"I Will Join You Heart and Hand."
Later in the day, while Sir William was engaged with the Stewart looking
over accounts and inquiring into the condition of Heathdale generally,
Lady Linton went quietly up to her brother's rooms to attend to the
unpacking of his trunks and putting his wardrobe in order.
While thus engaged she came across a worn portfolio filled with papers of
various kinds.
She knew at once that it was nothing that belonged to her brother, and
surmised that its contents might contain much of interest regarding the
despised girl whom he had married in the far West of America.
The key was attached by a ribbon to the portfolio, and was tucked into a
fold of the leather, and no sense of either delicacy or honor prevented
her making use of her opportunity for gratifying her curiosity regarding
the young wife, without the necessity of asking questions.
Accordingly, she boldly and unhesitatingly unlocked the portfolio, and
began examining its contents.
These proved to be mostly business papers and legal documents, with some
letters directed to a name that she had never heard before. She would have
liked to read them, but she feared being interrupted while doing so, and
she of course had no wish to have her brother know she was prying thus
into his affairs so she laid them back in their place, resolving at some
future time to examine them more thoroughly. But there was one envelope
among them of much fresher appearance than the others, and with no address
upon it, although it contained a document of some kind.
Lady Linton slipped it out, and, unfolding it, found it to be the marriage
certificate of her brother and his wife.
She was astonished to find that the ceremony had occurred in some place in
Nevada, remote from any city or town—a little settlement of which she had
never heard—and as she read further, her eyes grew wide with astonishment
and her face dark with anger.
"He wrote us that her name was Virginia Abbot," she cried, indignantly, a
crimson flush mounting to her brow, "and here it is given as Virginia—"
A step sounded outside the door in the hall just then, and her ladyship
paused, affrighted, to listen, that last name unspoken on her lips.
But it proved to be only a servant passing on some duty, and she went on
with her investigations.
"There is some inexplicable mystery about this thing," she murmured. "The
name is the same as that on those letters, and I am sure he has deceived
us shamefully. He said that she was the daughter of a once wealthy
Californian, but it seems that they were not in California at all. There
must have been some reason for their burying themselves in that isolated
place, and—<i>I will yet find out what it was</i>!"
She returned the certificate to the envelope, and put back the papers in
their proper places.
All at once her face lighted.
"Sara was going directly to San Francisco. I will write her to look this
thing up. I will have that girl's secret before she is a month older, and
then we will <i>see</i> whether she comes here to Heathdale to queen it over
us."
She resumed her work, but there was a sullen, resolute expression on her
face which told of some purpose that she was determining to carry out at
all hazards.
When Sir William's trunks were at length emptied, she rang for a servant
to take them to a storeroom, after which she repaired to her own
apartment, where she wrote steadily and rapidly for more than an hour.
At the end of that time she folded and sealed her letter, and directed it
to "Mrs. Sara Farnum, Palace Hotel, San Francisco, Cal.," and the very
next post from Heathdale carried on its way the missive that was destined
to help accomplish one of the greatest wrongs that had ever been
perpetrated.
The reader will doubtless remember that when the dowager Lady Heath and
Lady Linton were discussing Sir William's sudden marriage the name "Sadie"
was mentioned in connection with the baronet.
Sadie was a beautiful English girl of two or three-and-twenty and the
youngest child and only daughter of Mrs. Sara Farnum, to whom Lady Linton
had just written.
Sadie Farnum had said and thought a great deal upon learning of Sir
William's union with the American maiden, for the news had been a terrible
death-blow to her own hopes and ambitions.
She had long entertained the desire and intention of one day becoming the
mistress of Heathdale; it had been the dearest wish of her heart, and for
years she had used every art in which she was skilled to bring the man
she loved to her feet, and thus accomplish her purpose.
Mrs. Farnum and Lady Linton had been intimate friends from girlhood, and
it had also been a darling scheme of theirs to marry the daughter of the
one to the brother of the other, thus securing a fine position and title
to Sadie, and adding to the already well-filled coffers of Heathdale the
handsome fortune which the young girl would bring to her husband.
But Sir William had never appeared to be particularly fond of the society
of ladies, at least he was not what would be termed a ladies' man,
although he went frequently into company, and did not fall in with those
plans for his future happiness as readily as their projectors desired.
He liked Sadie well enough as a friend, and had been in the way of seeing
a great deal of her, as Lady Linton frequently invited her to spend
several weeks with her. He even promised to correspond with her when he
left England to travel in America, and at the time of his first meeting
with Virgie, he had in his pocket a voluminous letter indited by her.
But she had never touched his heart; she was bright, beautiful, and
accomplished, yet there was something lacking in her nature which his own
demanded and which he recognized at once in the lovely mountain maiden the
moment that he met her that wild night when he came a stranger to her
home.
But Sadie was so broken-hearted over the blighting of all her fond hopes,
and grieved so sorely that her health began to suffer in consequence, and
when Sir William's return began to be talked of, Mrs. Farnum decided to
take her daughter traveling and thus avoid any unpleasant meeting and
fresh grief when the young Lady Heath should come to take possession of
her new home.
Accordingly they sailed for America, and knowing that the baronet was in
New York, went directly to the Pacific coast about a fortnight previous to
Sir William's return to Heathdale.
The letter which Lady Linton sent her friend was written, as we know, the
morning following her brother's return, and five weeks later, upon the
very day of little Virgie May Heath's birth, there came to her an
exceedingly gratifying reply.
A portion of it read thus:
"Regarding the important questions which you have asked about the ——'s.
I will not write the name for fear this letter might sometime chance to
meet other eyes. I find that such a family resided here a number of years
ago. They occupied a high position in society appeared to have unlimited
means at their command and were much respected, but they were suddenly
overtaken by terrible misfortunes which cut them instantly down from their
high estate and they were obliged to flee from the city in disgrace. It is
quite a complicated story, and I have not been able to learn all the
details. I can do so, however, if you wish.
"But what is your object? What do you know about the family? Has it
anything to do with that girl whom your brother so rashly married in such
a romantic manner? If it has, let me know, and I will gladly search the
continent over for material to make her bitterly repent for striking such
a blow to my Sadie's, and indeed to all our hopes. Answer immediately and
whatever instructions you may give me, I will follow most faithfully. I
am ready to join you heart and hand in any vendetta against the disturber
of our peace."
Lady Linton smiled curiously after reading this epistle.
"I imagined as much," she muttered, "and they presumed to aspire to an
alliance with a Heath of Heathdale, when their own name was so hopelessly
disgraced that they did not dare to own it or be known by it, and were
forced to hide their guilty heads in that low mining district. No, sir; my
Lord of Heath, your shameless bride shall never enter this sacred
ancestral house if there are any means, lawful or otherwise to prevent
it."
After the examination of the portfolio which she had found in her
brother's trunk, Lady Linton's curiosity had been insatiable, and
simulating an air of friendliness and resignation which she was far from
feeling, she had encouraged him to talk of his wife, hoping thus to learn
more of her history, and trap him into acknowledging something of the
mystery which surrounded her.
But though Sir William was never loth to talk of his darling, and always
spoke of her in the fondest terms, he would never commit himself regarding
her past; that was to be a sealed book in England, and not even to his
mother and sister would he ever breathe one word of that sad story, that
Mr. Abbot had told him when he pleaded for his daughter's hand, or aught
that would cast a shadow upon any member of her family.
"She was the daughter of a once wealthy Californian whom reverses had
impoverished," he invariably told them. "She was finely educated and
fitted, both by nature and culture, to shine in any circle."
"By whom were you married, William?" his mother asked, having at last
deigned to show some interest in the circumstance.
"By the Rev. Dr. Thornton, an Episcopalian clergyman
"Of San Francisco?"
"No, of Virginia City;" and Sir William smiled that she was not familiar
enough with the geographical location of the place to know that it was not
in California at all.
"Oh, then you were not married in San Francisco?" interrupted Lady Linton,
looking up eagerly, and hoping now to get something definite regarding
that outlandish place in Nevada.
"No," he replied, not thinking it necessary to enter into particulars, and
leaving them to infer what they chose.
Her ladyship was baffled again, not daring to press him further lest he
should suspect that she had been tampering with his papers.
But she tried to console herself with the thought that she would soon know
all there was to be known; then what use she might make of her knowledge
remained to be seen.
Lady Heath was improving, but still far from being out of danger, and
could not endure the least confusion.
Sir William was very restless, and anxious to get back to his dear ones in
America; but Sir Herbert Randall was opposed to his going.
"It would be fatal, my dear sir," he asserted; "the excitement of your
departure and the separation would undoubtedly bring on another shock from
which her ladyship could not possibly rally, even if it did not kill her
outright. Haven't you done roving enough yet?" the physician concluded,
regarding the young man with some surprise.
"But I've left——" Sir William began, when he was interrupted by a
startled cry from Lady Linton, who was in the room, as she carelessly
upset a vase of flowers on the table beside her.
"How awkward of me!" she exclaimed, flushing a deep crimson; "won't you
please ring the bell, William for some one to come and clean up this
mess?"
He went to the opposite side of the room to do her bidding, and she took
the occasion to inform Sir Herbert in a low tone, that her brother had
left some unfinished business in America, which he was anxious to have
settled.
"I'm sorry," replied the physician, "but it will have to remain unsettled
for a while longer, if he has a proper regard for his mother's health."
Of course the great doctor's verdict was decisive, and Sir William was
forced to curb his impatience as best he could. He would not allow himself
to do anything that would endanger his mother's life, and yet his heart
was yearning for his wife and for the little one whom he had never seen.
"Have patience a little longer, my darling," he wrote Virgie that evening;
I will come just as soon as it will do for me to leave home. My heart
longs for you every hour in the day; life seems almost a blank without
you, and I find it difficult to employ myself about anything. If you were
stronger, and our little one was older, I would send some trusty messenger
for you, and another eight days would find you in our beautiful home. But
I fear such a proceeding would be hardly wise at present.
"Write to me often, my Virgie, and be very careful in directing your
letters; I am afraid that I have missed one or two of your last. Oh, happy
day when there will be no longer any need to communicate with each other
in this slow way."
Sir William had indeed missed his wife's last letters and this was the
only one that she ever received from him after that date.
How was it?
Ask Lady Linton, or go seek in the little brazier, which stood at night in
the dressing-room of her mother for the purpose of heating the nourishment
she was accustomed to take at twelve, for the ashes of the loving epistles
which the fond husband and wife believed no other save themselves would
peruse.