That Affair at Elizabeth Part 9

"I-I can't explain it, sir," she stammered. "I didn't consider it any of my business," she added fiercely.

"I think you'll find it difficult to explain," I said, with irony; "even more difficult than how it came to lie there unperceived for nearly three hours. You'll pardon me if I find the story hard to believe."

"It's nothing to me whether or not you believe it!" she retorted and made a motion to go on again.

"No," I said; "wait a moment. Which is her room?"

"This one here," and she pointed to a half-open door just beside us.

Ignoring her gesture of protest, I pushed the door back and stepped inside.

The room was a large and pleasant one, well lighted and looking out upon the grove at the east side of the house. There was some little disorder apparent, and over a chair at the farther side of the room I saw a veil lying-no doubt the bridal veil. For the moment I did not seek to see more, but turned back into the hall.

"Nothing there," I said, as though my inspection of the room was ended. "I suppose you helped Miss Lawrence to dress?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she had on her wedding-gown when she went downstairs?"

"Yes, sir, all but the veil."

"What was the colour of the gown?"

"White, sir," she answered, with evident contempt. "White satin made very plain."

"With a train?"

"Yes, sir, with a train."

"Thank you," I said. Plainly, a woman garbed in that fashion must be a marked object, wherever she went. Then, seeing that the maid waited for further questions, I added, "That is all, I believe."

She opened a door just across the hall and motioned me to precede her. I found myself in a pleasant sitting-room, and looked about for Mrs. Lawrence, but she was not there. The maid went to an inner door which stood half-open, and knocked.

"In a moment," called a low voice, and I heard a rustle of draperies. Instinctively I knew that Mrs. Lawrence had been upon her knees.

But I was not prepared for the deep distress which I saw in her countenance the instant she appeared upon the threshold. So worn and drawn was it, so changed even in the brief time since I had seen her last, that I scarcely knew her. What had happened? Was her self-control giving way under the strain, or had there been some new shock, some more poignant blow which she had been unable to withstand?

She came straight to me where I stood staring, perhaps a little brutally, and lifted tear-dimmed eyes to mine.

"Mr. Lester," she said, in a choked voice, "I must ask that this search for Marcia cease."

CHAPTER VII

Tangled Threads

I stared at her a moment without replying-so she was guilty! So she did know! I heard the opening of the door as the maid left the room, and the sound somehow restored me a portion of my self-control.

"Cease? But why?" I asked. "Surely--"

"Marcia has said that the marriage is impossible," she interrupted. "Is not that enough?"

"Mr. Curtiss does not think so. And if it is impossible, he, at least, has a right to know why."

"Marcia has decided not; she has no wish to bring reproach to the memory of a respected man, who--"

She checked herself-but she had already said too much.

"Then you know why your daughter left so suddenly?" I questioned. "But an hour ago, you said you didn't know."

"I did not then," she murmured.

"I have no wish to know," I went on rapidly, noting her sudden pallor. "I have no right to know. But I'm here to find Miss Lawrence so that Mr. Curtiss can, at least, have a last talk with her. That seems a reasonable demand. Do you know where she is?"

"No!" she answered explosively.

"She is not in this house?"

"a.s.suredly not; I have already told you she is not here."

"I fancied perhaps she had returned."

"Such a suspicion is absurd."

"You've had no word from her?"

"Not a single word."

"Then it wasn't she who told you the cause of her disappearance?"

"She told me nothing."

I had no need to ask who it was; some instinct told me it was the maid.

"And you saw her last--"

"When she left me to dress, as I've already told you. I've been speaking the truth, Mr. Lester."

"Pardon me," I said; "I hadn't the least doubt of it; but I'm sure you can appreciate my position, can look at it from Mr. Curtiss's side. Perhaps you suspect where Miss Lawrence is, without being absolutely certain. If you would tell me--"

She stopped me with a sudden gesture; I saw that I had touched the truth.

"Or, at least," I persisted, pressing my advantage, "if you know why your daughter fled, you might yourself tell Mr. Curtiss--"

Again she stopped me.

"The secret is not mine," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Whose is it? Who has the right to tell?"