
She asked for a ticket to Tenterden, but was informed that no further
trains stopped there that day. Her only hope of reaching Tenterden was
to book to Crayford, and return to Tenterden by a local train. Even
by doing this she ran great chances. If the London train was not in
exactly to time at Crayford the last local would have left.
“Then I must trust to chance,” Margaret thought. “In any event I have
to go to Ashbourne to-night, and that is only one station beyond
Crayford.”
As the booking clerk had anticipated, the train was late at Crayford,
and Margaret continued to the station nearest her home, deciding to go
to Tenterden the next morning.
In the meantime the day wore late, and still no news came to Sir
Harold. It seemed that in a few hours he had aged years.
At nine o’clock Paul Asbury came to the hotel, and there was a look of
pity in his eyes.
“I have everything in hand,” he said, reassuringly, in answer to Sir
Harold’s appealing glance; “and all that we can do is--wait! The next
few hours are pregnant with big results. I will stay with you if you
will permit it. My men have instructions to telephone to me here.”
“There is some hope, then?”
“There is always hope,” was the reply.
Annesley told the detective of Miss Nugent’s visit that day. Then he
wanted to know if Asbury had formed any theory concerning his wife.
“If she had left here at night, I should have feared for the worst,” he
said. “Impulsive people do strange things in the dark. The river, you
know! However, that is quite out of the question, as Lady Annesley left
the hotel in the early morning. You say that she had no friend in the
world save yourself--not even an acquaintance; but I will tell you this
much, Sir Harold, I believe your wife visited Lady Elaine Seabright
this morning. A lady enveloped in black was seen to enter Lady Elaine’s
villa, and leave half-an-hour later. They parted upon the best of
terms. I may be wrong, but I incline to the belief that this lady was
your wife.”
Annesley was strangely moved, but he knew not what to think.
It was eleven o’clock before Asbury was called to the telephone, and he
obeyed with alacrity.
In ten minutes he was back, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Two calls almost simultaneously. Sir Harold, your wife was seen at
Euston station this morning. Be of good cheer! We shall find her. The
second item is even more important. Lady Elaine Seabright was inveigled
from home at ten o’clock, drugged, and taken to a certain house in
King’s Cross by Viscount Rivington and an ex-convict named Bulger.”
Sir Harold started up wildly.
“The lady must be released,” continued Asbury; “and I think that it is
quite time to stop the viscount’s little career. Come; you can be of no
use here.”
Annesley followed him out of the room almost mechanically--received his
hat and overcoat from the attentive Stimson, and the two were driven
rapidly in the direction of King’s Cross.
“It will probably be all over when we arrive,” the detective explained.
“I issued my orders lest the wily snake gave us the slip. This is a
last desperate move on the part of Rivington. His confederate, Lady
Gaynor, will be arrested to-morrow upon the charge of obtaining money
and jewelry under false pretenses.”
At length the cab pulled up with a jerk, and Asbury jumped out,
followed by Annesley, whose blood was boiling with indignation.
A man in uniform was promptly by the side of Asbury, and said:
“A doctor is with her ladyship, and the viscount is dead--shot hisself,
sir, and laughed while he did it. Bulger’s locked up!”
“Poor devil,” was the grim rejoinder. “So he has given us the slip!”
They went into the house, and in a minute Annesley was bending over
Elaine, one of her hands clasped in his.
“You are not hurt?” he asked.
“No; I shall be better soon. I cannot understand anything yet; my head
throbs and burns so much. I knew that you would come to me, Harold!”
The light of a great love was shining in her eyes; then she added:
“Oh, forgive me; I had forgotten--all but your presence here!”
“Do not try to think now,” he whispered, tenderly. “You must return
home, and Nina will take care of you. To-morrow you may know all.”
She sighed softly, content that the man she loved was near her!