TREACHERY.
Lizette could scarcely repress a cry of surprise, she was so startled by
the sudden appearance of the sailor whose bronzed face and glittering
eyes shone weirdly in the dim light outside the strong iron bars at the
window. But at his warning she clapped her hand over her open mouth.
"Be quiet, please, miss," said the sailor. And as Lizette bent nearer,
he continued in a low voice: "I am here to save you and your mistress,
but if the people in the house should hear us we are lost. I have
brought tools to wrench off these bars, and if your mistress will only
come quietly with me all will be well."
"But who are you?" whispered the maid. "How did you know about us? Did
you come from the yacht? Is it possible Mr. Mountcastle knows we are
here?"
"Yes; he has found out everything, but he could not come himself. He is
very ill, so he sent me. But excuse me, miss; we mustn't stop to talk.
You must prepare your mistress to go while I wrench off these bars.
Don't let her make any outcry, or the game will be up, for Rhodus and
Kayne will be down upon us at the first sound."
Lizette knew that it was true, and she saw no cause to distrust the
sailor, who seemed to be honest. With a heart full of joy she returned
to her mistress, who was now stirring restlessly. Lizette bent over her
and whispered:
"Wake, dearie, wake. We are going to escape from our prison."
But the influence of the opiate she had taken had dulled Nita's tortured
brain. At Lizette's loving efforts to arouse her she only stared in a
dull, uncomprehending way.
"It does not matter, for if she was fully awake she might be
frightened," thought Lizette, and hurriedly dressed her mistress in the
serge boating-suit she had worn on her wedding-night--the only gown she
now possessed. She was simply quiescent and passive, like a little child
only half-awake.
The sailor had now succeeded in removing the heavy iron bars with but
slight noise, and he was leaning on the window-sill waiting with
impatience.
"Do not wake her if you can avoid it. I can carry her in my arms," he
called softly to Lizette.
Lizette gathered the passive form to her breast and bore it to the
window. The man held out eager arms, and the dark head dropped
unresistingly upon his shoulder. Lizette did not notice the keen thrill
of joy that shook the sailor from head to foot as he clasped the
precious burden.
"I will carry her down, and you must follow," he said gently. "Do not
attempt to descend until I am safe at the bottom. The ladder is not very
strong."
Slowly and carefully he bore his burden down the ladder, clasping her
close to a heart that was throbbing quick and fast with triumph, while
Lizette looked on with trembling suspense.
He reached the ground safely, then--was it accident or design?--a
movement of his arm caused the ladder to slide from the window-sill, and
fall with a dull thud to the ground!
Lizette, who had climbed upon the sill ready to step out, gave a stifled
cry of dismay as she saw the ladder fall, and the sailor striding away
with Nita, while a low laugh came back to her on the night wind. The
deserted maid threw up her hands with a moan of despair.
An awful suspicion had rushed over her mind at the sound of the sailor's
taunting laugh--a suspicion of treachery dark and dire. She had been
duped, deceived! The sailor had not come from Dorian Mountcastle as he
had falsely pretended.
Doubtless he was the paid tool of Donald Kayne, who, wishing to separate
Nita from her only friend, had laid this cunning trap to carry out his
purpose. And, thanks to her simple credulity, he had succeeded even more
easily than he could have hoped. Here she was locked securely in this
second-story room, for Mrs. Rhodus always turned the key on her
prisoners at night, and yonder her young mistress was being borne away
by the sailor into another cruel captivity uncheered by the sight of a
friendly face.
Lizette was wild with fear and grief for her lovely mistress. It seemed
to her she had betrayed Nita to some fearful fate. She hated herself
for her dreadful mistake, and, frantic with grief, she exclaimed:
"I will follow or die!"
Springing upon the broad window-sill, she let herself down first by her
hands, then dropped as gently as she could to the ground.
Then a shriek of uncontrollable pain rent the air. In her heavy fall she
had twisted or broken one of her ankles.
The pain was so excruciating that after one moment of supreme agony, she
trembled all over, then relapsed into unconsciousness.
* * * * *
It was, indeed, Dorian Mountcastle's yacht that had come into harbor at
Fortune's Bay. The Reverend Mr. Irwin had been put ashore more than a
week previous and sent back to New York with a full purse of gold and a
new stock of experience. Captain Van Hise and the doctor had remained by
Dorian, and helped him pull through his tedious illness.
He was now slowly convalescing, but there were two things that greatly
retarded his recovery. One was a deep and silent remorse over the death
of Donald Kayne, whom he had last seen stretched apparently dead upon
the sands at Pirate Beach. The other cause was anxiety over Nita, about
whom the surgeon still kept up the little fiction of sea-sickness.
One of Dorian's first conscious requests on hearing the story of his
bride's illness was that they should put into land so that Nita might
get well.
"And then we will continue our journey on land, for although I enjoy
yachting very much myself, I do not wish for my poor little wife to
suffer from the agonies of sea-sickness," he said tenderly.
So by one of the accidents of fate that we call blind chance the _Nita_
was steered into Fortune's Bay.
"And what the deuce shall we do now? He's asking for her all the time,
and mad with impatience for a sight of her face," groaned Van Hise to
the doctor that night when they were smoking together upon deck. The
hour was late, nearing midnight, and the surgeon yawned sleepily.
"I shall keep up the fiction till to-morrow," he said; "then I shall
have to invent something else, for this one will not serve my purpose
any longer. But only Heaven knows how I am going to get out of this
trouble. Tell him that his bride is drowned I cannot, dare not, for he
would either die or go mad from the shock in his present weak condition.
Well, I will go and have a good-night look at him and turn in and sleep
on it."
"Think I'll go to bed, too," said the captain.
But he lingered a moment with his weed, silently drinking in the beauty
of the summer night, then suddenly concluded to have a stroll upon the
shore before he retired.
"Just to stretch my legs, for, by Jove! I prefer the land to the deck,"
he muttered, as he strode up the gang-plank and felt his feet on terra
firma.
The doctor found Dorian awake and restless, tormented by the yearning
desire for Nita's presence.
"Doc, you must let her come to me to-morrow. I cannot bear this
separation any longer!" he cried with impatient pain.
"Didn't I tell you that Mrs. Mountcastle was too weak to leave her
berth?"
"Then I will go to her!" cried Dorian.
"You are also too weak to walk," replied his friend.
"Then I will be carried to her berth. I must see her for myself. I fear
that she is worse than you tell me."
"You are exciting yourself, Dorian, in a manner that I fear may bring on
a relapse of your sickness. And your wound is barely healed, remember.
Come, curb this impatience, and to-morrow things may be more to your
liking. But now I must give you a sedative, or you will not sleep
to-night, and that will be very bad for you."
Dorian was glad to take the sedative that promised oblivion from vexing
thoughts. He swallowed it meekly, and bade the surgeon good night. He
was well enough now so that they did not have to watch him at night.
The dim flame of the lowered lamp cast a pale gleam on the wan face, as
he lay, with half-shut eyes, trying vainly to sleep, for the thought of
his young bride, the intense, overpowering yearning to see her again,
banished repose.
Was it the sound of the lapping waves that drowned a light, quick
footstep? He heard nothing, but suddenly there was a flutter as of
woman's robes beside him--some one falling on her knees, stretching out
tender arms to clasp his neck.
His thoughts had taken embodied shape--Nita's self was here, her head on
his breast, her kisses burning on his lips! Dorian clasped his love with
passionate tenderness, and kissed her lips over and over in the mad joy
of seeing her again. Low murmurs of love escaped their lips, between
sweet caresses. He comprehended that her yearning for him had matched
his for her. Weak and ill as she was, she had eluded her watchers and
sought his side.
"Oh, my love, my darling, how pale and thin you are! You have suffered
greatly," he whispered.
"And you, too, love," she murmured. "You have suffered also, have you
not? But you will get well, now that I have come back to you, my
husband! Oh, how thankful I am I did not perish in the gloomy sea that
dark night when I was swept into the water with Lizette. Now I will stay
by you and nurse you while you get strong again. Oh, Dorian, how I love
you! Hold me tight, darling; do not let any one take me away from you!"
They were wild with joy over their reunion, and to neither one came the
slightest presentiment of the cruel truth--that these were parting as
well as greeting kisses.
Something put out the dim flame of the lamp, and there was the sound of
a heavy, creaking footstep in the room. The next moment Nita was torn
rudely from her husband's arms, and her head and face muffled in
something dark and heavy, and she was borne swiftly away from the
yacht.