IN AMBUSH.
“Come up to your room, Rosamond. See! I have given you one across the
hall from mine. Our guests will arrive shortly, and Arnold is down
in the drawing-room, waiting with as much patience as a man usually
bestows upon his wife. Make haste, dear, and get off your wraps, while
I run down and pacify him.”
And Bessie Vernon, just arrived at the handsome home which claimed her
as its mistress, flitted from the room.
Rosamond laid aside her hat and wrap, and seated herself before the
cheerful fire in the pretty blue-and-gold chamber--a triumph of modern
art and æsthetic taste.
“Jack will be surprised,” she said to herself, as she leaned her head
against the puffy blue satin chair-back and closed her eyes languidly.
“But he will call to-night to join our party bound for the Van Alstyne
dinner. And after that--” She arose slowly to her feet, and moved over
to the window, her face full of triumph, and her eyes shining with
malice--the malice of a woman who hates another with all her heart,
and sees a way open to vent her cruel spite upon her. “Ah! Lenore Van
Alstyne,” she hissed, bleakly, “you have had your day--my turn is
coming now. You have queened it over me in the past, it is my hour of
triumph now. I hate her--the cold, proud, grand lady, who makes us all
feel our inferiority; but I shall be even with her yet. I see the way
open before me.”
She hated Lenore with all the hatred of which her narrow mind was
capable. Her nature was cruel and vindictive, and she would leave no
stone unturned to humiliate the woman so much her superior. A rap at
the door of her room made her turn swiftly.
“Let me in, Rosamond!” called Mrs. Vernon’s voice through the key-hole.
“I want to tell you something.”
A little later Rosamond and her hostess were sitting before the fire,
while Bessie chattered volubly away.
“He is coming here to-night, after the Van Alstyne dinner--Mr.
Arbuthnot, I mean, Rosamond--and, dear me, you incorrigible girl! you
pretend not to understand; but I mean--here it is in plain English--I
mean that you shall marry him!”
“Bessie!”
“I mean that you shall become Mrs. Arbuthnot before many months are
past,” repeated Mrs. Vernon, impressively. “Your coming here is just
providential. I had been wanting you here for Mr. Arbuthnot’s visit,
and fate has decreed that you should come.”
“But, Bessie, I--”
“Oh, yes! I suppose it is quite in order for you to respectfully
decline, etc., but all the same I will wager that you will marry Mr.
Arbuthnot. True, he is old, but money, like charity, covers a multitude
of sins and short-comings. And, besides, you will stand a chance of
being a rich widow some day--a real queen--living in royal state. In
which case you will not forget your old friend Bess. Eh, Rosamond?”
Rosamond laughed uneasily.
“You are speaking of impossibilities,” she returned, coldly. “I may as
well tell you now as later. My affections are already engaged. I love
one of the noblest men in the world,” she added, with a tragical air.
Mrs. Vernon arose to her feet, and with both white jeweled hands
uplifted in dumb surprise, turned slowly around upon one foot, like a
revolving automaton, and gazed full into Rosamond’s anxious face. Then
she burst into a peal of silvery laughter.
“Rosamond, you are the funniest girl--just too awfully funny for
anything. Your affections! Who in the world said anything about
affections? I was speaking of marriage. You love the noblest man, and
so on. Dear, dear! you’ll be the death of me, Rosamond! And, come what
may, I still adhere to my opinion that you will win old Arbuthnot, the
railroad king. He is already interested in you. He saw you with me
one day, when we were driving in the park, and he asked me afterward
who you were. Said that he had never seen a more queenly lady, and
that there was something about you which reminded him of the late Mrs.
Arbuthnot.”
Rosamond shuddered.
“Don’t, Bessie!” she cried, angrily. “I will tell you plainly that I--I
care more for Mr. Lyndon than for any man in the universe.”
Bessie shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of mock surprise.
“The end of the world is at hand,” she exclaimed, laughingly. “Now,
Rosamond, you know as well as I that you will never marry that
newspaper scribbler--never! No, not though you go to your grave
unwedded, which I am certain is an act of which you will never be
guilty. Why, it is perfectly laughable. The idea of you, only daughter
of Grafton Raleigh, millionaire, to think seriously for one moment of a
poor newspaper scribbler! Of course I understand; it is merely a jest
of yours, Rosie. And now I am going to ring for refreshments. We will
have a cozy lunch together, after which it will be time to dress for
the affair at Van Alstyne’s.”
* * * * *
The great dining-hall of the Van Alstyne mansion was brilliantly
illuminated. The sheen of light fell athwart the long table with its
glittering array of gold and silver, and brought out into strong relief
the gorgeous uniforms of the foreign officers and the rich toilets of
the ladies.
At the head of the table sat Lenore, in a robe of rich black lace,
through which her snowy arms and shoulders gleamed like polished
marble. Inky black was the entire costume, lighted up by the shimmering
topaz ornaments that she wore--yellow and uncanny. Her face was as pale
as death, save for a round red spot which looked like the hectic flush
of fever. Her eyes were calm and proud as they swept the glittering
assemblage, her red lips slightly curling as though with utter scorn.
Rosamond and Mrs. Vernon watched her with furtive eyes. Rosamond in
pale-blue silk and white lace, Bessie in a bewildering combination of
scarlet and gold. Mr. Arbuthnot had been duly presented to Rosamond,
who saw before her a red-faced, rather pompous-looking old man who
seemed to feel the dignity of his own position; and also he seemed to
be really attracted by Miss Raleigh’s charms. At last the banquet was
at an end, and the guests filed back to the drawing-room. The clocks
all over the great house struck the hour of ten.
* * * * *
“Cyril, I am here.”
“Lenore! Oh, I feared that something was wrong, that all had been
discovered and our flight prevented. For it is better for you that
we go away quietly. But, Heaven be praised, you have come at last!
My darling, I have waited not so very long when the time is computed
by moments, but counted by the suffering of suspense which I have
endured, it has been an eternity. Lenore, are you ready to go at once?
Thornton’s yacht is down in the harbor and the boat is waiting to take
us thither. You leave no regrets behind, Lenore?”
She laughed, a low, scornful laugh.
“Regrets? Good heavens! This is the real beginning of my life! Cyril, I
have taken nothing which that man ever gave me. I have left my jewels,
my wardrobe--all; this plain merino dress was purchased with money
of my own, which I earned before I ever saw Van Van Alstyne. Nothing
of his goes with me. Come, I am ready. The air of this place--his
possessions--stifle me. You have written the letter, Cyril?”
“I have written the letter. Senator Van Alstyne will find it in his
room whenever he sees fit to enter it. And then he will learn the whole
truth, and he will know that I am only claiming my own--that there is
no sin--no crime in the step which we are taking. Lenore, love of my
life, let us go!”
In the shrubbery close beside them three dark forms were crouching,
watching the scene in perfect silence--Bessie Vernon, Rosamond Raleigh,
and Senator Van Alstyne.