MYSTERIES.
Dread is the power of dreams! Who has not felt,
When in the morning light such visions melt,
How the vailed soul, though struggling to be free,
Ruled by that deep, unfathomed mystery,
Wakes, haunted by the thoughts of good or ill
Whose shading influence pursues us still!
CAROLINE NORTON.
As Arielle finished her strange recital, she clung to her friend and
shook again as with an ague fit.
Net was much amazed, not so much by the vision itself, which she
explained mentally upon natural grounds, as by the effect it had had on
Arielle.
“Well, my dear, what happened next?” she inquired, thinking it best to
encourage the terrified girl to talk and get the whole subject off her
mind.
“Oh, then, Net, as soon as the awful vision vanished, I recovered my
powers of motion; I started up, sprang out of bed and ran to you. That
is all. I feel better now, since I have told you. Oh, Net, what do you
think of it?” piteously inquired the trembling girl.
Net Fleming did not answer for some moments, but then she said,
deprecatingly:
“Don’t you see, my dear, that this was only a dream? While you were
lying there so quietly, so restfully, as you describe yourself to have
been, you unconsciously dropped asleep, though perhaps only for a
moment, and dreamed all this.”
“No, no, no, I did not, Net! Oh, Net! how very, _very_ hard you are to
convince. But perhaps you have never in your life seen a supernatural
form or heard a supernatural voice?”
“No,” replied the sound-bodied and sound-minded little woman, “I never
have.”
“Well, then, of course it is of no use talking to you! I might as well
talk of light to a person born stone blind, or of music to one born
stone deaf! I don’t blame you for your incredulity, Net.”
“No, nor do I blame you for your illusions, dear,” smiled Net.
The mantel clock struck eight.
Net slipped out of bed and unlocked the chamber door and rang her bell,
and then returned to bed, for the room was very cold.
Nelly Lacy came in and made the fire.
And the next minute the two children burst open the nursery door and ran
in, in their night-gowns, and climbed up into Little Mammam’s bed, all
unconscious that she had a companion.
“They are enough to put all the ghosts of Gehenna to flight; are they
not?” laughed Net, as she returned their caresses.
“_Hush, oh, hush!_” breathed Arielle in an awestruck tone.
When the fire had warmed the room the friends arose.
Lady Arielle went back to her own chamber, where she found another
bright fire and her maid Lucy Lacy in attendance.
Nelly Lacy took the children back to the nursery and dressed them.
Net made her simple toilet, and went down stairs to the breakfast
parlor. She was soon joined by her hostess, who, on entering, said:
“As we are alone, I have sent Lacy to tell Nelly to bring the children
to breakfast with us. I know that they have been accustomed to breakfast
with you. I forgot to do it earlier, and only thought of it when they
came bursting in upon us up stairs.”
“How kind and thoughtful you are, dear Arielle.”
“I _mean_ to be kind, but indeed I am not thoughtful. If I _had_ been I
should have had these children at table with us ever since Lord
Beaudevere and Vivienne went away. Ah, no!—But here are the children.”
They all sat down at the table, and lingered over the breakfast until
the clock struck ten.
“Only two hours now, dear Net. Surely—surely—if all is right, they will
be here in two hours!” exclaimed Lady Arielle, as she put her hand
through Net’s bended elbow and leaned thereon, walking up and down the
hall—for Arielle was too restless to sit down.
But they had not to wait until noon for news.
At half-past eleven, while the two friends were sitting in the smaller
drawing-room in tasteful morning dresses, waiting with almost breathless
impatience for the arrival of the expected visitors, Adams, the ladies’
footman entered with a note on a silver salver, which he handed to the
young lady, saying:
“A groom from Cloudland brought it, my lady.”
“Well, take him to the servants’ hall and give him some refreshments
while his horse rests,” said Lady Arielle, scarcely able to curb her
impatience until the man left the room.
Then, with beating heart and burning cheeks, she tore open the note,
which she saw was in Vivienne’s handwriting, and she read it, while Net
watched her anxiously.
Vivienne’s little missive was as follows:
“CLOUDLAND, Dec. 16th, 18—.
“MY DEAREST ARIELLE.—I write to save you some hours of useless anxiety.
My brother arrived at Miston Station in good health early this morning,
and was met by Beaue.
“But, alack-a-day! as the old folks used to say, he was subpœnaed as a
witness upon some disturbance that occurred on the train, and had to go
back to some station to testify.
“Beaue went with him, and sent the carriage back, with a note for me by
the coachman to tell me of this annoying _contretemps_, and to say that
I must not expect them back until late to-night. Did you ever hear of
anything more provoking in your life? I have no words strong enough to
express my disgust and abhorrence of this state of affairs.
“I shall sit up for them to-night, and send them both up to see you
early to-morrow morning. And in the meantime, with love to Net and the
children, I am your own
“VIVIENNE.”
Arielle read this over to herself, and then read it aloud to Net.
“Now _is not_ this the most vexatious thing that could possibly happen?
It really makes me feel ill. I can appreciate now the old proverb that
says: ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.’ My heart is sick.
Twenty-four hours more! Oh, dear Net! Couldn’t you chloroform me, and
keep me under the influence of that pain-killing drug until this time
to-morrow morning?” she inquired, with a piteous look in the face of her
friend.
“It is very trying, I know, dear Arielle; but you must be brave and
patient. It will not seem so long. The day is already half spent, the
night you will sleep away, because you did not sleep last night, and
to-morrow morning you will have nothing to do but to expect your
visitors,” said Net, hopefully.
Arielle sighed deeply, thinking within her own mind that if she could
feel certain Valdimir Desparde had _not_ been so false to her as to have
married another woman, and if it would not be so unmaidenly, she could
find it in her heart to take Net and go to Cloudland to share the vigil
of Vivienne, and so meet Valdimir half a day sooner.
She controlled this passionate desire so completely that Net did not
even suspect its existence.
But the day passed very heavily with Arielle, who could settle herself
to nothing.
When bed-time came Arielle said to her friend: “Net, dear, I am really
afraid to sleep alone. I wish you would let me share your room this one
night. Should I disturb you, do you think?”
“Why, no, dear! I am usually a very good sleeper, not easily disturbed.
How should I be when I have been accustomed for the last four years to
sleep between two kicking children? I shall be glad of your company.”
So that night the two girls slept together, and slept soundly until
morning.
They arose blithely too, and soon after breakfast they began to look for
their longed-for visitors.
But another disappointment awaited them.
Again Adams appeared with a little, cream-colored note on a silver
salver.
Arielle grew dizzy as she took it and tore it open.
It contained only a few informal lines, as follows:
“Beaue is a fox, an old fox, a sly old fox! He did not inform me
yesterday morning of the nature of the disturbance that detained
Valdimir. And last night he came home without my brother. And when I
brought him to bay he had to confess that Valdimir was personally
interested in that ‘disturbance;’ that in point of fact, said
‘disturbance’ was caused by my brother’s having been robbed while in the
railway carriage, of the most valuable family jewel in his possession! a
jewel worth all the landed property in the family. I suppose it is the
great historical diamond called ‘Sirius.’ _I_ thought that jewel was
safe in the vaults of my cousin’s banker. How careless of Valdimir to
carry it about him.
“I will tell you this: if ever it should come into _my_ possession—which
is scarcely possible—I should sell it to some sovereign with more cash
than common sense, and invest the price in solid real estate with a sure
title that could neither be lost nor stolen.
“Well, Valdimir has gone back ever so far on his track in search of this
stolen jewel, and will not return until he has recovered it.
“Beaue says that there is no doubt it will be recovered. A jewel of such
worth cannot long be lost.
“Beaue only came home to relieve my anxiety, and went back this morning
to rejoin Valdimir and assist in the search.
“I am laid up with a dreadful cold in the head, caught through standing
out in the night air watching for Valdimir.
“Take warning by my fate and don’t watch.
“Love to Net and babies.
“Your own VIVIENNE.”
Arielle read the letter and passed it over to Net, without a word of
comment, but with a look of comic despair, if such a term be allowable.
She was very far from suspecting the gravity of the matter that detained
her lover.
Net in turn read the letter, and passed it back to its owner, only
saying:
“It is the fate of Tantalus.”
The footman who had brought in the letter stood waiting orders.
“Go, Adams, and bring me the morning’s papers. If that robbery took
place night before last, there must be some notice of in this morning’s
_Times_.”
“Beg pardon, my lady, but no papers have come this morning,” replied the
man.
“Why, how is that? It is one o’clock! They should have been here before
now.”
“They have not come, my lady.”
“Well, go; and as soon as they do come bring them to me. Yet stay! I
must write a line of acknowledgment to Miss Desparde. I did not reply to
her note yesterday,” added Arielle, in an aside to Net.
She sat down to a writing-table near the fireplace and scribbled off a
hasty note, very guarded, however, in its wording, not by any means
exposing the extremity of her own anxiety and impatience, but only
expressing her own and Net Fleming’s sympathy with Vivienne’s
disappointment and indisposition, and their hopes of her brother’s
speedy arrival and her own happy recovery,
She read this letter also to Net and then sealed, directed and
dispatched it by Adams to Miss Desparde’s waiting messenger.
All that day Lady Arielle waited and watched for the daily newspapers
that failed to come.
She did not know that her guardian had caused them to be stopped, lest
they should shock her with the news of Valdimir Desparde’s arrest on the
dreadful charge of murder.
She blamed the unlucky newsagent, and denounced him in no measured
terms.
“Jobson has a monopoly at Miston! He is too independent! He neglects his
business! There should be a rival establishment there, which I should
certainly patronize! The _idea_ of his neglecting to send the papers
to-day!” she exclaimed for the twentieth time.
Net laughed.
“Poor Jobson!” she said— “any one of a dozen accidents may have happened
to prevent his sending the papers. And as to his ‘monopoly,’ it hardly
puts bread enough into his hungry children’s mouths! I wish you could
see them, poor things!”
“Oh, Net, I am a selfish wretch, and all my goodness is not skin deep!
The minute anything crosses me, I am bad! That is, I mean, I find out
how bad I am!” said Arielle, half lightly, half penitently.
Net did not contradict or flatter her. It was not Net’s way.
Still another weary day and night passed, and then at length, something
happened; but it was not what they had expected.
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]