MOLLIE'S TRIUMPH.
The tableau was magnificent.
There was a dead pause of unutterable consternation. All stood rooted to
the spot with staring eyes and open mouths. Before the first electric
charge had subsided, Mollie Dane advanced and walked straight up to the
confounded doctor, confronting him with eyes that literally blazed.
"Liar! traitor! coward! Whose turn is it now?"
Dr. Oleander fairly gasped for breath. The awful suddenness of the blow
stunned him. He could not speak--he made the attempt, but his white lips
failed him.
"Before all here," cried Mollie Dane, arm and hand still upraised with
an action indescribably grand, "I accuse you, Guy Oleander, of high
felony! I accuse you of forcibly tearing me from my home, of forcibly
holding me a prisoner for nearly two weeks, and of intending to carry me
off by force to-morrow to Cuba. And you, madame," turning suddenly as
lightning strikes upon Mrs. Carl, "you, madame, I accuse as his aider
and abettor."
There was another horrible pause. Even Hugh Ingelow thrilled through
every vein.
Then Carl Walraven found voice:
"For God's sake, Mollie, what does this mean?"
Mollie turned to him and held out both hands.
"It means, guardy, that but for the direct interposition of Providence
you never would have seen your poor little Cricket again."
And at last Dr. Oleander found his voice.
"That infernal nurse!" he cried between his set teeth. Mollie heard the
hissing words and turned upon him like a pale little fury.
"Yes, Guy Oleander, the nurse played you false--fooled you to your face
from the first. Came down from New York for no other purpose than to
rescue me. And here I am, safe and sound, in spite of you; and the
tables are turned, and you are in my power now. Out of this house you
never stir except to go to prison."
"Mollie! Mollie! Mollie!" Mr. Carl Walraven cried in desperation, "for
the Lord's sake, what do you mean? What has Doctor Oleander done?"
"Carried me off, I tell you--forcibly abducted me. Held me a prisoner
for the last two weeks in a desolate old farmhouse over on Long
Island. Look at him. Was ever guilt more plainly written on human face?
Let him deny it if he can--or you, madame, his accomplice, either."
"I do deny it," Mme. Blanche exclaimed, boldly. "Mollie Dane, you are
mad."
"You will find to your cost there is method in my madness, Mrs.
Walraven. What say you, Doctor Oleander? Have you the hardihood to
face me with a deliberate lie, too?"
Dr. Oleander was not deficient in a certain dog-like courage and daring.
He saw his position in a moment--saw that denial would be utterly
useless. His own mother would prove against him it if came to law.
There was but one avenue of escape for him--he saw it like a flash of
light. Mollie would not dare publish this story of hers for her own
sake, and neither would Carl Walraven for his wife's.
"He does not deny it!" cried Mollie. "He dare not. Look at his changing
face. He carried me off and held me a prisoner in his mother's house,
and gave out I was mad. And that is not the worst he has done. I might
overlook that, now that I have safely escaped--"
Dr. Oleander suddenly interrupted her.
"That is the very worst--and you dare not publish it, even to punish
me."
"What!" exclaimed the young lady, "do you deny your other tenfold
greater crime--the compulsory marriage performed by the Reverend Raymond
Rashleigh? Oh, if there be law or justice in the whole country, you
shall suffer for that!"
"I do deny it," said the doctor, boldly. "You are no wife of mine by
compulsion or otherwise. That story was trumped up to deceive you the
second time."
Mollie's heart gave one great throb, and then seemed to stand still.
Mrs. Walraven turned, ghastly with fear and rage, upon her cousin.
"Guy Oleander, are you mad? What are you saying?"
"The truth, Blanche. It is too late for any other alternative now. Don't
fear--Mr. Walraven will hardly allow his ward to prosecute his wife."
"Traitor and coward!" Blanche Walraven cried in fierce scorn. "I wish my
tongue had blistered with the words that urged you on."
"I wish it had," returned the doctor, coolly. "I wish, as I often have
wished since, that I had never listened to your tempting. It was your
fault, not mine, from first to last."
It was the old story of Adam and Eve over again: "The woman tempted me,
and I did eat."
"'When rogues fall out, honest men get their own.' You mean to say,
Doctor Oleander, that Mrs. Walraven instigated you on?"
"How else should I know?" answered the doctor. "She overheard you
telling the woman Miriam, in your chamber, the whole story. She saw and
understood your advertisement and its answer. She concocted the whole
scheme, even to advancing the hands of your watch half an hour. If the
law punishes me, Miss Dane, it must also punish your guardian's wife."
"Coward! coward!" Blanche furiously cried. "Oh, basest of the base! If I
only had the power to strike you dead at my feet!"
The doctor bore the onslaught quietly enough.
"Heroics are all very well, Blanche," he said; "but self-preservation is
the first law of nature. Confession is the only avenue of escape, and I
have taken it. Besides, justice is justice. You deserve it. You goaded
me on. It was your fault from beginning to end."
"And you own, then, you are not the man who carried me off before?" said
Mollie. "You are not the man Mr. Rashleigh married?"
"I swear I'm not!" cried the doctor, with an earnestness there was no
mistaking. "And I'm very thankful I'm not. I wouldn't lead the life I've
led for the past two weeks for all the women alive. I'm glad you're
here, and that the whole thing is knocked in the head."
He spoke with the dogged recklessness of a man goaded to desperation.
Mollie turned again to her guardian and laid her face on his shoulder.
"Send that man away, guardy. His presence in the room turns me sick to
death."
"I am going, Miss Dane," said Dr. Oleander, turning moodily to the door,
"and I shall not go to Cuba. I shall not quit New York. Let you or your
guardian prosecute me if you dare!"
He stalked out with the last words. No one moved or spoke until the
house-door banged after him.
Then Mme. Blanche, seeing all was lost, gave one horrible scream,
clasped her hands over her head, and fell back in violent hysterics.
"Ring for her maid, guardy," said Mollie. "You had best take her up to
her room. Sir Roger, Mr. Ingelow, please to remain. Mr. Sardonyx, excuse
me, but you have heard all that it is necessary you should hear."
The lawyer became angry-red, but turned at once to go.
"I have no wish to pry into your very extraordinary secrets or
escapades, Miss Dane," he said, haughtily. "Permit me to wish you
good-evening."
Mr. Sardonyx departed. Mr. Walraven saw his wife safely conveyed to
her room and left in charge of her maid, and then returned to the
dining-room.
Mollie's first act was to hold out both hands, with infinite grace and
courtesy, to Hugh Ingelow.
"Mr. Ingelow, words are poor and weak to tell you how I thank you. I
have not deserved it from you. I can only ask you to try and forgive
me."
The young artist lifted the fair little hands to his lips.
"I am repaid ten thousand-fold," he said, quietly. "I would give my life
to serve you."
"In the name of Heaven, Mollie," cried the nearly frantic master of the
house, "what does all this extraordinary mystery mean?"
"It means that a terrible crime has been committed, guardy," Mollie
replied, gravely, "and that your wife and her cousin are among the chief
conspirators. Sit down and I will tell you the whole story. Sir Roger
Trajenna, likewise. I owe you both a full explanation. Mr. Ingelow
knows already."
She sat down before them, and beginning at the beginning, told them the
whole story--her forced and mysterious marriage and its very unpleasant
sequel.
"That I ever escaped," she concluded, "I owe, under Providence, to Mr.
Ingelow. Guardy, I would have spared you if I could; but, you see, it
was impossible. Of course, we won't prosecute your wife or her cousin.
I am almost satisfied, now, that I know I am not Guy Oleander's wretched
wife."
"But, heavens above, Mollie Dane!" cried the bewildered Mr. Walraven,
"whose wife are you?"
"Ah, guardy, I would give a great deal to know that."
"Whom do you suspect?"
"I suspect no one now."
There was a shade of sadness in her tone, and her eyes wandered
wistfully over to the young artist.
"Upon my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Walraven, "I never heard or read of
the like. It's perfectly astounding. Did you ever hear anything so
extraordinary, Sir Roger?"
The baronet had been sitting like a man stunned by a blow. Now he turned
his eyes from Mollie's for the first time, and tried to speak.
"I am utterly bewildered," he said. "The whole story sounds like an
impossibility--incredible as a fairy tale."
"It is quite true, nevertheless," said Mollie.
"And you are a wedded wife?"
"I am."
"You're nothing of the sort!" burst out Carl Walraven. "You're
free--free as air. It would be outrageous, it would be monstrous, to let
such a marriage bind you. You are free to wed to-morrow if you choose;
and let the villain come forward and dispute the marriage if he dare!"
"He speaks the truth," said Sir Roger, eagerly. "Such a marriage is no
marriage. You are as free as you were before, Mollie."
"Perhaps so," said Mollie, calmly. "Nevertheless, I shall never marry."
"Never?"
It was Sir Roger's despairing voice.
"Never, Sir Roger. I never was worthy of you. I would be the basest
of the base to marry you now. No; what I am to-night I will go to my
grave."
She stole a glance at Hugh Ingelow, but the sphinx was never more
unreadable than he. He caught her glance, however, and calmly spoke.
"And now, as Miss Mollie has had a fatiguing journey lately, and as she
needs rest, we had better allow her to retire. Good-night."
He had bowed and reached the door ere the voice of Carl Walraven
arrested him.
"This very unpleasant business, Mr. Ingelow--Sir Roger," he said, with
evident embarrassment, "in which Mrs. Walraven is concerned--"
"Will be as though it had never been, Mr. Walraven," Hugh Ingelow said,
gravely. "Once more--good-night."
He quitted the room.
Sir Roger Trajenna turned to follow, a sad, crushed old man.
Mollie shyly and wistfully held out her hand.
"Try and forget me, Sir Roger--try and forgive me. I have been a
foolish, flighty girl; I am sorry for it. I can say no more."
"No more!" Sir Roger said, with emotion, kissing the little hand. "God
bless you!"
He, too, was gone.
Then Mollie turned and put her arms round her guardian's neck.
"Dear old guardy, I am sorry for you. Oh, I wish you had never married
that hateful Blanche Oleander, but lived free and happy with your mother
and your Mollie. But it's too late now; you must forgive her, I suppose.
I detest her like the mischief; but we must all keep the peace."
"I suppose so, Mollie," with a dreary sigh. "You can't wish I had never
married more than I do. It's a righteous punishment upon me, I suppose.
I've been the greatest villain unhung to the only woman who ever did
love me, and now this is retribution."
He groaned dismally as he rose and kissed Mollie good-night.
"Go to your room, Mollie, and let us forget, if we can."
"Ah!" said Mollie, "if we can. Guardy, good-night."