The Baronet's Bride Part 54

He started up in horror, nearly upsetting the boat. He had seen the fatal blow given, he saw the body hurled over the railing, and he saw the face of the murderer!

A flash of moonlight shone full upon it bending down, and he recognized, in men's clothes, the woman who was to be his wife.

The a.s.sa.s.sin fled. As she vanished G. W. Parmalee looked up with a hollow groan, remained irresolute for an instant, shook himself, and took up the oars.

"We must pick up the body," he said, in an unearthly voice. "The waves will wash it away in five minutes."

He rowed ash.o.r.e, lifted the lifeless form, carried it into the boat, and laid it across the mother's knee.

"We'll put for the 'Angelina,'" he observed. "If there's any life left, we'll fetch her to there."

"Her heart beats," said Mrs. Denover, raining tears and kisses on the cold face. "Oh, my child, my child! it is your wretched mother who has done this!"

They reached the "Angelina Dobbs," where they were impatiently waited for, and captain and crew stared aghast at sight of the supposed corpse.

"Do you take the 'Angelina Dobbs' for a cemetery, Mr. Parmalee?"

demanded Captain Dobbs, with asperity. "Who's that air corpse?"

"Come into the cabin and I'll tell you."

There he heard, in wonder and pity, the story.

"Poor creeter! Pretty as a picter, too! Who did the deed?"

"It looked like her husband," replied Mr. Parmalee. "He was as jealous as a Turk, anyway."

"She is not dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Denover; "her heart flutters. Oh!

pray leave me alone with her; I think I know what to do."

The men quitted the cabin. Mrs. Denover removed her daughter's clothing and examined the wound. It was deep and dangerous looking, but not necessarily fatal--she knew that, and she had had considerable experience during her rough life with John Thornd.y.k.e. She stanched the flow of blood, bathed and dressed the wound, and finally the dark eyes opened and looked vaguely in her face.

"Who are you? Where am I?" very feebly.

"I am your nurse," she said, tremulously, "and you are with friends who love you."

"Ah! I remember." A look of intense anguish crossed her face. "You are my mother!"

"Your most wretched mother! Oh, my darling, I am not worthy to look in your face!"

"You are all that is left to me now--ah, Heaven pity me!--since he thinks me guilty. I remember all. He tried to murder me; he called me a name I will never forget. Mother, how came I here? Is this a ship?"

Very gently, softly, soothingly the mother told how Mr. Parmalee had saved her life.

"And where are we going now?"

"To Southampton, I think. But we will return if you wish it."

"To the man who tried to take my life? Ah, no, mother! Never again in this world to him! Call Mr. Parmalee."

"My dear, you must not talk so much; you are not able."

"Call Mr. Parmalee."

Mrs. Denover obeyed.

The artist presented himself promptly, quite overjoyed.

"Why, now," said Mr. Parmalee, "I'd rather see this than have a thousand dollars down. Why, you look as spry almost as ever. How do you feel?"

"You have been very good to me and my mother. Be good until the end.

If I die, bury me where he will never hear of my death nor look upon my grave. If I live, take me back to New York--I have friends there--and don't let him know whether I am living or dead."

"I'll do it! It's a go! I owe him one for that kicking, and, by Jove!

here's a chance to pay him. Jest you keep up heart and get well, and we'll take you to New York in the 'Angelina Dobbs,' and n.o.body be the wiser."

Mr. Parmalee kept his word. They lay aboard the vessel while loading at Southampton, and a surgeon was in daily attendance upon the sick girl.

"You fetch her round," said Mr. Parmalee. "She's the skipper's only daughter--this 'ere craft, the 'Angelina Dobbs,' is named after her--and he'll foot the bill like a lud."

The surgeon did his best, and was liberally paid out of the three hundred pounds which Mrs. Denover had found in the bosom of Harriet's dress. But for days and weeks she lay very ill--ill unto death--delirious, senseless. Then the fever yielded, and death-like weakness ensued.

This, too, pa.s.sed; and by the time the "Angelina" reached New York, the poor girl was able to saunter up and down the deck, and drink in the life-giving sea air.

Thus, while fruitless search was being made for G. W. Parmalee throughout London--while detectives examined every pa.s.senger who sailed in the emigrant ships--he was safely skimming the Atlantic in Captain Dobb's c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l.

To do him justice, he never thought--and no more did Harriet--of what might follow her disappearance. The baronet would leave the country, they both imagined, and her fate would remain forever a mystery.

So the supposed dead bride reached New York in safety, and that body washed ash.o.r.e and identified by Sybilla Silver, to suit her own ends, was some nameless unfortunate.

On the pier in New York Mr. Parmalee and Lady Kingsland parted.

"I am going to my uncle's house," she said; "my mother's brother. Hugh Denover is a rich merchant, and will receive us, I know. Keep my story secret, and come and see me next time you visit New York. Here is my uncle's address; give me yours, and if ever it is in my power, I will not forget how n.o.bly you have acted and how inadequately you have been repaid."

They shook hands and parted.

Mr. Parmalee went "down East," not at all satisfied with his little English speculation. He had lost a handsome reward and a handsomer wife. He dared hardly think to himself that Sybilla had done the horrid deed, and he had never breathed his suspicion to Harriet.

"Let her think it's the baronet, if she's a mind to. I ain't a-going to do him a good turn. But I know better."

Harriet and her mother sought out Mr. Denover. He lived in a stately up-town mansion, with his wife and one son, and received both poor waifs with open arms. His lost sister had been his boyhood's pet; he had nothing for her now but pity and forgiveness, when she looked at him with death in her face.

"My poor Maria, don't talk of the wretched past. I love my only sister in spite of all, and neither she nor her child shall want a home while I have one."

Harriet told her story very briefly. Her father had been dead for two years. She had married; she had not lived happily with her husband, and they had parted. She had come to Uncle Hugh; she knew he would give his sister's daughter a home.

She told her story with dry eyes and unfaltering voice; but Mr.

Denover, looking in that pale, rigid young face, read more of her despair than she dreamed.