A VERY DESPERATE GAME.
I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.
--SHAKESPEARE.
Craven Kyte, the infatuated and doomed instrument and victim of a cruel
and remorseless woman, returned to Wendover and resumed his place in
Bastiennello's establishment, where he culpably neglected his business,
and lived only on the thought of receiving her daily letters and of soon
returning to Richmond to be blessed by her promised hand in marriage.
Every morning he was the first man at the post-office, waiting eagerly,
impatiently, for the arrival and opening of the mail.
And he was never disappointed of receiving her letter, and--never
satisfied with its contents.
Every letter was in itself something of a mortification to him,
containing no expression of confidence or affection, no word by which
any one might suspect that the correspondent was writing to one she
loved and trusted, much less to her betrothed husband.
Every letter began and ended in the most polite and formal manner; never
alluded to the matrimonial intentions between the correspondents, but
treated only of church services, Sunday-schools, sewing circles and
missionary matters, until the young man, famishing for a word of
affection, with pardonable selfishness, sighed forth:
"She is a saint; but oh, I wish she was a little less devoted to the
heathen, and all that, and a little more affectionate to me!"
But the instant afterward he blamed himself for egotism, and consoled
himself by saying:
"She always told me that, however much she loved, she would never write
love-letters, as they might possibly fall into the hands of irreverent
and scoffing people who would make a mockery of the writer. It is a
far-fetched idea; but still it is _her_ idea and I must submit. It will
be all right when I go to Richmond and claim her darling hand."
And the thought of this would fill him with such ecstasy that he would
long to tell some one, his partner especially, that he was the happiest
man on earth, for he was to be married in a week to the loveliest woman
in the world. But he was bound by his promise to keep his engagement, as
well as all other of his relations with the beautiful widow, a profound
secret. And though the poor fellow _was_ a fool, he was an _honorable_
fool, and held his pledged word sacred.
Every letter that came to him also contained another letter, to which it
never referred by written word. This inclosed letter was sealed in an
envelope bearing the initial "L" embossed upon its flap. And it was
directed to "Mrs. Mary Grey, Old Crane Manor House, Richmond."
Craven Kyte would gaze at this mysterious letter in the utmost confusion
and obscurity of mind.
"Now, why in the world does she write a letter and direct it to
_herself_ and send it to me to post privately, by night, at the Wendover
post-office? And why did she give me only verbal instructions about it?
And why does she avoid even alluding to it in her letter to me? Why is
the envelope stamped with the letter L? And why, oh, why does the
handwriting so closely resemble that of Mr. Lytton?" he inquired of
himself, as his eyes devoured the superscription of the letter. "I can
not tell," he sighed. "It is too deep for my fathoming. I give it up. I
must blindly do her bidding, trusting to her implicitly, as I do, and as
I will."
Then, following her verbal instructions, given him in Richmond, in
regard to these mysterious letters, he put it away until dark, and then
stole out and dropped it secretly into the night-box at the post-office.
Five days passed, in which he received and re-mailed three of these
inexplicable documents.
Then, on Saturday morning, Bastiennello, the head of his firm, returned
to Wendover and resumed the control of his business.
On the evening of the same day a van arrived from Blue Cliff Hall,
bringing the heavy baggage of Mr. Alden Lytton, to be deposited at the
railway station and left until Monday morning, when the owner intended
to start for Richmond by the earliest train.
When Craven Kyte heard this he went straight to his principal and
claimed his promised leave of absence.
"Why, Kyte, you are in a tremendous hurry! Here I have not been back
twelve hours and you want to be off," said Bastiennello, with a shrug of
his shoulders.
"It is a case of necessity, sir, believe me," pleaded Craven Kyte.
"And this is Saturday night, the busiest time in the whole week,"
complained Bastiennello.
"Well, sir, you will not keep open after twelve, will you?"
"Certainly not after eleven."
"Nor will you need my services after that hour?"
"Of course not."
"Then that will enable me to serve here as usual until the hour of
closing, and then give me time to catch the midnight train to Richmond."
"Oh, well, if you can do that it will be all right, and I can have no
objection to your going to-night," said Bastiennello.
And so the affair was concluded.
The great village bazaar closed at eleven that night.
As soon as he had put up the last shutter, Craven Kyte rushed off to his
humble lodgings, stuffed a carpet-bag full of needed clothing and
hurried to the railway station to catch the train.
It came thundering along in due time, and caught up the waiting victim
and whirled him along on his road to ruin, as far as Richmond, where it
dropped him.
It was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning, and all the church bells
were ringing, when the train ran in to the station.
Craven Kyte, carpet-bag in hand, rushed for the gentlemen's
dressing-room nearest the station, hastily washed his face, combed his
hair, brushed his clothes, put on a clean collar and bosom-piece, and
fresh gloves, and hurried off to old St. John's Church, which he thought
the most likely place on that Sunday forenoon to meet Mary Grey.
The service was more than half over when he reached the church, but he
slipped in and seated himself quietly on one of the back seats near the
door and looked all over the heads of the seated congregation to see if
he could discover his beloved in the crowd.
Yes, there she was, in a front pew of the middle aisle, immediately
under the pulpit.
To be sure he could only see the back of her head and shoulders, but he
felt that he could not be mistaken.
And from that moment he paid but little attention to the service.
Do not mistake the poor soul. He was not impious. He had been
religiously brought up in the family of the late Governor Cavendish. He
was accustomed to be devout during divine worship. And on this occasion
he wrestled with Satan--that is, with himself--and tried to fix his mind
in succession on anthems, psalms, collects and sermon. All to little
purpose. His mind went with his eyes toward Mary Grey.
And even when he closed those offending orbs he still found her image in
his mind.
At length the sermon was finished and the benediction pronounced.
The congregation began to move out.
Craven Kyte went out among the first, and placed himself just outside
the gate to wait until his adored should pass by.
In a continued stream the congregation poured forth out of the church
until nearly all had passed out, but still he did not see Mary Grey.
In truth, that popularity-seeking beauty was lingering to bestow her
sweet smile and honeyed words upon "all and sundry" who would give her
the opportunity.
At length, among the very last to issue from the church, was Mrs. Grey.
She came out chatting demurely with a group of her friends.
Craven Kyte made a single step toward her, with the intention of
speaking; but seeing that she did not notice him, and feeling abashed by
the presence of strangers about her, he withdrew again and contented
himself with following at a short distance until he saw her separate
herself from the group and turn down a by-street.
Then he quickened his footsteps, turned down the same street and joined
her.
At the same instant she looked back upon him with a smile, saying:
"You clever boy, how good and wise of you to refrain from speaking to me
before so many strangers! Now what is the news?"
"The news is--Oh, my dear, dearest, dearest Mary! I am so delighted to
meet you!" he exclaimed, breaking suddenly off from his intended
communications.
"So am I to see you, darling. But that is no news. Come, this is a quiet
street, and leads out of the city. Let us walk on, and as we walk you
can tell me all the news," she said, smilingly, resting her delicate
hand on his arm.
"I can tell you nothing--nothing yet, but that I love you--I love you!"
he fervently breathed, as he drew her arm within his own and pressed her
hand to his bosom.
"And I love you," she murmured, in the lowest, sweetest music. And then,
after a moment's pause, she added, gayly: "And now tell me what has
brought you here so suddenly."
"Did I not promise you that I would be in Richmond this Sunday morning,
in time to attend you to church?"
"Yes, you did, but--"
"Well, I could not get in so early as I intended, because I came on by
the train that leaves Wendover at midnight. So I did not reach the city
until nearly noon to-day. However, if I was not in time to attend you
_to_ church, I was in time to attend you _from_ church. So I kept my
promise tolerably well."
"Yes; but, my dear friend, I particularly requested that you would wait
at Wendover and watch certain events, and not come to Richmond until
something had happened or was about to happen."
"Well then?"
"You gave me your word that you would do as I directed you."
"Yes, certainly I did."
"Then, seeing you here, I am to presume that all the conditions of your
engagement have been fulfilled."
"Yes, they have, dear lady mine."
"First, then, as you were not to come here until Mr. Alden Lytton was
about to start or had started for this place, why, I am to presume, by
seeing you here, that Mr. Lytton is either present in the city or on his
way here."
"Mr. Lytton will leave Wendover for Richmond by the earliest train
to-morrow. He will be here to-morrow evening," said Craven Kyte,
gravely.
"You are absolutely sure of this?" inquired Mrs. Grey.
"As sure of it as any one can be of any future event. His heavy baggage
came over from Blue Cliff Hall yesterday evening, and was left at the
station to be ready for transportation on Monday morning, when Mr.
Lytton intended to take the earliest train for this city."
"Then there can be no mistake," said Mary Grey.
"None whatever, I think."
"You say you have fulfilled all the conditions of our engagement?"
"Yes, dearest, I have indeed."
"How about those letters I inclosed to you to be re-mailed?"
"I received them all, and re-mailed them all. Did you get them? You
never acknowledged the receipt of one of them, however," said Craven
Kyte, thoughtfully.
"I got them all safe. There was no use in acknowledging them by letter,
as I expected to see you so soon, and could acknowledge them so much
better by word of mouth. But that is not exactly what I meant by my
question, darling. Of course I knew without being told that you had
re-mailed all those letters, as I had received them all."
"Then what was it you wished me to tell you, dearest Mary? Ask me
plainly. I will tell you anything in the world that I know."
"Only this: Did you post those letters with great secrecy, taking
extreme care that no one saw you do it?"
"My dearest, I took such care that I waited until the dead of night,
when no one was abroad in the village, and I stole forth then, and, all
unseen, dropped the letters into the night box."
"You darling! How good you are! What shall I ever do to repay you?"
exclaimed the traitress, with well-acted enthusiasm.
"Only love me--only love me! That will richly repay me for all. Ah, only
love me! Only love me truly and I will die for you if necessary!"
fervently breathed the poor doomed young man, fondly gazing upon her,
who, to gain her own diabolical end, was almost putting his neck into a
halter.
"You foolish darling! Why, you would break my heart by dying! You can
only make me happy by living for me," she said, with a smile.
"I would live for you, die for you, suffer for you, sin for you--do
anything for you, bear anything for you, be anything for you!" he burst
forth, in a fervor of devotion.
"There, there, dearest, I know you would! I know it all! But now tell
me: Have you kept our engagement a profound secret from every human
being, as I requested you to do?"
"Yes, yes, a profound secret from every human being, on my sacred word
and honor! Although it was hard to do that. For, as I walked up and down
the streets of Wendover, feeling so happy--so happy that I am sure I
must have looked perfectly wild, as the people stared at me so
suspiciously--I could scarcely help embracing all my friends and saying
to them, 'Congratulate me, for I am engaged to the loveliest woman in
the world, and I am the happiest man on earth!' But I kept the secret."
"You mad boy! You love too fast to love long, I doubt! After a month or
two of married life you will grow tired of me, I fear," said Mary Grey,
with mock gravity.
"Tired of you! Tired of heaven! Oh, no, no, no!" he burst forth,
ardently.