E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE BARONET'S BRIDE
Or, A Woman's Vengeance
by
MAY AGNES FLEMING
Author of _Lady Evelyn_, _Queen of the Isle_, _Who Wins?_,
_Estella's Husband_, _The Heiress of Glendower_, etc.
New York
The New York Book Company
1910
ALL'S WELL.
The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake
Our thirsty souls with rain;
The blow most dreaded falls to break
From off our limbs a chain;
And wrongs of man to man but make
The love of God more plain.
As through the shadowy lens of even
The eye looks farthest into heaven
On gleams of star and depths of blue
The glaring sunshine never knew!
JOHN G. WHITTIER.
SHADOW.
It falls before, it follows behind,
Darkest still when the day is bright;
No light without the shadow we find,
And never shadow without the light.
From our shadow we cannot flee away;
It walks when we walk, it runs when we run;
But it tells which way to look for the sun;
We may turn our backs on it any day.
Ever mingle the sight and shade
That make this human world so dear;
Sorrow of joy is ever made,
And what were a hope without a fear?
A morning shadow o'er youth is cast,
Warning from pleasure's dazzling snare;
A shadow lengthening across the past,
Fixes our fondest memories there.
One shadow there is, so dark, so drear,
So broad we see not the brightness round it;
Yet 'tis but the dark side of the sphere
Moving into the light unbounded.
ISA CRAIG-KNOX.
CHAPTER I.
THE BARONET'S BRIDE.
"And there is danger of death--for mother and child?"
"Well, no, Sir Jasper--no, sir; no certain danger, you know; but in
these protracted cases it can do no harm, Sir Jasper, for the clergyman
to be here. He may not be needed but your good lady is very weak, I am
sorry to say, Sir Jasper Kingsland."
"I will send for the clergyman," Sir Jasper Kingsland said. "Do your
best, Doctor Godroy, and for God's sake let me know the worst or best
as soon as may be. This suspense is horrible."
Doctor Parker Godroy looked sympathetically at him through his
gold-bowed spectacles.
"I will do my best, Sir Jasper," he said, gravely. "The result is in
the hands of the Great Dispenser of life and death. Send for the
clergyman, and wait and hope."
He quitted the library as he spoke. Sir Jasper Kingsland seized the
bell and rang a shrill peal.
"Ride to the village--ride for your life!" he said, imperatively, to
the servant who answered, "and fetch the Reverend Cyrus Green here at
once."
The man bowed and departed, and Sir Jasper Kingsland, Baronet, of
Kingsland Court, was alone--alone in the gloomy grandeur of the vast
library; alone with his thoughts and the wailing midnight storm.
A little toy time-piece of buhl on the stone mantel chimed musically
its story of the hour, and Sir Jasper Kingsland lifted his gloomy eyes
for a moment at the sound. A tall, spare middle-aged man, handsome
once--handsome still, some people said--with iron-gray hair and a
proud, patrician face.
"Twelve," his dry lips whispered to themselves--"midnight, and for
three hours I have endured this maddening agony of suspense! Another
day is given to the world, and before its close all I love best may be
cold and stark in death! Oh, my God! have mercy, and spare her!"
He lifted his clasped hands in passionate appeal. There was a picture
opposite--a gem of Raphael's--the Man of Sorrows fainting under the
weight of the cross, and the fire's shine playing upon it seemed to
light the pallid features with a derisive smile.
"The mercy you showed to others, the same shall be shown to you. Tiger
heart, you were merciless in the days gone by. Let your black, bad
heart break, as you have broken others!"
No voice had sounded, yet he was answered. Conscience had spoken in
trumpet-tones, and with a hollow groan the baronet turned away and
began pacing up and down.
It was a large and spacious apartment, this library of Kingsland Court,
dimly lighted now by the flickering wood-fire and the mellow glow of a
branch of wax-lights. Huge book-cases filled to overflowing lined the
four walls, and pictures precious as their weight in rubies looked
duskily down from their heavy frames. Busts and bronzes stood on
brackets and surmounted doors; a thick, rich carpet of moss-green,
sprinkled with oak leaves and acorns, muffled the tread; voluminous
draperies of dark green shrouded the tall, narrow windows. The massive
chairs and tables, fifty years old at least, were spindle-legged and
rich in carving, upholstered in green velvet and quaintly embroidered,
by hands moldered to dust long ago. Everything was old and grand, and
full of storied interest. And there, on the wall, was the crest of the
house--the uplifted hand grasping a dagger--and the motto, in old
Norman French, "Strike once, and strike well."
It is a very fine thing to be a baronet--a Kingsland of Kingsland, with
fifteen thousand a year, and the finest old house in the county; but if
Death will stalk grimly over your threshold and snatch away the life
you love more than your own, then even that glory is not omniscient.
For this wintery midnight, while Sir Jasper Kingsland walks moodily up
and down--up and down--Lady Kingsland, in the chamber above, lies ill
unto death.
An hour passes--the clock in the turret and the buhl toy on the stone
mantel toll solemnly one. The embers drop monotonously through the
grate--a dog bays deeply somewhere in the quadrangle below--the wailing
wind of coming morning sighs lamentingly through the tossing
copper-beeches, and the roar of the surf afar off comes ever and anon
like distant thunder. The house is silent as the tomb--so horribly
silent that the cold drops start out on the face of the tortured man.
Who knows? Death has been on the threshold of that upper chamber all
night, waiting for his prey. This awful hush may be the paean that
proclaims that he is master!
A tap at the door. The baronet paused in his stride and turned his
bloodshot eyes that way. His very voice was hollow and unnatural as he
said:
"Come in."
A servant entered--the same who had gone his errand.
"The Reverend Cyrus Green is here, sir. Shall I show him up?"
"Yes--no--I cannot see him. Show him into the drawing-room until he is
needed."
"He will not be needed," said a voice at his elbow, and Doctor Parker
Godroy came briskly forward. "My dear Sir Jasper, allow me to
congratulate you! All is well, thank Heaven, and--it is a son!"
Sir Jasper Kingsland sunk into a seat, thrilling from head to foot,
turning sick and faint in the sudden revulsion from despair to hope.
"Saved?" he said, in a gasping whisper. "_Both_?"
"Both, my dear Sir Jasper!" the doctor responded, cordially. "Your
good lady is very much prostrated--exhausted--but that was to be looked
for, you know; and the baby--ah! the finest boy I have had the pleasure
of presenting to an admiring world within ten years. Come and see
them!"
"May I?" the baronet cried, starting to his feet.
"Certainly, my dear Sir Jasper--most certainly. There is nothing in
the world to hinder--only be a little cautious, you know. Our good
lady must be kept composed and quiet, and left to sleep; and you will
just take one peep and go. We won't need the Reverend Cyrus."
He led the way from the library, rubbing his hands as your brisk little
physicians do, up a grand stair-way where you might have driven a coach
and four, and into a lofty and most magnificently furnished bed-chamber.
"Quiet, now--quiet," the doctor whispered, warningly. "Excite her, and
I won't be answerable for the result."
Sir Jasper Kingsland replied with a rapid gesture, and walked forward
to the bed. His own face was perfectly colorless, and his lips were
twitching with intense suppressed feeling. He bent above the still
form.
"Olivia," he said, "my darling, my darling!"
The heavy eyelids fluttered and lifted, and a pair of haggard, dark
eyes gazed up at him. A wan smile parted those pallid lips.
"Dear Jasper! I knew you would come. Have you seen the baby? It is a
boy."
"My own, I have thought only of you. My poor pale wife, how awfully
death-like you look!"
"But I am not going to die--Doctor Godroy says so," smiling gently.
"And now you must go, for I cannot talk. Only kiss me first, and look
at the baby."
Her voice was the merest whisper. He pressed his lips passionately to
the white face and rose up. Nurse and baby sat in state by the fire,
and a slender girl of fifteen years knelt beside them, and gazed in a
sort of rapture at the infant prodigy.
"Look, papa--look? The loveliest little thing, and nurse says the very
picture of you!"
Not very lovely, certainly; but Sir Jasper Kingsland's eyes lighted
with pride and joy as he looked. For was it not a boy? Had he not at
last, after weary, weary waiting, the desire of his heart--a son to
inherit the estate and perpetuate the ancient name?
"It is so sweet, papa!" Miss Mildred whispered, her small, rather
sickly face quite radiant; "and its eyes are the image of yours. He's
asleep now, you know, and you can't see them. And look at the dear,
darling little hands and fingers and feet, and the speck of a nose and
the dot of a mouth! Oh papa! isn't it splendid to have a baby in the
house?"
"Very splendid," said papa, relaxing into a smile. "A fine little
fellow, nurse! There, cover him up again and let him sleep. We must
take extra care of the heir of Kingsland Court. And Mildred, child,
you should be in bed. One o'clock is no hour for little girls to be
out of their nests."
"Oh, papa! as if I could sleep and not see the baby!"
"Well, you have seen it, and now run away to your room. Mamma and baby
both want to sleep, and nurse doesn't need you, I am sure."
"That I don't," said nurse, "nor the doctor, either. So run away, Miss
Milly, and go to sleep yourself. The baby will be here, all safe for
you, in the morning."
The little girl--a flaxen-haired, pretty-featured child--kissed the
baby, kissed papa, and dutifully departed. Sir Jasper followed her out
of the room, down the stairs, and back into the library, with the face
of a man who has just been reprieved from sudden death. As he
re-entered the library, he paused and started a step back, gazing
fixedly at one of the windows. The heavy curtain had been partially
drawn back, and a white, spectral face was glued to the glass, glaring
in.
"Who have we here?" said the baronet to himself; "that face can belong
to no one in the house."
He walked straight to the window--the face never moved. A hand was
raised and tapped on the glass. A voice outside spoke:
"For Heaven's sake, open and let me in, before I perish in this bitter
storm."
Sir Jasper Kingsland opened the window and flung it wide.
"Enter! whoever you are," he said. "No one shall ask in vain at
Kingsland, this happy night."
He stepped back, and, all covered with snow, the midnight intruder
entered and stood before him. And Sir Jasper Kingsland saw the
strangest-looking creature he had ever beheld in the whole course of
his life.