“HOW CAME YOU HERE?”
Lady Ruxley had said truly that Vallingham Hall was full of company, and
as Brownie, who sat reading to her ladyship the next morning after their
arrival, caught the sound of fresh young voices and silvery laughter, as
they floated up through those lofty halls, she felt her own heart grow
warm and light, and she found herself longing to mingle with the gay
company. Lady Ruxley had tried to prevail upon her to go down the
evening previous and enjoy the music and dancing, but the thought of
meeting the Coolidges was so repugnant to her that she preferred
remaining quietly in her own room, although it was quite a trial,
knowing that Viola and Alma were in the same house, and yet not be able
to see them.
Just before noon Lady Randal came bustling in in great haste, bearing a
great box in her hands.
“Auntie,” she began, affably, “I want to borrow Miss Dundas for a little
while.”
“What for?” demanded the old lady sharply, and eying the box
suspiciously.
She had no idea of having the young girl imposed upon, or made to
perform any disagreeable tasks for her exacting niece.
“I can’t find an operetta which I had set my heart upon having performed
at the _soirée_. I thought I could put my hand upon it at once, but I
have mislaid it, and thought it might be among these papers. Charles
wants me immediately to arrange the programme, so that I have not time
to look for it myself, and I thought perhaps Miss Dundas might be
willing to hunt it for me. Will you?” she demanded, turning to Brownie.
“Certainly, if Lady Ruxley has no objections,” she answered, quietly.
“Well, well, child, you’d never refuse, no matter what anybody asked of
you. Put down the box, Helen, and she shall look as soon as she has
finished the article she is reading,” Lady Ruxley replied.
Lady Randal obeyed.
“While you see about it, you may as well arrange the papers orderly;
they have been turned over so many times that they are all in a muss,”
she said, and then left the room.
Half an hour after, her reading finished, she took the box to a large
table standing in the bay window, and began her work.
It was no easy task to put that promiscuous assortment in order.
There were bills of all kinds, letters and notes, and memoranda, all
mixed with loose papers and envelopes.
She at length succeeded in finding the operetta, and then proceeded to
arrange and tie up the letters, bills and other documents so that they
need not get mixed again.
She had nearly finished her task, and the bundles were all neatly
arranged in the box, when, taking up a small package, the wrapper
suddenly gave way, and several little notes and papers fell scattering
into her lap.
They were directed to different persons, and all in different
handwriting, and Brownie could not help wondering how they happened to
be in Lady Randal’s possession.
She began to gather them up, pondering upon the singular circumstance,
yet too honorable to take advantage of her opportunity and gratify her
curiosity, when her eye fell upon a note, the corner of which had been
doubled back, revealing the writing within.
The writing, though, irregular, as if a trembling hand had traced it,
had a strangely familiar look as she glanced at it.
It had been written with a pencil, and was not very distinct. Bending
closer, Brownie discovered the words, “repentant Meta.”
A thrill of intense pain ran through every nerve, and, without stopping
to consider that she had no moral right to do so, she unfolded the
paper—it was yellow and old, and only folded once—and began to read.
Scarce had her eye swept over the few words written within, when every
vestige of color faded from her cheeks and lips, while her eyes burned
with a fierce, vengeful light.
She had heard of that little note before.
How well she remembered the pain in that dear old face, the quivering of
those sweet, pale lips, and the note of mortal anguish in the loved
voice which had told her of this little message which had never
accomplished its mission.
In her mind she went back nearly fifty years, and saw a beautiful young
girl, lying pale and sick in a lofty room, a deep scar upon her fair
temple, but a deeper pain looking forth from the sad eyes, as she
watched eagerly for the sound of a footstep which never came.
Yes, it was the very note—that anguished, repentant cry, which Miss
Mehetabel had sent from the depths of her soul to the man she had loved!
“Yes, come at once, if you can forgive your repentant
“META.”
How well she remembered the words, and now she had found them, as her
aunt had told her, in the possession of Helen Capel, now Lady Randal.
They had been kept back from the honest, faithful lover, who was only
waiting for this permission to fly to the side of his betrothed and
comfort her, by the hand of this treacherous woman, who had thus
ruthlessly wrecked a human life, yea, two lives!
How strange, Brownie thought, that the note should thus have fallen into
her hands.
“Surely, there is Providence in it,” she murmured, as, with one swift
glance to see that Lady Ruxley was not observing her, she hid it in her
bosom, and then hurriedly completed her task.
The operetta was sent to Lady Randal, and the box of papers returned to
their accustomed place; but all day long Brownie felt as if a mountain
was crushing her heart, with that little paper lying in her bosom.
She felt she could not breathe in the same house and under the same roof
which sheltered the woman who had deliberately planned to entrap a young
and guileless girl into disgracing both herself and her lover, that she
might separate them forever, hoping to win him for herself.
She wondered if Lady Ruxley knew of her share in the event, or if Lord
Dunforth had ever found it out.
Probably not, since they were still good friends, and had he known of it
he could not have forgiven so bitter a wrong.
The more she thought of these things, the more her heart rebelled
against them, until she grew so restless and nervous that she nearly
cried out with pain whenever any one spoke to her.
About four o’clock, finding that Lady Ruxley was sleeping, she stole
out, thinking to get away into the sunshine and calm herself, and
perhaps Adrian would come ere long, and she could share her burden with
him; at all events, he would comfort her.
She opened the door and passed noiselessly out into the hall.
She had nearly traversed the long corridor leading to the grand
staircase, when she almost ran against some one who suddenly came out of
a room she was passing.
“I beg your pardon,” Brownie murmured, and then looked up to see who it
was.
It was none other than Isabel Coolidge!
Instantly the two girls braced themselves for the encounter, and looked
the surprise which neither of them for the moment could speak.
“You here?” Isabel exclaimed, at length, growing white, while her eyes
emitted a lurid light.
“Yes, Miss Coolidge,” gently replied Brownie, yet with lifted eyebrows
and a calm, scornful look into her enemy’s face.
“How came you here?”
“Pardon me, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to relate
the train of circumstances which brought me here,” she said, coldly.
“Insolence! Then it was you whom I heard singing down at Lady Ruxley’s
villa the other day!”
“Doubtless, since I sing to her ladyship every day.”
“What an appreciative listener you must have in that old, crooked back,”
sneered Isabel.
Brownie’s eyes blazed, dangerously.
“I presume Sir Charles Randal would be much edified with Miss Coolidge’s
remark regarding his aged aunt,” she said.
Isabel looked frightened for a minute, then replied, with a short laugh:
“He might be, if he should hear it, that’s a fact. Then you’re her
companion. I remember now hearing that she took a sudden shine to a
young woman who met with an accident, and would have her stay with her.
You’re mighty lucky about getting into fine places, it seems to me.”
A curl of those beautiful red lips was all the satisfaction she received
from this insulting speech, and then Brownie made as if she would have
passed on.
“Wait,” commanded Isabel, peremptorily, and laying her hand upon the
young girl’s shoulder.
She was inwardly boiling with rage that she could not move or browbeat
the haughty governess.
“Wait,” she repeated; “I have not done with you yet.”
“Please remove your hand from my shoulder, Miss Coolidge,” Brownie
commanded, in tones that she dare not disobey.
“Mr. Dredmond called upon you at our house the day you left; he said he
had something belonging to you which he came to return,” she went on, as
her hand fell by her side, and dropping her eyes before the other’s
indignant gaze.
She was very curious about the object of that visit.
“I know it,” replied Brownie, much amused, as she saw that Isabel was
almost afraid of her in her haughty pride.
“You know it? How?”
“Yes, and I have my property back again,” and she deftly shifted her
cuff, bringing the glittering button upon the upper side of her sleeve.
Miss Coolidge started slightly on beholding the elegant trifle.
“Ah, that was it, then? It is very elegant, isn’t it? I presume it
belongs with the collection we have in our possession,” she said,
spitefully.
“It does, Miss Coolidge, and I will thank you to return my property.”
“When you prove it is yours, I will.”
“These buttons are marked with my name on the back.”
“That may be; you have had plenty of time, doubtless, to get them
marked,” sneered Isabel.
“I shall compel you to return that casket to me,” retorted Brownie, with
flashing eyes.
“Ha, ha! Perhaps you will, and then again perhaps you won’t. But we have
discussed that subject sufficiently in the past. When did you see Mr.
Dredmond?” Isabel asked, insolently, and noting how exquisitely lovely
Brownie had grown since she saw her last.
“Really, Miss Coolidge, if I remain here longer I shall lose my walk,
and that I cannot afford to do.”
With which tantalizing remark, Brownie, her figure proudly erect, moved
down the corridor, leaving her interlocutor beautifully in the dark as
to how or when she had seen Mr. Dredmond.
“I suppose you thought by coming down here you’d have a better chance to
practice your wiles upon that young gentleman; but, mark my words, you
won’t succeed, for I shall feel it my duty to inform Lady Randal of the
very suspicious character which she is harboring,” hissed the irate girl
after her.
She might just as well have talked to the winds, for Miss Douglas never
gave a sign that she heard.
As Brownie passed Isabel’s room again, a few hours later, she saw that
the door was open.
Her maid had gone out a few moments before, had carelessly left it
standing open, and was now in the servants’ hall flirting with the
butler’s assistant.
Involuntarily, Brownie paused and glanced within, and her heart stood
still as her eyes almost instantly caught sight of her own little ebony
casket standing upon the elegant dressing-case, its tiny key in the
lock, with the delicate chain attached.
Swift as light, the impulse came upon her to enter and seize it, and
bear it away to her own room.
She glided quickly and noiselessly forward.
There was no one in the corridor, there was no one in the room.
She crossed the threshold, and, with a few fleet steps, cleared the
space between herself and her treasures.
She lifted the lid.
All were there, in their glittering beauty.
She closed the box again, turned the key in the lock, removed it, and
fastened the chain about her neck, concealing it beneath the folds of
her dress.
The next moment she had the precious casket in her hands, and turned, to
find herself face to face with Mrs. Coolidge.