Mrs. Wentworth and Mr. Gordon were not the only persons at the seaside
who suspected that Mrs. Lynn was other than she seemed.
The curiosity of the pretty, faded widow, Mrs. Merivale, had been
aroused by the first sight of Mrs. Lynn. She spared no pains until she
obtained an introduction to the noted writer, over whose charms of
mind and person all the best people at the seaside were enthusiastic
in admiration. When she had done so, she was almost frightened by the
astonishing likeness of Mrs. Lynn to Laurel Vane.
"It is the dead alive!" she said to herself. "I can no longer believe
that St. Leon's wife drowned herself. There has been some great
mistake. She went away and hid herself from all who knew her, and
she has reappeared as Mrs. Lynn. I wish I knew the history of those
intervening years, and what she intends to do. Will she return to St.
Leon? Will he forgive her and take her back?"
She was bitterly chagrined and angry at the thought that Laurel lived
in the person of the beautiful, gifted, wealthy Mrs. Lynn. She had been
glad when she heard that Laurel was dead. She began to feel now that
Fate had played her an unkind trick in resurrecting her hated rival
from the grave, where she had deemed her resting all these long years;
not that the wily widow had any hope of winning St. Leon. She had
understood that long ago. She knew that he was proof against her faded
charms, her rouged and powdered beauty, that he thoroughly despised
her. She had known it ever since that night at Eden, when he had flung
back her offered heart on her hands in supremest scorn and sarcasm. The
knowledge had aroused all the littleness and spite of her malicious
nature. She had hated St. Leon from that moment--hated the beautiful
girl who had won him even more. She would gladly have done both an
ill turn if she could, but Laurel, dead in her grave, was secure from
her vengeance, and St. Leon, in his proud position and calm reserve,
beyond her reach. For several years she had not seen him, but she knew
that he had returned from his wanderings and was at home again. The
thought that Laurel still lived, the bare possibility that she might
yet be reunited to her husband, filled her with jealous anger and
dread. On the spur of the moment she penned a letter to one who hated
St. Leon and Laurel with as deadly a rancor as her own--one whose love
for Laurel had changed to hate, even as had Mrs. Merivale's for St.
Leon--no less a person than the villain, Ross Powell.
Mr. Powell's animosity against the rich man who had won Laurel had not
been lessened by the fact that Mr. Le Roy had secured the dismissal of
the villain from Mr. Gordon's employ in the week immediately following
the _exposé_ at Eden. Mr. Le Roy's resentment had followed him steadily
from one place to another in New York, until he found that it was
useless to expect to retain employment in that city, and was forced to
seek a livelihood in a more distant one beyond the reach of his enemy's
anger.
The villain was well punished for his unmanly persecution of an
innocent, helpless girl, but it did not add to the sweetness of his
temper to receive this merited retribution for his wickedness. He swore
revenge upon St. Leon Le Roy, and patiently bided his time, pledging
himself the faithful ally of Mrs. Merivale in her hatred of her whilom
friend and lover.
The time for his revenge seemed come at last, when he received Mrs.
Merivale's letter, urging him to come to the seaside, and help her to
identify Laurel Vane in the beautiful, courted woman queening it so
royally in circles where Maud Merivale could barely find a footing. He
lost no time in obeying her mandate, feeling as anxious as the wicked
widow herself to prevent a reunion of the long-separated husband and
wife.
He reached the hotel on a lovely evening in the last of August, and was
shown at once to Mrs. Merivale's private parlor. They had never met but
once before, but there was no embarrassment in the meeting. Both were
alike at heart--crafty, evil, unscrupulous--ready to do their best to
dash down the possible cup of happiness from the lips of the man and
woman they hated with all the venom of their little souls.
"And you are sure that she is Laurel Vane?" he said, in wonder.
"I am sure--quite sure in my own mind," she replied. "But you will see
her very probably this evening at the usual hop if she deigns to honor
it with her presence. It is not often she appears, being very exclusive
and reserved, but if you miss her to-night you will be very sure to see
her on the shore in the morning."
"What are we to do if it be really Laurel Vane?" asked Powell, musingly.
Her pale eyes flashed with subtle meaning.
"We must do anything to prevent her from meeting Mr. Le Roy again--I
could not endure their happiness," she replied, bitterly.