Richard Leith went down to his office, and threw himself heavily into a
chair, bowing his gray head dejectedly on his hands.
His brain was almost crazed with the agony of the last hour's discovery.
The sealed book of the past had been roughly torn open again, and in
agony of soul he repented the selfish course he had pursued with the
fair, young wife he had stolen from her home and friends.
Where was she now, his beautiful, golden-haired darling?
What fate had kept her from her home and friends, and from the little
child that had come to such bitter grief in the absence of the
mother-love that might have shielded her from harm?
He sprang from his chair, and paced impatiently up and down the floor,
while he hurriedly settled his plans. He would leave for the south that
night.
He would seek out John Glenalvan, and charge him with his sin.
He would force him to unfold the mystery of little Golden's
disappearance. Perhaps, oh, God, the villain had murdered her.
If he had, he should suffer the dire punishment the law meted out for
such wretched criminals.
"But before I go," he said to himself, grimly, "I will go and see
Desmond. If he has lied to me heretofore, woe be unto him. The base
betrayer of my poor child's innocence shall receive no mercy at my
hands."
He threw on his hat and directed his steps to the hotel where Mr.
Desmond was staying in preference to the grand, deserted dwelling,
which was closed and left in the solitary care of the housekeeper
during the absence of the family.
Mr. Desmond was smoking in his luxurious parlor, carelessly habited in
dressing-gown and slippers.
His handsome, debonair face looked pale and worn, and melancholy. A
hopeful gleam came into the listless eyes as his visitor was admitted.
"Ah, Leith, so glad to see you," he cried, throwing away his cigar, and
eagerly advancing. "You bring me news--Edith has relented?"
"There is nothing more unlikely," Mr. Leith returned, with grim
truthfulness; then he broke out with fiery impetuosity: "Desmond, for
God's sake tell me the truth. Have you deceived me as well as your
wife? Are you guilty of this monstrous sin?"
Mr. Desmond was startled by the almost agonizing entreaty of the
lawyer's look and voice.
On the impulse of the moment he caught up a small Bible that lay upon a
table close at hand, and pressed his lips upon it while he exclaimed in
the deep, convincing tones of truth:
"Leith, I solemnly swear to you that I am innocent of the crime laid to
my charge, so help me God."
Something in the man's deep earnestness, and in his look of suffering,
staggered Richard Leith's doubts and fears, and made him feel that
he had been a brute to doubt his daughter's agonized declarations of
innocence. He exclaimed with sudden fervor and earnestness:
"Mr. Desmond, it is but fair to tell you that I have found the girl,
Mary Smith, and that she exonerates you, too."
"I was sure she would, although she despises me," cried Mr. Desmond. "I
admit that I behaved despicably to her. I tried to get up a flirtation
with her, but she scorned me with the pride of a queen, and the affair
went no further. I believed her as pure and cold as the snow. No one
was more amazed than myself when I learned the truth through my wife's
causeless jealousy."
"You say 'causeless jealousy,' Desmond," Mr. Leith remonstrated,
gravely, "but you forget that ever since your marriage you have
persistently wounded your loving and sensitive wife by the most open
and flagrant flirtations, thus giving her the greatest cause to doubt
your fidelity."
Mr. Desmond looked thoroughly ashamed and penitent at the perfectly
truthful charge.
"You speak the truth, I have behaved shamefully," he replied. "But I
have had my lesson now. I never knew how much I loved and honored my
sweet and beautiful wife until in her righteous wrath she deserted me.
But if she will believe me this time and return to me, I will never
offend her again by my foolish propensities. I will never even look at
another woman. I am quite cured of flirting."
He spoke so soberly and earnestly that Mr. Leith was fain to believe
him, but he answered gravely:
"Your wife is so thoroughly incensed against you, that she will never
believe even your sworn word without additional proof."
"But how can I prove it to her?" cried the anxious husband. "She would
not believe Mary Smith's denial, and she refuses to credit mine."
"There is only one way out of the trouble," the lawyer said, gravely.
"And that?" Mr. Desmond asked, anxiously.
"Is to find out the man who is really in fault, and obtain his sworn
statement," Richard Leith replied.
"The girl will give us the necessary information, of course," Mr.
Desmond exclaimed, his spirits rising.
"On the contrary, she obstinately refuses to do so. She makes a most
perplexing mystery of her unhappy situation."
Mr. Desmond looked uneasy and perplexed a moment, then he exclaimed,
confidently:
"It is only a question of blackmail then. She will tell the truth if a
golden bribe is offered her. Depend upon it, she is only waiting for
that."
"You are mistaken," Richard Leith returned, gravely. "You do not
understand her motives. I will tell you a harrowing secret, Desmond. I
have discovered that that unfortunate girl is my own daughter!"
In a few eloquent words he told Mr. Desmond the story of his strange
marriage, and its tragic _denouement_--the lost wife, the ruined
daughter.
In his own despair and agitation, it did not seem strange to the lawyer
that his excitement was reflected on the face of his listener, but
when he had finished his story, Desmond sprang wildly to his feet,
exclaiming:
"Good God, Leith, I can lay my hand on the destroyer of your child. It
is my wife's brother--it is Bertram Chesleigh!"
"Heaven, how blind I have been!" Richard Leith exclaimed, with lurid
eyes, and a deathly-pale face.