A MEMORABLE NIGHT.
’Tis only the obscure is terrible;
Imagination frames events unknown,
In wild fantastic shapes of hideous ruin,
And what it fears, creates.—HANNAH MORE.
It was two hours after midnight, on a keen March morning, when Alexander
Lyon, in the face of a fierce northwest wind, rode on towards his almost
forsaken home.
His frame of mind was not enviable.
Never since he had entered upon his life of deception had his
double-dealing so much disturbed him. The discovery of his duplicity was
now impending. His uncle had proposed his immediate marriage with his
betrothed; and should the obstinate old gentleman persist in pushing on
the project, and should Anna raise no objection to it, there would be no
other course for Alexander to pursue but frankly to confess his secret
marriage with Drusilla, and so brave the old soldier’s roused wrath, and
bear the young beauty’s bitter scorn.
Yet, still Mr. Lyon resolved to delay the degradation of such a
disclosure, and the shame of such a scene as long as possible, for still
he hoped, “out of this nettle danger to pluck the flower safety.”
It was possible, he thought, that his uncle might not persevere in his
purpose, and it was probable that Anna herself would be the first to
object to a precipitated wedding, and would insist that the programme
should be followed, and that the full year of mourning for his mother
should elapse before Alexander should claim her hand.
There yet remained nearly eight months to the end of this probation. In
this time, how much, he reflected, might happen to deliver him from his
disagreeable dilemma.
_Drusilla might die._
He felt a pang of shame and sorrow as this idea entered his mind. Yet
still he entertained it. Drusilla was now declining in health, and she
might die. And in such a case he should be free from the trammels of his
reckless marriage, and from the necessity of making the humiliating
confession that he had ever worn them.
Agitated by these evil thoughts, he rode rapidly onward towards
Cedarwood.
As he entered the private road leading through the dark wood he saw the
beacon lights of his home in the drawing-room windows, shining out to
guide him on his way.
“She is waiting for me, poor child,” he said, half in compassion, half
in contempt. “Still waiting and watching as she has been doing no doubt,
for the last three nights—the last three nights! Ah! and how many nights
behind them! Poor little miserable! I wish I had never seen her!”
So muttering to himself Alexander rode around to the stable and put up
his horse, and then walked back to the house and knocked at the front
door.
It did not fly open as usual at his summons, so he knocked again, louder
than before; but there was no response.
Then he sounded an alarm upon the knocker, and waited for the result.
But when the noise he made died away, all remained silent in the house.
“What the deuce is the meaning of this, I should like to know?” he
inquired of himself, as he went down the steps and climbed up to the
sill of the front windows, and looked into the drawing-room.
The room was brilliantly lighted up, but the fire in the grate had
burned low; the untasted supper covered up on the hearth had probably
grown cold; and the little guardian angel of the place was no where to
be seen.
“Where the mischief can she be?” he asked himself; and having frequently
expressed annoyance that she should sit up late to let him in, he now
felt vexation that she should have gone to rest, and left him to get in
as he could.
There was nothing now for him to do but to go back to the stable and
rouse up his man-servant, and get the key of the kitchen door, by which
that functionary always let himself in in the morning to make the fires.
Leo slept in the loft over the carriage-room, which was shut off from
the horse stalls, and locked within.
And it required considerable knocking and calling before the man could
be awakened.
When at last he aroused he started up in terror shouting;
“Who’s there? Thieves! murder! fire!—go away, or I’ll shoot!”
“Coward, and fool!—come down and open the door!” loudly and angrily
exclaimed his master.
But before Mr. Lyon had fairly got the words out of his mouth Leo put
his pistol out of the window, and pulled the trigger and blazed away.
The ball whizzed past within an inch of the ear of Alexander, who
instinctively dodged and shrank out of the range of fire, as he shouted:
“Stop that, you villain! What do you mean, you poltroon? It is I, your
master.”
But the man was mad with terror; and even while his master spoke, fired
again and again, until he had discharged six shots from his revolver;
and then he retired from the window.
“And now, you scoundrel!” again shouted Mr. Lyon, as soon as silence was
restored. “Do you hear me—do you know me now? I am your master. Come
down and open the door; I want you.”
A minute passed, and then the voice of Leo was heard from above, calling
cautiously:
“Marse Alick, Marse Alick! Is it you, sir?”
“Of course it is I, you cursed idiot! who else should it be? And it is
very well for you that I am living to answer, and you are not a
murderer. Come down instantly, I say, and open the door.”
“Lor, Leo, chile, it is marster; I knows his speech. So let him in,”
spoke another low voice, which Mr. Lyon, in astonishment, recognized as
belonging to Pina.
Another minute passed, and then Leo came down, with his teeth chattering
from cold and fright, and opened the door.
“And now, you villain! what have you got to say for yourself, that I
shall not have you committed to jail to-morrow on charge of assault with
intent to kill?” angrily demanded Mr. Lyon.
“Oh, Marse Alick! I’m as much mortified at the mistake as ever I can be.
Indeed, sir, I thought it was horse thieves, and I was duty bounden to
’fend the hosses, you know, sir,” pleaded Leo.
“Umph; well, you must be more careful another time, my man. Your mistake
might have cost you your neck, you know.”
“’Deed, sir, I—if I had been so misfortunate as to hurt you I shouldn’t
a cared _that_ for my neck! I should a wanted to a’ hanged myself ’dout
waitin’ for the judge to do it,” said the boy, so earnestly that he at
once disarmed his master.
“Very well, I dare say you speak truly. And now let me have the key of
the back door; I wish to get in the house and go to bed. Your mistress
has shut up the place and retired. I suppose she has given up all
thoughts of seeing me to-night. Where is the key?”
“Here it is, sir; shall I go on to the house with you?”
“No, there is no need. Oh, by the way—was not that Pina’s voice I heard
speaking to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And pray how comes she to be sleeping down here in the stable loft,
when she should be in the house with her mistress? And now I think of
it, how _is_ your mistress?”
“Ah, purty much the same as usual, sir,” said Leo, trying to evade the
‘previous question.’
“I am glad to hear it. But about Pina; how comes she to be sleeping
here?”
“Well, sir, you see there’s been a ’larm at the house; and Pina, she was
feared—”
“‘An alarm at the house?’ What sort of an alarm?” anxiously inquired Mr.
Lyon.
“Well, sir, if you will please to let me walk along home with you I
could tell you as I go along.”
“Come then and be quick.”
“Oh lor, Brother Leo, ask master to wait for me, please. I don’t dare to
stay here all alone by myself!” exclaimed Pina, scuttling down from the
loft as fast as she could come.
“Hurry then, you provoking fool; and mind, I have an account to settle
with you when you come,” said Mr. Lyon, as he stamped his feet and
clapped his hands to keep his almost congealed blood in circulation,
while the fierce wind whirled his riding-coat round and round.
Meantime Leo quickly took down his own overcoat from its peg in the
coach-room, and put it on.
“Now then! How dared you to leave your mistress and come down here to
sleep, eh?” angrily demanded Mr. Lyon, as Pina came to the side of her
brother.
“Please, sir, it was along of the fright. And mistress said I might. And
no more wasn’t she angry long o’ me for it,” whimpered the girl.
“Your kind mistress is never angry with anybody for anything,” answered
Mr. Lyon, doing justice to his neglected young wife, on this occasion at
least. “And,” he added, “I will hear what she has to say about the
matter before I excuse you. And now, Leo,” he inquired, turning to the
boy, “what about this alarm at the house? I hope it was a false one. Was
it of thieves?”
“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know whether it was a false alarm or not,
nor likewise whether it was thieves.”
“Tell me all you know of it.”
“If you please, I don’t know anything about it personably myself. It was
not me as seen the face at the window, in the dead hour of the night, it
was my mistress.”
“‘A face at the window in the dead of night?’” echoed Mr. Lyon, in
astonishment.
“Yes, sir.”
“What night?”
“Last night, sir, about this hour, as I understand.”
“Give me the particulars.”
Leo began and related the story, as he had received it from his
mistress.
“That is most extraordinary and it must be investigated,” said Mr. Lyon,
in a musing and anxious manner, as the boy finished the tale. “But,” he
added, turning sternly to the two servants, “how came you, you cowardly
brutes, to leave your young mistress alone in the house to-night after
such an alarm? I feel inclined to part with you both.”
“Oh, sir,” said Leo, “I begged my mistress to allow me to stay in the
house to keep guard, I did, indeed, sir; but she wouldn’t so much as
hear of it. She said how she wouldn’t interfere long of your
arrangements, sir; and so she ordered me to go back to the stables and
take care o’ the hosses.”
“And indeed, master, indeed, sir,” put in Pina, “I did say to my
mist’ess wasn’t her safety of more ’count than the dumb brutes; but she
wouldn’t hear to me, no more’r to Brother Leo.”
“And so she sent you both out of the house!” exclaimed Mr. Lyon,
frowning darkly.
“Indeed she did, sir,” answered Pina.
“And remained in it alone?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Leo.
“Humph!” growled Mr. Lyon, and his anger was diverted from his offending
servants to his neglected wife. An insane suspicion took possession of
him, and he mentally connected the mysterious face at the window, with
the circumstance of Drusilla’s sending her servants from the house, and
he drew an inference which nothing but the madness of jealousy could
have inspired, and he hurried on at a pace which even his agile young
servants found it hard to keep up with.
They went around to the back door and opened it, and Mr. Lyon, calling
his servants to follow him through the house, groped his way along the
dark back passages to the octagon hall and up the stairs to his wife’s
chamber, which was dimly lighted by a night-taper on the mantle-piece
and a smouldering fire in the grate. The room was vacant and evidently
had not been occupied since the morning.
“Where can she be?” he inquired, and in an accession of anxiety he
hurried through the other rooms of the upper story; but found them all
empty.
Then, still attended by his servants, he went below stairs and searched
the library and the bird room. But neither Drusilla nor any one else
could be found.
“I looked into the drawing-room before I entered the house—looked in
through the unshuttered front windows and I saw that no one was in
there. But I will look again,” muttered Mr. Lyon, in extreme
astonishment and anxiety, as he passed into the apartment in question.
It was still brilliantly lighted up and he could see into every corner
of it; but he saw, besides the usual furniture, only the neatly spread
little supper table; the untasted supper covered up on the hearth; and
the easy chair and slippers near the blackened fire that had quite gone
out.
But his wife was nowhere to be seen in the room.
“This is most inexplicable!” he exclaimed, in consternation, as he
turned and looked at his servants, who stood near him aghast with
terror. “At what hour did your mistress dismiss you?”
“At ten o’clock, sir; but we didn’t go out of the house till nearly
half-past, as it took us some little time to rake out the kitchen fire
and fasten up the place,” answered Leo, while Pina fell to sobbing.
“Stop that noise, will you, and follow me. I will search the rooms over
the kitchen; though I suppose it will be quite in vain,” said Mr. Lyon,
grimly, as there entered his mind the cruel suspicion that his neglected
and lonely young wife had actually left her home.
They searched first the kitchen, pantry and laundry, on the first floor
of the back building. Then they went up and searched the servants’ rooms
on the second floor. But without success.
“She is gone,” said Mr. Lyon to himself, as he led the way back to the
drawing-room. And in the strangely blended emotions of astonishment and
mortification, there was also a delusive feeling of satisfaction and
hope. If she was gone, he should be free. Her departure was his
deliverance.
As he re-entered the drawing-room, still attended by his servants, he
saw the broad morning light streaming in at the front windows. He
ordered Leo to take away the lamps and to clear out the grate and kindle
a new fire. And he directed Pina to remove the supper service and
prepare his breakfast; for, under all the circumstances, he felt too
much excited to think of lying down to sleep.
He walked up and down the room, while his servants quickly executed his
orders. And soon every vestige of the evening’s untasted repast and
extinguished fire was removed. And the clean hearth and glowing grate
invited Alexander to repose himself in his easy chair.
After a while Pina appeared with the table linen in her hand, and
inquired, respectfully:
“If you please, sir, will you have the breakfast laid here, or in the
dining-room?”
“In the dining-room, of course,” answered Mr. Lyon.
“The dining-room,” as the reader knows, was but a cozy, elegant, little
recess, curtained off from the drawing-room, and only large enough to
hold a small table and two chairs, for the young couple’s tête-à-tête
dinners.
As Pina now drew aside the crimson curtain, she uttered a wild scream,
and stood transfixed and gazing down upon some object near her feet.
Alexander sprang up to see what had frightened her; but as he put aside
the curtain, and saw what was under it, he started back with an
irrepressible cry of horror.