SOME STARTLING DISCOVERIES.
Of course the attention of all centered at once upon Lady Linton, and
Sir William’s interest in his beautiful but unknown daughter was, for
the time, merged in his anxiety for his sister.
As it happened, there was no one else in the room just then, and Rupert
and his guardian laid the apparently unconscious woman upon a lounge
that was standing near, and immediately exerted themselves for her
recovery.
Virgie, too, was very helpful, dipping her own dainty handkerchief into
some water that Rupert brought, and bathing Lady Linton’s face with it,
while she gave directions to Sir William about chafing her hands to
assist in restoring circulation.
When the woman began to show signs of recovery and opened her eyes, she
found herself looking directly into the face of the lovely girl whose
presence there had caused her so much concern.
“Where is my brother?” she demanded, jerking her head away from the
gentle hand that was ministering so tenderly to her.
“I am here, Miriam,” said Sir William, bending over her. “What shall I
do for you?”
“Take me home,” she replied, with a shiver, as she glanced darkly at
Virgie, who had drawn back and was standing beside Rupert.
“I will, as soon as you are able,” her brother replied.
“I am able now,” and she sat up with surprising energy for one who but a
few moments before had appeared so seriously ill.
“Very well; I will attend you immediately,” Sir William responded;
“but,” he added, as he regarded her anxiously, “what could have caused
this sudden attack? I never knew you to faint before.”
A guilty stain shot for a moment into Lady Linton’s cheeks.
“I imagine the rooms are overheated, and I have not been quite myself
this evening,” she said, which was true enough, for there had been a
deadly sinking at her heart ever since her encounter with her brother’s
former wife.
She glanced uneasily toward the door as she spoke, for she was in mortal
terror lest she should chance to make her appearance there in search of
her daughter, and she felt that she would rather drop dead, there at her
brother’s feet, than to have those two, so long parted by her plotting,
meet and become reconciled.
Her purpose now was to get him out of that house and away from London as
soon as possible, and she resolved to stop at nothing to accomplish her
object. It was a terrible blow to her to find that woman there. So many
years had elapsed, during which she had kept silence, that she had grown
to feel very secure in her position as mistress of her brother’s home,
and she had fully expected that she would retain it as long as she
should live, and had come to regard the threats which the injured wife
had made in the past as so many idle words.
Life of late had looked brighter to her than at any previous time since
her marriage. Percy had recently become engaged to a beautiful girl—one
in every way worthy of him, and who, when she became his wife, would
bring with her a noble dower; indeed, her father was so much pleased
with his prospective son-in-law that he had himself proposed to relieve
Linton Grange of all incumbrances, and thus all the burden entailed by
his father’s profligacy would be lifted from the young lord’s shoulders.
Lillian’s _début_ in society had been very brilliant; she was greatly
admired and much sought after; so the mother’s cup of pride and joy in
her children seemed to be full to the brim.
The only bitter drop in it was Lillian’s unrequited affection for
Rupert, and Lady Linton had never relinquished the hope of succeeding in
accomplishing even this marriage until after the young man’s return from
America.
He had seemed very different since then; restless and preoccupied, but
betraying at the same time an undercurrent of joy which told of some
sweet hope cherished in his heart, the fulfillment of which he was
eagerly awaiting.
His treatment of Lillian was courteous and respectful, but not
calculated to inspire anyone with the belief that he regarded her with
feelings of more than ordinary friendship, and thus Lady Linton had
begun to fear that her favorite and his magnificent fortune were likely
to slip from her grasp and become the prey of some more fortunate beauty
and belle.
She had not, however, had a suspicion of _who_ was to be the favored
maiden, until she came so suddenly upon that group in the Japanese
parlor, when she had taken in at a glance the mortifying and
exasperating truth, and immediately she was wrought almost into a frenzy
between anger and fear, and ready to adopt the most daring measures to
protect herself from exposure.
But to return to the Japanese parlor.
Lady Linton arose as she replied to her brother’s questions, and
signified her readiness to leave immediately.
“Wait a moment here,” he said, “while I go to make our excuses to Lady
Dunforth and tell Lillian that we are going.”
“No—oh, do not leave me, William!” pleaded Lady Linton, growing
frightfully pale again and trembling visibly; she would not trust him
one moment in that drawing-room, lest he should meet Virginia Alexander.
“I am afraid I shall have another fainting turn. Let Rupert see her
ladyship. Will you?” she asked, turning to him.
“Certainly,” he answered, readily.
“Thank you. And now, William, if you will please ring for a servant to
bring my wraps here. I do not feel equal to the effort of going for
them.”
Sir William did as she requested, wondering to see her so unnerved.
Nothing had ever seemed to unsettle her like this before.
“And, Rupert,” she continued, “won’t you be so good as to look after
Lillian for the rest of the evening, and see that she gets home safely?”
“I will do anything you wish,” the young man returned, although he was
not very well pleased with this latter commission, for he had
anticipated a pleasant drive and chat with Virgie, as it had been his
intention to attend her home.
“I do particularly wish this,” Lady Linton said, with decision. “It
would not be proper for Lillian to come by herself, and I do not quite
like to alarm her or tear her away so early while she is enjoying
herself so much. Ah! here come my wraps,” she concluded, with a sigh of
relief, as a servant appeared with them.
She put them on with nervous haste, and then turning to her brother,
said, almost peremptorily:
“Come, William, I am ready.”
“In one moment, Miriam.”
He had stepped back and was standing before Virgie, who, keenly
sensitive regarding Lady Linton’s evident aversion to her, had withdrawn
herself from her immediate presence.
He held out his hand to her, saying, as he smiled almost tenderly down
on her upturned face:
“It has been a great pleasure to me to meet you. I trust we shall see
each other again soon.”
“I think you will, Uncle Will,” Rupert interposed, in a tone that made
his guardian turn and regard him searchingly, while he said to himself:
“I do believe the young scamp is in love with her. I would not wish a
more charming little wife for him, but I am afraid it will be rather
hard on Lillian.”
“Thank you, Sir William,” Virgie returned, and there was a slight tremor
in her voice, for the presence of this man thrilled her strangely. “I am
sure the pleasure has been mutual, and I should feel very sorry if I
thought I should not meet you again.”
“William!” interrupted his sister, impatiently; and giving the soft hand
he was holding a last, lingering pressure, the baronet turned away, with
a sigh, and attended his sister to her carriage, while Rupert took
Virgie to the drawing-room, where he sought Lillian, to inform her of
her mother’s sudden indisposition and departure.
An hour later Mrs. Alexander and Virgie retired, for the former was not
strong yet, and therefore unequal to very much dissipation.
Rupert attended them to their carriage, but just as they were about to
enter it an elegant coupe drew up beside it, and Mrs. Alexander’s
attention was instantly attracted by a device that was emblazoned upon
one of its panels.
She stopped with her foot upon the step, and turned for a nearer view.
A startled, surprised look came into her face.
The coat of arms represented a patriarchal cross, while underneath it
there were stamped the words, “_Droit et Loyal._”
“Whose carriage is that?” Mrs. Alexander asked of Rupert.
He glanced in the direction indicated.
“That is Lady Linton’s,” he replied; “she has sent it back for Lillian.”
“Lady Linton’s!” repeated Mrs. Alexander, with a start, while she
thought it a little strange that he should speak so familiarly of her
daughter and be so well informed of the lady’s movements.
“Yes; Sir William Heath, her brother, presented both carriage and horses
to her for her individual use one Christmas,” Rupert explained.
“And what is that device upon the panel of the carriage door?”
“It is the Linton coat of arms.”
“The Linton coat of arms! You seem to know the family well, Mr.
Hamilton.”
“And why should I not?” Rupert returned, smiling. “I have made my home
with them during the last ten or twelve years. William Heath is my
guardian.”
“What?” cried his listener, sharply.
“Have I not told you before?” Rupert asked, looking up in surprise at
her tone. “You must pardon me, Mrs. Alexander, for being so negligent;
but surely, I thought I had informed you of the fact.”
Mrs. Alexander clutched at the carriage door for support, and for a
moment thought she must fall to the ground; two such startling
discoveries as she had just made were sufficient to make her heart stand
still and her blood run cold, and she scarcely had strength to move.
Rupert Hamilton Sir William Heath’s ward?
It was a strange fate that had decreed that her daughter and his should
become the _fiancée_ of the young man he had reared.
She was aghast; her brain reeled and she stumbled into the carriage and
sank weakly upon the seat, anxious to be gone, to be alone, and think it
all out by herself.
Her face was deathly in its paleness, and Rupert, though he wondered at
her strange behavior, so at variance with her usual courtesy, feared
that she was displeased with him for his negligence.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked, smilingly, as he leaned in to tuck the robes
about them.
His question brought the stricken woman somewhat to herself, and she
replied:
“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Hamilton. Of course, it was an
oversight, your not mentioning that Sir William Heath was your guardian.
Did Virgie know?”
“Yes, mamma. Rupert introduced me to him to-night as his best friend;
but he had told me before, and I thought you knew,” said the young girl,
marveling at her mother’s strange emotion.
“_Introduced him to you to-night! Was he here?_” cried the woman, with a
gasp and a sense of suffocation.
“Yes. But, mamma, how strangely you act! Are you ill?” Virgie inquired,
noticing, with increasing alarm, her mother’s pale face and
uncontrollable agitation.
“No—yes. Let me get home as soon as we can—I believe I am not well,” and
she sank weakly back among the cushions, almost panting for breath.
“Shall I come, too? Will you need me?” Rupert asked, anxiously.
“No, thank you,” Mrs. Alexander answered, with a great effort. “It is
not far—we shall soon be there—good-night!”
The young man would gladly have gone, but her tone was decisive, and he
turned back into the mansion, as the carriage drove away, greatly
puzzled by her strange manner, and at the way she had spoken of his
guardian.
Mrs. Alexander scarcely spoke all the way home, and insisted upon going
directly to her room alone, although Virgie begged to be allowed to do
something for her—to stay with her during the night.
“All that I need is rest and quiet,” she said. “Good-night my darling!”
She kissed her tenderly, wondering, with a terrible heart-pang, how she
could ever tell her that her lover’s guardian was her own father—the man
who had so cruelly wronged his wife and child more than eighteen years
ago.
Once in the room, without even stopping to remove her wraps, she went to
her writing-desk, drew forth a package from a drawer in it, and took it
to the light for examination.
It was the mysterious package which her uncle, Mark Alexander, had
confided to her on his death-bed, charging her to return it to the owner
should she ever discover who that person was.
She had discovered that night to whom it belonged.
She held the seal close to the candle, and gazed upon it with darkening
eyes and sternly compressed lips. It was stamped with a shield bearing a
patriarchal cross, and under it was the motto, “_Droit et Loyal_.”
“How strange!” she murmured. “It belongs to his sister—to that woman who
mocked and scorned me; whom I saved from a dreadful death, and nursed
through a critical illness! She must have been one of those women whom
Uncle Mark heard conversing together that day in the hotel parlor here
in London. How wonderful that anything belonging to her should have
fallen into my hands! How wonderful everything is—Virgie’s betrothal to
Rupert—her meeting with him to-night! How will it all end? To think that
he was there, in the same house with me, this evening! I am really
curious to know what this contains,” she continued, turning the package
over and over, and regarding it with troubled eyes, while her thoughts
were busy with the past.
“Well,” she concluded, after musing for several minutes, “it must be
returned to its owner, I suppose. I promised, and I must fulfill my
word. Yes,” lifting her head resolutely, “she shall have it on the day
that my darling stands within her ancestral halls the acknowledged
heiress of Heathdale, not before.”