Ross Powell had been bitterly chagrined and disappointed at his failure
to trace Laurel Vane, after his meeting with her at the gates of Eden.
Her beauty had inspired him with a passion that all her anger and scorn
and detestation were powerless to chill. While he tried to hate her for
her disdain, he could not help loving her for the rare loveliness that
had won him at first sight. Brooding deeply over the subject after his
return to New York, he made up his mind that, if he could not possess
Laurel in any other way, he would make her his wife. He did not doubt
but that she would be delighted at the chance of becoming Mrs. Powell,
and, after coming to this magnanimous resolve, he was exceedingly
anxious to find her out and propose to her.
But fate was against him. His clerkly duties kept him chained to his
desk so closely that it was only at the Christmas holidays he found
an opportunity of returning to the vicinity of Eden to prosecute his
search. After long cogitation on the subject, he had concluded that
Laurel had misled him in stating that she was not staying at Eden. He
now believed that she belonged to the staff of domestics at Eden, and
that she had hidden her identity under an assumed name.
"The little jade tricked me cleverly that time, but I'll catch up with
her yet!" he muttered, angrily, to himself, for he did not relish the
idea of having been duped by a simple girl like Laurel.
So, with his faculties sharpened by reflection, and spurred on by his
passion--which only gained in strength by the months of suspense he
had endured--Ross Powell returned to the palace on the Hudson, where
he hoped to find Laurel employed in some menial capacity by the proud,
rich Le Roys.
Alas for Laurel if she had remained at Eden! for the villain would most
undoubtedly have detected her this time; but, as the reader knows, she
was absent in Europe with her husband. Mr. Powell, in a sly, underhand
way, informed himself thoroughly regarding the household at Eden, and
became satisfied that the object of his search was not there. He was
bitterly enraged at his non-success in the pursuit of the beautiful,
and, as he imagined, unprotected orphan.
"I was a fool to let her slip through my fingers so easily that day,"
he told himself. "I wish I had followed her, and let Mr. Gordon's
business go to the mischief until I had settled my own! A little delay
would not have mattered to him, while my own cause was ruined by my
attention to business. Never mind! Once I get on her track again, she
shall not escape me! Twice she has given me the slip. Let her look to
the third time!"
Alas! poor Laurel, in her summer home across the sea, she had forgotten
this crafty spider that lay in wait for her, whose love was crueler
than hate.
He returned to the city, sullen, angry, disappointed, but more anxious
than ever to find her. A new idea had taken possession of his mind.
It occurred to him that Laurel had perhaps gone abroad in the capacity
of maid to the young bride, Mrs. Le Roy.
This idea having once taken possession of his mind, was dwelt on until
it became a rooted belief. He was quite certain that he had solved the
mystery of her absence now. He cursed her for a clever little wretch,
who could never have eluded him so cleverly if she had not inherited
her father's brains.
"And he was a genius," he said. "Egad, it seems a little strange that
old Vane's pretty, high-bred looking girl should descend to the level
of a common servant. He was proud, although he ruined himself by drink.
I wonder if his bones don't turn in the coffin at thought of little
Laurel waiting on Beatrix Gordon!"
He made arrangements to be informed at the earliest hour of the return
of Mr. Le Roy and his bride to Eden. He swore that quick-witted Laurel
should not forestall him and get away this time.
"If she only knew that I meant to do the fair thing by her and make her
Mrs. Powell, I have no doubt she would be deuced glad to have me find
her," he thought, egotistically. "It's a bother that I can't have her
without, but she's a high-strung little filly, and has her own notions.
Perhaps I can arrange for a mock marriage. Then, when I am tired of
her, I can drop her more easily. She will drown herself, of course,
when she finds out that she has been deceived."
So ran the musings of the wretch, and his impatience reached fever-heat
as the dreary winter months dragged away and still Mr. Le Roy lingered
abroad with his lovely bride, little dreaming in their happiness of the
clerk sitting behind the desk in Mr. Gordon's office and growing ever
more and more impatient for their return.
Winter passed away at length, followed by March with its chilling,
boisterous winds, its clouded, murky skies; April came with its
sunshine and rain, May with its balmy airs and fragrant flowers. Still
they came not. How he hated those grand, rich people who could loiter
their time away amid the beauties and luxuries of the old world, and
keep Laurel away from him, losing her heart perhaps to some musical
Italian, frog-eating Frenchman, or sturdy Englishman. A vague, bitter
jealousy of he knew not what filled his heart.
He never forgot how glad he felt when in the latter part of May he
heard that Mr. Le Roy and his bride had returned to Eden. A burning
impatience filled him to get away from the office and go down to Eden
to assure himself if Laurel were really there.
He made some excuse of indisposition or private business--in fact, the
first ready lie that came to his tongue--and asked Mr. Gordon for a
holiday; it was granted, and on the same day Ross Powell went down to
Eden, so confident of success that the disappointment he experienced
staggered him with its bitterness and intensity.
For when he went boldly to the servants' entrance and asked for young
Mrs. Le Roy's maid, a pert foreigner, a mademoiselle whom St. Leon had
engaged in Paris to attend his wife, came to him. Her broken English,
her voluble French, her cap and ribbon, alike disgusted him. He crushed
a bitter oath between his teeth and went away.
"It is just as I feared and dreaded," he thought. "Some jackanapes over
the sea has won her, and she would not return with the Le Roys, who had
to engage that painted, beribboned, chattering monkey in her place. I
have a great mind to go and ask Mr. Gordon's daughter to tell me about
Laurel Vane."
But on second thoughts he concluded not to do so. It would come to Mr.
Gordon's ears and might possibly set unpleasant inquiries on foot.
After all it could not avail him anything to know how he had lost her.
Fate had played him a trick, a dastardly trick that nothing could undo
now. There was nothing to do but resign the hopes that had buoyed him
up for many months, realize that the game he had played was over, and
that he had been the loser. His love turned to hate, his passion to a
dastardly yearning for revenge upon the beautiful, high-spirited girl.
"The little black-eyed jade! How cleverly she gave me the slip! I
would give anything on earth to be able to punish her," he muttered,
wickedly, to himself.
He was walking slowly along the dusty road that wound along the banks
of the river, and had already left the beautiful, extensive grounds
of Eden some distance behind him. The sun was setting resplendently,
gilding the beautiful river with gold, and a soft breeze fanned his hot
brow; but the beauties of nature had no charm for his passion-seared
soul. He walked on with lowering, moody brows, and did not look up
until a cloud of dust blowing over him and the sound of approaching
carriage wheels forced an impatient imprecation to his lips. Then he
looked up, and the sight he beheld was photographed on his memory
forever.
An exquisite little phaeton--the daintiest, the most fairy-like he had
ever beheld in his life--was approaching him, drawn by two superb white
horses, whose smooth, satiny coats, gold-mounted harness, and azure
bridle-reins glittered in the golden sunlight. Among the blue-satin
cushions sat a lady and a gentleman, the latter a dark, handsome,
prince-looking man, whom he recognized instantly as St. Leon Le Roy.
Beside him sat a young beauty, in the daintiest Parisian bonnet and
toilet, smiles on her lips, love in her eyes, peerless loveliness on
the face lifted so tenderly to St. Leon's. Ross Powell gave one quick
look into that beautiful face, and gasped, like one dying:
"Laurel Vane!"
St. Leon saw the man trudging in the dust, and touched his hat
courteously. Laurel saw him, and her young face whitened to the hue of
death. Ross Powell did not return the gentleman's bow, did not move
nor speak; he only stood still in the road, like one dazed, while the
dazzling equipage whirled past him and covered him with dust.
The echoing sound of the wheels, that seemed to roll over his heart,
died away; the dust-cloud slowly lowered and sunk to its kindred earth
again. During those moments he had stood stock-still, like one dead,
staring blindly before him. He roused himself now, shook himself like
one awakened from a painful dream, and, turning, gazed down the road.
He was too late! The dainty equipage, with its daintier mistress and
handsome master, had gone out of sight like a dream. He was alone in
the golden glow of the beautiful sunset, the soft sound of the river in
his ears, his heart on fire with the memory of that lovely face that
had flashed on him suddenly like a star out of blackest night.
"Laurel Vane! And by St. Leon Le Roy's side! What does it mean?" he
asked himself.
He went over in his mind every detail of the beautiful, happy face, the
rich dress, the shining jewels she wore. Only the richest ladies in
New York wore such things as these, he knew. Why did Laurel Vane have
them? How came she to be sitting by St. Leon Le Roy's side--one of the
proudest, richest men in the State?
He sat down on the grassy river bank, and tried to collect his
thoughts. He was all at sea; he could not understand.