Lord Stuart went back to the cabin that night to share Norman’s vigil,
and when he stood by the bedside of Mrs. de Vere, and saw what an awful
change had come over the once handsome, noble-looking woman, his heart
sunk with dread. The gray shadow of death seemed already settling
upon her terribly wasted features. He did not believe that she could
possibly live through the impending crisis.
“She will die to-night, and another crime will lie at the door of
that beautiful fiend,” he thought, with burning indignation against
heartless Camille.
They had been sitting quietly for more than an hour, watching the
invalid, who lay in a stupor almost as deep as death, when Lord
Stuart’s ear caught the sound of a light tapping at the kitchen
door. He rose softly and went out, anxious that Norman should not be
disturbed, and found a messenger boy with a telegram for Norman de Vere.
Lord Stuart took the telegram and turned into the quiet kitchen. A
thought had come to him of the fraudulent one that had summoned Norman
de Vere to New York in order that his relentless foe might desolate his
home.
“Perhaps this is some more of her cruel work. She would drag the son by
a deep-laid scheme from the bedside of his dying mother,” he thought,
angrily. “But I will foil her plan. For my friend’s sake, I will read
the telegram and decide whether he shall see it to-night or not.”
He tore off the yellow envelope and read the telegram, which was dated
from a distant Western town. His eyes dilated at these startling words:
“I have found your wife and child here by a strange chance. Thea
is dangerously ill and unable to explain. For God’s sake, what
does it mean? Come instantly.
“FRANK HINTON.”
“Great Heaven! is there any truth in this, or is it a device of Camille
to lure Norman away?” Lord Stuart muttered, in an agony of indecision
as he thrust the telegram in his vest-pocket, and stood thinking,
wondering whether he ought to tell Norman or not. “He would be wild to
go, but he could not forsake his dying mother, and his mind must not be
tortured by this miserable uncertainty. It is I who must go upon this
wild-goose chase, as the Americans say of an uncertainty. Then if it
turns out another scheme of Camille, she will have been baffled in her
malice,” he decided; and, going back into the sick-room where Norman
sat with heavy, miserable eyes fixed on his mother’s pallid, wasted
features, he touched him on the arm.
“Can you forgive me for deserting you in this terrible hour? I have
been suddenly summoned away on a matter of the most urgent importance
to me,” he whispered, with an agitated face.
“Go, my friend,” Norman answered, huskily; “I shall not be alone. The
nurse will be here, and Doctor Hall has promised to return before
midnight.”
Then Lord Stuart spent a few solemn minutes by Mrs. de Vere’s bedside,
taking, as he believed, a silent last farewell of a noble woman soon
to be removed from earth, and whispering a few hopeful words to his
stricken friend, he hurried away, hoping that he would be able to catch
a midnight train for the West.
He went back to his hotel and explained to his sister what had
happened, and he was not much surprised when she begged that he would
take her with him on the quest for Thea.
“But, Edith, it may prove a fruitless journey--it may be one of that
false woman’s schemes,” he said.
“I will go with you on the bare chance that it is true, for if Thea is
sick she will need my care,” she replied.
“It is noble of you, Edith, to cling to that poor girl still, even
when the most blighting disgrace and misery have fallen to her lot,”
her brother said, watching her keenly.
“I love her all the more dearly for her unmerited misfortunes,” Lady
Edith cried, impetuously. “Oh, brother, do you not think we might take
her back to England with us until Norman is free to marry her again? We
might comfort the poor, unhappy child.”
“We will see,” said Lord Stuart, kindly. “But if you mean to go with
me, hurry and get ready, my dear. You need only take one trunk and your
maid.”