DRIVEN TO THE WALL.
Her eyes rested upon his face with a wild stare of terror, which grew
deeper and more intense as he crossed the threshold and closed the door
behind him.
Tall, dark, saturnine, he was not a pleasant person to look at as he
came to a halt upon the rug before the fireless grate and stood staring
into her frightened face with eyes full of cold scrutiny.
For years she had been accustomed to see this man at long intervals,
when he would suddenly and unexpectedly intrude upon her mother with
some mysterious errand. There would be a private interview, and then he
would disappear, leaving behind him a gloomy shadow--her mother’s face
sad and sorrowful, her manner constrained, and the evidence of intense
mental suffering.
As he stood before the girl now, she mentally decided that he was
destined to be the evil genius of her life. And she was right.
“Well, Miss Violet Arleigh,” he began at last, breaking the silence
which rested upon the room, “you have read your mother’s letter, I see.
What do you think of its contents--the communication made therein?”
Silence! The girl’s dark eyes blazed with wordless indignation.
“What do I think, Mr. Gilbert Warrington?” she made answer, her
voice trembling with scorn and contempt. “I think what I have always
thought--that you are the greatest villain unhung!”
He winced perceptibly, and a faint tinge of color suffused his sallow
cheek for a moment, then receded, leaving his face pale and resolute as
before.
“Miss Arleigh is disposed to be complimentary,” he sneered, a baleful
light kindling in his deep-set eyes. “You would do well to choose your
words.”
“What is your business here?” she demanded, abruptly, after a brief
pause, during which she studied the face of the man before her, with
utter scorn in her eyes. “What has brought _you_ here so unexpectedly?
And answer me this, Gilbert Warrington: _how did you know the contents
of the letter which I have just read?_”
He starts, and his lips close down upon a stifled imprecation. He has
made a false move; let slip something which he should have guarded with
his very life. His eyes seek the floor for a moment, then are once more
uplifted.
“It is no concern of yours how I became acquainted with the contents of
that letter,” he said, slowly. “Let it suffice that I _do_ know. And I
ask you, Miss Violet Arleigh, what are you going to do?”
She smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper in her hand, and glanced
over its contents once more.
“My mother states that you have a claim upon her--_you_!”--the girl’s
sweet voice rang out in clear, scornful tones--“and she directs me to
carry out your instructions. Mr. Gilbert Warrington, I do not believe
that this was really my mother’s wish. She has been influenced,
overpowered, coerced in this matter, or”--the great dark eyes transfix
the glittering orbs of the man as she goes on slowly--“or the letter
is a forgery, and Rosamond Arleigh never wrote a word of it. _You know
best!_”
With an angry cry like the stifled howl of a wild beast, Gilbert
Warrington sprung forward and grasped the girl’s arm in a fierce grip.
His face was absolutely colorless, his eyes blazed.
“You devil!” he hissed, bending his head until his eyes seemed to
burn into her very soul, “you shall obey me, do just as I direct, or
you will live to regret it. I have come here at this hour--this sad
hour--when the discovery of your mother’s death has just been made,
simply and solely to confer with you before the lawyers get hold of the
business here, and the authorities have time to put in their oar. So
I slipped in here when I found that you were alone, and my object is
this: Whatever may be the terms and conditions of your mother’s will,
you will have to submit--whether you are pleased or not--and be silent
as the grave, too. Now that you have read your mother’s letter, you
have some idea of the burden that she bore in secret--the burden of
her own sin. I loved your mother, Violet Arleigh!”
“_You?_”
The tone, the glance, the utter, stinging contempt, were enough to
drive a man wild. He flushed angrily, and ground out an oath between
his close-shut teeth. But he controlled himself.
“Never mind,” he snarled; “you are having your day now, _my_ time
will come before long. Scratch, bite, tear about your cage, my little
tigress, your claws will be cut soon, and you will find yourself
utterly powerless!”
“Leave me!” she commanded, her voice trembling with indignation. “How
dare you address me in this way? How dare you come to me with these
matters, and my poor mother scarcely cold in death? Go! or I will
summon the servants to put you out!”
“Ah, you will? But before many days shall pass you will find the tables
turned with a vengeance. Violet Arleigh, there is a dark cloud resting
over your life, a cloud which will never disappear, a stain that can
not be wiped out--the stain of black disgrace. When the time comes for
the truth to be known, how many of your present _dear friends_, think
you, will remain true? How many will rally around you and stand by you
through everything? My word for it, you will not find one. When the
truth comes out, who will care for you and seek you for a wife? Not
your handsome lover, Leonard Yorke; and even if his love is strong
enough to stand the shock of the disgrace and exposure of your family
secret, his mother--proud Helen Yorke--would sooner see her only son
dead than wedded to you, the child of----”
“Hush! I forbid you to speak such words to me. I forbid you to mention
the name of Leonard Yorke.”
“Yes! Too good to pass the lips of a reprobate like Gil Warrington, I
suppose? But I know the world better than you do, my dear Miss Arleigh,
and I assure you that, when this that I have to tell becomes known,
when the _truth_ is made public, you will prove your friends then, and
my word for it, Leonard Yorke will not be among the number. He will be
the very first to desert you.”
“It is false! Mr. Warrington, I will hear no more of this. Leave me!
Have you no pity, no compassion for me, whose mother lies upstairs dead
and cold?”
An ugly sneer disfigured his face.
“Business before pleasure,” he returned, coarsely; “and my errand with
you admits of no delay. Once more I ask you the question: Are you going
to act a submissive part, Miss Violet Arleigh, in that which is before
us?”
She turned away. She could not speak.
“Go!” she repeated, sternly, waving her hand in the direction of the
door. “I can bear no more of this. Listen! Some one is coming to me
now!”
There was a faint rap at the door of the room, and then Leonard Yorke’s
voice called softly:
“Violet! Violet! May I come in? Don’t stay there all alone, dear
Violet! Open the door and let me come in and comfort you.”
Gilbert Warrington’s lips parted in a cruel smile.
“Yes, to be sure! Let him comfort you while he may, my _dear_ Violet!
His days of comforting will soon be at an end. You had better promise
me what I ask,” he added, harshly. “If you do not, you will be sorry.
Say yes--just the one word _yes_! Violet--I know that your simple
verbal promise will be as good as another person’s guarantee--just say
_yes_, and I will step out of the window yonder and be gone before
Mr. Leonard Yorke suspects my presence here. You had better consent,
Violet.”
She stood hesitating, trembling, paling. Her whole soul revolted from
the bondage into which she would be selling herself by this promise;
for well she knew the nature of the man with whom she had to deal--knew
that he was unscrupulous and a thorough villain. And must she bind
herself to obey him blindly? How did she know to what evil purpose she
was pledging herself? He drew nearer, and grasping her arm once more,
glared down into her pale, frightened face.
“Promise me! Swear to obey me!” he hissed, bleakly. “I will only
require you to follow your mother’s instructions; your mother who
was--well, her letter tells you, does it not, that she had a bad, black
secret hidden away in her past life, and that I alone shared that
secret with her?--did she not write that in the letter that you have
just read?”
Violet’s head drooped, but the pale lips managed to falter forth the
two words:
“She did.”
“Very well. Then you will believe me and obey me? Quick, Violet--your
answer! Say _yes_, for Leonard Yorke is determined to get into this
room, and some one is with him! Upon my word, that some one is Hilda
Rutledge! People say that Leonard thinks so much of your cousin Hilda
that he really does not know which of you is the dearest. The door of
this room is locked; but he will continue to rap at it, and if you do
not open it he will summon the household and break it down. Speak,
Violet--at once! Do you promise to obey me? Is it yes?”
She can hardly speak, she is so faint and frightened, and the gaze of
the basilisk eyes riveted upon her white face seems to eat into her
heart.
Tap, tap, at the door again, and once more Leonard’s voice calls in
tones of alarm:
“Violet, dear Violet, open the door! What is the matter? Are you ill?”
And then the voice of Hilda Rutledge takes up the refrain:
“Violet, dearest, unlock the door; we are all so frightened about you.
Come, dear!”
“Will you obey me?” hisses the serpent at her side. “Is it yes?”
Her eyes, wild with horror, meet his; she sinks into a seat.
“Yes!” she gasps, in a feeble whisper.
“Very well. Remember!”
With a look of triumph upon his evil face, Gilbert Warrington leaps
through the open window and disappears.
Violet staggers slowly to the door and unlocks it; then she falls to
the floor in a swoon.
[Illustration]