A RAY OF HOPE.
Violet’s eyes wandered coldly to Warrington’s dark, saturnine face, and
rested there with a look in their depths that boded him no good.
“Gilbert Warrington,” she cried, in a clear, ringing voice, which was
full of scorn and detestation, “I demand that you procure my freedom
from this place! Let me go free, or it will be the worse for you!”
Gilbert Warrington bowed, and there was a mocking devil in his crafty
eyes as he responded:
“My dear Miss Arleigh, I am really very sorry that I cannot comply with
your request. I do not like to refuse a lady anything, and especially
a fair lady like yourself”--with another mocking bow--“but truly,
circumstances over which I have no control, etc., etc., preclude the
possibility of complying with your demand. In short, my dear Violet,
not to put too fine a point on the argument, I _will not_ let you go
free until you and I are husband and wife!”
“Very well, sir. Then I suppose I may look upon this place as a living
tomb, for I shall certainly never be your wife! Death by inches in this
horrible place would be preferable to such a fate!”
Warrington fairly shook with rage, but he controlled his wrath; and
biting his lip to keep back the torrent of angry words which were
striving for utterance, he went on:
“Whatever you may wish, your wishes shall not be consulted. I am
determined to have the Arleigh fortune, and as I can legally obtain it
in no other way save by marrying you, I am going to make you my wife,
though I detest the sight of your white face and big, mournful eyes.
But _you_ are only the means to the end---the _desideratum_. Unpleasant
as you are, I shall have to use you as a stepping-stone to fortune.”
Violet’s eyes flashed indignantly.
“And suppose that I decline to be a stepping-stone for any one?” she
demanded.
He smiled a slow, derisive smile.
“Unfortunately, my dear, your wishes will not be consulted,” he
returned, insolently. “You see, Violet, you are completely in my
power--completely. You might as well try to change the course of this
earthly planet of ours as to control me in any way. You are going to
marry me; there is no evading it in any way, so you may as well resign
yourself to the inevitable. To-night I shall be here with a clergyman,
and the ceremony shall be performed. Then, and not until then, shall
you be set free.”
“I decline to accept my freedom upon such terms!” cried the girl,
bravely. “I prefer to stay here until I die! Gilbert Warrington,
perhaps you may have heard of the Arleigh will? If so, you need not be
reminded that you are wasting your arguments and your valuable time.
_I_ have inherited the strong, unyielding will power of the Arleighs,
and I never give up when I am in the right!”
A dark frown disfigured Gilbert Warrington’s sullen face.
“The Arleigh will? Ah, I know it indeed full well. Harold Arleigh
wrecked his whole life by his indulgence in that unpleasant
characteristic of his race. All the same, I shall crush that will in
this instance. Think how absurd for you--a mere girl--to attempt to
defy _me_. And you are my prisoner, while I am free to carry out my
plans. In short, there is no use for further discussion, you shall
become my wife to-night!”
“I will die first!”
“You may die afterward,” returned the villain, brutally; “but not until
the conjugal knot is tied. After that you may ‘shuffle off the mortal
coil’ as soon as you like. It shall be just as you say. I only ask your
signature to a certain document, after which you may take a short cut
to Paradise, if you like.”
Sick at heart, the girl stood staring bleakly before her, her form
trembling, her heart sinking. What a terrible fate stretched out before
her, and she so young and fair! All for the sake of gold, the detested
wealth that her mother had left to her.
What should she do, what could she do? The question asked itself over
and over in her numbed, bewildered brain with tireless persistency. She
could not think; she was incompetent to plan or direct her thoughts.
She clasped her hands, and the look of suffering upon the white,
beautiful face would have wrung the hardest heart. Appeal was useless;
this creature before her had not the heart of a man. He was a wild
beast seeking whom he might devour, and she might as well appeal to the
mercy of the robbers of the desert or the panther in its jungle as to
Gilbert Warrington.
“You understand me?” he continued, breaking the silence which had
fallen over the room; “I will be here to-night at eight o’clock with a
clergyman, all in readiness to perform the marriage ceremony.”
She turned away as though she had not heard a word that he had spoken.
“A still tongue makes a wise head,” he said, with a coarse laugh. “If
silence suits you, well, so it does me. But to-night will end the
controversy. As soon as you have signed the document in my possession,
signed it with your new name of _Mrs. Violet Warrington_, I shall leave
you in peace and forever!”
She stood as silent and unresponsive as a stone image. He gave her a
glance of mingled hatred and triumph, then he left the room, locking
its door behind him.
Left alone, Violet started from the trance of numb despair which was
stealing slowly over her, and glanced wildly about the small room.
Thank Heaven, she was rid of his hateful presence at last! Scarcely
knowing what she did, she went over to the window, a small square
window too high up for her to look from, and protected by stout iron
bars. An impulse seized her to look forth and see where she was.
Pushing the small table over to the window, she climbed upon it, and so
was able to peep from between the bars. Below was a retired street with
only an occasional passer-by. But as Violet stood gazing eagerly forth,
she saw a man walking slowly down the street, and once in a while
casting a furtive glance up at the building. A wild flash of hope went
through her heart, for the man was Detective Dunbar.
[Illustration]