AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE.
Keith Kenyon was able to leave his room once more and rejoin the small
household.
During his illness Beatrix had kept to her own room as much as
possible, never voluntarily entering the presence of the old man,
whom she feared as a madman. His wild dark eyes would follow her with
furtive glances. He seemed secretly watching her, and more than once
she surprised a gleam of wild intensity, as he seemed to devour her
with his eyes.
She grew pale and thin and nervous, and all the time her heart longed
for Keith--Keith with his tender dark eyes, and sweet, low voice, and
caressing ways--Keith who would stand between her and all ill.
She kept herself as much as possible in the vicinity of the sick-room,
and waylaid Mrs. Graves upon any and every available occasion with
eager, anxious inquiries as to his condition, to all of which Mrs.
Graves made reluctant replies.
It was evident that she did not at all approve of any ties of interest
between her handsome young master and this girl with the sad,
unfortunate history--her unguessed secret--the dark inheritance which
hung over her like a deadly curse.
But the day came at last when Keith was able to make his way slowly and
wearily down-stairs and into the drawing-room, where he sank upon a
comfortable sofa before the fire and uttered a sigh of relief. Then his
eyes wandered swiftly around the room, as though seeking some one.
"Where is Miss Dane?" he asked.
Mrs. Graves frowned.
"Up in her own room, to be sure!" she made answer; "and if you please,
Mr. Keith, I rather think that Mr. Dane prefers that she should remain
there."
"Remain there, indeed!" indignantly. "And pray what right has Mr. Dane
or anybody else to attempt to imprison Miss Beatrix Dane, I should like
to know?"
"Imprison? Oh, no, Mr. Keith!" The housekeeper's voice was full of
eager protest. "But then, you see, there is something unusual about
Miss Beatrix; there is something in her history--something, I do not
really know what, but I can guess--and Mr. Dane thinks that she ought
to be kept to herself somewhat, you see--not to make too free with the
rest of the family."
"Bah! Nonsense! You are talking like an idiot, Graves. I--I beg your
pardon, but I can't help it. A woman of your good, sound common sense
ought to know better than to repeat such rubbish as that. Go tell Miss
Dane that I am here, in the drawing-room, and ask her to please come to
me, since I am not able to call upon her. I wish to speak with her as
soon as possible. Do, that's a good soul. I know that you will not find
it in your heart to refuse my request, Graves. You were young yourself
once--not so very long ago."
Mrs. Graves turned away, shaking her gray head dubiously.
"Very well. The consequences be upon your own head, Mr. Keith," she
said, solemnly.
Then she left the room, and he was alone with his own thoughts--half
angry, half amused.
"The idea!" he exclaimed, his anger getting the upper hand. "To attempt
to keep Beatrix and me apart! What does old Graves mean, anyway? I
shall ask Uncle Bernard. But then, he, too, certainly appears to be off
his base, as well as the housekeeper. What a curious old house this
is, to be sure! But, come what may, I mean to know the truth; I mean
to know what Mrs. Lynne and Serena meant when they said that Beatrix
left them to be married. Ah! she's coming--my own, my sweet! I hear her
light footsteps. Heaven bless her!"
A pause at the door, then a faint, timid rap upon it.
"Come in!" cried Keith, eagerly.
The door opened slowly, and Beatrix Dane stood before him. She looked
very fair and sweet in her plain black gown with white crape at throat
and wrists, her golden hair in a loose coil fastened with a jet arrow.
"You sent for me, Mr. Kenyon?" she began slowly, hesitatingly.
"I did. I wish to speak with you on a matter of the greatest
importance. Come here, Beatrix. You will pardon me, for I am still
something of an invalid."
She came swiftly to his side and extended her hand.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you again and to know that you are better!"
she cried, gladly.
"Beatrix, sit down here by me; I want to ask you a question. Mrs. Lynne
and her daughter both declared that you had left them to be married."
"Married! I?" Beatrix opened her dark eyes. "Why, it is simply
ridiculous! Mr. Kenyon, you are the only single gentleman of my
acquaintance. The story is absurd and utterly false."
Keith breathed freely.
"So I thought. Beatrix, listen to me. I want you for my wife--my very
own--and"--he thinks of Serena Lynne, and a desperate impulse prompts
him to add--"the sooner the better."
Keith Kenyon is not a dishonorable man; but he does not love the
woman who has forced him into a distasteful engagement, and he firmly
believes that, when once she learns the truth, she will free him from
the irksome bonds.
Clang! clang! goes the gate-bell. Beatrix starts to her feet.
"Who in the world can that be?" cried Keith, impatiently. "Don't go,
darling--do not leave me alone. It is no one coming in here. Come back,
Beatrix, and tell me when you are going to make me the happiest of men?"
Tramp! tramp!--the sound of footsteps coming down the hall to the
drawing-room door.
Beatrix makes a hasty exit from the room by means of another door just
as the voice of Simons, loud and pompous, announces:
"A lady to see Mr. Keith. She would come in here, Mr. Keith." The last
in a low tone.
And before the astonished Keith can collect his scattered
senses--before he has time to recover from the effects of this crushing
blow--there is the rustle of a black silk skirt, and a tall, angular,
ungraceful figure bounds over the threshold and flings herself into his
arms. He catches his breath with a cry of astonishment not unmingled
with horror.
It is Serena Lynne!