"DO NOT LEAVE ME, FOR YOU ARE THE DELIGHT AND SUNSHINE OF MY LONELY
LIFE!"
The scene was one of such terror for Mrs. Varrick that she never forgot
it.
"I shall leave this house!" he cried again. "I will not remain another
hour beneath this roof. I will find Jessie Bain, though I have to travel
this wide earth over to do it!"
Suddenly he stopped short and looked at his mother; then he cried out
excitedly: "Where is the woman who came here with that embroidery-work?
More likely it was she who took the bracelet."
But Mrs. Varrick shook her head.
"You forget that the bracelet was found in Jessie's trunk," she said,
huskily, "and that she owned up to taking it in a written confession. As
for the strange embroidery woman, Miss Duncan, I paid her off and let
her go. She knows next to nothing of what took place in regard to the
bracelet. You must remember, too, that the girl was glad to get off so
easily."
"Even though I _knew_ she was guilty, I could find forgiveness in my
heart for her, mother," he cried, huskily, "for I love her-- I _love_
her as man can love but once in his life-time. You arrayed yourself as
her enemy, mother, and as such, you must be mine, until I can find
little Jessie and bring her back to you."
"Oh, no, no, Hubert, darling!" cried Mrs. Varrick, striving to throw her
arms about him, but almost before she was aware of his intention, he had
quitted the room, strode down the corridor, and was half-way down the
walk that led to the great entrance gate.
Varrick had walked a considerable distance from the house before his
mind settled down to anything like rational thoughts. Suddenly it
occurred to him that the quickest way to trace her would be to secure
the aid of an experienced detective. It was the merest chance that led
him to the office of Henry Byrne, the great detective--the very one
whose services his mother had enlisted to recover her valuable bracelet.
It took but little conversation for the detective to learn that the
young man was desperately in love with the pretty little girl. This gave
the experienced man of the world food for thought.
He did not tell young Varrick how interested he himself was in learning
the whereabouts of that pretty young girl.
After an hour or more of earnest conversation, they parted, Byrne
agreeing to report what success he met at the hotel at which Hubert
Varrick said he intended stopping.
Up to midnight, when they again met, Byrne could give him no definite
information; he did not even tell him that he thought he had a slight
clew which he intended to follow.
Thus three days passed, and not even the slightest trace of Jessie Bain
could be discovered, and Hubert was beside himself with grief.
In the midst of his trouble a strange event happened.
As he was passing through the lobby of the hotel one evening, he met
Harry Maillard, Gerelda Northrup's cousin.
Varrick turned quickly in an opposite direction, to avoid speaking to
him, when suddenly Maillard came forward and held out his hand to him.
"I am glad to see you, old boy," he said, "and have been wondering where
you kept yourself of late."
"I have been attending to business pretty closely," returned Varrick.
"Take a cigar," said Maillard, extending a weed. "Let's sit down. I have
something to tell you."
Varrick followed his friend, and soon they were seated together before
one of the open windows.
"I have such wonderful news for you," said Maillard. "I learned from
Captain Frazier's valet, whom I met on the street, that his master had
been dead some time, having been killed in a railway accident.
"Shortly after your unfortunate experience a great fire occurred in one
of the islands in the St. Lawrence, and Captain Frazier was there alone,
and had been alone, the man informed me. There was no lady about--of
this the valet was positive, and his last message to this man, who was
with him to the end, was to search for Gerelda Northrup, and tell her
that with his last breath he was murmuring her name, and that he wanted
to be buried on the spot where they had first met.
"That is proof positive that Gerelda was not with Captain Frazier, and
that he, poor fellow, was entirely innocent of her whereabouts."
Hubert Varrick was greatly amazed at this intelligence; but before he
could make any remark Maillard went on quickly:
"We received a long letter from an old nurse who used to be in Gerelda's
family years ago. It was written at my cousin's dictation. She had been
very ill, the letter says; and in it she goes on to tell the wonderful
story of what caused her disappearance.
"She says that during your momentary absence for a glass of wine, she
was abducted by a daring robber, who wished to secure the diamonds she
wore, and hold her as well for a heavy ransom; that, all in an instant,
while she awaited your return, she was chloroformed, a black cloak
thrown over her, and the last thing she was conscious of was being borne
with lightning-like rapidity down a ladder, a strong pair of burly arms
encircling her.
"The night wind blowing on her face soon revived her; then she became
conscious that she was in a hack, and being rapidly driven along a
country road.
"'We are far enough away now,' she heard a voice say; and at that moment
the vehicle came to a sudden stop. She was lifted out, the stifling
folds of the cloak were withdrawn from about her, the jewels she wore
were torn from her ears and breast, and from the coils of her hair the
diamond arrows, which fastened her bridal-veil, and the next instant
her inhuman abductor, having secured the jewels, flung her into the
deep, dark, rushing river, then drove rapidly away, all heedless of her
wild cries for help.
"A Canadian fisherman, happening along in his boat just when she was
giving up the struggle for life rescued her. He took her to his humble
cot and to his aged mother, and under that roof she lay, racked with
brain-fever, for many weeks.
"With the return of consciousness, she realized all that had transpired.
"Fearing the shock to you both, she had these people take her to an old
nurse who happened to live in that vicinity, and this woman soon brought
her back to something like health and strength. Then Gerelda had the
woman write a long letter to me, telling me all, and bidding me break
the news gently to her mother and you. The letter ends by saying:
"'By the time it was received she would be at home, and bid me hasten to
you with the wonderful intelligence, and bid you come to her quickly,
for her heart was breaking for a sight of you--her betrothed; that she
was counting the moments until she was restored to you, and once more
resting safely in your dear arms.'
"I have been searching for you for some time, Hubert, to tell you our
darling Gerelda is home once more. It was only by the merest chance that
some one saw you enter this hotel and told me. I will be back in one
minute, depend upon it," said Maillard, seizing his hat and flying out
of the door without waiting for a reply. In fact, Varrick could not
have made him any had his life depended on it.
In the midst of Hubert's conflicting thoughts, Maillard returned.
"This way, Varrick," he called cheerily from the door-way; and a moment
later Varrick was hurried into the coupe, which had just drawn up to the
curbstone, and, with Maillard seated beside him, was soon whirling in
the direction of the Northrup mansion to which a servant admitted them.
Maillard thrust aside the heavy satin _portieres_ of the drawing-room,
gently pushed his friend forward, and Hubert felt the heavy silken
draperies close in after him. Through the half gloom he saw a slender
figure flying toward him, and he heard a voice, the sound of which had
been dear to him in the old days that were past and gone, crying out:
"Oh, Hubert! Hubert!" and in that instant Gerelda was in his arms.
Insensibly his arms closed around her; but there was no warmth in the
embrace. She held up her lovely face to be kissed, and he bent his
handsome head and gave her the caress she coveted; but for him was gone
all the old rapture that a kiss from those flower-like lips would have
brought. By Hubert Varrick, at this moment, it was given only from a
sense of duty, as love for Gerelda had died.
"Oh, Hubert, Hubert! my darling!" she cried, "is it not like heaven to
be united again?"
She would not notice his coldness; for Gerelda Northrup had laid the
most amazing plan that had ever entered a woman's head.
Immediately upon her dismissal from the Varrick mansion she had stolen
back to the little hamlet where her old nurse lived, and had got the
woman to write a letter for her as she dictated it.
She had said to herself that Hubert Varrick should be hers again, at
whatever cost, and that she might as well force him by any means that
lay in her power into a betrothal with herself again, as long as he was
not married to another.
He should never know that she knew of his change of heart. She would
meet him and greet him as her betrothed lover, whom she was soon to
marry, and he would have to be a much smarter man than she took him to
be if he could find any way out of it.
She had caused the nurse to write a similar letter to her mother; and
when her mother read it, and realized that her daughter had not eloped,
she received her back joyfully and with open arms. If an angel from
heaven had told her that her daughter had stolen back to the city in
disguise, and had been residing under the Varrick roof, she would have
declared that it was false--a mad prevarication.
Mrs. Northrup was overjoyed to have the sunshine of her home, her
darling daughter, back again.
With almost her first breath, after she had kissed her rapturously, she
told her that she had seen very little of Hubert Varrick, and that he
had never crossed the threshold since that fatal night on which he
believed that his bride to be had eloped from him.