The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie's Part 46

Within a few months after the trial he hung himself in his cell, and sent his wicked soul forth into the darkness of eternity.

f.a.n.n.y Colville was thus left a widow, and on producing requisite evidence that she had been the dead man's wife, inherited his handsome property.

She took possession of his wealth, feeling herself honestly ent.i.tled to it, purchased a handsome house in the city, and brought her old mother from the country to live with her, while the friendly Mrs. Mason was duly installed as her housekeeper.

In the meantime f.a.n.n.y had paid several visits to Lily Lawrence, and the two young creatures had exchanged numberless congratulations with each other on the happy termination of their mutual trials.

"I never should have recognized you, my dear," Lily said frankly at their first meeting, "if Mr. Shelton had not informed me who was coming.

When I _first_ saw you I could not believe that you were not an old woman. Now you have grown young and pretty."

f.a.n.n.y laughed and blushed at the compliment, and it only made her more attractive. In truth, she deserved Lily's praise.

Her clear, dark complexion began to glow with health and strength. Her softly rounded cheeks had a soft tint glowing on them like the heart of a sea-sh.e.l.l.

She had beautiful eyes, large, dark and expressive, and her black hair, which Mrs. Mason had s.h.i.+ngled close to her head, now cl.u.s.tered in short, silky rings about her brow, adding a charming piquancy to her pretty face.

Her dress, too, was always as perfectly elegant as wealth and taste could make it, so that many more beside Lily Lawrence considered the dark-eyed widow young and pretty.

Mr. Shelton was among the number of those who agreed with Lily.

The forlorn young creature whom he had rescued and cared for had begun to twine herself about his heart.

He was a bachelor, and forty years old, but his heart was not proof against Cupid's darts.

Now since f.a.n.n.y Colville had come into his path of duty, pity and kindness had grown into love, strong, fervent, and abiding.

He strolled into her drawing-room one day a few months after her husband's death, and found her sitting cosily before the fire with a bit of fancy-work lying on her lap.

"I hope I do not disturb you," he said, noting her dreamy look. "You seemed to be thinking on some very absorbing subject when I entered."

"I was thinking of you, Mr. Shelton," returned the young widow, with a smile and a slight blush.

"Of me!" exclaimed the detective, observing the blush with a thrill of pleasure. "I hope your thoughts were agreeable ones."

"They could not be otherwise when I think of my kind friend and preserver," answered f.a.n.n.y, giving him a gentle glance from her frank, dark eyes. "Oh, Mr. Shelton, when I think of myself as I was when you discovered me in that loathsome dungeon, starving and freezing in my wretched rags, and delivered me from my bonds--when I remember that and contrast it with my present happy lot, I feel that I can never repay the great debt of grat.i.tude I owe you."

"I fear," he said, at length, "that you overestimate the value of the service I did you, Mrs. Colville. It is true, I suppose that I saved your life, but what then? Life to many is not as great a boon that they would thank one for saving it."

"Ah, but they are misanthropic," returned f.a.n.n.y, brightly. "Life to me, Mr. Shelton, is a great boon. I love to live! I love to feel the warm blood rus.h.i.+ng through my veins with the ardor of youth and hope. I love to feel my pulses bounding with life's fitful fever. Oh, Mr. Shelton, can I do nothing to show my grat.i.tude for all you have done for me?"

The detective drew nearer and took her soft, warm hand impulsively in his own.

"Yes, dear f.a.n.n.y," he said, his deep, manly voice trembling with emotion. "Give me the life I saved for my reward. Give me your own sweet self for the day-star of my future. Be my wife!"

Blus.h.i.+ng and startled, f.a.n.n.y looked up into his face, but her eyes drooped swiftly before the great tenderness in his.

The next moment she laid both hands in his and whispered, between April smiles and tears:

"Take me if I can make you happy. I ask no brighter fate."

CHAPTER XL.

It was the close of New Year's Day, and Lily and Ada Lawrence stood together in the grand drawing-room, their arms fondly interlaced, the glow of firelight and gaslight s.h.i.+ning down like a blessing on their golden heads.

Ada was perfectly lovely in an elegant costume of white cashmere and blue brocaded silk. The only ornaments of her fair girlish beauty were knots of fragrant blue and white violets.

"My darling sister," said the younger girl affectionately, "you look very weary. Sit down here in this comfortable arm-chair and rest."

She drew forward the chair as she spoke, but before Lily could seat herself two more visitors were announced. They were Lancelot Darling and Philip St. John.

Lancelot's friend was duly presented to Lily, and after a little friendly chatter Lance stole away with his darling to the quiet library.

"My dearest, I am very selfish," he said to her fondly. "I want you all to myself, that I may look at you, listen to you, and feel that my happiness is real, and not a dream from which I may awaken to the pangs of bereavement!"

They sat down together on a low divan before the glowing fire. Lancelot drew the golden head down upon his breast and pressed pa.s.sionate, lingering kisses on the sweet red lips of his long-lost darling.

"My darling," he whispered, presently, "our wedding-day has been long deferred, When shall I have the happiness of claiming you before all the world?"

"Papa and Ada could not bear to give me up yet," said Lily, smiling at his eagerness.

"I do not want to be selfish, love," he said; "I know you wish to stay with them a little longer, and I know how hard it would be to them to give you up now. But you must pity my loneliness and come to me soon."

"I want to get my roses back first," she answered, demurely. "I am so weak and weary from all that I have suffered that I should be a pale and faded bride if I came to you now. You must wait, dear Lance, until I grow strong and well again before I don the bridal veil."

"How long must I wait, then?" he inquired.

"Till the roses come again," she answered; "you know how I love the summer, with its beautiful suns.h.i.+ne and fragrant flowers. I should like for the happiest event of my life to be a.s.sociated with the sweetest month in the year. Let it be in June."

Lance was beginning a pa.s.sionate protest when the door opened and Mr.

Lawrence entered.

The banker looked very bright and happy as his eyes fell on the handsome pair before him.

"Here, papa," said Lily, making room for him beside her; "I am very glad you have come, for I think Lance was just about to find fault with me."

"On what pretext?" inquired her father, kissing her sweet, upturned lips.

"For cruelty," said Lance, promptly. "She actually intends to defer our marriage until June."

"Soon enough," said the banker, laughing at the young man's impatience.

"You must leave us our darling yet awhile, Lance. Come and see her every day if you choose, my boy, but do not persuade her to leave us yet. It will be hard to give her up, even to you."

When the beautiful "month of roses" came round again, Mr. Lawrence had to lose both his lovely daughters.

Philip St. John had wooed and won the beautiful, girlish Ada, and Lily's bridal day was to be hers also.