A MIDNIGHT CRIME.
How oft men use the gifts of God
To aid their plans and cloak their sins;
At nightfall, silence reigns above
And deviltry on earth begins.
The noise was merely the shivering to atoms of a small venetian vase
which stood on a diminutive ebony table not far from the divan on which
Stella was seated.
Mrs. Sinclair had accidently struck the table, and the gossips declared
afterward, in the privacy of their own Boudoirs, that she was watching
her son at the very time when his accidental touching of Stella's hand
had wrought so fearful a change upon his features, and, quite naturally,
they argued that an intuitive fear for her adopted daughter's future
made her hand unsteady. At any rate, she had turned suddenly pale and
grasped the slender table for support with the result already mentioned.
Maurice sprang promptly forward, and motioning to a servant to remove
the fragments of glass, offered his arm gracefully to his mother and
passed up the room to where the Countess Martinet was sitting with her
angular daughter.
Stella took this opportunity to join the Misses Huntington on a
neighboring sofa and again the strains of music floated through the
spacious parlors and partners were soon whirling gaily about in the
witcheries of a glorious waltz.
Never had Stella looked so superbly beautiful as to-night, with the
graceful folds of her exquisite white satin draperies clinging about her
charming figure. The gold of her hair scintillated in myriad iridescent
rays about her broad forehead and snowy neck, while the gleaming diamond
star that shown upon her bosom vied with the sparkling lustre of her
eye, and in the opinions of the gentlemen, at least, paled woefully in
the comparison.
Before this enjoyable ball was over it was no wonder that hearts,
adoration and homes were silently or in hurried, eager whispers, laid
humbly upon the altar of love, and many an ardent lover went home that
night to dream of heavenly raptures or exactly the reverse.
To Stella, however, the sentiment of all absorbing passion was, as yet
unknown. Life was at its best and brightest with her, and the brief,
inexplicable sensation of fear which she had felt at Maurice's touch,
was the only cloud, small and visionary as it was, that in any way
darkened the skies of her perfect happiness.
The fog was still resting heavily upon the earth when the last carriage
rolled away and Maurice walked with his mother up the broad stairs to
spend his first night in ten years beneath the parental roof.
Some way Stella lingered longer than usual that night over her adieux to
Sir Frederic Atherton, but the fault, if fault it was, could not be laid
at her door.
His carriage was the last and if he held her hand a moment longer than
usual, she reasoned that, it was only because he had known her from
childhood and now, at her debut into the world of womanly duties and
pleasures, it was only natural that he should feel a desire to
congratulate and perhaps advise her for her future welfare.
It was with this idea in mind that she let her hand rest quietly in his
and raised her eyes so confidently to his face.
What she saw there was neither the courteous smile of congratulation or
the benign bearing of one about to offer sage admonition. Instead, she
saw a look of such ineffable tenderness bent upon her, that to her
inmost soul there came an instantaneous sense of security, protection
and sacred confidence, and tears suffused her lovely eyes in a blinding
flood of gratitude which she was powerless to control.
Another instant and his lips had touched her golden hair, and the sound
of the departing carriage told her he was gone.
With a curious feeling of loneliness and amazement thereat, she
followed, almost in a dream, to Mrs. Sinclair's door.
Stella said good night as soon as possible, thinking that in all
probability mother and son would wish to converse on many topics of
interest, but as she passed from the room she turned and smiling
sweetly, said, "I am sorry to usurp your old quarters in the west wing,
Maurice, but we thought I had better not change as the south room might
be more grateful to your warm country tastes."
With this slightly saucy allusion to his mysterious past, Stella kissed
her finger tips to Mrs. Sinclair and closed the door softly behind her.
After Stella had gone Maurice seemed suddenly fatigued. The light
vanished from his eyes and his tones grew languid, while a certain
nervousness of manner betrayed to Mrs. Sinclair's acute perceptions the
fact that, for some reason, her son felt ill at ease in his mother's
presence.
Kissing him fondly she made haste to say, "Now darling, you had better
go right to your room. We shall have plenty of time to talk in the
future, for I am an old woman now and I trust my son will never feel
like leaving me again."
"How old is Stella, mother?" was his somewhat irrelevant remark when she
had finished speaking.
"She is twenty-one to day, my son, and I think you will agree that a
sweeter, truer woman could hardly be imagined," responded his mother
warmly.
"She is very beautiful," Maurice began, but checking himself, he said
abruptly, "I have spent the last three years of my life wandering about
in the heart of the Great Desert of Shamo, and some times I fancy the
sulphurous fumes and heat of its burning lakes have impregnated my blood
and tainted my whole system with a substance, which, although capable of
overcoming other impurities, is but a poor choice between the natural
and the acquired evil."
Here, seeing his mother's look of complete mystification, he paused and
added playfully, "Ah, mother, I have frightened and perplexed you all
ready: I must retire and to-morrow you shall say whether I am brute or
human, for in truth, some times I can hardly tell." With these words he
laughed a low, musical and extraordinarily joyous laugh that had
attracted her once before that evening, then touching his mother's cheek
lightly with his lips, went hurriedly from the room, through the hall
and up the wide staircase.
On reaching the hall above he paused for a moment as if in doubt and
then turned abruptly toward the west wing and, notwithstanding Stella's
parting words, passed swiftly on until he reached the door of his "old
quarters," then he drew a small, odd looking vial from his pocket and
with it still in his hand, turned the handle and without word or
warning, quietly entered the room.