"Queenie, are you ready for your drive?" called her husband from the
foot of the stairway. "The phaeton is at the door."
A bright, bewitching face peeped down at him from above--a face as sweet
as a rose--with coral lips, and softly-tinted cheeks, and eyes as
brightly-blue as violets.
Directly she came fluttering down the stairs, and paused, with her
slender, white-gloved hand upon his arm.
"I am ready," she said. "Come, Lawrence, let us go. It is too lovely a
day to remain indoors."
"Darling, how lovely you are," he cried. "Let me kiss you once before we
start."
She smiled, and linked her arm fondly in his as they went down the
marble steps together.
"Lawrence," she said, half-gravely, half-fondly, "I almost begin to
believe in my happiness now. At first it seemed such a precious thing,
and I held it by so frail a grasp that I feared I might lose you again
and fall back into the terrible gulf of despair. But now months have
elapsed and nothing has happened to part us, so that it seems possible
for me to breathe freely and look forward to a happy future with you."
"Darling, these trembling fears of yours have always seemed strange and
unnecessary to me. What could happen to part us now?" he said, as he
handed her into the lovely little phaeton, with its prancing gray
ponies, and sprang in beside her.
"I do not know. Nothing, I hope," she answered, with a quick little
sigh, as she took the reins into her hands and touched up the spirited
ponies. "Where shall we drive, Lawrence--in the park?"
"Yes, if you like," he answered, leaning back luxuriously.
It was a beautiful day in May, the air so balmy and delicious that it
was a luxury to breathe it.
As they flashed along the shady drives in the park many eyes followed
them admiringly, for Mrs. Ernscliffe was conceded by all to be the
fairest woman in the city.
To-day she wore a wonderful dress of mingled blue and cream-color, and a
hat of azure satin, with a streaming white feather set coquettishly on
her waves of golden hair.
The colors suited her bright blonde beauty exquisitely.
Her dark, handsome, dignified husband thrilled with pleasure and pride
as he noted the many admiring glances that followed his beautiful and
dearly-beloved wife.
"I have had news from England, Queenie," he said, presently.
"From England?" she said, and her delicate cheeks grew white. "Oh,
Lawrence, have they found out who murdered Sydney yet?"
"Not yet, dear, but the detective is very hopeful. He is on the
villain's track."
"Who was he? What is his name?" she asked, eagerly.
"I do not know. He writes very meagerly, though hopefully. He merely
says that he has found your maid, Elsie Gray, and that she has put him
on the track of the murderer."
"It is not possible that Elsie Gray was concerned in the murder of my
sister!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, no, she was a witness to the deed only--at least I gather that much
from his letter. I think she has been pursuing him ever since. The
detective says that we may expect startling developments soon."
"God grant that the cowardly criminal may soon be discovered and
punished for his awful sin!" she exclaimed, shuddering.
"Queenie," he said, musingly, "have you ever thought that but for the
sin of this unknown man we should never, perhaps, have been reunited in
peace and happiness? To-day you might have been in the lonely convent
cell, while I, perhaps, should have raved in the chains of a lunatic,
for, Queenie, I was going mad with the horror of losing you again."
"I have thought of it often," she said, gravely, "and I have thought
again and again that it was almost wrong to accept happiness that was
bought at so fearful a price to my poor Sydney. Her death lies heavy on
my heart."
"Queenie, we both did what we could to insure her happiness while she
lived. I married her because one very near to her hinted to me that the
poor girl was dying of a broken heart for my sake. I did not love her,
but I sacrificed myself to save her, as you afterward sacrificed us both
at her request. And yet those mutual bitter sacrifices of ours availed
very little to secure the end she sought. I begin to believe that such
terrible self-abnegations are wrong and unjustifiable, and that they
never work out good to any."
"It may be true," she answered, thoughtfully, and relapsed into silence,
her eyes downcast, her lips set in a half-sorrowful line, while she
unconsciously checked the speed of the horses and allowed them to walk
slowly along the drive.
Absorbed in thought she did not observe a handsome, fashionably-dressed
man coming along the side-path toward them, airily swinging a natty
little cane.
"I hope and trust, darling, that you will not allow any weak and morbid
fancies regarding Sydney to sadden and depress you," continued Captain
Ernscliffe. "I know she would not wish it to be so."
Queenie looked up at him gently with the words of reply just forming on
her lips.
But they died unspoken, and she uttered a low cry of fear and terror
commingled, while her whole form trembled violently.
She had caught sight of the man in the road who had just come abreast of
the phaeton.
At that moment the man, who had been observing her for some moments,
looked at her with a sardonic smile, lifted his hat, bowed deeply, and
murmuring familiarly:
"Good-evening, Queenie," passed insolently on.
Captain Ernscliffe grew ashen white. Something like an imprecation was
smothered between his firmly-cut lips.
"Good Heaven, Queenie!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible that you know that
man?"
She did not speak, she could not. She only stared at him speechlessly,
her lips parted in terror, her breath coming and going in quick gasps
like one dying.
"Do you know who and what that man is?" he reiterated, hoarsely.
"Queenie, it is Leon Vinton, the most notorious gambler and _roue_ in
the city! And he dared to speak to _you_! What did he mean by it? You
surely do not know him. Tell me?"
Still she did not speak. It seemed to her that her tongue clove to the
roof of her mouth.
She had thought that her enemy was dead--had she not seen him lying cold
and still, with his heart's blood staining the snowy earth? Yet there he
walked, smiling, evil, triumphant. The horror of the sight struck her
dumb.
"You will not answer me," passionately cried her husband. "Very well. I
will wring the truth from that insolent villain! I will know why he
dared bow and speak to _my_ wife. Drive on home, madam; I will follow
the villain and make him retract the insult!"
He sprang from the moving phaeton at the imminent risk of his neck, and
followed Leon Vinton with a quick stride down the road.
Like one in a fearful dream, Queenie gathered the reins in her trembling
hands and drove recklessly homeward through the beautiful sunshine.