AT YORKE TOWERS.
Violet started, and Will dropped her hand as though it were a live
coal, as Leonard entered the room with a slight greeting, and began at
once to converse with Mrs. Rutledge, who had also put in an appearance.
Poor Violet and Will looked the very pictures of guilty confusion, and
plunged into the first subject at hand for conversation. Violet felt
Leonard’s stern eyes upon her, and her heart sunk with its weight of
sorrow.
“I thought I would ride over this evening,” began Leonard, a little
stiffly, “to make arrangements for bringing you all over to Yorke
Towers to-morrow. I will send the carriage for Mrs. Rutledge and
Miss Hilda. Violet, you and I might ride. You will like to take your
saddle-horse to Yorke Towers, will you not?”
Violet’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh, yes; very much! I have not ridden in some time. Thank you, Mr.
Yorke.”
“But, Violet,” interrupted Hilda, hastily, “Selim has cast a shoe, so I
heard old Andrew say, and he is a little lame; you can not use him.”
Violet looked disappointed; but before she could venture a reply, Will
Venners arose to take his departure.
“I shall not return to New Orleans for a day or two,” he observed;
“shall I not have the pleasure of meeting you ladies again?”
“We shall be pleased to see you at Yorke Towers,” said Leonard, a
little coldly.
Venners bowed.
“Thanks, very much,” he replied. “I may possibly be able to avail
myself of your invitation.” But, as he took Violet’s hand at parting,
he managed to whisper: “I shall not see you again. Will you write to
me--you know my address--and let me know all about her?”
Violet smiled uneasily; but she answered yes. Leonard knew that some
engagement had been made between the two, but he was too proud to ask
any questions when Captain Venners was gone.
The remainder of Leonard’s call was exceedingly unsatisfactory to
Violet; but Hilda monopolized him exclusively, and was the only one who
enjoyed the situation.
In the depths of her heart, Violet would have been glad of an excuse
to give up the visit to Yorke Towers; but she could not well withdraw
now. So she listened in silence to the arrangements made by the others,
and Leonard agreed to call at The Oaks in the morning with the Yorke
carriage.
Morning came fair and bright. The carriage drove up to the entrance of
the house, and Mrs. Rutledge was assisted within, followed by Violet,
and Hilda was left to share the remaining seat with Leonard, much to
her secret satisfaction; and it was just what she had intended from
the first. They reached Yorke Towers in the bright morning sunshine,
and were ushered to their respective rooms. A strange oppression
settled down upon Violet’s spirits; she felt gloomy and sad, though
she knew not why. She closed the door of her own room behind her, and
went over to a window which opened upon an iron balcony, from which a
narrow staircase wound down to the grounds below. It was a very odd,
old-fashioned house, and there were many strange stories told of it.
For instance, there was a room called the east chamber. Violet had
never entered it, but she had heard the legend connected with it--a
wild tale of love and jealousy.
When Yorke Towers had belonged to the Arleighs, it was said that the
two brothers--Bertram and Wayne--had both loved the same woman. But
Bertram had won her, and had brought his bride to the Towers to live.
She was young and very beautiful--a golden-haired, blue-eyed fairy full
of life and sunshine. But she soon found that her husband was a jealous
tyrant. He kept her a virtual prisoner in the gloomy old house, shut
out from all society or the company of her own sex. Day after day she
pined away, and life lost all charm for her. Then Wayne Arleigh came
to the Towers. He had a right there, for it was the ancestral home of
the Arleighs. He began at once to try and secretly win the affections
of the lovely young wife. He succeeded, and she gave her heart to the
traitorous brother. But all the time her husband was watching her with
eager, jealous eyes, waiting to convince himself that she was false.
The day came when he was convinced beyond a doubt. It was a terrible
blow to him, but he said nothing; he only set his teeth together
sharply over a muttered oath.
That night he invited his brother to accompany him into the east
chamber, and, quite unsuspicious, Wayne followed him thither. Once
there, Bertram Arleigh closed the door upon his brother, locking it
upon the outside, and went swiftly away. The room was at the farthest
extremity of the great house; its one window was secured by an iron
grating; no possibility of escape. And there Wayne Arleigh lingered,
dying at last a horrible death from slow starvation. And the world
outside never knew the truth until upon his death-bed Bertram Arleigh
confessed his awful crime.
Violet recalled the old legend now as she glanced from her window
across the court-yard to the east chamber. No one ever entered it now.
She turned away with a low sigh, and just then her eyes fell upon a
letter lying upon the toilet-table. She picked it up in wondering
surprise. A sealed letter addressed to herself!
[Illustration]