“GO!” SHE COMMANDED.
Waiting a few moments, Ralph Moulton—for it was he who was hidden among
the heavy folds of drapery, and had listened to every word that passed
between Weimher and Dora—stepped softly out upon the balcony, and stood
beside his fair hostess.
She was weeping, and did not notice him until he laid his hand gently
upon her smooth, bare arm, and said, in a sympathizing tone:
“Why do you weep, Miss Dupont?”
With a start of affright and a haughty gesture, she moved away from him,
for his familiar touch angered her.
Hastily wiping her eyes, she said, coldly:
“Really, Mr. Moulton, I don’t know as I can explain to you my feelings.
Sadness, I presume, is one cause of my tears.”
“And what could possibly render Miss Dupont sad? Methought her life was
as fair and bright as earth’s choicest gifts could make it,” he said,
with a voice which he tried to make tender.
“If you please,” she replied, “we will not discuss that subject now, Mr.
Moulton.”
She turned abruptly to leave the balcony, for she deemed him rude to
intrude himself upon her when she was struggling with her sad feelings.
He quickly caught her hand, detaining her, while he exclaimed:
“Stay, Miss Dupont; do not leave me so, for I have something to say to
you.”
“I am listening,” she replied coldly. “But pray, Mr. Moulton, be good
enough to release my hand.”
He did not release it, but drew it within his arm, and then led her to
one end of the balcony.
“Miss Dupont—Dora, I love you; will you be my wife?”
“No, sir,” she answered, sharply.
He started violently; then said, reproachfully:
“I beg your pardon; did I understand you aright?”
“I beg _your_ pardon, Mr. Moulton, for allowing myself to speak in such
a manner,” she replied, wearily.
Her heart had been almost broken with the scene that had just
transpired, and she did not feel equal to another.
“I have not been feeling very happy for a few moments past,” she went
on; “but I am pained at your declaration, for I cannot return your
affection.”
“Miss Dupont, you must not say that,” he returned, almost fiercely, “for
my happiness—nay, my life depends upon your love.”
“I cannot listen to such words as these, Mr. Moulton; my answer is
final. Please allow me to return to the drawing-room.”
“Never!” he replied, hotly, as he seized her in his arms with a
convulsive clasp and rained kiss after kiss upon her white face. “Never
until you yield to my love, my darling. My heart tells me that you are
mine—mine by the right of my insatiable love, which nothing earthly can
quell. No, no, my pretty one; lie still in these arms, which have ached
to infold thee for months—nay, for years; while my tongue has burned to
pour forth the story of my adoration, but never before have I dared to
approach you with these words. My own, my own, you are about to be torn
from me, and I cannot longer be silent. I cannot let you go; I would die
to serve you, and do you think I will let the sea divide us? Never! I
will follow you to the ends of the earth, and the land where you dwell
shall be _my_ home. Dora—Dora Dupont, you must—you _shall_ be my wife!”
He stopped, exhausted by his emotions, though he still held her pressed
close to his fiercely throbbing heart.
“Mr. Moulton, will you be good enough to unhand me? or shall I be
obliged to call for assistance?”
Ice could not have been harder or colder than the clear, frozen tones
which fell upon his ear.
In an instant his arms dropped from around her, and then they closed
firmly across his breast, while he gazed upon her with eyes that almost
burned her with their intense brightness.
Scornfully erect she stood for a moment, returning his gaze with one
full of defiance.
Her white robes trailed in graceful folds around her; her head was
thrown haughtily back, while her nostrils quivered and dilated with the
virtuous indignation that surged beneath her heaving bosom. Juno in her
wrath could not have been more majestic and glorious.
“Your insulting words and deportment, sir, merit but one answer,” she
sternly said. “Go, and never let me look upon your face again!”
“By Heaven, I will not!” he replied, stung to madness by her look and
tone. “Is there no pity in your heart for love like mine? I will not
believe you so cold and dead to all feeling as your words imply.”
“If you expected love, or sympathy even, from me, Mr. Moulton, you have
taken the wrong way to obtain them. I am not one to be forced!”
“Forgive me, my beautiful one; but I could not help it, and on my knees
I beg your pardon,” pleaded Ralph Moulton, with white face and imploring
eyes upraised to hers.
“’Tis useless; I do not and cannot love you.”
He was on his feet again in an instant, while the hot, angry blood
mounted to his brow.
“Is that answer final, Dora Dupont?” he asked between his set teeth.
“It is,” she returned, coldly. “And now allow me, if you please, to
return to my guests.”
She began to wonder within herself how she had ever tolerated this man’s
presence.
He placed himself directly in her way while he said:
“I warn you, Dora Dupont, to beware. I am not one to be trifled with. I
give you one more opportunity to accept as true and pure a love as ever
throbbed in the heart of man or woman. Will you accept it?”
“Never!”
“Enough! I swear—hear me—I swear you shall yet be my wife! Think not
that I care for that foolish, childish ceremony; that can easily be set
aside. Yes, you need not start and grow pale—I know your whole history.
You little dreamed that it was the nephew of the man who bound you and
your boy lover together; who bowed down and worshiped you. That marriage
was illegal; I can prove it, and besides there were no witnesses. And
then I have a sweet little secret for your ear that may cause you to
change your mind, and accept my offer. I presume you think you are
wedded to an honorable person, and the son of a wealthy man. But let me
undeceive you! Robert Ellerton, Jr., has no right to his name! Come
nearer and let me whisper, lest the winds should perchance gather the
words and waft them to other ears. I am the rightful son of Robert
Ellerton, while he is——”
The remainder of the sentence was barely breathed in her ear; but she
heard it, for she grew white to her very lips, and shivered as if with
the cold; but her voice never faltered as she replied:
“Coward, do you think I will credit your base falsehood? You have no
proof of your vile assertions!”
“Not quite so fast, my pretty one. I have the proofs here; come nearer
to this light and I will explain.”
He took some papers from his pocket as he spoke, while she, drawn as if
by fascination, came and stood beside him.
“Robert Ellerton,” he explained, casting a triumphant look upon her,
“was secretly married to my mother long before your hero was born. I say
secretly married, for he believed the ceremony to be only a farce, for
he hired a man to marry them whom he thought had no legal authority. But
he was mistaken, as these papers prove. My mother was Squire Moulton’s
cousin, though until within a few years I had been led to believe that
she was his sister. When Ellerton wished to marry his other sweetheart,
he coolly informed my mother that she was not legally his wife, and that
he could no longer take care of her; and she, stung to madness, fled
from the country. After she had gone, my uncle, who hated Ellerton,
discovered that the marriage was legal, and went to seek her and restore
her to her rights; but she died at Naples, and Squire Moulton brought me
to this country and educated me. I only discovered this a few years ago,
and have been waiting until we both had finished our education, that my
triumph might be more complete. I am the rightful son and heir of Robert
Ellerton; and now it rests with you whether I assert my claims, and
bring shame and disgrace upon one whom you profess to love so deeply, or
whether I remain plain Ralph Moulton, with you for my loved and
cherished wife. Examine these papers, and see if I have not proof of
what I tell you.”
He held them up before her as he finished speaking.
She read the marriage certificate, with Robert Ellerton and Rose
Moulton’s names attached, and her heart sank like lead in her bosom as
she realized what suffering and shame it would bring upon her loved one
if exposed to the world.
She could easily have snatched the paper from him and torn it to
fragments had she desired; but her pride would not allow her to let him
see and gloat over the pain that racked her soul, and she answered,
proudly:
“I do not believe the story you have told me!”
“What! not with this paper to prove it?” he asked, shaking the paper he
held.
“No. It were easy enough to forge it, to serve your base purposes. And
were Robert Ellerton to-day a beggar in rags, and disgraced as you would
have me believe, I would gladly share his lot before I would wed with
you, had you a thousand fortunes! Now I command you go, and never
pollute my sight with your vile presence again!”
She raised her graceful arm and pointed toward the drawing-room.
“You’ll repent of this, my fair lady, and that right soon, too,” he
muttered, savagely.
“Go!”
He took a step forward as if to obey the imperious command, then stopped
and turned toward her again.
“I warn you once again that I will hunt your lover to the death, and I
swear that you shall yet be my wife!”
Her clear eyes flashed angrily, and her finger did not even quiver as it
still pointed toward him.
“Go!”
Clear and ringing as a trumpet-call it sounded on the still night air,
and a tiny foot stamped impatiently upon the floor of the balcony.
Like the craven coward he was, his eyes drooped before her stern gaze,
and he slunk cringingly from her sight.
A deep, shuddering sob burst from Dora Dupont’s pale lips as he
disappeared. She clasped her hands upon her breast, as if to still the
painful throbbings of her aching heart, while an expression of keenest
agony swept over her beautiful face.
“Heaven grant that it is nothing but a base calumny,” she murmured, as
she paced to and fro. “But I fear it is all too true; still, it may be,
he only did it to frighten me into becoming his wife—coward that he is,
to threaten a weak woman! But Robbie, come weal or come woe, I am yours,
and only yours, until my heart shall cease to beat.”
A sweet smile dispersed the shade of anxiety that clouded her lovely
face, as her thoughts flew over the seas to one whom she knew would yet
claim her as his own.
“Oh, heartless flirt that I am,” she continued, after a moment—“two
offers in one night! The Fates defend me against another!”
Saying which, she gracefully swept aside the heavy drapery, and appeared
within the brilliantly lighted drawing-room again.
* * * * *
The following day a noble steamer sailed slowly down the harbor, laden
with its precious weight of human freight. Hundreds were gathered upon
its wide, clean decks, gazing back upon the gradually receding spires
and domes of the great city.
Among these, but standing apart by themselves, was a gay and joyous
party, who seemed to have cast all care and trouble to the winds, and
who were happy only in the present, and in anticipations of the future.
Madame Alroyd and Dora, attended by their servants, were of this party;
and our lovely heroine was laughing and chatting merrily, as if no
sorrow had ever clouded her fair brow or dimmed the luster of her clear
blue eye.
She could not be still. Her gayety sparkled and bubbled forth in a
continual stream of bright sayings and musical, silvery laughter, for
was she not bound for the land that held her darling? And perhaps she
might by some chance meet him there! It should be no fault of hers if
she did not; and she knew their hearts would speak for themselves when
that happy day should arrive; and she felt earth could hold no greater
joy for her than to be again clasped to his loving, throbbing heart as
in days of yore, and to feel that nothing earthly could ever again
separate them.
Many wondered at this bright, innocent beauty’s excessive life and joy
that day, and many envious glances were drawn toward the group that was
such a host of pleasure in itself.
On the opposite side of the deck stood a man wrapped in a large
traveling cloak, and with a hat slouched and drawn down over a pair of
piercing black eyes.
At his side stood another clad in like manner, only his hair was white,
and he had a disagreeable stoop in his shoulders.
Both these men were engaged in a low, muttering conversation, while at
the same time they cast baleful looks upon the party opposite, who
little dreamed of the phantoms of evil lurking in their path, tracking
their every footstep, and vowing eternal vengeance.