A NEW PERPLEXITY.
At the sight of that venerable face, as white as marble, now set in
the fixedness of death, whose white hair was all stained with the
blood that oozed from the wound on his forehead, all Zillah's
tenderness returned. Bitterly she reproached herself.
"I have killed him! It was all my fault!" she cried. "Oh, save him!
Do something! Can you not save him?"
Mrs. Hart did not seem to hear her at all. She had carried the Earl
to the sofa, and then she knelt by his side, with her arms flung
around him. She seemed unconscious of the presence of Zillah. Her
head lay on the Earl's breast. At last she pressed her lips to his
forehead, where the blood flowed, with a quick, feverish kiss. Her
white face, as it was set against the stony face of the Earl,
startled Zillah. She stood mute.
The servants hurried in. Mrs. Hart roused herself, and had the Earl
carried to his room. Zillah followed. The Earl was put to bed. A
servant was sent off for a doctor. Mrs. Hart and Zillah watched
anxiously till the doctor came. The doctor dressed the wound, and
gave directions for the treatment of the patient. Quiet above all
things was enjoined. Apoplexy was hinted at, but it was only a hint.
The real conviction of the doctor seemed to be that it was mental
trouble of some kind, and this conviction was shared by those who
watched the Earl.
Zillah and Mrs. Hart both watched that night. They sat in an
adjoining room. But little was said at first. Zillah was busied with
her own thoughts, and Mrs. Hart was preoccupied, and more distrait
than usual.
Midnight came. For hours Zillah had brooded over her own sorrows. She
longed for sympathy. Mrs. Hart seemed to her to be the one in whom
she might best confide. The evident affection which Mrs. Hart felt
for the Earl was of itself an inducement to confidence. Her own
affection for the aged housekeeper also impelled her to tell her all
that had happened. And so it was that, while they sat there together,
Zillah gradually told her about her interview with the Earl.
But the story which Zillah told did not comprise the whole truth. She
did not wish to go into details, and there were many circumstances
which she did not feel inclined to tell to the housekeeper. There was
no reason why she should tell about the secret cipher, and very many
reasons why she should not. It was an affair which concerned her
father and her family. That her own fears were well founded she dared
not suppose, and therefore she would not even hint about such fears
to another. Above all, she was unwilling to tell what effect the
disclosure of that secret of hers had upon the Earl. Better far, it
seemed to her, it would be to carry that secret to the grave than to
disclose it in any confidence to any third person. Whatever the
result might be, it would be better to hold it concealed between the
Earl and herself.
What Zillah said was to the effect that she had been asking the Earl
about Lady Chetwynde; that the mention of the subject had produced an
extraordinary effect; that she wished to withdraw it, but the Earl
insisted on knowing what she had to say.
"Oh," she cried, "how bitterly I lament that I said any thing about
it! But I had seen something at home which excited my curiosity. It
was about Lady Chetwynde. It stated that she eloped with a certain
Redfield Lyttoun, and that the name was an assumed one; but what,"
cried Zillah, suddenly starting forward--"what is the matter?"
While Zillah was speaking Mrs. Hart's face--always pale--seemed to
turn gray, and a shudder passed through her thin, emaciated frame.
She pressed her hand on her heart, and suddenly sank back with a
groan.
Zillah sprang toward her and raised her up. Mrs. Hart still kept her
hand on her heart, and gave utterance to low moans of anguish. Zillah
chafed her hands, and then hurried off and got some wine. At the
taste of the stimulating liquor the poor creature revived. She then
sat panting, with her eyes fixed on the floor. Zillah sat looking at
her without saying a word, and afraid to touch again upon a subject
which had produced so disastrous an effect. Yet why should it? Why
should this woman show emotion equal to that of the Earl at the very
mention of such a thing? There was surely some unfathomable mystery
about it. The emotion of the Earl was intelligible--that of Mrs. Hart
was not so. Such were the thoughts that passed through her mind as
she sat there in silence watching her companion.
Hours passed without one word being spoken. Zillah frequently urged
Mrs. Hart to go to bed, but Mrs. Hart refused. She could not sleep,
she said, and she would rather be near the Earl.
[Illustration.]
At length Zillah, penetrated with pity for the poor suffering woman,
insisted on her lying down on the sofa. Mrs. Hart had to yield. She
lay down accordingly, but not to sleep. The sighs that escaped her
from time to time showed that her secret sorrow kept her awake.
Suddenly, out of a deep silence, Mrs. Hart sprang up and turned her
white face toward Zillah. Her large, weird eyes seemed to burn
themselves into Zillah's brain. Her lips moved. It was but in a
whisper that she spoke:
"Never--never--never--mention it again--either to him or to me. It is
hell to both of us!"
She fell back again, moaning.
Zillah sat transfixed, awe-struck and wondering.