GONE.
The day began; the sun was up; once more the old house awoke to life and
activity.
Sitting in his chamber, Grantley Mellen heard the familiar sounds below;
he knew that life must sweep on again, that he must rise once more and
go forth among his fellow-men, hiding his misery as best he might,
taking his place in the world and bearing the secret burden of his
dishonored life. He went to the window, swept back the curtains which he
had drawn over it, and looked at himself in the glass. If he had wished
to know how his corpse would look after the ravages of time and disease,
he could have learned it in that prolonged gaze.
It was absolutely the face of a dead man; even the eyes looked
lifeless--there was only a heavy, stony expression, which had neither
spirit or humanity in it.
It was late in the morning when Elsie awoke from the heavy slumber which
had succeeded her swoon. For a few moments she lay still, believing that
the events of the past night had been only a dream. Suddenly she raised
herself with a cry of anguish--she had caught sight of the shawl which
Elizabeth had wrapped about her--she knew that it was all real.
She sprang out of bed, opened the door, ran through the empty chamber
and entered her sister's room:
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
There was no answer. She looked about--the fire had died down in the
grate, the room was empty and desolate as a grave.
She hurried through into the sleeping apartment, calling still in a
voice which frightened herself:
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
The bed-chamber was empty too--the bed untouched.
"Gone!" cried the wretched girl. "Gone! Where is she? What has become of
her? Elizabeth, Elizabeth!"
She shrieked frightfully in her anguish--cried out in such terrible
anxiety, that the sound reached the chamber where Grantley Mellen sat.
He went out into the hall and approached the door of the dressing-room.
Elsie heard him--her first impulse was to flee but her limbs refused to
move.
She heard him try the door--heard him call:
"Elsie! Elsie!"
She must meet him--there was no escape.
Again the summons was repeated, more imperatively now.
"Elsie, open the door--quick, I say!"
She got to the door, she turned the key; her brother entered quickly,
and stood in Elizabeth's desolate room.
"Where is Elizabeth?" she cried. "I can't find her--I want Elizabeth."
Mellen felt a shiver of dread pass through his frame. He pushed the
chamber-door open and looked in, pale with anxiety. She was not
there--the bed was untouched, and gleamed upon him through the crimson
light that filled the room, like a crusted snowbank. There was none of
that luxurious confusion which usually marks the apartment of a sleeping
lady. The rich toilet service was in complete order. There was no
jewelry flung down with half sleepy indifference, no garments laying
ready for use on the chairs, or across the sofa. The silken window
curtains were drawn close. The carpet looked like moss in the deep
shadows of an autumnal forest.
"Gone, gone! Oh, my God, what has become of her?" he exclaimed.
"Where--what has happened? Is she dead? Oh, I shall go mad--I shall go
mad now," cried Elsie.
She fell into spasms, but still preserved her senses sufficiently not to
speak again--she dared not utter a word more, lest she should betray her
knowledge of Elizabeth's sorrow.
Mellen carried her to the sofa and laid her down upon it, wrapped shawls
and eider down quilts over her, holding her hands, which trembled like
frightened birds, striving in every way to soothe her, as Elizabeth had
so often done in the time gone by for ever.
Elsie lay back at length, quiet but utterly exhausted.
"Where is Elizabeth?" she moaned. "What has happened?"
"Never take that name on your lips again," he said; "let even her memory
be dead between us. That woman is no longer my wife--you will never see
her. She shall not suffer; I will deal gently with her; but to you, my
dearest sister, she is dead, forever and ever."
"You have killed her!" shrieked Elsie. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
"She leaves this house of her free will, Elsie--the only condition I
have made is that she takes her name far out of our lives. Have you
known--have you suspected this woman, Elsie?"
"No, no! I don't know anything but what is good of her--I don't believe
anything! She is good and kind--send for her! You shan't drive her
away--she shall come to me now! My dear Elizabeth--I love her! You shall
not do this--you are mad, mad! She is the best woman that ever lived!
Let me go to her--I will go!"
She was writhing again in hysterical spasms, but Mellen forced her back
when she attempted to rise.
"Be still, Elsie--try to understand me! I can't tell you the whole
story--but we are parted. Do not plead for her. Do not mention her
name."
"But, Grantley, Grantley!"
"No more, I say--not a word."
"She is innocent," moaned the girl; "she is innocent."
"I know what you suffer--think of all that I endure--let that give you
strength."
"I tell you she is an angel--she has done no wrong!"
"I had the confession which separates us from her own lips--I tell you I
would not have believed any other testimony. Don't struggle so,
Elsie--lie still."
The girl fought with him like an insane creature--she had no self
control or reason--it was inability to speak which kept her from
shrieking out in Elizabeth's defence. She could only gasp for breath,
and when words did come, it was that broken cry:
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
"You must try to understand me, Elsie! You are all I have left in the
world--oh, Elsie, Elsie! She has gone forever, and I loved her so--I
loved her so. You and I must live on as best we can--it is only for you,
child, that I live at all."
"Only bring her back--clear it all up--the truth--the truth at last! Oh,
Grantley, I----"
Her words were so indistinct that he could not gather their meaning; she
was struggling more fiercely than ever, and it required all his strength
to hold her.
"If you love me, Elsie, strive to be calm! Oh, think of my trouble, my
anguish--my sister, my sister!"
"Only send for her--call her here!"
"Be quiet and I will search, but she went off last night, I do not know
where!"
Elsie gave one frightful cry and sank back in his arms insensible again.
Her swoon was so death-like that it seemed as if life had gone out for
ever.
Just as Elizabeth had raised her and carried her into her own room, so
did Grantley Mellen carry her now, stricken by a fear so horrible that
his past agony paled under it. What if she were dead--if she should wake
a raving maniac, and all from the evil influence of that woman.
He called no assistance; he watched over Elsie in that lonely chamber,
trying every remedy he could find, but for a long time his efforts were
unavailing; she lay there, white and cold, as if the snowy counterpane
had been her winding sheet.
Just as he was calling her name in a last frenzied burst of grief, Elsie
opened her eyes. She was too feeble for speech, but she remembered
everything clearly, and made a vain effort to rise.
"You must not talk, Elsie; don't stir--you will hurt yourself!"
He searched on the toilet table, found a bottle of laudanum, and
administered as large a dose as he dared; he knew that the effects could
not be so dangerous as her present suffering.
He sat down by the bed, folding his arms about her, calling her by every
endearing name that his tenderness and fear could suggest, striving to
soothe her into slumber.
Elsie would lie quiet for a few moments, then begin to struggle and cry
out, till it seemed to Mellon that she would die before the opiate could
take effect.
The potion worked at length; she lay back on the pillows white and
still--her eyes stared drearily about the chamber once more, and then
closed--she had fallen into a heavy sleep.
For a long hour Grantley Mellen remained on his knees by her bedside,
where he had fallen.
He rose at length. Victoria was knocking at the door, and warning her
young mistress that breakfast was on the table.
Mellen went to the door and opened it, checked the girl's cry of
astonishment with a gesture, and said:
"Miss Elsie is very ill--go downstairs at once, and let there be no
noise in the house."
Vic crept away in frightened silence; Mellen followed her into the hall,
gave orders to one of the men servants to get a horse ready, went into
the library and wrote a dispatch to his physician in the city, and came
out again.
By the time the man was starting off to the station, Clorinda and
several of the servants, to whom Victoria had communicated her tidings,
were assembled in the hall.
In consultation they forgot their awe of the master, and asked a
thousand eager questions, which he answered with brief sternness.
"Go back to your places, all of you," he said; "Miss Elsie is asleep,
and must not be disturbed till the doctor arrives."
"Is missus wid her?" demanded Clo.
He turned upon her with a frown which made her spring back as if she had
received an electric shock, and entirely checked any further desire to
question him where his wife was concerned.
He turned towards the stairs again, but Dolf interposed with one of his
profound bows.
"'Scuse me, sar, but de brekfus is on de table."
Self-restraint must be kept up; whatever suspicions might arise when the
fact of Elizabeth's disappearance became known in the house, this proud
man would not expose himself to the curious eyes of his menials.
He went into the breakfast-room, drank the coffee Dolf poured out with a
skillful hand, pretended to eat a few morsels, then pushed his chair
back and hurried up to Elsie's chamber--he could not trust himself yet
in the presence of his servants.
Below stairs all sorts of stories were rife. Victoria peeped into
Elsie's room and came down with the information that "She lay dar
like a beautiful corpus!"
Everybody groaned in concert, but she added new astonishment by saying:
"And missus ain't nowhars about. She ain't in Miss Elsie's room, and she
ain't in her own, and her bed ain't been touched all night."
Clorinda began to nod her turban with a sapient air.
"What did I tell yer!" cried she. "Now what did I jist tell yer."
"But whar can she be?" wondered Dolf. "What do yer s'pose has happened,
Miss Clorinda?"
"'Nuff's happened," returned Clo, "and more'n 'nuff! I told yer de
tunderbust would break, an it has."
They urged and entreated her to speak; but it was difficult to speak
when she literally knew nothing, so she contented herself with going
about her work with unusual energy, while the rest stood around and
watched her, deeming this an occasion when idleness was to be taken
quite as a matter of course.
Clo nodded her head, muttered to herself, and made dreadful confusion
among her pots and pans, exciting her fellow-servants to a fearful pitch
by her air of mystery, but not a word would she speak beyond vague and
appalling hints.
While the servants below stairs wore away the morning in vague
conversation and surmises, growing every instant wilder and more
improbable, Grantley Mellen sat in that darkened chamber watching his
sleeping sister.
The physician arrived late in the evening; by that time Elsie was awake,
and he looked a little grave while giving his medicines and examining
into the case.
"Keep her very quiet," he said to Mellen, who followed him into the
hall; "it is a severe nervous attack, but she can endure nothing more.
Don't let her get up--I'll come back to-morrow. Where is Mrs. Mellen?
she is so good a nurse I should like to give her my directions."
"She--she is not here," Mellen answered.
"In town, I suppose? You had better send for her, or give me her address
and I will call and tell her how much she is wanted the moment I reach
town. To-night I stay in the village."
"Thank you, I won't trouble you," replied Mellen. "You will be here
to-morrow morning?"
"Oh, certainly! Don't be at all alarmed--Miss Elsie is subject to these
nervous attacks. So I shan't call on your wife?"
"No, sir, no;" Mellen answered, impatiently. "I must return to my
sister."
He bowed the doctor downstairs and disappeared, leaving the son of
Esculapius to go on with some rather strange ideas in his head.
He had another patient in the village, and so drove over there in the
carriage which had brought him from the station. As he was standing on
the hotel porch old Jarvis Benson came up, caught him by the button-hole
and began a long story, to which the physician listened with such
patience as he could find.