THE DEAD SECRET.
The morning after Elsie's return Grantley Mellen mounted his horse, and
rode off towards the shore tavern, a sad and heavy-hearted man. The
woman whom he had loved so devotedly with the first passion of his
youth, lay in that little chamber waiting for burial. Where destined
when she met her fate, or how much she suffered, he could only guess.
But there she was, after years of separation, thrown upon his charity
even for a grave, with no one to mourn her death, no one to care how or
where she was buried. He had not mentioned her to his wife or sister, an
aching memory at heart forbade that, but underneath the joy of his
return home lay this dead secret, haunting him with funereal shadows.
The woman was in her coffin when he entered the little chamber, which
was now so desolately clean; for he had given orders regarding her
interment before leaving the house that stormy night, and they had been
well obeyed. A veil of delicate gauze covered the face, softening it
into singular loveliness. Mellen did not lift this veil, which
neutralised the coldness of death so beautifully, but his breast heaved
with a farewell sigh, while tears blinded his last look, which carried
deep and eternal forgiveness with it.
A noise in the next room disturbed him. He turned hastily, and went down
stairs, shrinking from observation.
Scarcely had Mellen disappeared when the door which connected the death
chamber with a small inner room was pushed open, and a pale, wild face
looked in. It was that of North; after a quick survey of the room, he
darted towards the door leading to the stairs and shot the bolt. Then he
went up to the coffin, flung back the gauze from that marble face, and
looked down upon it. Those black eyes burned too hotly for tears, but
the raven beard trembled about his mouth, his hand was clenched, the
burning consciousness of a great crime was upon him, and he felt it in
every nerve and pulse of his system. If North had ever loved this woman,
all the force of that passion came back upon his soul now in an agony of
remorse. As he gazed, his hand released its iron grip, his strong limbs
shook like reeds, and flinging himself down by the coffin he cursed
himself, his crime, and that living woman for whose sake it had been
committed.
They were coming upstairs. He heard the heavy blundering footsteps of
two men, and knew what they were after. Creeping softly to the door he
drew the bolt back with intense caution, and stealing into the little
chamber, fell upon the floor and held his breath, listening.
He heard the coffin-lid closed; the slow turning of the screws; a sudden
jar, and then the footsteps again, broken and disturbed by the mournful
burden those two men carried. Then all was still for a moment, and up
through the passage, vibrating like electricity through that evil soul,
came the sound of a clear, solemn voice, reading the burial service.
Still he listened, with his head lifted from the floor, and supporting
himself by one arm like a worn-out gladiator. A sort of terror had
seized upon him with the sweet low sound of that voice. Great drops
gathered upon his forehead and grew cold there. He was like an evil
spirit looking through the gates of Paradise. Then came another pause,
followed by the slow roll of wheels and the tramp of horses. North
leaped to his feet, and threw up the window. A hearse was moving heavily
down the street, and close behind it rode Grantley Mellen, alone.
Near the Piney Cove mansion was an ancient burying-ground, with the
graves of many generations crowded around a little stone church, which
rose up in solemn stillness among a grove of cypress trees and wild
cedars. In one of the sunniest corners of the ground a grave was dug,
and a pile of blossoming turf was laid ready to cover that hapless woman
in her place of rest. While the men performed their sad work, Mellen
stood by, with his head bared reverentially, and the heart in his bosom
standing still. When he turned away it was with a deep, solemn sigh of
relief. The bitterness and the pain of his first love was buried
forever. Henceforth Elizabeth would have no rival, even in his memory.
Mellen went home a calmer and a better man, after laying his lost one
down in her grave. Hitherto her memory had been an aching bitterness,
but with death came forgiveness, and out of that his spirit arose
chastened, gentle and tending towards a healthy cheerfulness.
Elizabeth was too deeply observant not to remark the softened
seriousness of her husband's manner when he came home that day, but
every look of tenderness that he gave her was a pang, and smote her
worse than reproaches. Could the wife who deceived her husband find joy
in the confidence which was but a mockery of her deceit. Many times
during those few days Elizabeth wished that her husband would be harsh
and cruel again.