THE DIE IS CAST.
Nine! boomed from the big clock in a neighboring steeple; nine! tinkled
musically from the gilded time-piece in Miss Raleigh’s boudoir.
Lillian started up with a cry of dismay, and the lace-work with which
she had been risking her eyesight fell from her hands to the floor.
“One hour more,” she murmured, faintly, “only one hour more, and then
I must give Richard Raleigh his answer. Oh, Heaven, help and pity me!”
She was all alone in the dainty boudoir, for Rosamond was below in the
drawing-room, entertaining a few guests--Mrs. Vernon and one or two
more of Rosamond’s particular friends. And she was expecting Jack. Of
course he would come, and then there would be an interview--a private
interview--with papa in the library, and the poor journalist would ask
for the hand of the millionaire’s daughter.
“And if papa refuses,” thought Rosamond, “for Jack is not rich, and
papa may object--I--I shall marry him anyway! I am of age, fortunately.”
And then there flitted through her brain the thought of poverty, even
though genteel poverty, with the man she loved, and her heart grew
faint and sick within her breast.
“I could not bear to be poor!” she muttered, with a shudder of
aversion. “I just could not endure it.”
And she sat in the drawing-room attired in a soft gray satin gown with
a great deal of white lace, a subdued, Quakerish costume, quaint and
becoming, and chatted with Bessie Vernon and the rest, and all the time
her heart was listening for a ring at the door-bell, the sound of a
familiar step in the hall.
“Rosamond,” whispered Mrs. Vernon, after awhile, “I have something to
tell you--something rich! Are you engaged for twelve to-morrow? No?”
as Rosamond shook her head in the negative. “Then I will call and see
you. I want to tell you something, but you must be sure and never
mention it, never, as long as you live. It is something about Lenore
Van Alstyne.”
Rosamond started.
“Very well, I shall expect you to-morrow. And you may rely upon my
secrecy, Bessie.”
And then Mrs. Vernon’s carriage was announced, and Mrs. Vernon took her
departure, with a whispered reminder to her hostess of the morrow’s
engagement. And then the other callers left. Still Jack Lyndon had not
made his appearance. What did it mean?
Feeling restless and uneasy, full of a strange disquiet, Rosamond threw
a wrap about her shoulders and went out into the grounds. A glorious
moonlight night. She wandered slowly down the nearest walk, and at last
found herself in the vicinity of the east gate.
“I wonder what Rick meant by being out here last night with Lillian?”
she muttered. “Some mischief, I have no doubt. But I don’t care what
happens if only he keeps her away from Jack. I firmly believe that Jack
cared for her; but I will kill her before she takes him from me.”
She came to a halt with a start of surprise. She had nearly reached the
east gate, and her quick eyes had caught sight of two dark forms.
Just at that moment the clock in the steeple struck ten.
“I declare!” panted Miss Raleigh, in a low, wrathful voice, “it is Rick
and that girl again. Now, this is too much--too much altogether. Papa
would be so angry if he knew.”
Even as she gazed upon the scene Richard Raleigh took Lillian’s slight
form in his arms and kissed her unresisting lips.
Miss Raleigh could endure no more. She darted swiftly forward and
confronted the pair in the radiant moonlight, pale and wrathful.
“You shameless creature!” she panted, bringing her hand down upon
Lillian’s shoulder with a fierce grip. “You shall leave my employ at
once--this very night! As for you, Richard Raleigh, I shall tell papa
of your shameful conduct, this moment--this very moment, sir, and he
will settle with you. The idea of a disgraceful affair like this going
on right under our very eyes!”
And before Lillian could recover from her bewilderment, Rosamond
turned swiftly about, and rushed like a mad woman back to the house.
She burst into the drawing-room quite pale with excitement, and she
came to a startled halt as her eyes fell upon Jack Lyndon. He had been
closeted all the evening with Grafton Raleigh, though Rosamond had not
suspected his presence in the house; and now in the drawing-room--the
interview over--they sat conversing with Mrs. Raleigh and waiting for
Rosamond to appear.
There was a hurried greeting, after which Rosamond, pale and excited,
turned to her father.
“Papa--mamma, I beg your pardon, and Mr. Lyndon’s also, for rushing
in upon you in this fashion. But really I must speak or you may
reproach me for my silence later on. Papa, last night I saw your son,
Richard Raleigh, down at the east gate, where he had evidently gone by
appointment to meet my waiting-maid, Lillian Leigh. To-night I walked
out into the grounds. I felt lonely,” with a glance of tender reproach
into Jack’s startled face, “and chancing to walk in the same direction,
I saw them there again. And, papa, Richard had that girl in his arms
and--was actually kissing her!”
“Rosamond!” This from Mrs. Raleigh.
But the master of the house uttered no word. Pale and faint, Jack
Lyndon leaned heavily against the marble mantel, supporting his head
upon his hand and waiting for what was to come next.
“Mamma, it is true. Do not look so angry. It is not my fault. But I
consider his conduct shameful--shameful! And that girl is a bold,
shameless creature, not fit to be in the house with refined ladies. She
is--”
“Hush! Not another word, Rosamond Raleigh!” She wheeled about swiftly,
and there upon the threshold stood her brother, and at his side, pale
and trembling, Lillian Leigh. “Not another word!” repeated Richard
Raleigh, fiercely--“or you shall answer to me for your insults!
Father, I have good news to tell you. I have asked Lillian to be my
wife, and she has consented.”