A sultry autumn day had passed; the freshening twilight had faded, and
the moon and evening star were in the sky as Vera and I sat together on
the terrace at Elveham. Already the lights of the village began to
twinkle in the distance; the tops of the trees in the Dene were gleaming
in the moonlight like a silver sea, a night bird warbled sweetly, and
the little brook babbled on with lulling music.
My heart drank in the tranquillity of the scene, as in the listlessness
of after dinner I smoked the sleep-inviting cigar.
A month had elapsed since the tragic _denouement_ of the strange drama,
but Vera's nerves had been so unstrung that I had scarcely referred to
the terrible occurrence since.
We had just dined with Boris and Bob Nugent, who had arrived as our
guests that day. During the meal Vera had spoken of the scene at the
hotel--not without some hesitation, however--and now we were alone she
again alluded to it.
"Do you remember, Frank, it was on a similar night to this, that you
saw, over there in the Dene, what your jealous eyes distorted into a
meeting of lovers?"
"Yes, dearest; I do remember it. Boris being the man I saw leave the
house in Bedford Place, I believed him to be the murderer," I replied.
"Boris; the murderer!" cried my wife in surprise. "Ah! I understand,
dear, what agony of mind such a discovery must have caused you. It was
all my fault--everything," she added, with regret.
"The mystification was not intentional, Vera," I said, tenderly,
encircling her slim waist with my arm. "But do not let us speak of it
again."
"Frank," she exclaimed suddenly, as she placed her hand upon my shoulder
tenderly, looking into my eyes, "Boris has yet something to tell you.
Ah! here they come; you must hear it now."
My two guests had emerged from the dining-room and were strolling
leisurely towards us in full enjoyment of their goddess Nicotine.
My wife called them, and they came and seated themselves beside us.
"Now, Boris," she said, "we have all met, and you can explain to Frank
that complication you did not acquaint him with on the night of his
acquittal."
"What more can there be?" I asked, in unfeigned astonishment.
"Simply this: The villain meant to kill you?" Boris replied calmly.
"To kill me?"
"Yes. You remember discovering portions of a seal upon your
writing-table?"
"Perfectly. It was on the morning I left for London."
"Exactly. Had you remained here, you would have been murdered, and the
seal, which was in readiness, affixed upon you. When you left, he
followed, his purpose being to kill you when a fitting opportunity
presented itself. Luckily events so conspired as to frustrate his evil
design."
"Is this really true?" I exclaimed, in amazement.
"Yes. You will now understand why I shadowed you so closely. It was in
order that no harm should befall you."
"But my arrest--" I said, utterly bewildered at this fresh feature the
mystery presented--a plot against my own life.
"The villain suddenly altered his tactics, presumably because he would
be running too great a risk by killing you. He therefore returned here,
placed the seals and other articles among your possessions, and
afterwards gave information to the police which led to your committal."
"What could have been the motive of all this?"
I asked, my astonishment increasing at such revelations. "We were
friends; I had done him no wrong."
"The motive was a sufficiently strong one; that of obtaining your
fortune."
"How?"
"Cannot you see the depths of the plot? He was aware you had made a
will leaving everything to Vera, therefore, if you died, she would
possess the estate. In that case he hoped to marry her, and failing
this, his father could give information which would secure her
conviction and exile as one implicated in the attempts against the Czar.
In either case he would obtain the money. You were the only obstacle,
and when once removed, all would have been easy."
"By fortuitous circumstances he did not succeed," Vera said, kissing me
fondly.
"No. He was a clever rogue, I can assure you. But he was unaware that
I was in England watching his movements," remarked Boris.
"What of his father?" I asked.
"He also has obtained what he richly deserves. Having been detected in
assisting in the manufacture of bombs in Zurich, immediately on his
return after giving evidence against you, he was convicted and sentenced
to ten years' imprisonment."
"Serve the old scoundrel right!" declared Bob, in a tone of
satisfaction. "It seems to me, Frank, old fellow, you owe your life to
our newly-discovered friend."
"Yes, that is true," I admitted. "It is a debt I can never repay."
"Don't talk of it," said Boris, tossing away his cigar-end. "My only
desire has been to secure the happiness of my sister and yourself."
"There is nothing to fear in that respect," I said, laughing. "The dark
clouds and terrible ordeals that overshadowed the first few months after
our marriage have now passed, and brighter days, full of hope and
enjoyment, have dawned. Our future lives will be devoid of sorrow, and
there shall be no element of mistrust again to part us."
"Frank, old chap," cried Bob, enthusiastically, "I congratulate you on
the recommencement of your honeymoon with all my heart. You and Mrs
Burgoyne certainly deserve every happiness after the severe trials you
have both undergone."
Thanking him warmly, our hands gripped with the same hearty clasp as in
days gone by.
While I had been speaking my wife had taken a little spray of
stephanotis from her breast and with loving hands pinned it in the lapel
of my coat.
As I kissed her passionately, she assured me, with a rippling laugh:
"There shall be nothing wanting on my part to ensure perfect felicity,
for I think, dearest, you can now place implicit trust in the woman who
once was Vera Seroff, Nihilist."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.