ANOTHER MYSTERY.
"Ah, you or I must look
Into the other's coffin, far or near,
And read, as in a book,
Words we made bitter here,
Some time!"
There was a little flutter of excitement at Doctor Churchman's pretty
cottage.
The Carews had at last arrived, after being vainly looked for for more
than two days, and their aristocratic airs and their stylish maid
created quite a sensation.
Kathleen was waiting for them in the little parlor--Kathleen with shut
eyes and pallid lips and folded, waxen hands--so unlike the brilliant
beauty they remembered, with this awful calm upon her face.
They gazed upon her, and Mrs. Carew's lips twitched nervously, while
Alpine wept genuine tears, remembering remorsefully how kind Kathleen
had been, and how illy she had repaid her goodness.
Ralph had not come yet, but a telegram from Richmond had arrived
announcing that he would come early in the morning when arrangements
had been made to hold an inquest.
Mrs. Churchman placed rooms at the service of the ladies and they
retired early, pleading fatigue, but really to talk over all that they
had heard.
They had inquired as to the strange telegram that had been received,
and learned the true contents of it. They knew now that it was of
Kathleen's death, not her marriage, they had been informed.
"She must have arrived here on an earlier train than Mr. Chainey,
so she was evidently running away from home," said Mrs. Carew, and
she added: "I think that wicked Susette eavesdropped and blabbed my
intentions to her mistress."
"It is very likely," said Alpine, dejectedly. She was sitting with her
pale cheek in her hand, thinking of the dead girl down-stairs whom she
had been taught to hate and envy. The latter had come easy enough,
the former was a lesson not so easily learned. She wished now, in her
sudden accession of remorse, that she had let herself love winsome
Kathleen, whom it was so hard to hate.
An exquisite casket had been ordered, in which Kathleen was now resting
easily like one asleep. Although she had been two days dead, there was
no sign of change about her. Beautiful and fair as a flawless pearl lay
Kathleen in her last sleep.
"Immediately after the inquest to-morrow, we will remove the body to
Boston for burial," Mrs. Carew had said in her haughty manner to Doctor
Churchman.
As the night advanced, the whole family retired to rest. It was not
deemed necessary to sit up with the corpse. She was left alone in the
open coffin, the lid being placed on a table. Not until after the
inquest would it be fastened down on the murdered girl.
Alpine Belmont tossed restlessly upon her couch by the side of her
sleeping mother. She could not rest, this girl whose conscience had at
last awakened. She was haunted by the ghosts of her evil deeds--the
cruelties she had shown her little step-sister.
"If she had not run away, she would not have come to this; but we drove
her to it--it was my mother's sin and mine," she thought, fearfully,
for the crimson marks on Kathleen's throat, the wounds on her ears and
fingers had thrilled her with horror.
She was not usually romantic, this girl, but Kathleen's horrible fate
had terribly unnerved her. A strange impulse came to her to go down
alone to the parlor, to stand by that open coffin, and beg Kathleen to
forgive her all the wicked past.
"She will hear me, for the spiritualists tell us that the souls of
the dead remain at first near their unburied bodies," she thought,
superstitiously; and, obeying her impulse, rose, slipped on a
dressing-gown, and drawn by an awful and irresistible yearning, sought
the presence of the dead.
It was but a few moments more before the whole household was aroused by
piercing shrieks. They rushed to the parlor and found Alpine screaming
beside an _empty coffin_!
Kathleen Carew had disappeared as mysteriously as if her body had
followed her soul to Heaven.
The gray light of dawn was stealing in through the windows, and by that
light they saw some withered roses lying on the floor. Last night they
had lain on Kathleen's breast. The hall door stood wide open, and a
terrible suspicion came into Doctor Churchman's mind.
The beautiful corpse had been stolen by unscrupulous parties, either
for the purpose of a ransom from rich relations or for the horrible
uses of a medical college.
"I could not sleep, so I came down here to look at her again, and she
was gone," sobbed Alpine, in hysterical dismay.
Searchers were organized in haste, but no clew was found, and when
Ralph Chainey came it was to be confronted with this mysterious case.
He almost went wild with agony; he employed the cleverest detectives
unavailingly. Mrs. Carew grew tired of the search, gave it up, and went
back to Boston, congratulating herself in secret that she would not be
at the expense and trouble of a funeral for her hated step-daughter.
Following fast upon this event came the news of the _Urania's_ loss at
sea, being burned to the water's edge, with all on board.
Soon after a cablegram from a London lawyer made the widow acquainted
with the fact of her husband's recent will, under whose provisions all
Vincent Carew's wealth was divided between his wife and her daughter,
disinheriting Kathleen for her disobedience, and making no mention of
his prodigal step-son, whom he had cordially despised.
Alpine was delighted with her good fortune, and her mercurial
temperament began to recover itself from the shock it had sustained in
Kathleen's loss.