DISCOVERED.
For a time the guests stood staring in utter consternation; then Van
Van Alstyne started to his feet. The apparition had disappeared.
“My friends,” he began, trying to control his mad rage, “I pronounce
this scene a bit of clap-trap and stage effect which is too ludicrous
to be believed. I look upon the woman yonder,” pointing toward Lenore
with such a look of hatred upon his face that he was absolutely
repulsive--“as--as--”
He never finished. With one mad bound Cyril Fayne darted forward, but
before he could lay his hands upon Van Alstyne the senator fell limply
to the floor, stricken down by apoplexy.
* * * * *
Society rallied about Lenore, and did all in its power to make amends
for what had occurred--all but Bessie Vernon, who refused stubbornly to
acknowledge Lenore as an acquaintance. Rosamond Raleigh was very ill
with brain fever, and in her delirium the burden of her cry was ever:
“Take her away--take her away! She is painting my ball-dress with her
heart’s blood!”
And as time passed it began to be currently reported that the proud
Miss Raleigh would never again recover the full use of her mental
faculties. Old Arbuthnot appeared fairly infatuated, and hovered about
the Raleigh mansion like an unquiet spirit. Presents of rare flowers,
costly wines and dainty luxuries found their way daily to the Raleigh
mansion, and were duly huddled into an anteroom out of Rosamond’s
sight. It was a case of real affection upon the part of the railroad
king, which brought tears of regret to Mrs. Raleigh’s eyes--regret
because of the fear which possessed her that Rosamond would never be in
a mental condition to accept Arbuthnot and his millions.
In the meantime Jack Lyndon did the coldly polite and courteous
lover, calling once a day with punctilious courtesy to inquire after
Rosamond’s health; but though he was told that in her delirium she
called him to come to her, and although her mother hinted that a sight
of him would please the sick girl, he made no effort to see her.
He looked as he felt--a disappointed man, a man who has risked all upon
one venture and lost.
Lillian kept her own room continually; but she felt it her duty to
offer to help nurse Rosamond, so it came about that she was installed
there as assistant to Mrs. Raleigh.
One day that lady requested Lillian to go up to Richard’s room for
a bottle of some particular lotion which had been placed there and
forgotten.
“Run up there, please, Lillian,” urged the now quite urbane
mother-in-law. “You will find the bottle in the closet in the corner
of Rick’s room, near the fire-place. He is not there. The idea of your
shrinking from entering your own husband’s room on an errand! Richard
has gone to see Doctor Thompson. A consultation between a half dozen
physicians is to be held over Rosamond to-morrow, and he has gone to
appoint the hour. Make haste and get the lotion, Lillian; I must not
neglect Rosamond for a moment.”
So Lillian left the room and went reluctantly to that which Richard
Raleigh occupied. The door-bell had been muffled and all noises hushed
on account of the sufferer; so Lillian did not hear the outer door
open, and was not aware of Jack Lyndon’s presence in the house until
she saw him coming swiftly, silently up the staircase straight to
where she stood. It was too late to retreat, so she stood her ground,
greeting him with a cool nod, and answering his questions as to
Rosamond’s state with swift conciseness.
“Jack Lyndon did not murder your father, and he loves you as he loves
his own soul!”
She remembered the words, and her heart almost broke with its burden of
anguish. She turned away, but Jack caught her hand in his own.
“Stay! Just a moment, Lillian--Mrs. Raleigh!” he corrected himself. “I
have never had an opportunity to speak with you before since the late
unpleasant events. Lillian, tell me, why do you hate me so?”
Her eyes met his with a look of terror.
“Hate you? I do not. I never can,” she faltered, and before he could
recover from his surprise she flitted past him, down the long hall to
the room which was occupied by Richard Raleigh. For just a moment she
hesitated before the door, a feeling of intense repugnance creeping
over her. Then she remembered Mrs. Raleigh’s peremptory order; she laid
her hand upon the knob, and opened the door softly, slowly.
The room was vacant. A strange sensation crept over the girl’s heart; a
feeling that something was about to happen.
“What is the matter with me?” she exclaimed, impatiently. “I feel like
a detective on the track of a criminal, and who has nearly hunted him
down!”
Just then her eyes fell upon an object which lay upon Richard’s desk--a
large, roomy escritoire which stood beside a window. It was a pencil,
an odd-looking affair of gold, in a long, flat shape, which terminated
in a snake’s head, with two tiny rubies for eyes.
“Papa’s pencil!” she panted, in a low, horror-stricken voice. “Papa’s
gold pencil, the one that he carried for so many years, and that he
used to say he meant me to have. How came it here? How came it in
Richard Raleigh’s possession?”
She turned it slowly over in her trembling fingers, then she returned
it to the desk.
“He must explain how that pencil came into his possession,” she said,
resolutely. “I will know!”
She moved slowly across the room to the closed door beside the
fire-place and opened it swiftly. Her face was pale with excitement,
and her heart beat fast.
One glance into the interior revealed a large closet in the wall, with
a row of shelves at the back. There was no sign of the bottle for
which she had been sent, and Lillian turned to the shelves and began
to search for it there. Still no sign of its whereabouts. Only a box
remained to be searched--a large box which stood below the row of
shelves. Though much against her will, Lillian at last lifted the lid
and began to glance over the contents.
A suit of men’s clothing rolled into a bundle. Half consciously she
turned it over. It was a plain, dark business suit, but stained with
mud and water, as though the clothing had fallen into a gutter, and,
rolled up inside the bundle, a book, the sight of which made Lillian
cry aloud with mad horror and despair.
“Papa’s book!” she panted, brokenly, “the book for which he went back
to the office that night and never returned--only his dead body all
bruised and blackened from a murderer’s clutches. What does this mean?”
She opened the book swiftly, eagerly. A note fell from its pages--a
note in Richard Raleigh’s handwriting, and signed by his name, begging
Gilbert Leigh not to expose him to the world; acknowledging himself as
a forger and embezzler; but adding that if the truth were known, and
the house of Raleigh & Raleigh should cast him off, he would be ruined
beyond redemption. How came that book in his possession? The awful
question struck to her heart like a blow.
She staggered to her feet, still grasping the book in one trembling
hand; and turning swiftly about, she stood face to face with Richard
Raleigh.
Silence--the dead, unbroken silence of the grave. He stood like one
turned to stone, his dark eyes blazing with a lurid light.
“Richard Raleigh!” her low voice was full of wordless horror, “your
bad, black secret has come to light at last. I am going now to denounce
you. False villain, your hour has come!”
She left the room, carrying the book in her hand. Still Richard Raleigh
never spoke, never moved. When she was gone he started suddenly, like
one aroused from a bad dream. Going over to the door of the room, he
locked it securely.