A MAD PASSION.
Cold and still in death, Frederick Lynne sat in his big arm-chair,
one icy hand clutching the letter which bade Beatrix face an unknown
and dreaded future--face it all alone. Mrs. Lynne stood near, crying
aloud in terrified accents for help, for succor, her face as white as
the dead man's, when Beatrix entered the room. One swift glance, which
did not comprehend the situation--for poor Beatrix knew nothing of the
horrors of death, and had never faced it before--one swift, terrified
glance, and she flew to the dead man's side.
"Papa! oh, papa!" she cried in an agonized voice, "what is the matter,
dear? Are you ill? Are you--"
"_Hush_!" Mrs. Lynne's bony hand came down upon the girl's arm with
emphasis. "Be quiet, you baby!" she panted. "Can't you see that he
is--is _dead_?"
The girl fell back as though the heavy hand had struck her a blow;
her great dark eyes dilated with horror; the small hands clinched
each other spasmodically; her breath came and went in short, panting;
gasps. Could it be true? Was this grim death before her? Was the kindly
heart--the heart of her only friend--cold and still forever? It could
not--could not be!
"Dead?" she repeated, blankly, her lips quivering over the awful
word--"dead? Oh, no, Mrs. Lynne! surely you are mistaken! Let us try
to do something for him. I will call Serena to stay with you, and I
will go for help. I can ride the gentleman's horse--Mr. Kenyon's--it is
here, you know. I will go over to town and get Doctor Stone."
"Humph! You can not. The bridge is gone; and, besides it is utterly
useless. I have seen death too many times, Beatrix Dane, to be
mistaken. I tell you he is dead and has been for hours; he is quite
cold. See!"
With a slow, reluctant movement Beatrix ventured to lay her trembling
fingers upon the cold, rigid hand of the corpse. She drew back with a
low cry of terror.
"Oh! how cold--how cold!" she moaned. "Oh, papa! papa! papa! cold and
dead! It is true--it is indeed true. Oh, Mrs. Lynne! what shall we do
without him?"
Mrs. Lynne's thin lip curled.
"What will I do, you mean?" she retorted. "It can have no effect upon
you. See! that letter in his hand is a message for you. You are to go
away at once to your own home, thank goodness!"
The great brown velvety eyes met the cold orbs before her with a stare
of astonishment.
"Go home--to--my--own home, Mrs. Lynne?" she repeated, blankly. "Why, I
have no home but this!"
"Indeed! And pray, who gave you a right to call this home? Such as it
is, it is the only shelter that you have had for sixteen years. You
ought to be ready to leave it now. You are nearly seventeen years old,
and able to take care of yourself. Ah! there is Serena at last!" as a
limp figure made its appearance in the open door--a tall, ungraceful
figure in a calico wrapper, and muffled in a huge woolen shawl.
"_Mamma_"--in a tone of consternation--"what has happened? What is the
matter with papa? Is he ill?"
Mrs. Lynne wound her arms around the angular form of her daughter, and
burst into tears--the first real emotion which she had ever betrayed
before Beatrix.
"He is _dead_, Serena!" she faltered--"dead and gone! And Heaven only
knows what is to become of you and me! Not even sufficient means in
the house to defray the funeral expenses; and, of course, with his
death, the small pension which he received from his professional
brethren of the Medical Club expires also. Oh, dear--oh, dear! it was
an unfortunate day when I married Fred Lynne and tied myself down to
poverty!"
"Well, well, that was long enough ago for you to forget it now,"
interposed her dutiful daughter. "Mamma"--putting away her mother's
arms from about her neck--"whatever you do, don't be foolish. Have you
tried to restore him? He may not be dead, after all."
"He _is_ dead. I have done everything that I possibly could before
I called any one. When I found all my efforts useless, I gave up in
despair, and I screamed so loudly that it awoke Beatrix, and she came
to the room."
"_Beatrix_! Ah!"--with a swift glance of malice into the girl's white
face--"and so _she_ heard you? She is always sneaking around where
she is not wanted. Mamma, have you--have you read that letter?"
pointing to the crumpled sheet of paper which Mrs. Lynne had with great
difficulty succeeded in removing from the cold hand of the dead man.
"Yes. It contains the very best news imaginable. It is a letter from
that girl's people sending for her at last."
"Impossible! Why, I did not believe that she had any people. But--there
is another letter upon the hearth. See! it is burned. I believe papa
destroyed it as soon as he read it, for some purpose of his own. How
very exasperating!"
Serena was on her knees now upon the hearth, eagerly but carefully
turning over the blackened sheet of paper which had been torn in
four pieces and cast upon the fire. But the fire was at its last
gasp when the deed was done, and the paper had not burned--only
blackened and scorched until the contents of the letter were perfectly
undecipherable. Serena examined the written sheet attentively, and her
face grew dark with intense disappointment.
"How provoking!" she muttered, savagely. "There was, no doubt,
something of importance in that letter. I believe in my heart that
the news it contained has killed my father. Yet he has destroyed the
letter, and there is nothing left to tell the tale."
She rose to her feet and glanced furtively around. Beatrix had thrown
herself upon the faded sofa, and was sobbing softly, her face hid in
her hands. Mrs. Lynne was beginning to make some attempt at arranging
the poor body--an attempt which must be made alone since they were so
isolated from neighbors. No one observed Serena's movements. Her eyes
glittered with a curious, brassy light. With a swift, gliding movement,
she hastened to an old-fashioned cabinet which stood in a corner of the
room, and opening it, removed an empty tin box from a shelf. With hands
that trembled a little in spite of her efforts to control herself, she
carried the box over to the fireplace, and going down upon her knees
once more, she lifted the fragments of the smoke-blackened letter and
placed them as carefully within the box as though that letter had
been worth many times its weight in gold. And so it was. A thousand
times over, as Serena Lynne was destined to discover some future day.
Securing the lid upon the box, she rose softly, and hastened away
upstairs to her own room. Once there, she hid the tin box in her trunk,
and locked it carefully. Then, with an inscrutable expression upon her
pale, cold face, she glided swiftly down the stairs once more.
On her way back to the apartment where her dead father lay, she paused
at the door of Keith Kenyon's room. It was standing ajar, and she
ventured to steal inside. He was sleeping heavily under the influence
of the strong opiate which Doctor Lynne had given him. Serena stood
gazing at the sleeper, her plain face all aglow with rapture, her pale
eyes gleaming with a look of devouring love and passionate adoration.
"Oh, my love! my love!" she murmured, softly. "I would lay my life
down for your dear sake! I would die a thousand deaths--I would suffer
martyrdom to win your heart! Oh, Keith! Keith! my hero, my only love!
whom I have loved all my life, ever since my childhood's days, when
you were with us; and I have never forgotten you--never ceased to care.
Your little sweetheart, you called me then; and you used to tell me
that some day, when we were man and woman grown, I should be your wife.
And so I shall! You shall call no other woman wife! Oh, Keith! if you
do not love me I shall die--I shall die!"
The sleeper moved uneasily upon the pillow, and the beautiful lips
parted slightly, while, low and sweet, but clear and distinct to the
ears of the listener, came the one muttered word:
"_Beatrix_!"
It was enough to arouse the slumbering devil in the woman's breast.
She started as though she had been shot. A moan of bitter anguish
passed her lips, and fell upon the dead silence of the sick-room. She
turned blindly, like one groping in the dark, and fled back to the
death-chamber.
Her mother glanced up from her grewsome work as Serena entered, and her
ghastly face and flashing eyes made the mother start with a strange
alarm and terror.
"What is it?" she cried, wildly. "What else has happened?"
"Where is that girl?" demanded Serena, glancing wildly around the room.
"She has gone for assistance," returned Mrs. Lynne, slowly. "Some one
_must_ be found to come to my aid tonight, and Beatrix offered to go.
She said that Keith's horse had been brought here by the men who drove
them home, and she would ride it over to Burtonville, to the Rogerses.
Some of them will come immediately, I know. Serena, in Heaven's name,
what _is_ the matter? You look as if you had seen a ghost!"
"So I have--so I have!" sobbed Serena, bitterly. "I have seen the ghost
of my dead love--my broken life! Listen, mamma. Unless you get rid of
that girl Beatrix Dane--or whatever her right name may be--my happiness
will be ruined forever. Mamma! mamma! I have reason to believe that
Keith is falling in love with her already!"
"_What_? You are mad, Serena!"
"I am not. I wish I were. He is muttering her name over and over in his
sleep even now. She saved his life, you know; and that, of all things,
would serve to attract and draw them together from the first. Mamma, I
tell you I am lost--lost! I love him! I love him! I do not deny it, and
if I can not win his love and be his wife, I shall die!"
"Hush! Be quiet. Control yourself. You _shall_ be his wife. We will
keep Beatrix away from him, and in a few days, when her money comes,
she shall be packed off to New Orleans, and good-bye forever to Miss
Beatrix Dane. And before Keith leaves this place to return to his home
he must make you his wife. We will try to bring that about, Serena. It
_must_ be done!"
"It _shall_ be! He _shall_ care for me!" repeated the heartless
girl. "Here, by the side of my dead father, I swear that I--and I
alone--shall be Keith Kenyon's wife!"