When the door of the boudoir was forced open, old Jacob was the first to
enter and find his mistress rigid in death. While Nanette and two of
the domestics were endeavouring to raise her, his quick eyes caught
sight of the letter addressed to his master which lay upon the
blotting-pad, and unnoticed he slipped it into his pocket.
By this a scandal was avoided, for a coroner's jury at the inquest
subsequently held returned a verdict of "Accidental death, due to an
overdose of morphia." There was not the least suspicion of suicide in
the minds of the twelve respectable tradesmen, for, prior to the room
being visited by the bucolic constable, Jacob had picked up the remains
of the diamond ornaments, and carefully obliterated other traces of her
passion. The jury expressed an opinion that the sudden appearance of
Mrs. Trethowen's husband, who was believed to be dead, had caused a
violent shock to the nervous system, and that, being in the habit of
injecting narcotics, she had accidentally administered to herself an
overdose.
Hugh, in order to further allay any conjecture that she had taken her
own life, put on deep mourning and attended the funeral. He endured the
mournful ceremony, the nasal mumbling of the clergyman, and the torture
of the service, with feelings of disgust at his own hypocrisy. He
affected inconsolable grief, and his friends, ignorant of the truth,
sympathised with him. Yet his generous nature asserted itself. The
letter she had addressed to him had softened his heart towards her, and
as he stood watching the coffin being consigned to the grave in the
churchyard at Bude, tears welled in his eyes.
He had forgiven her, endeavouring to believe that she had been more
sinned against than sinning.
Contrary to the expectations of his friends, he did not leave Coombe
after the funeral, but took what appealed to many to be a sad, bitter
pleasure in remaining amid surroundings that reminded him of his late
wife. Scarcely uttering a word to any one save his faithful servant
Jacob, he grew cynical and morose, while his face wore a fixed
expression of gloom.
People thought that Valerie's death had been a terrible blow to him, and
that he cherished everything which brought her to his memory. In truth,
however, it was quite the opposite. He was gradually removing every
trace of her occupancy. Her photographs, several of which stood about
in the rooms, he destroyed with his own hands. Cushion-covers that she
had embroidered, and a mantel fringe she had made, he ruthlessly tore
off and threw into the fire.
When he had destroyed all the small articles, the sight of which was
repugnant, he called in a furniture dealer from Bude, and for a mere
trifle sold the whole of the contents of the boudoir which she had
furnished so extravagantly. The rooms were dismantled to the curtains
and blinds, and after it had been repainted and redecorated, he gave
orders to a London firm to refurnish it as a boudoir in a style even
more costly than before.
The servants marvelled greatly at what they considered their master's
folly, and even the discreet Jacob was puzzled at his irony and
resolution.
Bright spring days succeeded the boisterous, gloomy ones of winter on
the wild Cornish coast, still Hugh Trethowen continued to live in
semi-seclusion. The greater part of each day he spent in the library
with his books, and for recreation took long, lonely walks along the
seashore, or over the moorlands, swept by the invigorating Atlantic
breeze.
Suddenly his habitual sullenness left him, and one day in July he
announced to Jacob that he expected visitors. Thenceforward there was a
complete change in his demeanour. Resuming his normal lightheartedness,
he greeted his friends with that thoroughness and _bonhomie_ that were
characteristic of him in the old days, and personally looked after their
comfort.
His guests, a pleasant, merry party, consisting of Jack Egerton, Dolly
Vivian, and Gabrielle Debriege, had no reason to complain of the
cordiality of their host's welcome, or of the efforts he made to
entertain them with the various pleasurable pursuits which the
neighbourhood afforded.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The close of a hot summer's day.
A charming little hollow, fringed with hazels and ferns, on a green
hillside overlooking the shining sea. A long stretch of bay lies in the
mellow light, curved like a crescent moon, while behind rise hills that
are somewhat low but steep, scalloped by dells clad in silver birches,
hazels, graceful ferns, and golden gorse. Nearly at the centre of this
picturesque amphitheatre of green slopes and rocky buttresses snugly
nestles a quaint old-world village, a community of pretty cottages
clustered around the ancient church, and deeply set in the verdure of
the hillside like a handful of snow-white shells in a green dell of the
sea.
Not only the crimson-tinted ocean, but the land also, is strangely
transfigured in the glow of twilight. The long stretches of cliff, with
the precipitous Raven's Crag towering high above the rocks on either
side, which, in the fierce glare of noonday, stood out like bastions,
centres of strength and power, and now rounded by the softening shadows
of the gloaming hour. The mantling grass with which they are crowned
has lost its emerald colour, and assumes a subdued preternatural tint,
while the softened sea in its violet light comes up to the deep shadows
of the overhanging crags, lustrous, pure, serene.
Hugh had driven with his visitors from Coombe, and they had left the
carriage at the village inn, and set out on foot to explore the beauties
of the district. Dolly and he had wandered away from Egerton and
Gabrielle, and walked upon the top of the cliffs towards the great
perpendicular Crag.
While they had been strolling along, she had been telling him of the
vile plot to keep them apart while Valerie exerted her irresistible
charms upon him. She showed him the dark red scar upon her throat, now
concealed by a narrow band of black velvet, and explained how she had
made the discovery while imprisoned in the strange house near
Twickenham, her escape, her visit to the church on the morning of his
marriage, and her denunciation of Holt. To all this he listened with
incredulous amazement.
When, on their return, they arrived at the stile at the entrance of the
wooded hollow through which they had to pass to reach the village, they
both paused. Hugh stood leaning with his back against the rails,
thoughtfully puffing his cigarette. The manner in which Dolly had told
the story puzzled him. True, they were still friends, and since her
arrival at Coombe had often spoken confidentially; nevertheless, he did
not forget that on the last occasion they strolled together alone on the
Cornish cliffs, he ridiculed her warning, and openly professed his
preference for Valerie.
He glanced at her handsome face. Her head was turned seaward; her soft
brown eyes wore a thoughtful, serious look, and a ray of fading sunlight
tinted her hair. The cool, flimsy blue dress fitted her lithesome
figure with scarcely a wrinkle, and the wide-brimmed hat set off to
advantage the fair countenance beneath.
"Dolly," he said earnestly, after a short silence, taking her gloved
hand in his at the same time, "all this you have just told me adds
increased horror to Valerie's terrible crimes. I now understand the
reason you wrote that warning--it was because you entertained some sort
of affection for me. Ah, had I fully understood you before I allied
myself with that woman--had I seen her in her true light as an
adventuress, and summoned sufficient strength to cast her off--I should
not have been instrumental in bringing such a calamity upon you. I
alone am to blame for all the misery that has fallen upon you, and must
ask your forgiveness."
"There is nothing to forgive, for I consider you are in no way to blame,
Hugh--I mean, Mr. Trethowen."
"No, no; call me Hugh, as you did in the old days. Why need there be
any formalities?"
"You are not to blame, Hugh," she repeated ingenuously. "That woman
fascinated you as she enmeshed many other men, all of whom paid dearly
for the privilege of bestowing their affections upon her. Think of
Jack--of your brother, Douglas! Did she not entice them both into her
coils, so that she might use them for her own ends? Hubert Holt she
ensnared in the same manner, she--"
"Why was he so obedient to her will?" asked Hugh interrupting.
"Gabrielle told me all about it a few days ago. It appears that when he
was a fellow-student with Jack he also admired Valerie. In order to
supply her with money he forged a cheque at her instigation, the
proceeds of which, amounting to something like twenty thousand francs,
he handed over to her, thinking thereby to secure her good graces. But
she treated him the same as the others. Though he abandoned Art and
entered the church, she did not allow the crime to fade from his memory,
for at intervals she compelled him to perform services for her which
were revolting to one who was trying to atone and lead a better life.
Now, fearing exposure and detection, he has fled to South America,
where, I believe, he has been joined by that old scoundrel, Graham, whom
Valerie paid handsomely for his services. It is not likely that they
will ever return to England."
"And you really forgive me for all the trials and torture I have brought
upon you?" he asked earnestly, with a slight pressure on the little hand
he held.
"Of course I do," she said frankly, raising her fine, wide-open eyes to
his.
"Before I met that woman I flirted with you, Dolly," he said, in a low,
intense tone. "You were not averse to flattery or sly whispers in the
studio when Jack's back was turned, and I, having nothing else to do,
amused myself in your company. Indeed, it was not before that night
when, being on the verge of ruin, I came to wish you farewell, that I
discovered you really cared for me. Then I blamed myself for being so
cruel as to let you see that I loved you--"
"Hugh!" she cried in astonishment. "Why, what do you mean?"
"Listen, and I'll tell you, dearest," he answered, looking earnestly
into her eyes. "It was soon after my brother's death that I met
Valerie. Prior to that, however, I had grown to love you, because I
knew that, although you lived in an atmosphere that was somewhat
questionable as regards morals, you were nevertheless pure and good. I
was on the point of asking you to become my wife when Valerie crossed my
path. You know the rest. She was no fairer, no better-looking than you
are at this moment, but with that fatal, irresistible power she
possessed she drew me to her, and I became her slave and as helpless as
a child. Now and then you and I met, and as you did not appear to
notice the coldness I exhibited, I congratulated myself that you no
longer entertained any affection for me."
"What caused you to think that?" she demanded in dismay.
"To tell the truth," he responded hesitatingly, "I believed those
repeated warnings you gave me against Valerie were merely the rancorous
fictions of a jealous heart, and that is why I took no heed of them."
"Ah!" she exclaimed, with sadness, "I tried hard but could never bring
you to understand that my woman's power of perception was keener than
yours. You were so credulous, and did not suspect treachery. Although
Jack's secret sealed his lips, yet I knew from the manner in which he
spoke that if you attached yourself to her, ruin would quickly follow."
"Yes," he admitted gloomily, "you told me so, but I was too blind an
idiot to believe it. Had I taken your advice how much pain and sorrow
would have been avoided!"
"Of what use is regret? She is dead--and you free!"
"Free--free to marry you!" he said in a deep, earnest voice, pressing
her hand to his lips at the same moment.
She glanced inquiringly at him, as if unable to grasp his meaning, and
tried to withdraw her hand.
"To marry me?" she repeated.
"Yes. Will you be my wife, Dolly?" he urged passionately. "We have
been friends for so long that we ought to know each other's
peculiarities of temperament by this time. I know I have no right to
make this request after the heartless manner in which I cast you aside.
On the other hand, you have passed the ordeal and been true to me,
trying to rescue me from ignominy and ruin, even when I ridiculed your
affection. For that reason I love you now more than ever, and I cannot
refrain from asking you to make me happy."
"It is true that you left me, preferring Valerie," she said
reflectively. "But you should not forget that you thought her a woman
in your own sphere, whereas I was only an artist's model. It was but
natural you should consider her a more fitting wife than myself; and,
although I loved you so well!"
"Did you love me, then?"
She blushed.
"But do you still care for me?" he asked with earnestness, putting his
arm around her slim waist and pressing her to his breast. "Promise me,
Dolly," he pleaded--"promise me that you will be my wife!"
"Do you love me sufficiently?"
"Can you doubt me?"
"No," she replied, in a tremulous voice; "I do not doubt you, Hugh. I
will be your wife."
Then she bent her fair head, and hid from him her tears of happiness.
The only light that can show us the road to better things is that which
shines within us. The words he uttered were tender and reassuring, and
for a long time they stood together talking of the new, bright, and
unclouded life that lay before them.
Meanwhile the exquisite gradations of colour on sea and land had faded,
the glow upon the horizon had disappeared, the wind had fallen, and all
was calm and still in the mystic gloom of the dying day.
Startled by hearing voices behind them, they turned and faced Jack and
Gabrielle, who had approached unnoticed.
After a hearty laugh and some good-natured chaff in English, the purport
of which was not thoroughly understood by mademoiselle, Hugh grasped the
artist's hand, and, wringing it warmly exclaimed--
"Congratulate me, old fellow! I'm beginning life afresh from to-day.
Dolly has consented to become my wife."
"By Jove, is that so?" Egerton cried, in pleasant surprise. "Well, you
have my heartiest wishes, Hugh." Then he added, after a moment's
hesitation: "Strangely enough, I, too, have to make a similar
announcement."
"What?" cried Hugh and Dolly simultaneously. "Gabrielle has resolved to
give up the stage and become Mrs. Egerton," he answered, with a happy
smile. "We knew one another years ago in Paris, and although no word of
affection was then spoken, we have to-day discovered that we love one
another."
"Yes," added Gabrielle, her accent making her voice sound pleasant to
English ears. "Having released him from the thrall of `La Petite
Hirondelle,' and proving that he was not guilty of the crime he believed
he had committed, I am going to many him. It is as it should be--eh?"
And she laughed contentedly.
After many mutual congratulations and expressions of surprise, they
crossed the stile, and continued their stroll through the dell towards
the village, where the scattered lights had already commenced to
twinkle.
The two men walked together at a little distance behind.
"Hugh, old fellow," the artist remarked confidentially, "I'm glad Dolly
is to be your wife. I feel confident that you'll never regret the step;
for I know, perhaps better than any one, how pure and honest she is, how
dearly she loves you, and how acutely she suffered when you forsook
her."
"Don't mention the past again, Jack, old fellow. We both played dice
with the devil, expecting to throw sixes," said Hugh, as they stepped
out upon the broad highway. Then he added, "I feel assured we shall now
be happy and contented. Let us look only to a bright and prosperous
future, and let us forget forever the grim shadow that fell upon us, the
shadow of The Temptress."
The End.