Gwen Wynn Part 44

Thus brought to bay, George Shenstone looks straight in the face of the man he has so savagely a.s.sailed, there to see neither consciousness of guilt, nor fear of punishment. Instead, honest surprise, mingled with keen apprehension; the last, not on his own account, but hers of whom they are speaking. Intuitively, as if whispered by an angel in his ear, he says, or thinks to himself: "This man knows nothing of Gwendoline Wynn. If she has been carried off, it has not been by him; if murdered, he is not her murderer."

"Captain Ryecroft," he at length cries out in hoa.r.s.e voice, the revulsion of feeling almost choking him, "if I've been wronging you, I ask forgiveness, and you'll forgive; for if I have, you do not, cannot know what has occurred."

"I've told you I don't," affirms Ryecroft, now certain that the other speaks of something different, and more serious than the affair he had himself been thinking of. "For Heaven's sake, Mr. Shenstone, explain!

What _has_ occurred there?"

"Miss Wynn is gone away!"

"Miss Wynn gone away! But whither?"

"n.o.body knows. All that can be said is, she disappeared on the night of the ball, without telling any one; no trace left behind--except----"

"Except what?"

"A ring--a diamond cl.u.s.ter. I found it myself in the summer-house. You know the place--you know the ring, too?"

"I do, Mr. Shenstone; have reasons--painful ones. But I am not called upon to give them now, nor to you. What could it mean?" he adds, speaking to himself, thinking of that cry he heard when being rowed off.

It connects itself with what he hears now; seems once more resounding in his ears, more than ever resembling a shriek! "But, sir, please proceed!

For G.o.d's sake keep nothing back; tell me everything!"

Thus appealed to, Shenstone answers by giving an account of what has occurred at Llangorren Court--all that had transpired previous to his leaving, and frankly confesses his own reasons for being in Boulogne.

The manner in which it is received still further satisfying him of the other's guiltlessness, he again begs to be forgiven for the suspicions he had entertained.

"Mr. Shenstone," returns Ryecroft, "you ask what I am ready and willing to grant--G.o.d knows how ready, how willing. If any misfortune has befallen her we are speaking of, however great your grief, it cannot be greater than mine."

Shenstone is convinced. Ryecroft's speech, his looks, his whole bearing, are those of a man not only guiltless of wrong to Gwendoline Wynn, but one who, on her account, feels anxiety keen as his own.

He stays not to question further; but once more making apologies for his intrusion--which are accepted without anger--he bows himself back into the street.

The business of his travelling companion in Boulogne was over some time ago. His is now equally ended; and though without having thrown any new light on the mystery of Miss Wynn's disappearance, still with some satisfaction to himself he dares not dwell upon. Where is the man who would not rather know his sweetheart dead than see her in the arms of a rival? However ign.o.ble the feeling, or base to entertain it, it is natural to the human heart tortured by jealousy--too natural, as George Shenstone that night knows, with head tossing upon a sleepless pillow.

Too late to catch the Folkestone packet, his bed is in Boulogne--no bed of roses, but a couch of Procrustean.

Meanwhile, Captain Ryecroft returns to the room where his friend the Major has been awaiting him. Impatiently, though not in the interim unemployed; as evinced by a flat mahogany box upon the table, and beside it a brace of duelling pistols, which have evidently been submitted to examination. They are the "best barkers that can be got in Boulogne."

"We shan't need them, Major, after all."

"The devil we shan't! He's shown the white feather?"

"No, Mahon; instead, proved himself as brave a fellow as ever stood before sword-point, or dared pistol bullet."

"Then there's no trouble between you?"

"Ah! yes, trouble; but not between us. Sorrow shared by both. We're in the same boat."

"In that case, why didn't you bring him in?"

"I didn't think of it."

"Well, we'll drink his health. And since you say you've both embarked in the same boat--a bad one--here's to your reaching a good haven, and in safety!"

"Thanks, Major! The haven I now want to reach, and intend entering ere another sun sets, is the harbour of Folkestone."

The Major almost drops his gla.s.s.

"Why, Ryecroft, you're surely joking?"

"No, Mahon; I'm in earnest--dead, anxious earnest."

"Well, I wonder! No, I don't," he adds, correcting himself. "A man needn't be surprised at anything where there's a woman concerned. May the devil take her who's taking you away from me!"

"Major Mahon!"

"Well--well, old boy! Don't be angry. I meant nothing personal, knowing neither the lady, nor the reason for thus changing your mind, and so soon leaving me. Let my sorrow at that be my excuse."

"You shall be told it this night--now!"

In another hour Major Mahon is in possession of all that relates to Gwendoline Wynn, known to Vivian Ryecroft; no more wondering at the anxiety of his guest to get back to England, nor doing aught to detain him. Instead, he counsels his immediate return; accompanies him to the first morning packet for Folkestone; and at the parting hand-shake again reminds him of that well-timed grip in the ditch of Delhi, exclaiming,

"G.o.d bless you, old boy! Whatever the upshot, remember you've a friend, and a bit of a tent to shelter you in Boulogne--not forgetting a little comfort from the _crayther_!"

CHAPTER XLIV.

SUICIDE, OR MURDER.

Two more days have pa.s.sed, and the crowd collected at Llangorren Court is larger than ever. But it is not now scattered, nor are people rushing excitedly about; instead, they stand thickly packed in a close clump, which covers all the carriage sweep in front of the house. For the search is over, the lost one has at length been found--found when the flood subsided, and the drag could do its work--_found drowned_!

Not far away, nor yet in the main river; but that narrow channel, deep and dark, inside the eyot. In a little angular embayment at the cliff's base, almost directly under the summer-house was the body discovered. It came to the surface soon as touched by the grappling iron, which caught in the loose drapery around it. Left alone for another day, it would have risen of itself.

Taken out of the water, and borne away to the house, it is now lying in the entrance hall, upon a long table there set centrally.

The hall, though a s.p.a.cious one, is filled with people; and but for two policemen stationed at the door, would be densely crowded. These have orders to admit only the friends and intimates of the family, with those whose duty requires them to be there officially. There is again a council in deliberation; but not as on days preceding. Then it was to inquire into what had become of Gwendoline Wynn, and whether she were still alive; to-day it is an inquest being held over her dead body!

There lies it, just as it came out of the water. But, oh! how unlike what it was before being submerged! Those gossamer things, silks and laces--the dress worn by her at the ball--no more floating and feather-like, but saturated, mud-stained, "clinging like cerements"

around a form whose statuesque outlines, even in death, show the perfection of female beauty. And her chrome yellow hair, cast in loose coils about, has lost its silken gloss, and grown darker in hue: while the rich rose red is gone from her cheeks, already swollen and discoloured; so soon had the ruthless water commenced its ravages!

No one would know Gwen Wynn now. Seeing that form prostrate and pulseless, who could believe the same, which but a few nights before was there moving about, erect, lissome, and majestic? Or in that face, dark and disfigured, who could recognise the once radiant countenance of Llangorren's young heiress? Sad to contemplate those mute motionless lips, so late wreathed with smiles, and pleasant words! And those eyes, dulled with "muddy impurity," that so short while ago shone bright and gladsome, rejoicing in the gaiety of youth and the glory of beauty--sparkling, flashing, conquering!

All is different now; her hair dishevelled, her dress disordered and dripping, the only things upon her person unchanged being the rings on her fingers, the wrist bracelets, the locket still pendant to her neck--all gemmed and gleaming as ever, the impure water affecting not their costly purity. And their presence has a significance, proclaiming an important fact, soon to be considered.

The coroner, summoned in haste, has got upon the ground, selected his jury, and gone through the formularies for commencing the inquest. These over, the first point to be established is the identification of the body. There is little difficulty in this; and it is solely through routine, and for form's sake, that the aunt of the deceased lady, her cousin, the lady's maid, and one or two other domestics, are submitted to examination. All testify to their belief that the body before them is that of Gwendoline Wynn.