Ten minutes after Lottie fell senseless beside the stone steps of the
Palace Augustus, a slight, girlish figure came quickly down the street.
It was dressed in black, the only spot of relief being the fur lining
of the hood which almost concealed her face. Though she was quite
alone, she walked with a fearless and confident bearing, like one whose
safety was insured. As she came near the gateway of the palace, a man,
bearing the unmistakable signs of a footpad, approached her stealthily,
but after a glance at the half-shrouded face, he made a bow, and
spreading out his hands toward her, with respectful and almost awed
deprecation, stood aside to let her pass.
Margaret, for she it was, returned the salutation with a gentle
inclination of her head, and went on her way.
As she walked along in the starlight, a strange feeling of
peacefulness, that for all its serenity had something of elation in it,
pervaded her. She had just come from visiting a child down with the
fever, which is as characteristic of Naples as its bay, or its volcano,
and the blessings which the mother of the little one had called down
upon Margaret's head, seemed to have borne fruit.
To-night, as she looked up at the stars, she could bring herself to
think of Blair with a feeling of forgiveness and tenderness which she
had not, as yet, been capable of.
In this life he could never be her own again, never; but perhaps in
that mysterious after-life toward which they were all drifting, he
would, in some way, come back to her. That he had loved her, even
while sinning against her, she felt convinced; and to-night, as she
walked through the silent streets, his face came before her, and his
voice rose in her memory with a strange distinctness. In fancy she
was back again at Leyton Court and at Appleford, and a reflection of
these times, in all their glorious coloring of happiness, fell upon her
spirit in the dark street, and illuminated it with a curious sadness
that had a tinge of joy in it.
"Oh, Blair, my love, my love!" she murmured, looking up at the stars,
very much as he had done about an hour before, "we shall never meet
again here on earth, but who knows what may await us up there?"
As she lowered her eyes with a gentle sigh, she saw the figure of
Lottie huddled up in a scarcely distinguishable mass beside the doorway
of the Augustus Palace; she stopped immediately, and kneeling beside
the unconscious girl, spoke to her gently. At first she thought that
the girl was dead, but she detected a faint movement of the heart,
and raising her head upon her knee, she moistened her lips with some
eau-de-Cologne.
The light was so dim that she did not recognize her, and she was
loosening the worn shawl and chafing the thin hands that hung limply at
her side, when a man and woman came down the street.
Margaret beckoned to them. After a glance, they were keeping on their
way; but she called to them, and hearing her voice their manner
changed, and they hurried forward.
"A poor girl who has fallen in a swoon," explained Margaret.
"Looks like dead, signorina," said the man, shrugging his shoulders
Italian fashion. "Best fetch the police: dead people give trouble to
the most innocent."
"Oh, no, no; she is not dead, indeed!" said Margaret, earnestly.
"That's not what you said when the signorina nursed you through the
ague, ungrateful pig!" exclaimed the man's wife, with charming candor.
"What shall we do, lady?"
"If I could get her somewhere out of the street," said Margaret,
anxiously. "I think she has fainted from hunger."
"Like enough," said the man. "It's a most popular complaint, lady!"
"I'll take her to our rooms, signorina," said the woman promptly. "Lift
her, Tonelli!"
The husband obeyed with half sullen resignation, and the pair carried
Lottie to a house in one of the small streets. They laid her on the
bed; and Margaret, after dispatching the man to her house for wine and
food, and setting the woman to light a fire, threw her fur cloak over
the girl, and then, and not till then, carried a light close to her.
As she did so the lamp nearly fell to the ground, for she recognized in
the girl she had rescued, the woman who had dealt her the blow that had
wrecked her life. There, lying motionless and senseless, was Blair's
real wife!
She set the lamp down and staggered back to a chair.
"The signorina is tired and ill!" exclaimed the woman of the house,
gazing at her sympathetically. "Will not the signorina leave the girl
to my care, and go home to rest? You wear yourself out for the poor,
lady!"
"No, no!" said Margaret, fighting against the weakness which threatened
to master her. "It--it is only a little faintness. Is the fire all
right? Yes? Then will you go down and warm some of the wine Tonelli
will bring, and bring it up to me?"
The woman left the room, and Margaret once more bent over the
unconscious Lottie.
Yes, it was the same woman! But how came she to be lying in the streets
of Naples, in rags, and evidently half-famished? Had Blair deserted her
again?
All the while she was pondering she was using means to bring warmth and
life back, and presently the woman of the house came up with the hot
wine.
Margaret succeeded in getting some through the white lips, and after
awhile Lottie opened her eyes. They rested upon the lovely face for
some seconds vacantly, but presently a gleam of intelligence shot
across them, and she tried to raise herself upon her elbow, staring
wildly at what she took to be a vision.
"Do not move," said Margaret, softly. "You are weak and ill. Drink some
of this wine."
Lottie took the cup and drained it feverishly.
"Give me some more," she gasped. "Give me anything to wake me from this
dream. Do you hear? Wake me, or I shall go mad! I tell you I can see
her standing there in front of me!" and she pointed to Margaret wildly.
"I've often fancied I've seen her, but never so plainly as now. Wake
me! for Heaven's sake, wake me!"
"Try and keep quiet," said Margaret, soothingly; but at the sound of
her voice Lottie only grew more excited.
"There! I can hear her speaking! What is it she says? I know I did it!
I plead guilty, my lord! But it was not me only. Where is _he_? Where
is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord. Send me to prison,
if you like, but don't let him go scot-free. He is worse than I am! It
was he who put me up to it--and now he leaves me to starve! Yes, he
did! He threatened me, told me that he'd have me charged, and that he'd
swear he knew nothing about it. Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse
than I am, my lord!"
Then she sank down, as if exhausted; but presently she started up with
a cry of terror and clutched at Margaret's arm.
"Blair! Blair!" she shrieked, and at the name poor Margaret winced and
could scarcely suppress a cry. "Blair will be killed! I heard them say
so! Quick! Find him--stop the fight! The prince will kill him! Blair
is no match for him--I heard them say so. Oh, for the love of Heaven,
don't stand there doing nothing, but find them and stop them!"
The woman of the house crept to the bed, and looking down curiously
shrugged her shoulders.
"She is English, lady, is she not? She is in the fever and raves; is it
not so? What is it she says?"
"I--I am afraid she is delirious," said Margaret, scarcely knowing what
she answered. "Will you go for the English doctor and beg him to come
to me at once?"
Lottie caught the word doctor, and raising herself on her elbow, held
out her hand imploringly.
"Oh, never mind me!" she panted. "What does it matter about me? It's
Blair--Blair you must save! Don't you believe me? I tell you I heard
them talking about it before I fell--where was it?" and she put her
hand to her head and sank back with a groan.
Margaret sat beside the bed, with one of the girl's wasted, burning
hands held tightly in her own.
She could not think--the meeting was too strange and mysterious to
permit of her doing that--but she sat in a kind of dull stupor, even
after the doctor had come and gone again.
The night passed away, and morning dawned, and with the first streak in
the east Lottie awoke.
That she was no longer delirious was evident by her eyes, but she
turned pale and started, as they fell upon Margaret.
"It was no dream, then!" she said, in a low voice, covering her face
with her hands. "It was really you who sat beside me?"
"Yes, it was I," said Margaret, sadly and shyly, for it Came flashing
upon her that this woman, after all, was Blair's wife. "I am glad you
are better. I will go now," and she rose, a little stiffly.
Lottie put out her hand.
"No--stay," she said, with a frightened, nervous glance. "I--I have
something to tell you! Oh, if I only knew how! Don't be angry with me
more than you can help. Punish me if you like, but don't say much to
me. I've done the cruellest thing that ever one woman did to another,
and I deserve to be shot----" At the word she started up, and flung out
her arms. "What is the time? is it morning? Not morning! Do not tell me
that! Oh, great Heaven, how long have I been lying here? Oh, too late,
too late!" and she rocked herself to and fro.
"Why are you too late, and for what?"
"To save him! To save Blair! Didn't I tell you? It seems to me that I
have been raving about it for hours! He and the Prince Rivani are to
fight this morning. This morning! It is light now!"
"Blair--Lord Leyton; your--your husband!" said Margaret, holding on to
the bed to support herself.
"My husband!" Lottie almost shrieked; then she laughed wildly and
hysterically. "No! not my husband, _but yours_!"
"Mine!" said Margaret, her eyes fixed on the flushed face and desperate
black eyes.
"Yes; yours, yours, yours!" cried Lottie. "Oh, can't you understand?
No! You are so good and true, that you cannot believe there are such
fiends in the world as me and Austin Ambrose!"
"Austin Ambrose!" was all Margaret could falter.
"Austin Ambrose! The cruellest, cleverest scoundrel on earth!" cried
Lottie, tearing at her clothes and flinging them on as she spoke. "It
was he who tempted me to go down to that place in Devonshire, and pass
myself off as Blair's wife----"
"Pass yourself off as----Then--then you are not his wife?"
"No, and never was!" cried Lottie.
"Then----Oh, stop!--give me a minute! No!--don't touch me! I'm not
going to faint!" for Lottie had sprung forward to catch her. "I will
not faint; only give me a minute. I am Blair's wife!--Blair's wife! Say
it again!" and the poor soul, white and red by turns, held up her hands
to the wickedly weak and erring Lottie.
"I'll say it a thousand times; I'll beg your forgiveness on my knees;
I'll do anything to atone for what I've done--but not now!" she
exclaimed fiercely. "For while we are talking here, murder's being
done; for it is murder to pit a man against Prince Rivani, and that's
what they have done with Blair--Lord Ferrers, I mean!"
"Ah!" Margaret caught her breath, and pressed her hand to her heart for
a moment; then she snatched up her cloak and flung it round her, and
sprung to the door.
Lottie had just succeeded in getting on her ragged clothing, and put
out a hand, humbly and imploringly, to stop her.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
Margaret put her hand away with simple dignity, and, looking at her,
replied:
"To save _my husband_!"
* * * * *
Mr. Austin Ambrose left the boudoir a happier man than he had ever been
before during the whole course of his life.
There is a keener joy in the anticipation of success and victory which
the actual success and victory themselves cannot produce. In his mind's
eye he saw himself--as he had pictured to Violet--lying at her feet in
some sunny, vine-clad villa in Spain. Those two by themselves, with
no one to share or dispute his claim to her! With Blair either dead
of Prince Rivani's rapier thrust, or away in England with Margaret!
Yes, success had come to him at last. Not only would he have won the
woman he loved with a passion which he had nourished and fostered and
secretly fed during all those long and bitter months, but he would
have secured wealth as well, for he had not managed Blair's estate for
Blair's benefit alone, but had contrived to feather his own nest pretty
considerably; besides, Violet still held her own money, and it would
now become his!
He was so filled with the ecstasy of anticipation that he could have
stopped on the great staircase, and raised the house with his exultant
laughter, had there not been still something to do before he could
admit that all was ready.
Always looking forward to this supreme moment, he had arranged with one
of the drivers of the pair-horse carriages to expect a summons from
him, and, slipping on a cloak, he went out to the corner of the street
and gave the man his instructions. He was to wait at the corner of the
cathedral until he, Austin Ambrose, arrived with a lady. The man was
then to drive to the station as if for his life, and regardless of
anything. Then he returned to the palace, and hastily packed a small
portmanteau. He had scarcely finished it when Blair's valet knocked at
the door, with General Trelani's card.
Austin Ambrose slipped on a dressing gown over the traveling suit, for
which he had exchanged his other clothes, and received the general with
calm serenity and dignity.
"You expected me, doubtless, and I will not detain you with apologies
for the lateness of the hour," said the general, a stiff and
soldier-like old man, to whom duels were very ordinary matters indeed.
"I may add that my principal, Prince Rivani, will not accept an
apology."
Austin Ambrose bowed.
"The Earl of Ferrers has no intention of offering one," he said,
quietly.
The general inclined his head.
"As the person challenged, the earl has the choice of weapons," he said.
"Though, like most Englishmen, I am unfamiliar with the etiquette of
the duello, I am aware of that. Lord Ferrers chooses swords."
The general looked rather surprised.
"Indeed! In honor, I am compelled to remind you, sir, that his highness
is skilled with the rapier; if pistols would be considered more
fair----"
"Thanks, general, but the earl has made his choice."
"Then nothing remains to settle but the hour and place," said the
general, suavely.
"Will half-past five be too early?" asked Austin Ambrose.
"No hour will be too early for us, sir," said the general, blandly,
"and I would recommend the field behind the hospital. It is quiet and
secluded at that hour----"
Austin Ambrose assented, and the general looked at his watch.
"My mission is finished, sir," he said. "Pray convey my devoted
respects to the earl."
Austin Ambrose bowed him out, and then returned to his room and
completed his preparations. He sat down and wrote a short note.
"The meeting is for half-past five in the field behind the hospital.
Do not wait for me. I have gone into the town and will join you to the
minute."
He rang the bell and gave the note to Blair's valet, then locking the
door, flung himself on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to force
himself to sleep, but the effort failed for a time.
His acute brain was still at work picturing the incidents as he
imagined them. At half-past five he and Violet would be speeding over
the frontier. Blair would go to meet Prince Rivani; they would wait
a quarter of an hour, half, perhaps; and then, the prince growing
impatient, the general would offer to act as second for Blair; the two
men would fight, and there would be no doubt as to which would fall.
With pistols, Blair, who was a good shot, would stand something of a
chance; but with swords, Rivani, whose skill was proverbial, must win.
With his eyes closed he could see Blair lying stretched out upon the
ground, with a thin streak of crimson creeping snake-like across the
breast of his shirt, and at the vision a fiendish smile of satisfaction
curved his lips.
Then he must have slept, for presently the sound of a church bell smote
upon his ear, and with a start he sprung from the bed, and stealthily
drew the curtains a little apart.
Yes, the dawn was breaking, the hour of his triumph was approaching.
Wrapping himself in his cloak, and with a fur over his arm for Violet,
he caught up his valise, and with cat-like step made his way to the
boudoir.
The door was ajar, as he had left it a few hours ago, but he paused and
softly whispered her name.
There was no answer, and he crept in.
He had expected to find her there ready dressed, and waiting for
him, but the room was empty. He went to the door of the bedroom and,
knocking gently, cautiously called to her.
Still there was no answer, and after a moment's hesitation, he tried
the door. It was unlocked, and he opened it and entered. The room was
dimly lighted by a small shaded lamp, and for the moment he could
distinguish nothing clearly, but the next he saw a figure lying on the
bed. It was she. She was lying as if she had fallen backward in a fit
of exhaustion, her pale face turned upward, one arm hanging by her
side, the other thrown across the bed.
"Asleep? My poor darling!" he murmured. "But I must wake her! There is
no time to be lost!"
Still she did not move, and he took her hand.
Something--its icy coldness, perhaps, or its irresponsive
lifelessness--sent an awful pang of fear through him that was like the
stab of a knife.
Still holding her hand, he caught up the lamp and held it above her
head, his eyes scanning her face.
The next instant the lamp dropped from his grasp, and with a stifled
cry, he reeled like a drunken man, and fell at her feet!