"AFTER STORM, THE SUNSHINE."
Earlier in the evening, when Harriet had told her story to Mr. Bryson,
that gentleman had proceeded at once to the prison to inform the
prisoner and the officials that the murdered lady was alive.
There he found the warden of the prison and the clergyman, listening
with very perplexed faces to a story the prisoner was narrating.
"This is a most extraordinary revelation," the clergyman was saying.
"I really don't know what to think."
"What is it?" asked Mr. Bryson.
"A story which, wildly incredible as it seems, is yet true as Holy
Writ," answered the prisoner. "The real murderer is found. She has
been here, and admitted her guilt."
"What!" exclaimed the lawyer. "Sybilla Silver?"
"Why!" cried the warden, in wonder, "you, too?"
"Exactly," said Mr. Bryson, with a nod. "I know all about it. A most
important witness has turned up--no other than the missing man, Mr.
Parmalee. He saw the deed done--saw Sybilla Silver, dressed in Sir
Everard's clothes, do it, and has come all the way from America to
testify against her. Sir Everard, my dear friend, from the bottom of
my soul I congratulate you on your most blessed escape!"
"Thank you!" he said. "If my life is spared, it is for some good end,
no doubt. Thank God! A felon's death would have been very bitter, and
for my mother's sake I rejoice."
"Not for your own?"
"I have lost all that made life sweet. My wife is in heaven. For me
earth holds nothing but penitence and remorse."
"I am not so sure about that. I have better news for you even than the
news I have told. My dear friend, can you bear a great shock--a shock
of joy?"
He sprung up in bed, electrified.
"Speak!" he gasped. "Oh, for God's sake----"
"Your wife is alive!"
There was a simultaneous cry.
Mr. Bryson hurried on rapidly:
"Sybilla Silver stabbed her, and threw her over upon the shore. Mr.
Parmalee picked her up--not dead, but badly wounded--took her on board
a vessel--took her finally to America. Sybilla Silver deceived your
poor wife as she deceived us all. Lady Kingsland thought it was you,
Sir Everard. But she is alive and well, and in Worrel at this very
moment. Our first business is to cage our bird before she flies. Can
you aid us any, Sir Everard? Where are we most likely to find her?"
"At the Court," the baronet answered. "She left here to go there--to
kill my mother with her horrible news, if she could."
"We will leave you now," Mr. Bryson said, rising. "Come, gentlemen;
Sir Everard wants to be alone. I am off to secure my prisoner."
It was on his way back to his own house that Mr. Bryson lighted on his
ghostly plan for frightening Sybilla. How well it succeeded you know.
She was still insensible when they reached the prison, and was handed
over to the proper authorities. Harriet turned her imploring face
toward the lawyer.
"Let me go to my husband! Oh, dear Mr. Bryson, let me go at once!"
They led her to the door. The jailer admitted her and closed it again.
She was in her husband's prison-cell. Her arms were around his neck,
her tears, her kisses raining on his face.
"Oh, my darling, my darling! my life, my love, my husband!"
"Harriet!"
With a great cry he rose and held her to his heart.
"My wife, my wife!"
And then, weak with long illness and repeated shocks--this last,
greatest shock of all--he sat down, faint unto death.
"Oh, my love, my wife! to think that I should hold you once more in my
arms, look once more into your living face! My wife, my wife! How
cruel, how merciless I have been to you! May God forgive me! I will
forgive myself--never!"
"Not one word! Between us there can be no such thing as forgiveness.
We could neither of us have acted other than as we did. My oath bound
me--your honor was at stake. We have both suffered--Heaven only knows
how deeply. But it is past now. Nothing in this lower world shall
ever come between us again, my beloved!"
"Not even death," he said, folding her close to his heart.
One month after and Sir Everard Kingsland, his wife, and sister quitted
England for the Continent, not to make the grand tour and return, but
to reside for years. England was too full of painful memories; under
the sunlit skies of beautiful Italy they were going to forget.
Sybilla Silver was dead. All her plans had failed--her oath of
vengeance was broken. Sir Everard and his bride were triumphant. She
had failed--miserably failed; she thought of it until she went
mad--stark, staring mad. Her piercing shrieks rang through the stony
prison all day and all night long, until one night, in a paroxysm of
frenzy, she had dashed her head against the wall. They found her, in
the morning, dead.
* * * * *
Out into the lazy June sunshine the steamer glided. With his handsome
wife on his arm, the young baronet stood looking his last at his native
land, his face infinitely happy.
"For years," he said, with a smile--"for life, perhaps, Harriet. I
feel as if I never wished to return."
"But we shall," she said. "England is home. A few happy years in fair
foreign lands, and then, Everard, back to the old land. But first, I
confess, I should like again to see America, and Uncle Denover,
and"--with a little laugh--"George Washington Parmalee."
For Mr. Parmalee had gone back to Dobbsville, at peace with all the
world, Sir Everard Kingsland included.
"You're a brick, baronet," his parting speech had been, as he wrung
that young man's hand; "you air, I swan! And your wife's another!
Long may you wave!"
Sir Everard laughed aloud now at the recollection.
"Money can never repay our obligation to that worthy artist. May his
shadow never be less! We shall go over to Dobbsville and see him, and
have our pictures taken, next year. Look, Harriet! how the chalky
cliffs are melting into the blue above! One parting peep at England,
and so a long good-by to the old land!" he said, taking off his hat,
and standing, radiant and happy, with the June sunlight on his handsome
head.