As the door closed after the angry and baffled woman, the portly form of the housekeeper entered the room from an apartment adjoining, where, as had been previously arranged between Edith and herself, she had been stationed to overhear the whole of the foregoing conversation.
"What can I do?" sighed the young girl, wearily, and lifting an anxious glance to her companion; for, in spite of her apparent calmness throughout the recent interview, it had been a terrible strain upon her already shattered nerves.
"Nothing just yet, dear, but to try and get well and strong as soon as possible," cheerfully responded Mrs. Weld.
"Did you hear how she threatened me?"
"Yes, but her threats were only so many idle words—they cannot harm you; you need not fear them."
"But I do; somehow, I am impressed that they are plotting even greater wrongs against me," sighed Edith, who, now that the necessity of preserving a bold front was passed, seemed to lose her courage.
"They will not dare—" began Mrs. Weld, with some excitement. Then, suddenly checking herself, she added, soothingly: "But do not worry any more about it now, child—you never need 'cross a bridge until you come it.' Lie down and rest a while; it will do you good, and maybe you will catch a little nap, while I go down to see that everything is moving smoothly in the dining-room and kitchen."
Edith was only too willing to heed this sensible advice, and, shortly after the housekeeper's departure, fell into a restful sleep.
She did not awake until it was nearly dark, when, feeling much refreshed, she arose and dressed herself resolving that she would not trouble tired Mrs. Weld[129] to bring up her dinner, but go downstairs and have it with her, as usual.
The house was very quiet, for, all the guests having gone, there was only the family and the servants in the house.
Edith remained in her room until she heard the dinner-bell ring, when she went to the door to listen for Mr. and Mrs. Goddard and Emil Correlli to go down, before she ventured forth, for she had a special object in view.
Presently she heard them enter the dining-room, whereupon she stole softly down after them and slipped into the library in search of the daily papers.
She found one, the Transcript, and then hurried back to her room, lighted the gas, and sat down to read.
Immediately a low cry of dismay burst from her, for the first thing that caught her eye were some conspicuous head-lines announcing:
"A STARTLING SURPRISE IN HIGH LIFE."
These were followed by a vivid description of the festivities at the Goddard mansion in Wyoming, on the previous evening, mentioning the "unique and original drama," which had wound up with "the great surprise" in the form of a "bona fide" marriage between the brother of the beautiful and accomplished hostess, Mrs. Goddard, and a lovely girl to whom the gentleman had long been attached, and whom he had taken this opportune and very novel way of introducing to his friends and society in general.
Then there followed a résumé of the play, giving the names of the various actors, an account of the fine scenery and brilliant costumes, etc.
The appearance of the masked bride and groom was then enlarged upon, an accurate description of the bride's elegant dress given, and a most flattering mention made of her beauty and grace, together with the perfect dignity and repose of manner with which she bore her introduction to the many friends of her husband during the reception that followed immediately after the ceremony.[130]
No mention was made of her having fainted afterward, and the article concluded with a flattering tribute to the host and hostess for the success of their "Winter Frolic," which ended so delightfully in the brilliant and long-to-be-remembered ball.
Edith's face was full of pain and indignation after reading this sensational account.
She was sure that the affair had been written up by either madam or her brother, for the express purpose of bringing her more conspicuously before the public, and with the intention of fastening more securely the chain that bound her to the villain who had so wronged her.
"Oh, it is a plot worthy to be placed on record with the intrigues of the Court of France during the reign of Louis the Thirteenth and Richelieu!" Edith exclaimed. "But in this instance they have mistaken the character of their victim," she continued, throwing back her proud little head with an air of defiance, "for I will never yield to them; I will never acknowledge, by word or act, the tie which they claim binds me to him, and I will leave no effort untried to break it. Heavens! what a daring, what an atrocious wrong it was!" she exclaimed, with a shudder of repugnance; "and I am afraid that, aside from my own statements, I cannot bring one single fact to prove a charge of fraud against either of them."
She fell into a painful reverie, mechanically folding the paper as she sat rocking slowly back and forth trying to think of some way of escape from her unhappy situation.
But, at last, knowing that it was about time for Mrs. Weld to have her dinner, she arose to go down to join her.
As she did so the paper slipped from her hands to the floor.
She stooped to pick it up when an item headed, in large letters "Personal" caught her eye.
Without imagining that it could have any special interest for her, she glanced in an aimless way over it.
Suddenly every nerve was electrified.[131]
"What is this?" she exclaimed, and read the paragraph again.
The following was the import of it:
"If Miss Allandale, who disappeared so suddenly from New York, on the 13th of last December, will call upon or send her address to Bryant & Co., Attorneys, No. —— Broadway, she will learn of something greatly to her advantage in a financial way."
"How very strange! What can it mean?" murmured the astonished girl, the rich color mounting to her brow as she realized that Royal Bryant must have inserted this "personal" in the paper in the hope that it would meet her eye.
"Who in the world is there to feel interested in me or my financial condition?" she continued, with a look of perplexity.
At first it occurred to her that Mr. Bryant might have taken this way to ascertain where she was from personal motives; but she soon discarded this thought, telling herself that he would never be guilty of practicing deception in any way to gain his ends. If he had simply desired her address he would have asked for that alone without the promise of any pecuniary reward.
She stood thinking the matter over for several moments.
At last her face cleared and a look of resolution flashed into her eyes.
"I will do it!" she murmured, "I will go back at once to New York—I will ascertain what this advertisement means, then I will tell him all that has happened to me here, and ask him if there is any way by which I can be released from this dreadful situation, into which I have been trapped. I am sure he will help me, if any one can."
A faint, tender smile wreathed her lips as she mused thus, and recalled her last interview with Royal Bryant; his fond, eager words when he told her of her complete vindication at the conclusion of her trial in New York—of his tender look and hand-clasp when he bade[132] her good-by at the door of the carriage that bore her home to her mother.
She began to think that she had perhaps not used him quite fairly in running away and hiding herself thus from him who had been so true a friend to her; and yet, if she remained in his employ, and he had asked her to be his wife, she knew that she must either have refused him, without giving him a sufficient reason, or else confessed to him her shameful origin.
"It would have been better, perhaps, if I had never come away," she sighed, "still it is too late now to regret it, and all I can do is to comply with the request of this 'personal.' I would leave this very night, only there are some things at the other house that I must take with me. But to-morrow night I will go, and I shall have to steal away, or they will find some way to prevent my going. I will not even tell dear Mrs. Weld, although she has been so kind to me; but I will write and explain it all to her after my arrival in New York."
Having settled this important matter in her mind, Edith went quietly downstairs, and returned the paper to the library, after which she repaired to the tiny room where she and Mrs. Weld were in the habit of taking their meals.
The kind-hearted woman chided her for coming down two flights of stairs, while she was still so weak; but Edith assured her that she really began to feel quite like herself again, and could not think of allowing her to wait upon her when she was so weary from her own numerous duties.
They had a pleasant chat over their meal, the young girl appearing far more cheerful than one would have naturally expected under existing circumstances. She flushed with painful embarrassment, however, when a servant came in to wait upon them, and gave her a stare of undisguised astonishment, which plainly told her that he thought her place was in the dining-room with the family.
She understood by it that all the servants knew[133] what had occurred the previous night, and believed her to be the wife of Emil Correlli.
But nothing else occurred to mar the meal, and when it was finished Edith started to go up to her room again.
She went up the back way, hoping thus to avoid meeting any member of the family.
She reached the landing upon the second floor and was about to mount another flight when there came a swift step over the front stairs, and, before she could escape, Emil Correlli came into view.
Another instant and he was by her side.
"Edith!" he exclaimed, astonished to see her there, "where have you been?"
"Down to my dinner," she quietly replied, but confronting him with undaunted bearing.
"Down to your dinner?" he repeated, flushing hotly, a look of keen annoyance sweeping over his face. "If you were able to leave your room at all, your place was in the dining-room, with the family, and," he added, sternly, "I do not wish any gossip among the servants regarding my—wife."
It was Edith's turn to flush now, at that obnoxious term.
"You will please spare me all allusion to that mockery," she bitterly, but haughtily, retorted.
"It was no mockery—it was a bona fide marriage," he returned. "You are my lawful wife, and I wish you, henceforth, to occupy your proper position as such."
"I am not your wife. I shall never acknowledge, by word or act, any such relationship toward you," she calmly, but decidedly, responded.
"Oh, yes you will."
"Never!"
"But you have already done so, and there are hundreds of people who can prove it," he answered, hotly, but with an air of triumph.
"It will be a comparatively easy matter to make public a true statement of the case," said the girl, looking him straight in the eyes.[134]
"You will not dare set idle tongues gossiping by repudiating our union!" exclaimed the young man, fiercely.
"I should dare anything that would set me free from you," was the dauntless response.
Her companion gnashed his teeth with rage.
"You would find very few who would believe your statements," he said; "for, besides the fact that hundreds witnessed the ceremony last night, the papers have published full accounts of the affair, and the whole city now knows about it."
"I know it—I have read the papers," said Edith, without appearing in the least disconcerted.
"What! already?"
"Yes."
"Well, what did you think of the account?" her companion inquired, regarding her curiously.
"That it was simply another clever piece of duplicity on your part, the only object of which was the accomplishment of your nefarious purposes. I believe you yourself were the author of it."
Emil Correlli started as if he had been stung.
He did not dream that she would attribute the article to him—the last thing he could wish would be that she should think it had emanated from his pen.
Nevertheless, his admiration for her was increased tenfold by her shrewdness in discerning the truth.
"You judge me harshly," he said, bitterly.
"I have no reason for judging you otherwise," Edith coldly remarked; then added, haughtily: "Allow me to pass, sir, if you please."
"I do not please. Oh, Edith, pray be reasonable; come into Anna's boudoir, and let us talk this matter over amicably and calmly," he pleaded, laying a gentle hand upon her arm.
She shook it off as if it had been a reptile.
"No, sir; I shall discuss nothing with you, either now or at any other time. If," she added, a fiery gleam in her beautiful eyes, "it is ever discussed in my presence it will be before a judge and jury!"
The man bit his lips to repress an oath.[135]
"Yes, Anna told me you threatened that; but I hoped it was only an idle menace," he said. "Do you really mean that you intend to file an application to have the marriage annulled?"
"Most assuredly—at least, if, indeed, after laying the matter before the proper authorities, such a formality is deemed necessary," said the girl, with a scornful inflection that cut her listener to the quick.
He grew deadly white, more at her contemptuous tones than her threat.
"Edith—what can I say to win you?" he cried, after a momentary struggle with himself. "I swear to you that I cannot—will not live without you. I will be your slave—your lightest wish shall be my law, if you will yield this point—come with me as my honored wife, and let me, by my love and unceasing efforts, try to win even your friendly regard. I know I have done wrong," he went on, assuming a tone and air of humility; "I see it now when it is too late. I ask you to pardon me, and let me atone in whatever way you may deem best. See!—I kneel—I beg—I implore!"
And suiting the action to the words, he dropped upon one knee before her and extended his hands in earnest appeal to her.
"In whatever way I may deem best you will atone?" she repeated, looking him gravely in the face. "Then make a public confession of the fraud of which you have been guilty, and give me my freedom."
"Ah, anything but that—anything but that!" he exclaimed, flushing consciously beneath her gaze.
She moved back a pace or two from him, her lips curling with contempt.
"Your appeal was but a wretched farce—it is worse than useless—it is despicable," she said, with an accent that made him writhe like a whipped cur.
"Will nothing move you?" he passionately cried.
"Nothing."
"By Heaven! then I will meet you blade to blade!" he cried, furiously, and springing to his feet, his eyes blazing with passion. "If entreaties will not move[136] you—if neither bribes nor promises will cause you to yield—we will try what lawful authority will do. I have no intention of being made the laughing stock of the world, I assure you; and, hereafter, I command that you conduct yourself in a manner becoming the position which I have given you. In the first place, then, to-morrow morning, you will breakfast in the dining-room with the family—do you hear?"
Edith had stood calmly regarding him during this speech; but, wishing him to go on, if he had anything further to say, she did not attempt to reply as he paused after the above question.
"Immediately after breakfast," he resumed, with something less of excitement, and not feeling very comfortable beneath her unwavering glance, "we shall return to the city, and the following morning you and I will start for St. Augustine, Florida—thence go to California and later to Europe."
The young girl straightened herself to her full height, and she had never seemed more lovely than at that moment.
"Monsieur Correlli," she said, in a voice that rang with an irrevocable decision, "I shall never go to Florida with you, nor yet to California, neither to Europe; I shall never appear anywhere with you in public, neither will I ever break bread with you, at any table. There, sir, you have my answer to your 'commands.' Now, let me pass."
Without waiting to see what effect her remarks might have upon him, she pushed resolutely by him and went swiftly upstairs to her room.
The man gazed after her in undisguised astonishment.
"By St. Michael! the girl has a tremendous spirit in that slight frame of hers. She has always seemed such a sweet little angel, too—no one would have suspected it. However, there are more ways than one to accomplish my purpose, and I flatter myself that I shall yet conquer her."
With this comforting reflection, he sought his sister, to relate what had occurred, and enlist her crafty[137] talents in planning his next move in the desperate game he was playing.