A STRANGE COMMAND.
Life had seemed strange to Beatrix in that gloomy mansion in the
Crescent City. From the night of her arrival she had scarcely seen old
Bernard Dane--a circumstance which she could not regret; for, try as
she might to shut her eyes to the truth, there was nothing pleasant
or lovable about the old man. He was, indeed, everything repulsive;
and his strange, wild outbursts of rage and malice against some evil
which he could not prevent or forget--something hidden away in his own
past--made Beatrix tremble with terror. She shrank from the gaze of his
shifting dark eyes, preternaturally bright with some hidden fire which
made them appear like fierce flames ready to burst forth and devour
her. Since the evening of her arrival she had never again attempted any
familiar or affectionate demonstrations. She had kept at a respectful
distance, and comprehended fully that there was no possibility of any
friendliness between them.
Why had he sent for her to come to his home, only to treat her with
chilling coldness or outbursts of ungovernable rage? When she thought
of the oath that he had extorted from her--her solemn promise to wed
the man whom he had selected as her husband--Beatrix's heart grew
faint and chill with horror. How did she know but that she had pledged
herself to a fearful fate--a dark, an awful future, bound to a man
whom she might hate at first sight? And then she thought of Keith
Kenyon, and her heart grew warm and tender. Could she ever forget him,
even though she might never see him again? Was it possible for her to
shut her heart against the sweet thoughts which would intrude--the
few tender words that he had spoken, and, above all, the light in his
beautiful dark eyes, which had thrilled her to the heart?
"I can not forget him," she would say over and over, when the
unpleasant recollection of the oath that she had so blindly taken would
come back to her memory--"I can not forget him, and there will be no
use in trying. Uncle Bernard may force me into a dreadful marriage if
he sees fit--I suppose I shall have to obey him, the old tyrant!--but I
shall never forget Keith Kenyon as long as I live--never!"
The great, gloomy old mansion was well worth exploring, for it was like
the houses of which one reads in romances, where some dark mystery
seems to be hidden away secure from the light of day and prying,
curious eyes. There was one room called the tower-room. Beatrix went
there every day, impelled by a strange and unaccountable fascination,
to sit alone and wonder over and over again for what use the room had
been originally intended. It was reached by a long spiral staircase,
and was built in a circular shape, and known as the "round room." There
was only one window, and that was merely a small square hole in the
wall, and was covered with a strong iron grating.
For what purpose had this room been intended? In vain did Beatrix
puzzle her brain over the vexed question. Mrs. Graves, the old
housekeeper, looked cold and non-committal when Beatrix at last
ventured to propound the question.
"I really can not tell you, Miss Dane," she said, shaking her gray head
slowly and solemnly. "It has never been used for anything since I have
been in the Dane family, and that is nearly thirty years now--just
once!"
The thin lips closed down tightly together, and she turned resolutely
away, as though to give Beatrix to understand that the tortures of the
Inquisition could draw forth no more information from her.
Left to herself, Beatrix speculated continually upon the romance which
she felt certain must be connected with the round room in the western
wing. She reflected so much upon the subject, and it grew to be so
all-absorbing a source of wonder to her lonely girlish heart, that
one day she made up her mind quite bravely to seek for information at
headquarters. That very day, accidentally encountering old Bernard Dane
in the great entrance hall, she ventured to put the question to him.
"Uncle Bernard," she began in a rather shaky voice--for, to tell the
truth, she was horribly afraid of the old man--"you gave me permission
to go all over the house when I first came here, and I have done so. I
have so little to occupy my time," she added, half apologetically. "It
has interested me very much to go into all those beautiful rooms. But I
would like to ask you a question. Why was that round room built in the
tower? For what purpose was it intended? I am greatly interested, and
would like to know."
She stopped short, awed by the awful look in his eyes and the strange
gray shadow which had settled down upon his face. Not a word was spoken
for some minutes; he stood as still as a statue, one hand clutching at
the carved back of a Gothic hall chair with such force that one of the
elaborate ornaments snapped off in his grasp.
"The round room, eh?" he cried in a harsh, croaking voice--"the round
room in the tower? Ha! ha! you have been there, then? I ought to have
known that you would have found your way there before you had been
under this roof four-and-twenty hours! So you wish to know for what
purpose the round room was designed? Ah, Miss Beatrix Dane, you may
find that out sooner than you wish, and the knowledge of the truth will
drive you mad! In the long black nights and the dreary darksome days,
when you will pray for death and find it not, then you will learn the
secret which is mercifully hidden from you now. Mercifully--ay, but why
should I show mercy to you or yours? Mercy! Who has ever been merciful
to me? Do I not owe it to your accursed race that I am what I am? Ah,
Miss Beatrix Dane, ask no idle questions. You are fated to know for
what purpose that room was built, to know in good time. Don't touch
me, girl!"--for she had ventured to lay her hand upon his trembling
arm--"don't dare to touch me, or I will strike you down at my feet! The
very touch of your hands is pollution!"
She drew back, faint and shivering, as though he had indeed dealt her
a blow; her face was as white as marble, her dark eyes dilated with
unutterable horror--horror too deep for expression. What was this
fearful secret which Bernard Dane held over her head, continually
like a two-edged sword? What effect was it destined to have upon her
future life? She turned away, faint and trembling. It crept into her
mind then--dawning upon her with a strange feeling of uneasiness--that
ever since her arrival at the old mansion she had been treated in a
strangely formal way, a sort of stand-off-and-don't-touch-me way, which
was remarkable, to say the least.
Her room was in a remote wing of the building. Everything there was
solely for her own use, set apart for her.
She remembered now, with a faint sickness creeping over her heart, how
strangely Mrs. Graves had watched her every movement. Did they suspect
that she was going mad? No; it could not be that; for madness is not
contagious, and the precautions with which she was surrounded looked
greatly as though some contagion was feared and must be guarded against.
The very dishes upon which she ate were used by no one else. She had
seen Mrs. Graves actually strike the little maid-servant who one day
was about to raise to her lips the half-empty goblet of milk from which
Beatrix had been drinking.
It was strange and mysterious.
The girl turned away from the sight of the wild, distorted face
of the old man before her with a hopeless feeling tearing at her
heart-strings. She went slowly back to her own room and sat down at the
window.
"There must be some awful curse hanging over me!" she murmured,
brokenly. "I can not imagine what this strange mystery means. I wish I
could find out. I wish I might know. Anything is better than suspense!"
Alas! poor Beatrix! ignorance was certainly bliss in her case, if only
she could have known it. The day would come when she would look back
upon this blissful ignorance and curse the hour when first she had
heard the mystery explained.
That very night old Bernard Dane sent for Beatrix to come to his room.
She obeyed the summons, and found him crouching over the fire, looking
like some weird priest of old performing an incantation.
"Come here!" he commanded, harshly, lifting his head and transfixing
her with wild eyes as the girl entered the room--"come here, Beatrix
Dane! Put your hand into that fire--right into the flame, I say. Yes;
you must do it. You swore to be obedient to me, and it is for a good
reason that I wish to put you to a test. I wish to prove the truth.
Of course you think me mad for desiring this, but I am as sane as you
are. This is a test, I tell you. The day may come when you will see the
wisdom of my words. Come; you must obey me. Don't stand staring at me
in that helpless way. I mean what I say, and I will be obeyed. Put your
hand in the fire, and hold it there quietly for a moment!"