Cora Ellyson sat speechless by the side of Ernest Noel for several
minutes as the sleigh rushed on through the whirling snowflakes.
Her face was as white as the snowflakes, her very lips pale, and her
eyes flashed with a dangerous anger that startled her desperate lover.
In their dark gleam he read, indeed, a murderous hate too deep for
words--a hate that could kill, so great was its fury. Choking with
grief and rage, she remained speechless, though her writhing lips
struggled for words. A despair too deep for utterance possessed her
soul.
What, wedded to this villain! Tricked into a ceremony that bound her
to him and cut her off from Frank, her beloved, forever! It was too
horrible! She could not believe it!
“Is it really true? You have not lied to me?” gaspingly.
“It is true as Heaven, Cora. Say what you will, you are my wife, and as
such I claim you! Come, give me a kiss, and let us make up our quarrel!”
Throwing his arm around her waist he drew her forcibly to his side,
pressing hot kisses on the shrinking face, while her shrieks rang
wildly on the air--wildly, but unheeded, for they were in the country
now on a lonely, unfrequented road, and the darkness of the wintry
afternoon, together with the whirling snowflakes, made everything dim
and indistinct.
A very frenzy of rage possessed the wretched girl. She had said rightly
that she could murder any one who came between her and Laurier.
As she struggled wildly with Noel, she flung one hand up to her hair,
whose dark, silken braids were pierced through with a strong but
slender silver dagger with a jeweled hilt. Withdrawing it dexterously,
she made a lunge at his breast.
With a stifled oath he warded off the first blow, catching the point
of the dagger in his own hand so that it pierced through, the blood
spouting out in a fountain of crimson, but, withdrawing it quickly, she
aimed again for his heart.
“My God!” shrilled in agony from his lips as his arm fell, and the
reins dropped from his hands while he sank an inert mass at the bottom
of the sleigh. The next moment the black horse, frightened by her
shrieks, had the bit between his teeth and was running away, while
Cora, crouched in the seat wild-eyed, pale-faced, an image of horror,
resigned herself to inevitable death.
On over the frozen snow, through the whirling storm, he ran for over a
mile, then--stumbling over some obstruction in the road, he came to a
sudden stop, and the little sleigh overturned, throwing its occupants
out into the drifted snow.
One breathless moment and Cora scrambled to her feet unhurt, but not so
the companion of her wild drive.
Silent and pallid, a senseless heap with the blood staining his white
shirt bosom and his wounded hand, Ernest Noel lay like one dead in the
snow.
“I have killed him!” the girl muttered wildly, but so terrible was her
resentment that she felt no remorse for her deed, only a fierce joy
that he was out of her way.
“He deserved it all!” she muttered, casting her glance hurriedly around
to see if there was any witness to her crime.
But she was all alone with nature--nature in her stormiest mood, the
wind shrieking in a rising gale, blowing the snow across the fields,
bending and twisting the bare boughs of the trees, while the drifts
were piled high against the rough stones of an old lime quarry close to
the side of the road.
In that lonely scene the desperate girl stood wild-eyed, breathless,
still burning with rage that precluded all remorse.
“If I could only hide him, if only the snowdrifts would cover him from
my sight forever!” she exclaimed, and then her glance fell on the old
quarry and lighted with intelligence.
“I can throw him down there!” she muttered, and with a strength born of
terror, dragged the inert body by the arms, and pushed it down into the
pit.
It fell with a hollow thud that made the panting girl, listening above,
shudder violently, and fly back to the sleigh.
The black horse, seemingly subdued by its wild race and with the sweat
streaming from every pore, despite the biting wind, stood patiently
waiting her pleasure as she nervously returned and caught up the reins
preparing for the inclement drive home.
A voice struck on her ears, sending terror to her heart lest the dead
had arisen from his grave in the deserted pit.
“I’ll drive you home, Miss Ellyson!”
Who was this, calling her boldly by name? With a start of terror, she
lifted her eyes, and saw a man striding to her through the snow.
She had seen the bold eyes, the coarse, good-looking face before. It
was Carey Doyle.
“How came you here?” she faltered fearfully, and he answered coolly:
“I was cutting across fields visiting some country friends of mine when
I saw you upset, and hastened to your assistance. Who was the man you
pushed over into the pit, Miss Ellyson? Surely not Frank Laurier?”
Her heart sank with wild alarm as she answered faintly:
“You--you--are mistaken. I--I--came--here alone, I swear. I was
only--only--looking down into the pit thinking how terrible if the
sleigh had overset down there!”
“Miss Ellyson, I saw you dragging the man over there by his arms--don’t
deny it,” Doyle returned masterfully.
She was detected, she realized it, and began to sob hysterically:
“Oh, for sweet pity’s sake do not betray me! He--he--was killed when
the sleigh upset--and I--I--did not know what to do! I thought I would
leave him there. How could I drive home with a dead man!” shudderingly.
“What was his name?”
“I will not tell you!” wildly.
“Miss Ellyson, there is blood on your hands and your dress. Is it
possible you have done murder?” Carey Doyle demanded, with sudden
sternness.
“No, no, it was an accident! He--he--would have mistreated me, and
I--I--defended myself with the hairpin! It wounded him, and then
the fall killed him! I--I--oh, sir, I cannot bear the sensation of
discovery. I will make you rich if you will keep this terrible secret!”
pleaded Cora, kneeling down abjectly in the snow before the exultant
wretch glorying in the discovery he had made.
Rather than put herself in the power of this bad man Cora had better
have put the dead man back into the sleigh and driven back to the city
with a full confession of her sin. Surely no jury would have convicted
her of murder when they heard how she had been goaded by cruel wrong
into a terrible deed. They would all agree that she had been driven
temporarily insane by her fear and suffering.
But her poor brain was too distraught to think clearly. A horrible fear
possessed her lest the deed become known, and she should fall into the
hands of the law.
She knelt down in the cold snow with the biting wind cutting her white
face and blowing her dark, loosened hair about her, her small hands
clasped, pleading, praying:
“Oh, sir, do not betray me! I could not bear detection! What will you
take to keep my wretched secret?”
His eyes gleamed with cupidity as he answered:
“You are rich, so I don’t think you would mind a thousand dollars,
would you?”
“You shall have it!”
“Then my lips are sealed. Get in and let me drive you home, Miss
Ellyson. Then I must manage to have the horse and sleigh returned to
the stables without exciting suspicion, so you will have to confide in
me, don’t you see, so that I can help you better,” shrewdly.
Oh, how it galled her pride to take him into her confidence, but there
was no other way, so she said evasively:
“He was Ernest Noel, who fell in love with me and tried to supplant Mr.
Laurier in my heart. On this drive he took the liberty of kissing me,
and in defending myself I gave him a fatal blow.”
He helped her in and took her home, afterward returning the sleigh to
the stables in a way that diverted all suspicion.