"ALL'S WELL."
There was silence in the room when Doctor Darrow finished his
story--silence broken at length by Serena's cold, harsh voice.
"But that does not prove that Beatrix is exempt from the curse entailed
upon her," she said, coarsely. "I consider her unfit to associate with
other people until the exact truth is proved, and I decline to receive
her here in my house. I will not expose myself and others to possible
contagion. And, besides, the very thought of having such a horror under
one's roof is not agreeable, I can tell you. I think, Doctor Darrow,
that you, as a physician, would be better employed with something else,
than in trying to impose a case like this upon Mr. Dane and myself!"
Doctor Darrow colored.
"I assure you, Mrs. Dane," he began, coldly, "that Mrs. Kenyon is free
from the awful taint. You need not be uneasy."
But Serena only tossed her head with a sneer.
"I do not intend to be!" she cried. "Mrs. Kenyon is nothing to me. It
does not matter to me what becomes of her. She has made trouble always
where-ever she went. But she shall certainly not remain under my roof!"
"Mrs. Dane!"
Keith Kenyon came to Serena's side and gazed into her angry face with
eyes full of calm contempt.
"You need say no more. My wife shall not trouble you, or infringe upon
your hospitality any longer than is absolutely necessary, for she is
not altogether penniless. Mrs. Ray bequeathed her little property to
Beatrix."
"Aunt Celia!" Serena's voice rang out shrill and sharp. "Oh, no, Keith,
that is impossible. She has always intended mamma to have her property;
and mamma is her only relative, and according to law is entitled to the
estate."
"Mrs. Ray's will says differently," returned Keith, coldly. "It matters
little to us, however; we can exist without the legacy; but these are
cold facts, Mrs. Dane, as I will prove to you at any time. But we will
not trouble you now, or remain as unwelcome guests. Come Beatrix."
Bernard Dane sprang forward, pale and excited.
"No, you shall not go!" he cried. "This is my house; nay, more--it is
yours, Beatrix. You shall not go. Do not mind what Serena says; you
have more right here than she has!"
"Mr. Dane!" Serena's voice trembled with suppressed anger. "What do you
mean?"
"I mean this!"
Old Bernard Dane faced the angry woman with unflinching eyes.
At that very moment Beatrix's slight form began to sway unsteadily, and
she fell to the floor in a dead faint.
"Good heavens!" cried Bernard Dane, excitedly, "here we stand dickering
over a foolish matter, and poor Beatrix is suffering. Doctor, her burns
must be attended to at once. Mrs. Graves will help her to bed; she must
be taken care of."
Doctor Darrow was already busily engaged in removing the scorched and
tattered bodice of Beatrix's dress from about the beautiful white neck
and arms. As he did so, a package of papers fell from the bosom of her
dress to the floor. Bernard Dane stooped and picked them up. It was
the package of papers which Celia Ray had intrusted to the care of
Beatrix. As his eyes fell upon these papers the old man uttered a cry
of surprise. Drawing his spectacles from his pocket, he put them on,
and eagerly opened the package.
"Good heavens!" he ejaculated; then turning aside he sank into a seat
and began to read the papers carefully.
He started up and faced Serena, pale and trembling.
"Listen!" he cried, in an awful voice, "and before you enact the rôle
of grand lady and turn your betters from your doors, first find out if
they are your doors. Serena Lynne, go home to your mother as soon as
you see fit. You have no right here. You are not my wife!"
A horrible silence fell over the room, and over the astonished group.
Unable to speak, Serena stood glaring into the old man's angry face.
"Explain, Uncle Bernard!" said Keith.
"I will. In the first place, I must confess my own crime. Years ago
Celia Ray first began to care for me, but I was madly in love with
Mildred Dane, and would not think of any other woman. Still, Celia
continued to care for me, and her love lived as long as she did. It
was the only unselfish affection ever bestowed upon me. But I was a
villain; and although at last seeing that my love for Mildred was vain,
I consented to make Celia my wife, secretly resolved that the marriage
should not be legally solemnized. I have nothing to say in extenuation
of my own villainy, only I have suffered since that time more pangs of
conscience than enough to atone. Well, the marriage was gone through
with, and she believed herself my wife. One child was born to us--a
girl--who died in infancy. After a time I told her the truth--that we
were not legally married, and that we had better separate. She went
away, and for years we did not meet. And now she is dead, and it is too
late to atone! But these papers prove, beyond a doubt, a surprising
truth, which she knew for years, but was too proud to break to me. She
only begged me never to marry, and trusted to my honor to keep my word.
But here is the truth. Our marriage was legal! Here is every proof.
Serena, you have never been my wife. The fortune for which you married
me could not be yours, anyway, for the wealth in my possession was
willed to me by Mildred Dane, as she inherited it from my relative,
Godfrey Dane, and it was long ago given to Keith Kenyon by deed of
gift."
Doctor Darrow was eagerly glancing over the papers in his hand. All at
once he uttered a cry of surprise.
"Listen!" he panted, breathlessly. "Why, it is miraculous!"
And then he went on to read Celia Ray's dying confession. When Bernard
Dane had taken poor Mildred and her child to the distant North, hoping
to prolong her life for a time, Celia had followed them. It was
Mildred's child that had died, and Celia had substituted her own in
place of it. For she had falsely represented that it was dead, with the
hope of bringing about a substitution some day.
So the truth dawned upon the group, and Beatrix, recovered from her
swoon, listened with bated breath, and it seemed more than Bernard Dane
could bear--this sudden change from grief to happiness. Beatrix was
his own child--Celia Ray's little child! The tainted blood of Mildred
Dane's ancestors did not flow in her veins. Every necessary proof
accompanied Mrs. Ray's deposition--there was no room for doubt.
And so the black clouds rolled away from the lives of Beatrix and
Keith, the two who had loved each other so devotedly, and who had so
nearly been parted by an awful fate; and Beatrix thanked God that she
had been permitted to cheer her dying mother's pathway to the grave.
Serena and Mrs. Lynne left New Orleans forever and returned to the
North; but first Beatrix nobly settled upon them the little fortune
which Celia Ray, her own mother--how strange it all seemed!--had
bequeathed to her.
And now, as happy as mortals can be, Beatrix and Keith Kenyon live in
the grand old Dane mansion with the old man whose wickedness had so
nearly wrecked both their lives. He is a repentant old man now--good
and kind to everybody. Doctor Darrow is a welcome visitor there, and
a bonny boy with soft, dark eyes and golden hair is called Douglas
Darrow Kenyon, while a golden-haired tot of three years--a veritable
sunbeam--is named Angela. And every day of her life Beatrix Kenyon
thanks God from the depths of her grateful heart for saving her from
that fearful curse--her dark inheritance.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes:
The original edition contained several pages of advertising at the end;
these have not been reproduced here.
Retained some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. bedside vs. bed-side).
Retained some inconsistent accents (e.g. role vs. rôle).
Italics are represented with _underscores_.
Page 146, changed "intervenes" to "intervened."
Page 155, changed "unkept" to "unkempt."
Page 214, changed "srange" to "strange."
Page 217, changed "wildy" to "wildly."
End of Project Gutenberg's Her Dark Inheritance, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins