The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie's Part 25

"Bless the good, unsuspecting soul," thought the detective. Aloud he said very politely: "Yes, madam, I am aware of that fact, and I believe some very severe illnesses have resulted from injudicious gulping down of cold water by thoughtless persons. I always make a point of sipping mine very slowly."

"And very right of you, too, sir," said the kind soul, approvingly.

"Ah, by the way," said he, "I am a stranger in this neighborhood, and I pa.s.sed a house about two miles back that powerfully attracted my curiosity. It was an old, deserted-looking building, inclosed by a high stone wall. Its prison-like aspect repelled me. Do you know anything about it?"

"They do say it was a convent once, sir," answered the good woman, readily. "I know the place you speak of, and as you say, sir, it has a very repelling aspect."

"Is it inhabited now?" inquired the wayfarer.

The hearer shuddered.

"That it is, sir," said she; "and by a wicked lot, I a.s.sure you."

"Is it possible?"

"It is quite true, sir. The place has been inhabited for many years by an old couple of the name of Leveret. They have no family at all, and live there alone, having no friends or neighbors, and it is said that they keep a powerful bloodhound upon the place. Strange tales are told of these people, but nothing is known certainly. Both of them are hideously ugly, and many people declare that the old woman is a witch."

"Is either of them sick, do you know?" inquired the detective.

"That I cannot tell you, sir. They are all very reserved, and hold no intercourse with people around them. I have heard that they are misers, and have large quant.i.ties of gold buried in their garden, and guarded by the great bloodhound. They might both sicken and die, and not a living soul be the wiser. May I inquire why you asked that question, sir?"

asked she.

"Certainly. I saw a doctor's carriage standing in front of the gate, and concluded that someone must be sick, within."

"Perhaps there may be, sir, but I would not have thought they would have called in a doctor. These old witches, like Haidee Leveret, as they say her name is, usually cure sickness with their own herbs and simples."

"Perhaps they failed on this occasion. Well, I must be going," said the detective. "Many thanks for your information. Permit me to offer you a trifle for your kind entertainment," said he, politely tendering a piece of silver.

"Not a penny, sir. The water costs nothing, and as for changing a bit word with you, why, that's a pleasure to a lonesome old lady like me, with few neighbors and friends. Why, it was only last month that a young thing in trouble, pa.s.sing this way, offered me her fine diamond ring to pay for a bit kindness I showed her. But I refused it, sir. I want nothing for showing a little kindness to the wayfaring," said the good woman, pausing to take breath.

Shelton's attention had been caught unaccountably by the mention of the diamond ring.

"You stimulate my curiosity," said he, deliberately sitting down again.

"The young person must have felt your kindness very sensibly to have offered such a costly reward as a diamond ring."

"Aye, she was in sore trouble, sir, that I believe. But now I bethink me," said the good creature, stopping short, "she charged me if any one came here inquiring for her to say she had not been here, and here I am blabbing away at this thoughtless rate."

"But you see I am not inquiring for her," said the visitor briskly. "I am a perfect stranger in these parts, and I am not looking for anyone, so there is no harm done in relating this interesting story to me."

"Why, that is very true, sir," said she, and thereupon followed a minute and detailed account of the visit of Lily Lawrence, and the disguise she had furnished her. Mr. Shelton listened to the story with very close attention.

"How long ago has it been since this happened?" he inquired when she had finished her relation.

"Several weeks, sir. Stay, let me see--I was so excited by it that I put down the date in my little memorandum book," she said, as she began to fumble in her pocket. Presently she produced the book in question, and turning a leaf announced triumphantly, "it was fully two months ago, sir. It was August--the 21st of August."

"The very day that Lily Lawrence appeared to her friends," thought the detective, with a start. "Can there be any connection between the two?"

"She was young and beautiful, you say?" asked he.

"Aye, she was, sir. Not more than seventeen or eighteen, and beautiful as a white lily, sir. She put me in mind of that flower, she was so delicate and pale, sir--not a tint of color in her poor lips and cheeks.

Her hair was pale golden too, sir, falling down upon her shoulders, and her eyes of a beautiful deep blue."

"I suppose no one came by to inquire for her?" said Shelton.

"No one, sir; I did not see anyone pa.s.sing that day except a doctor's carriage that whirled past in a desperate hurry soon after she left here."

"Let us hope she made her escape from whatever evils menaced her," said he, fervently. "Well, I must be going in earnest now. My kind friend, will you tell me your name? I may call on you again."

"My name is Mrs. Mason, sir," she answered.

"Do you live here alone?" asked he, as he jotted it hastily down in his note-book.

"Quite alone, sir. My poor husband and my only child have been dead these ten years--I am quite alone in the world," answered Mrs. Mason with a sigh.

"Good day, Mrs. Mason, and many thanks for your kindness to a wayfaring man," said the detective as he went down the path, leaped into the saddle and rode away.

Mrs. Mason's revelation had thrown his mind into a chaos of doubt, perplexity and suspicion. New light began to break in on him, startling him with a wondrous possibility he had not suspected.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Mrs. Vance had done herself more harm than good by the bold avowal of her love for Lancelot Darling. The innate delicacy and almost womanly refinement of his character revolted at the idea of her imprudent and ill-considered step. He could not understand why she should have lowered herself by declaring her love after all he had said regarding the constancy of his affection for his loved and lost Lily. He pitied, and yet the feeling of pity was more closely allied than he knew to a feeling that bordered on contempt.

The fair widow herself was not by any means cast down by Lancelot's firm and resolute repulse. She thought, from her knowledge of masculine character in general, that Lancelot's vanity would soon overcome his first shocked repugnance to her unfeminine avowal, and cause him to exult in the knowledge that he was so madly beloved by so beautiful and accomplished a woman.

From that there would be but a slight step to giving his love in return.

She had not driven him away from her, for he had not said he would not come again. She would see him often, and work on his feelings by every art of which she was mistress. Surely she could not fail to win him. He was young, impressible, and youth is not p.r.o.ne to constancy to the dead.

True he had an idle, romantic fancy that "love is love forevermore," but time and her artifice would cure him of that.

"I will be very shy and humble when he first comes back again," she thought. "No young maiden in her teens shall outdo me in coyness and reserve. I will make him think that my wild outburst that day was entirely unpremeditated and that I am thoroughly ashamed and repentant.

He will begin to excuse me to himself, then he will pity my hopeless love, and then--ah, then, 'pity is akin to love!'"

She was sitting in the drawing-room, rocking leisurely back and forth while she trifled over a delicate bit of fancy-work. A fire burned cheerily on the marble hearth, for the late October days were growing chilly, and diffused an air of warmth and comfort in the large, luxuriously appointed apartment. Mrs. Vance herself was quite in keeping with the elegance of the room. Her house dress of delicate pink cashmere, with tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of cream-white lace, made a beautiful spot of color in the darker, more subdued coloring of the furnis.h.i.+ngs around her.

Ada came in from the conservatory with her arms full of flowers, and sitting down opposite the lady, began to arrange them into tasteful bouquets.

"You need two roses to complete the harmony of your dress," said she carelessly, selecting that number and tossing them over to her. Mrs.

Vance took the roses and fastened them in her breast and hair. "Now your toilet is perfect," said the young girl in a tone of admiration that was quite sincere, for though she believed Mrs. Vance to be a false and scheming woman, she could not but admit the perfection of her beauty and grace.

There had been no more angry pa.s.sages between Mrs. Vance and Ada, though the pure-hearted and impulsive girl had in no-wise changed her opinion of the lady. But on mature reflection she began to think that since Mrs.

Vance was her father's guest she had acted wrongly in thus declaring war with her. Therefore she treated her as before her sudden outburst against her, with outward politeness and respect.

The young girl appeared very lovely that morning. Her deep mourning dress, with its heavy c.r.a.pe folds, could not obscure her beauty, and set off, like the somber setting of a jewel, her transcendant fairness. All traces of her severe illness in the summer had disappeared. Her cheeks were glowing with a faint, sea sh.e.l.l tint, deepening to glowing crimson on her full and pouting lips. Her large, blue eyes had the serene, innocent look of a child's tender orbs. Her golden hair, simply drawn back and braided, allowed a soft, curly fringe to escape and flutter caressingly over her low, white brow. Mrs. Vance hated her for the beauty that recalled the image of the rival her jealous hand had ruthlessly slain.

While they sat thus engaged there was a ring at the door-bell, and presently the beloved object of Mrs. Vance's secret thoughts was shown in. He looked very handsome and distinguished as he replied to Ada's unembarra.s.sed and sisterly greeting, "Good morning, Lance," but his face flushed slightly as he bowed distantly to her companion. Mrs. Vance replied to his greeting with a bow that was quite as formal, and sinking languidly back into her seat, fixed all her attention upon her work. Not a single glance of her down-drooped eyes was allowed to wander toward him. She preserved entire silence while the other two entered into a simple and desultory chat with the easy familiarity of old friends. At length, as though her embarra.s.sment were becoming unendurable, she rose with an incoherent apology, and heaving a deep sigh quitted the room abruptly and did not appear again. Ada looked after her departing form in amazement.