A DAY OF GLOOM.
All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and
the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank
Lamotte passed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that
the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his
ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he
recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle.
Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a
refusal even from the proud Constance. Now, somehow, he had lost his
self-confidence. Again and again he imagined the words that he would
say, and the words he hoped, that she would answer. Then, as he forced
himself to face the possibility of defeat, the veins upon his temples
swelled out, his teeth clenched, and one of those "attacks," to which he
was subject, and against which Doctor Heath had warned him, seemed
imminent. Again and again he gazed, with proud satisfaction, upon his
reflected image, in the full length drawing-room mirror, and turned
away, vowing himself a fitting mate for any woman. Again and again, when
the image of his own physical perfections had ceased to dazzle his
vision, his heart sank within him, and a dismal foreboding put his
courage to flight.
"Confound it all," muttered he, as he wandered aimlessly from one
deserted room to another: "the very house seems under a spell. Sybil,
sitting like a recluse in her own rooms, growing pale, and wild-eyed,
and spectre-like, every day. Evan, in _his_ room, sick with drink, and
verging on the D. T. Mother, gliding like a stately ghost from the one
to the other, or closeted in her own room; she has not been down stairs
to-day. Burrill, the devil knows where _he_ is, and what took him out so
unusually early this morning. He's been cutting it worse than ever for
the past week; the fellow, seemingly, can't find company low enough for
him, in one stage of his drunkenness, nor high enough for him in
another. It's fortunate for us that liquor has at last relaxed his
vigilance; the old man has taken a leading trick by the means. Curse the
brute! Why won't he die in a drunken frenzy, or from overfeeding, but he
won't!" Thus soliloquizing, he lighted a segar and went out into the
grounds. "I'll try the effect of a little sunshine," he muttered; "for
the house feels like a sarcophagus; one would think the family pride was
about to receive its last blow, and the family doom about to fall."
So, restless and self-tormented, Frank Lamotte passed the long
afternoon, in the double solitude of a man deserted, alike by his
friends and his peace of mind.
"We make our own ghosts," said somebody once.
Frank Lamotte's phantoms had begun to manifest themselves, having grown
into things of strength, and become endowed with the power to torture;
thanks to the atmosphere into which he had plunged himself and them.
Late in the afternoon, John Burrill came home, but Frank avoided him,
not caring to answer any questions at that time.
Burrill seemed to care little for this, or for anything; he was in a
wonderfully jubilant mood. He rambled through the tenantless rooms,
whistling shrilly, and with his hands in his pockets. He commanded the
servants like a Baron of old. He drank wine in the library, and smoked a
segar in the drawing room, and when these pleasures palled upon him, he
ascended the stairs, and went straight to the room occupied by Evan.
For some time past, Jasper Lamotte had made an effort to break the bond
of good fellowship, that, much to the surprise of all the family, had
sprung up between the wild young fellow, and the coarser and equally or
worse besotted elder one. How even reckless Evan Lamotte could find
pleasure in such society, was a mystery to all who knew the two. But so
it was, and Jasper Lamotte's interdict was not strong enough to sever
the intimacy. John Burrill responded to his exhortations with a burst of
defiance, or a volley of oaths; and, Evan received all comments upon his
choice of a companion, with a sardonic smile, or a wild mocking laugh.
They had not been much together for the past few days, owing to the
indisposition which had kept Evan away from their favorite haunts, but
had not kept him away from his favorite beverage.
As Burrill entered his room, Evan received him with a shout of welcome,
and for more than an hour they were closeted there, some times
conversing in low, guarded tones, and sometimes bursting into roars of
laughter, that penetrated even through the shut doors of Sybil's rooms,
causing her to start nervously, and shiver as with a chill.
A little before sunset the carriage from Wardour deposited Constance and
Mrs. Aliston at the door of this home of little harmony, and even
Constance noted the unusual stillness, and whispered to her aunt, as
they waited in the drawing room the appearance of Mrs. Lamotte:
"Bah! I sniff the ogre here, auntie. 'The trail of the serpent' is over
the entire house."
"I sniff the dead odor of a vile segar," retorted Mrs. Aliston. "As for
the ogre--if he won't appear in person, I'll try and survive the rest."
"I am very glad you have come, Constance," said Mrs. Lamotte, entering
at this moment. "We are so dull here, and Sybil has wished much to see
you." And then she extended a courteous but more stately greeting to
Mrs. Aliston.
"It grieves me to hear that Sybil is not so well, dear Mrs. Lamotte.
Does she employ a physician?" asked Constance, presently.
"She will not have a physician called, much to my regret. The very
suggestion makes her wildly nervous."
"And--she keeps her room too much. I think Frank told me."
"Yes, recently. But, Constance, go up to her; Mrs. Aliston and I will
entertain each other for awhile, and then we will join you. Sybil heard
you announced, and will expect you."
Thus commanded, Constance lost no time in making her way, unattended, to
Sybil's room.
In the upper hall she met Frank, who started, and flushed at sight of
her, and then hurried forward, with extended hand.
"Constance," he exclaimed, eagerly, "how glad I am to see you."
"I'm such an uncommon sight!" she laughed, too much absorbed with
thoughts of Sybil, to notice the extra warmth of his greeting, or a
certain change of manner, that was a mingling of boldness, bashfulness,
humility and coxcombery.
"How do you do, Frank?"
"Well in body, Constance--"
"Oh! then we can easily regulate your mind. I'm going to see Sybil, and
I don't want your company; so adieu, Frank."
"One moment, please. I want to--I _must_ see you, this evening. Shall
you remain with us?"
"No. Aunt Honor below; we go home, soon."
"Then--may I call, this evening, Constance?"
"What a question! as if you did not call whenever the spirit moved you
so to do; come, if you like, child; I shall have no better company, I am
afraid," and on she swept, and had vanished within his sister's room,
before Frank could decide whether to be chagrined, or delighted, at so
readily given, carelessly worded, a consent.
The start, the nervous tremor, the terrified ejaculations, with which
Sybil greeted, even this expected and welcome guest, all told how some
deadly foe was surely undermining her life and reason. And Constance
noted, with a sinking heart, the dark circles around the eyes that were
growing hollow, and heavy, and full of a strange, wild expectancy: the
pale cheeks, thinner than ever, and the woful weariness of the entire
face.
Greeting her tenderly, and making no comments on her changed appearance,
Constance chatted for a time on indifferent subjects, and noted closely,
as a loving friend will, the face and manner of her listener. Sybil sat
like one in a trance, rather a nightmare, her eyes roving from her
visitor's face to the door, and back again, and this constantly
repeated; her whole attitude and manner, that of one listening, rather
for some sound, or alarm, from afar, than to the words of the friend
beside her.
At last, Constance finding commonplace about exhausted, said:
"Congratulate me, child! I have thrown off a burden from my shoulders; I
have brought my diamond investigations to a close."
"Ah! diamonds!" Sybil almost started from her chair, and the exclamation
came sharply from lips white and trembling.
"Yes, my lost diamonds, you know; I have dismissed Mr. Belknap."
"Belknap!" an unmistakable look of horror crossed her face. "Dismissed
him; oh, I wish _I_ could!"
Sorely at a loss, yet thinking it best not to seem surprised at what she
believed to be the efforts of a wandering mind to grasp and master the
subject under discussion, Constance talked on, answering questions and
making observations, without allowing Sybil to see the surprise and
sorrow that filled her heart; and, not until many days later did she
recall her friend's wild words, to see how much of method there might be
in this seeming madness.
"Mr. Belknap was conducting the search for the diamonds, you know,
Sybil?"
Sybil seemed making an effort to collect her scattered senses.
"Yes, yes, Conny, go on," she whispered.
"I have paid him off and am done with him; that's about all, dear."
"Conny," in a half whisper, "is he _gone_?"
"I don't know about that; he said something about remaining here for a
time."
"Oh!" ejaculated Sybil, and then, under her breath, "My God!"
Constance shuddered as she looked upon the shivering figure before her,
the wavering eyes, the hands clenching and unclenching themselves; she
found conversation difficult, and began to wonder how she could avoid
subjects that brought painful thoughts or suggestions. But suddenly a
change came over Sybil; sitting erect, she looked fixedly at her friend,
and asked:
"Conny, has _he_ tormented you of late?"
"He! Sybil; you mean--"
"I mean my curse! has he dared to annoy you? He has sworn that he will
be accepted and recognized as your friend."
Constance laughed a short, sarcastic laugh.
"Be at rest, Sybil; he never will."
"No;" with a strange dropping of the voice. "_He never will!_"
Again she seemed struggling to recover herself, and to recall some
thought; then she looked up and asked abruptly:
"Conny, have you promised to marry my--Frank Lamotte?"
"No, Sybil."
"Then--promise, _promise_ me, Constance, as if I were on my dying bed,
that you never will."
"Why, Sybil, dear?"
"Don't ask for reasons, don't; promise, _promise_, PROMISE!"
She was growing excited, and Constance hastened to say:
"You are laboring under some delusion, dear child; Frank has not offered
himself to me."
"But he will! he will! and I tell you, Constance, it would be giving
yourself to a fate like mine, and worse. The Lamottes have not done with
disgrace yet, and it shall not fall on you; promise me, Con."
"I promise, Sybil."
"You promise;" she arose from her chair and came close to Constance;
"you promise," she said, slowly, "never, _never_ to marry Francis
Lamotte?"
[Illustration: "You promise never to marry Francis Lamotte?"]
"I swear it."
A coarse laugh, a smothered oath; they both turn swiftly, and there, in
the doorway, smelling of tobacco and brandy, and shaking with coarse
laughter, is John Burrill, and beside him, with clenched hands, swollen
temples, drawn, white lips, stands Francis Lamotte. Stands! No. He
reels, he clings to the door-frame for support; his _enemy_ is upon him.
Sybil draws herself erect; the red blood flames to her face; the fire
darts from her eyes; she lifts one slender arm and points at the reeling
figure; then there rings out a burst of mad, mocking laughter.
"Ha! ha! ha! Frank Lamotte, I have settled my account with you."
Then turning swiftly upon Burrill, and with even fiercer fury she
shrieks:
"Out, out, out of my sight! I am almost done with you, too. Go back to
your wine and your wallowing in the gutter; your days are numbered."
The awful look upon her face, the defiant hatred in her voice, the
sudden strength and firmness of her whole bearing, Constance shuddered
at and never forgot. Frank Lamotte, making a monstrous effort for
self-control, gasped, let go his hold on the door frame, lifted his hand
to his temples, and came a few steps into the room. Outside, on the
stairway, was the rustle of woman's garments, the light fall of swift
feet. In another moment Mrs. Lamotte, followed by Mrs. Aliston, enters
the room, pushing past the gaping and astonished Burrill with scant
ceremony. Then, Sybil's strength deserts her as John Burrill, recalled
to a sense of his own importance, advances, and seems about to address
her. She utters a cry of abhorrence and terror, and, throwing out her
hands to ward off his approach, reels, falls, and is caught in the
supporting arms of Constance and Mrs. Lamotte.
While they are applying restoratives, Frank sees the propriety of
withdrawing from the scene, but no such motives of delicacy or decency
ever find lodgment in the brain of John Burrill, and leering with tipsy
gravity, he presses close to the bedside and poisons the air with his
reeking breath. Constance flushes with anger, and glances at Mrs.
Lamotte. That lady looks up uneasily, and seems to hesitate, and then
Mrs. Aliston rises to the occasion, and covers herself with glory.
Looking blandly up into the man's face, she lays one fat, gloved hand
upon his arm, and says, in a low, confidential tone:
"Come this way one moment, sir, if you please," and she fairly leads the
wondering and unsuspecting victim from the room. A second later he is
standing in the passage, the chamber door is shut swiftly and locked
securely. John Burrill has been led out like a lamb, and the fat and
smiling strategist comes back to the bedside.
"I suppose he thought I would tell him a secret when I got him outside,"
she laughs, softly.
Whatever he thought he kept to himself. After uttering a few curses he
went below, "returned to his pipe and his bowl," and waited the dinner
hour.
"I shall send for Doctor Heath," said Mrs. Lamotte, as she bent above
her daughter, who had slowly returned to consciousness, but lay passive,
seeming not to see or know the friends who stood about her. "Sybil does
not know us; I feel alarmed."
Mrs. Aliston nodded sagaciously. "He can not come too soon," she said;
then to Constance, with a mingling of womanly tact and genuine
kindliness, "my child, you had better drive home soon. If Mrs. Lamotte
wishes, or will permit, I will stay to-night. It will be better, believe
me, Mrs. Lamotte, than to share a watch with any servant; and I am a
good nurse."
So it is arranged that she shall stay, and Constance proposes to return
alone to Wardour.
As she goes down stairs to her carriage, from out the shadow of the
drawing room comes Frank Lamotte, still very haggard, and trembling with
excitement suppressed.
"Constance!" he whispers, hoarsely, "one moment, please."
She pauses before him, very pale and still.
"Constance," speaking with an effort, "I--went up there, hoping to keep
Burrill from intruding; he was too quick for me, and--and I heard
Sybil's last words--and yours."
No answer from the pale listener.
"My sister asked you to refuse me. Am I right?"
"You heard."
"And you promised?"
"I promised."
"Constance, Sybil is half mad. You surely were only humoring her whim in
so replying."
"Sybil _is_ half mad. I begin to think that you know why."
"We all know why. She has sacrificed herself for an ingrate; she has
saddled us all with a monster, to save a brother who is not worth
saving."
"Frank Lamotte, stop; I can not listen to this; for, let me tell you
that I know this charge against Evan Lamotte to be false, and I know
that you know it; and yet you have sanctioned the fraud. Who has
blighted Sybil's life, you may know, but it is not Evan."
"Constance do you mean--"
"I mean all that I say. Let me pass, Frank."
"Not yet. Constance, Constance! had you never any love for me? Is there
no shadow of hope?"
"At first," said Constance, coldly, "I liked you as Sybil's brother;
later, I tolerated you; now you are teaching me to despise you. Long ago
I told you that only yourself could injure yourself in my eyes. There
might have been a reason, an excuse even, for allowing poor Evan, who
has willingly assumed the position, to become the family scape-goat.
There is none for your unbrotherly and false accusation. Whatever his
faults may be, poor Evan is unselfish, and he truly loves his sister."
"Is this your answer?"
"What do you expect? do you want my assurance that my promise to Sybil
was made in good faith, and that I intend to keep it? If so, you have
it." She went swiftly past him, with the last words on her lips. And
again Frank Lamotte was the prey of his enemy; like a drunken man, he
reeled back into the parlor, gnashing his teeth, cursing his fate, half
mad and wholly desperate.
Meanwhile, above stairs, John Burrill was rehearsing to Evan, after his
drunken fashion, the recent scene in Sybil's room, not even omitting his
own expulsion by wily Mrs. Aliston. As he repeated, with wonderful
accuracy, considering his condition, the wild words uttered by Sybil,
his listener sat very erect, with wild staring eyes, and lips held
tightly together, his teeth almost biting through them; with burning
eyes, and quivering frame, and a strange fear at his heart.
Having finished his narrative, Burrill arose:
"I'm to meet some fellows at Forty's," he said, thickly. "I'll stop with
them a couple of hours, or three, maybe; after that--" and he winked
significantly.
"After that," repeated Evan, and winked in return.
An hour later Evan, pale and shivering, knocked softly at Sybil's door;
Mrs. Lamotte appeared.
"How is Sybil, mother?"
"Quiet, but not rational. Doctor Heath has just gone. Evan, why! how
badly you look!"
"I feel badly. I'm going to bed; good night, mother."