SIBYL’S ACCUSATION.
Something like a blind horror filled Talbot Strangemore’s heart as Mrs.
St. Alban’s blighting accusation of his wife fell upon his ears. He
staggered back from her side with a cry that was almost like the wail
of a lost soul, and passed his hand before his eyes in a bewildered
way, then turning to her again, he exclaimed in hoarse tones of anguish:
“Sibyl, you know not what you say! You have made a terrible mistake! My
wife is innocent of the guilt with which you charge her!”
And Miss Drusilla, who had heard all with a horror equal to his own,
echoed, fiercely:
“She is innocent! Woman, how dare you charge our little Nina with such
a fearful sin? The angels in Heaven are not more guiltless of that sin
than she!”
And Sibyl St. Alban, inwardly full of malicious triumph, lifted her
heavy eyes and answered in a voice that sounded faint and far away
like a dying tone:
“If she is innocent why is she not here? Why, oh, why, has she--fled
from the scene of her crime?”
“She is ill,” Miss Drusilla answered, instantly, “she is perhaps unable
to come, but I will go find her, I will tell her what horrible things
you have said. Not but what you have treated her bad enough, Mrs. St.
Alban, for her to have felt like taking vengeance upon you, but she
would not have done this. I could sooner believe that some one of the
many enemies you must have made in your heartless life has followed
you here and tried to put an end to your flirtings and stealing other
women’s husbands!”
She did not know how keenly her shot told, for Sibyl had shut her eyes
and seemed to have relapsed into a deep swoon again, and just then the
hastily summoned physician entered the room, and the indignant spinster
went out to find Nina, followed closely by her nephew.
They found Nina’s door still locked. Miss Drusilla pounded, called,
raved in vain.
“I am afraid she has fallen into another swoon,” she said, looking
anxiously into Talbot’s white, almost rigid face, as he hovered by
her side. “I ought not to have left her alone, but she was so anxious
to get me away, and I felt sure she would let Kitty stay with her all
night!”
“Indeed, then, Miss Drusilla, I almost went down upon my knees to her
but she would not have me. She sent me away in spite of all I could
beg her to let me stay,” said Kitty’s voice right over her shoulder.
“Oh, me, my poor young mistress, what has happened to you all alone in
there? Perhaps you have been murdered, too!” she cried, bursting into a
storm of tears.
“Talbot, you will have to do something--cannot you break the door down?
She must not stay in there by herself!” exclaimed his aunt, displaying
a tenderness of heart he had not dreamed of under her sour exterior.
Maddened by excitement he threw himself against the door. He did not
know that he was so strong, but the lock yielded to the mighty pressure
and burst from the door. It flew wide open, and they all tumbled
pell-mell into the spacious apartment, the snowy, lace-draped bower of
maiden innocence where Nina nightly pillowed her golden head.
The fire had burned into ashes, the lamp flickered dimly on the toilet
table. Kitty ran to the bed that stood like a great drift of new
fallen snow in a corner of the room, and drew back the voluminous lace
draperies.
“Oh, Miss Nina, darling!” she cried.
Talbot waited at the door, too chivalrous to follow them into the
sanctuary Nina had forbidden him, but Miss Drusilla was just behind
Kitty, and a cry of dismay escaped her: “Oh, oh, oh!”
For the great mound of whiteness, the silken coverlet, the embroidered
pillows, were smooth and empty, no golden head rested there, no slender
maidenly form. Nina was gone! Kitty dived into the dressing-room, the
boudoir, the bath room--all in vain.
“Oh, Miss Nina, my darling, where are you?” cried the poor girl,
beginning to sob with fear and excitement, and she ran to the
dressing-table in her flurry and began to shake the perfume boxes
aimlessly as if her missing mistress might, perchance, be hidden there.
And so in a minute she came upon the note.
“It is mine,” cried Talbot Strangemore, taking it from her hand with a
swift, terrible throb of the heart.
By this time several people had followed them into the room. They
watched him curiously as he tore open the note. They never forgot the
cry of anguish and despair that thrilled over his lips as he read it.
“What is it?” cried Miss Drusilla. “What is it?” cried every one
crowding around him, but he crushed it in his hand and turned upon them
like some fierce, wounded creature at bay.
“No one shall ever see, no one shall ever know,” he answered, with a
ring of strange defiance in his voice, and lifting his arm, he thrust
the crumpled note into the flame of the lamp, and held it aloft until
it shriveled into ashes. The flames burned his hand, but not so deeply
as the words had burned themselves into his heart.
And then, strong man as he was, the horrors of this awful night
overcame him. For a moment he staggered dizzily, then fell like a
log to the floor and lay there for long minutes wrapped in merciful
unconsciousness of his misery.
“He’s dead--Mr. Strangemore’s dead, and, oh, where is my young
mistress?” cried Kitty, wildly weeping and bewailing, her honest heart
nearly broken with sorrow.
But Miss Drusilla only looked grimmer and sourer than ever.
“He’s not dead, but it might be better if he were,” she said. “I wish
indeed he had died long ago, before he and his mother brought all this
trouble on poor Nina Selwyn! Poor child, I expect she’s run away, but I
know she never hurt that beautiful fiend in there! Dear girl, she would
not have harmed a worm! She has run away from her own misery, that’s
all. She’s innocent, poor pretty Nina, as innocent as a lamb!”
“I’d stake my life on that!” sobbed Kitty, and Miss Drusilla suddenly
felt a soft hand touch her arm, and Virgie Mason said, with streaming
eyes, “I believe she’s innocent, too--as innocent as an angel!”