St. Leon Le Roy--what had brought him here at this moment of all
others? What strange trick did fate mean to play her in thus
surrounding her all in a moment, as it were, with these people who had
had so malign an influence upon her past? Her heart beat with deadly
fear. One white, ringed hand furtively sought her uncle's arm and clung
to it as if to save herself from falling to the floor. Through the wild
rhythm of the dance music, through the measured echo of the flying feet
of the waltzers, she instinctively felt him pausing before her--she
heard Mrs. Wentworth's voice, saying, with a strange, sweet ring in it:
"Mr. Le Roy, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Lynn."
Laurel could not speak for a moment. A deadly fear possessed her. She
heard a clear, calm, self-possessed voice saying, kindly:
"Mrs. Lynn and I have met before. We are neighbors at our homes on the
Hudson."
She did not look up, but she saw his strong, shapely white hand held
out to her, and as she laid her own within it, his gentle pressure
seemed to say dumbly:
"Do not be afraid, dear. They shall not surprise me into betraying your
strange secret."
Laurel could not speak for a moment. Happily, Beatrix broke the silence
by exclaiming, in a voice from which she could not keep the ring of
disappointment.
"Neighbors and acquaintances! And I did not dream that you had met
before!"
The whole fabric of the pretty romance she had been building up was
destroyed in a moment, like "the baseless fabric of a dream." She felt
like bursting into tears of disappointment. What beautiful hopes she
had built upon Mrs. Lynn's resemblance to Laurel Vane! And oh, if Mr.
Le Roy and the novelist could guess how she and her father had plotted
to bring them together, how angry they would be. While these vexatious
thoughts rushed over her, she heard Mrs. Lynn saying in a cool, calm,
almost indifferent voice:
"Yes, Mrs. Wentworth, my uncle's home on the Hudson adjoins Eden. While
we sojourned there this summer we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Le
Roy and his mother."
And in the next breath Mr. Le Roy said, suavely:
"Will you give me this waltz, Mrs. Lynn?"
She laid her gloved hand on his arm, and they were whirled away to
the rhythm of the delicious waltz music. Who could tell how quickly
Laurel's heart beat as she "felt her true love's arm round her once
again"?
Beatrix, with her father and husband, stood gazing a little blankly at
the graceful forms of the handsome, well-matched pair. All three were
bitterly disappointed at the prosaic ending of the pretty romance they
had built up, and of which they had confidently expected to behold the
delightful _dénouement_.
But the most amazed of all were Mrs. Merivale, and her coadjutor in
malice, Ross Powell. They had stood near enough to witness the meeting
between Mr. Le Roy and Mrs. Lynn, and, while filled with rage at the
sight, they had been utterly confounded at the result.
Mr. Le Roy's cool declaration, "We have met before," Mrs. Lynn's
apparent calmness and _insouciance_, astounded them. They looked into
each other's eyes in wonder and amaze, and Ross Powell asked, hoarsely:
"What does it mean?"
"What, indeed?" she echoed. "Is the man blind, or are they acting a
part?"
He seized upon the idea quickly.
"They _are_ acting a part," he said. "I could swear that Mrs. Lynn is
Laurel Vane, and, of course, her own husband could not be deceived in
her identity. Decidedly they are playing a part. But why? Have you any
idea?"
"I cannot imagine," she replied. "And yet I would have the world to
know. Is he still angry with her? Is it possible he can recognize her
and not choose to claim her?"
"Is it possible that he is mad?" he asked, contemptuously. "No; there
is something deeper than that behind their masquerading. Why, she is
simply peerless! What man in his senses could behold her and not claim
her, knowing her his?"
The yearning in his voice made her bitterly angry. How she hated that
beauty that made men mad for her sake!--that satin-smooth skin, those
great, wine-dark eyes, that golden hair, that fire and soul that made
Mrs. Lynn so peerless, doubly crowned, doubly laureled by both beauty
and intellect!
"I thought you hated her!" she said, scornfully.
"So I do. I hate her and I love her in the same breath. Can you
understand the feeling?" he asked, hoarsely, and almost under his
breath.
"Yes, I understand," she answered, with subdued bitterness.
"The first sight of her lovely face stirred all the old passion within
me, and yet I hate her, too," he said, darkly. "I cannot bear that that
purse-proud aristocrat should win her back. I could sooner bear to
strike her dead at his feet than to see them happy together!"
He stood glowering at the graceful figure as it whirled down the long
ball-room in the clasp of St. Leon Le Roy's arm. All the worst passions
of his nature were roused by the sight. The first sight of Laurel in
all her womanly beauty had kindled anew the fires of his passion for
her, while his resentment at her scorn burned to fever heat. He had
spoken the truth when he said that he hated and loved her in the same
breath.
Mrs. Merivale gazed at him with quickened breath and evilly flashing
eyes. She had set herself the deliberate task of arousing all the worst
instincts of this wicked and undisciplined nature. Through Ross Powell
she would have her revenge on those two whom she hated. He was the
blind instrument in her hands to work out her wicked will.
"I do not blame you, Mr. Powell," she said, in a tone of gentlest
sympathy. "I know that men feel deeply and strongly on such subjects,
and I can imagine what it must be to see the woman one loves beloved
by another man and loving him in return. It must almost drive one to
madness. It must be the refinement of torture."
"It is hell!" he muttered back, hoarsely, and with concentrated
bitterness and despair.
"It would be easier to see her dead, I fancy," pursued the wily
tempter, softly. "Death is a grim bridegroom, but better the gloom of
the grave than a hated bridegroom's arms!"
"You are right," he muttered; "I hate them both, and I swear they shall
not be happy together! What think you, Mrs. Merivale--is there any
chance of a reconciliation?"
"Look!" she answered.
Mr. Le Roy and Laurel had slipped out of the circle of dancers and were
leaving the ball-room arm in arm. Mrs. Merivale laughed a hateful,
significant laugh.
"They are going out on the shore," she said. "We all know the romantic,
softening influences of moonlight, music and love. They will no longer
be able to keep up the farce as strangers. They will be melted by the
soft influences of the night and fall into each other's arms. Finis!
reconciliation, renewed vows of love, beatific happiness!"
Half maddened by her words, he ground his teeth over a fierce and
bitter oath, and shaking her hand from his arm, strode out of the room
with "the fires of hell" in his heart.