A WARNING.
Violet broke the seal of the letter with a strange misgiving in her
heart. It was written in a plain though somewhat cramped hand, and ran
as follows:
“Dear Miss Arleigh--You and yours have been cruelly wronged. If you
would avenge your mother and gain possession of your own rights, visit
the east chamber at Yorke Towers and search for certain papers which
are said to be concealed there. I can tell you no more than this. I am
your friend, though necessity compels me to conceal my identity from
you. Be on your guard and act with prudence and caution, and God will
help the friendless orphan.
“Your Friend.”
Violet read and reread this strange epistle, her heart full of
unpleasant forebodings. It flashed across her mind then, the strange
condition of affairs between her mother and Mrs. Yorke. There had
been polite intercourse between them as friends and neighbors, but at
the same time, under it all there had been something like distrust,
a certain ill-concealed jealousy. Violet thought of it all now, and
wondered what could be the reason for this condition of affairs.
She slipped the letter into her pocket, and removing her street-dress,
donned a pretty black lawn, with a jet necklace and bracelets. Then
she stepped out upon the balcony and stood gazing around her upon the
fair scene stretched out before her eyes. Off in the distance a gleam
of silver, where the pretty river wound in and out amid green hills
and smiling dales; overhead, a blue sky with a few fleecy white clouds
sailing over its azure bosom; below, a smooth, green lawn stretching
down to the river’s edge, and dotted with gorgeous flower-beds.
A lovely place was Yorke Towers. No wonder that Helen Yorke had clung
to it and fought for it, and would almost lay her life down in its
defense.
And then Violet’s eyes wandered over to the eastern portion of the huge
old building, to the room where that awful tragedy had taken place
so many years before, where the mysterious letter had told Violet to
search for the documents referred to.
What papers were they, and why must she search for them? In vain did
Violet turn the question over in her mind; she could find no answer to
it. But a strange feeling had taken possession of her heart, a feeling
for which she could not account, but which led her to feel that the
letter, no matter from whom it had come, spoke the truth, and was of
real importance to her.
“I will say nothing to any one,” she decided at length; “but I will
watch my opportunity to visit the east chamber; and once there, I will
search it thoroughly. But I really do not know what I expect to find,
and it does not seem proper to take such liberties with Mrs. Yorke’s
house.”
She felt greatly distressed and troubled over this matter; but at last
she decided to dismiss the subject from her mind.
She descended the narrow staircase which led from the balcony out into
the grounds, and was soon wandering through a green and shady arcade
with hedges of roses on either side and the air laden with fragrance.
All at once the sound of suppressed sobbing fell upon her ears,
followed by an outburst of weeping speedily controlled.
Violet came to a halt, uncertain whether to advance or retreat; and
then she saw, crouching at the foot of a large tree, a white-robed
figure with bowed head--a girl, weeping bitterly. A second glance, and
Violet saw that it was Jessie Glyndon. It did not seem possible that
the proud, self-possessed Miss Glyndon could be huddled up in that
crumpled heap at the foot of the tree, weeping and sobbing as though
her heart would break. And as Violet turned to leave the spot, her
light footsteps unheard upon the soft grass, she caught the sound of
a name which Miss Glyndon breathed forth in a tone of heart-break and
despair. That name was “_Will_!”
Violet felt a swift sensation of surprise. Why, who would ever have
thought that Jessie Glyndon cared enough for Will Venners to _cry_
about him? So thought Violet to herself. Yet, after all, it might not
be Will _Venners_, for there are hundreds of other Wills in the world.
Violet stole quietly away, and made her way to the house once more, and
Jessie Glyndon never dreamed that she had been a spectator to her grief.
Violet found Leonard in the hall. He looked relieved at sight of her.
“I began to fear that you were never coming, sweetheart!” he said, as
he joined her. “So you have been out in the grounds?”
Violet smiled. It was very pleasant to hear him speak in the same old,
tender way once more.
“Yes, I have been looking about,” she returned. “By the way, Leonard,
will you allow me to visit the east chamber while I am here? It has
long been a desire of mine to do so.”
His face grew dark. He disliked the legend; and then, it was told of
the _Arleighs_, and Violet was an Arleigh.
“It is nothing to be proud of, dear,” he said, quietly.
Violet’s face flushed.
“Indeed I am not proud of it, Leonard,” she cried; “but I wish to see
the room very much. And, after all, it was my ancestors of whom the
story was told. But there comes Hilda!”
Hilda floated into the room, a radiant vision, all in pure white
garnitured with black velvet, looking lovely, as she always did.
At sight of the two alone together, her face grew stern; but she forced
a smile to her red lips.
“Come, Leonard, let us go out into the grounds,” she began, gayly,
monopolizing Leonard, as usual.
It struck home to Violet’s heart in that moment that the engagement
between Leonard and herself ought to be made public, and then Hilda
would not be quite so officious. But just then Mrs. Rutledge made her
appearance, and they all went out into the grounds together, where they
remained until luncheon was announced.
At the lunch-table they found Jessie looking pale and subdued, but
outwardly calm. No one seeing her would have dreamed that she had been
going through the stormy scene such a little while before out in the
grim and silent grounds.
Luncheon over, they all made a call upon Mrs. Yorke. As they entered
the great Gothic chamber a tall, gaunt female in a rusty black gown,
and wearing a cap upon her scanty gray locks, strode out of the room
with the air of a tragedy queen.
“That is Betty Harwood--mother’s maid,” volunteered Leonard. “She is
quite a character, and mother thinks she could not exist without Betty.”
Something struck to Violet’s heart with an odd feeling of certainty,
that she was destined to know more of this woman before she left Yorke
Towers. She had caught a swift glance from her small gray eyes as she
had passed Violet in her exit from the room, and that glance had made
the girl slightly uneasy. She felt almost _afraid_ of the woman.
“I must be getting nervous and fanciful,” Violet said to herself, with
a smile. “Betty Harwood is Mrs. Yorke’s maid, and has been with her
for many months. She is devoted to the invalid. I am a foolish girl to
imagine any harm in her. The woman’s history is too well known to Mrs.
Yorke, doubtless, for her to be anything that she ought not to be.”
Yet, strive as she might, Violet could not divest herself of the
impression, and a feeling of uneasiness lingered in her heart.
Later in the day she encountered Betty in a deserted corridor. The old
woman gave her a furtive glance from her little gray eyes, with their
scant light lashes, and nodded mysteriously.
Violet turned coldly away. She certainly wished no secret understanding
with Mrs. Yorke’s servants. But as she passed on down the long
corridor, old Betty glided softly to her side, and bending her head,
whispered in a hissing tone:
“Be on your guard! There is fraud and wrong-doing around you. You have
been fearfully wronged, young lady. No; you need not shrink from me in
that cold, scornful fashion. Take my advice and visit the east chamber
at the first opportunity. Stay there as long as possible, and if you
_can_ stay there alone, do so. Never give up the search until you have
proved my words to be true.”
Violet lifted her head with a haughty gesture.
“I shall complain to Mrs. Yorke of you!” she said, sternly. “I share no
secrets with Mrs. Yorke’s servants; please remember that!”
But as she passed on down the corridor and descended the staircase,
Betty’s keen gray eyes followed the slight figure with a malignant
expression, and she muttered hoarsely:
“Ah, my fine young lady, you will be glad to take all that back, and
look to old Betty for assistance, before many days have come and gone.
There is trouble coming--awful trouble for you, Miss Violet Arleigh,
and I would save you if you would let me!”
Then she went slowly back to Mrs. Yorke’s chamber, that inscrutable
expression still upon her wrinkled face, and her gray eyes full of
sullen wrath.
[Illustration]