THE FIRST MOVE.
As soon as possible Doctor Danton broke the intelligence to Violet of
her mother’s strange and mysterious disappearance.
The poor girl listened to the story with a heart crushed and aching.
She had hoped so much when she had discovered that her mother was still
living; and now, to find that her fate was shrouded in awful mystery,
seemed more than she could bear.
Doctor Danton had concluded that it would be best to tell Violet all,
to keep nothing back. So he told her of the detective’s discovery, and
the slippers were at once identified by her as belonging to her mother.
Had Violet Arleigh told her kind friend, the doctor, of all that had
taken place between Gilbert Warrington and herself, and the promise
which the villain had exacted from her, everything would have been
different, and my story need not be written; but she feared Warrington
with a deadly terror which sealed her lips and held her tongue silent.
That Gilbert Warrington had kidnapped her mother, Violet did not for
a moment doubt; and her heart shrunk at thought of what had taken
place. She could see it all in her mind. Gilbert Warrington had driven
the carriage away with her mother inside; when they had reached the
stream, Rosamond had leaped from the vehicle, and had, no doubt, met
her death in the swift, black current below. It would be useless to
drag the stream in search of the body, for Violet knew that the bed
of the stream was full of deep holes hidden under the fallen logs and
drift-wood which had lodged there; and there was a tradition in the
country-side that once drawn down by the resistless current into those
yawning pits there was no hope for any living creature. So Violet
gave up all hope. Her mother was dead; there could be no doubt upon
that point, and as such she mourned her; and therefore her grief at
the funeral was heartfelt and spontaneous, even though she was well
aware that her mother’s body was not in the closed casket covered with
flowers which stood in the center of the drawing-room. She only wished
that it were true; since God had taken her mother from her, she felt
that it would be a sad consolation to follow the dear remains to their
last resting-place in the pretty, old-fashioned grave-yard not far from
The Oaks.
The funeral was over, and the household settled down into mournful
quiet once more. Mrs. Rutledge felt greatly relieved as to her own
future, for she had secretly feared a breaking up of everything at The
Oaks; but the old lawyer who had been Mrs. Arleigh’s adviser since her
husband’s death relieved the lady’s mind by informing her that for the
present all would go on as usual.
Violet said nothing; she was bound to silence; but her heart sunk
in secret as she realized how uncertain was her own hold upon her
childhood’s home; for well she knew that Gilbert Warrington held her in
his power.
The day after the funeral, Leonard Yorke called at The Oaks,
accompanied by Jessie Glyndon. She looked pale and sad; but that was no
wonder, and created no comment. She had liked Mrs. Arleigh very much,
and then Mrs. Yorke was still very ill, and that alone was sufficient
to affect Miss Glyndon and make her pale and sad; and no one for a
moment connected her sadness with dark-eyed Will Venners down in New
Orleans.
When Leonard and Violet met there was a strange constraint between
them. _She_ thought that, perhaps, his call had been intended solely
for Hilda; and _he_ thought of that unfortunate poem until his heart
grew hard and bitter. Ever before his mind there floated, in letters of
fire, the words:
“And I said, ‘Love’s soul is not in fetters;
Neither time nor space can keep souls apart;
If I can not, dare not, send my letters,
Through the silence I will send my heart.’”
And so, the foolish fellow, half-wild with jealousy, treated Violet
with cool reserve.
He could not return Will Venners’ poem to Violet, as he fully intended
doing at the first opportunity; for at a time like this, just after her
mother’s death, and Violet looking so pale and sad in her black dress,
how could he intrude such a matter upon her notice?
So the poem remained untouched in his vest-pocket, where it seemed to
burn into his very heart; while Violet, absorbed with her grief and her
dark fears of the future before her, never thought of the poem at all.
But Leonard’s strange coldness cut her to the heart and nearly broke
it. She felt actually relieved when at last the callers took their
departure. She stood at the drawing-room window watching the pair ride
away on horseback together, with a feeling of relief in her heart which
was new to it.
But she was not suffered to remain long in peace, for just then a
servant appeared at the door of the drawing-room, and announced:
“_Mr. Gilbert Warrington!_”
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