UNMASKED.
The excitement of the next few minutes was intense.
No one but Burton Kingwood could understand why their beautiful young
visitor had cried out on Heaven in that piercing voice and then slipped
down like one dead to the floor before a hand could be extended to
break her fall.
No one guessed or even suspected that Maisie was masquerading, that she
was not what she seemed, or that the words of Byrd assuring her that
Delmar was his brother had been the cause of her terrible collapse.
No one, at least, but Burton Kingwood, on whom the blow had fallen
also with terrible suddenness, for he had never even dreamed of the
strange complication of fate that had suddenly arisen to mar Maisie’s
happiness. But now he saw it all as by a sudden lightning flash.
Maisie’s husband had not died of his wounds as erroneously reported in
the newspapers. He had recovered instead and returned to make Josephine
his bride, never doubting but that the low green grave in the family
plot held all that remained of poor little Maisie, his hapless first
wife and the unloved bride deserted on her wedding-day.
And, by one of the strangest decrees of fate, Maisie having heard
through the newspapers of her husband’s death, did not know till this
hour that the report was a mistake.
Believing him dead, she had learned to love his brother, and the shock
of the truth had struck her down to despair.
Loving the one brother with all her heart, she was wedded to the other.
Could anything be more cruel, more heart-breaking? Maisie was as far
from happiness now as she had doomed Kingwood to be in rejecting his
suit.
There was a passionate triumph in the thought. He said to himself that
the grim fates must have answered his prayer for vengeance.
He stood awkwardly by his chair watching the others as they gathered
around Maisie and a grim smile curled his lips as he noticed
Josephine’s anxious mien, while he said to himself:
“If she guessed the terrible truth of the girl’s identity would she
not rather strike her down to death than see her revive to claim her
rights? But will she do so or will she continue to deny her identity?
Will she keep up the farce to the point of marrying her brother-in-law?
I believe she is game enough to do it.”
The thought filled him with jealous rage, and he started forward as if
to speak, but just then Mrs. French begged Byrd to carry Miss Summers
to her chamber, so that she might not see so many strange faces when
she revived.
“I believe that is the best plan,” said Byrd, and, lifting the limp
form in his arms, he carried her tenderly to his aunt’s room.
“Now leave her alone with me while you go and attend to Del. He may
be unnerved by all this excitement and Josephine will drive him crazy
flirting with that jackanapes,” she said.
Barrington kissed his sweetheart’s unconscious face with yearning love
and returned to his brother, who was saying excitedly to the others:
“It was so strange that she should faint just at that moment. She
looked bright and animated and nothing exciting was said about
anything.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Kingwood, interrupting for the first time.
They glanced at him in wonder, at the grimly significant smile that
played around the corner of his mouth as he continued:
“Something very exciting was said to Miss Summers. It was that that
caused her to faint.”
“Exciting? Not at all!” cried Josephine. “Byrd was only explaining to
her that Delmar was his brother.”
“Exactly,” said Burton Kingwood grimly. “But as Miss Summers believed
that Delmar Barrington was killed in the battle of El Caney, it came
upon her with a shock that he was alive--and wedded to another!”
They began to comprehend some strange significance in his words, and
looked at each other uneasily, while Josephine cried impatiently:
“What can you mean? The young lady never even saw my husband until
to-day. You seem quite stupid, Mr. Kingwood.”
His face flushed with anger, and he retorted sharply:
“It is you who are stupid--all three of you! You should know better
than to be hoaxed by a girl of nineteen.”
“Explain yourself!” Delmar burst out angrily, with the furious
impatience of an invalid.
The answer came instantly with bitter triumph:
“The explanation is written on her beautiful face. It is a stupid man
indeed who does not recognize his own wife!”
“You are mad!” came like a bomb from Byrd Barrington’s lips.
His brother’s head simply fell back weakly on his pillow, his pale lips
parting without a sound, while Josephine cried furiously:
“How dare you try to trade on a chance resemblance and frighten us all
to death? I do not know how you have learned so much about us all, but
you evidently are not aware that Delmar’s first wife has been dead more
than a year.”
“I know that you believe so, and I have stood by the gravestone in the
Barrington plot with her name upon it. But I knew at the same time that
you had made a mistake and that Maisie Barrington lived. Do you wish me
to prove it to you?” and Burton Kingwood went over word for word the
story of that night of the robbery on the train and joined successive
links to the chain until they could not possibly doubt him longer, and
Josephine was kneeling by Delmar’s couch moaning like a wounded thing,
with her face hidden on his breast.