The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie's Part 22

Lance was about to make some commonplace reply to this aspiration when he suddenly observed that her face had dropped into her hands, and she was crying softly, her graceful form heaving with deep emotion.

"Mrs. Vance," said he in alarm, "what is the cause of your distress?

Have I said or done anything to wound you? If I have, pray forgive me.

It was unintentional, I a.s.sure you."

There was no reply. She continued to sob violently for a few minutes while Lancelot sat silent and perplexed at her unusual emotion. At length the storm of grief ceased in low sighs, and she lifted her head and carefully wiped off a few genuine tears that hung pendent on her silky lashes and threatened to fall upon her cheek and wash off the delicate rose-tint so carefully put on. Lance at once renewed his apologies and regrets.

"It is I who should beg your pardon, Lance, for this childish and undignified outburst of mine," said she, with quivering lips, "But indeed I could not help it. Our chance words struck a chord so tender that it vibrated painfully. Oh! Lance, I am very unhappy!"

"I should not have thought it," said he, quite surprised at her admission.

"No; because I mask my aching heart in deceitful smiles," was the mournful answer.

"But you have no present cause for unhappiness," said Lancelot, quite perplexed as to the means of comforting her. "Your home is pleasant, your friends are kind and loving."

"Ah! you think so," said she, with a bitter smile, "but you do not know what I have to endure. You could scarcely believe how bitterly Ada Lawrence taunts me with my poverty and dependence. Were it not for Mr.

Lawrence, whom I will admit is kind in his way, I believe she would drive me forth homeless and shelterless."

"Surely you misjudge Ada," said he, warmly, "I am sure she has a tender heart."

"Ah! her sweet face is no index of her mind," answered Mrs. Vance, with a gloomy shake of her head. "G.o.d knows what insolence I daily endure from that ill-natured girl! Ah! Lance, this life of dependence is a bitter one. I would leave here to-morrow and seek to earn my own bread with my own weak hands were it not for one dear tie which holds me with a power stronger than my woman's will."

"And that tie?" asked the unconscious young man, in a voice of gentle interest.

"Is my pa.s.sionate, uncontrollable, hopeless love for one whom I will not name," she answered, in a broken voice, and drooping her eyes from his earnest gaze.

"You mean Mr. Lawrence?" Lance queried, in surprise.

"Can you think so?" inquired the lady, in a low and meaning tone, lifting her eyes with one swift glance to his face, then quickly letting them droop again beneath their sweeping lashes.

"It seems incredible," pursued Lancelot, quite oblivious of the meaning she had so delicately conveyed. "Mr. Lawrence, though a very fine looking man, is at least double your age, and is not at all the kind of a man I should have supposed as likely to win your love, Mrs. Vance."

"Heavens, what obtuseness!" thought the almost distracted woman. "He _will_ not understand. I shall have to tell him plainly, and then see what will become of his sublime unconsciousness!"

"Oh! Lance," she cried, shading her burning cheek with her hand, "why will you misunderstand my meaning? I did not mean to tell you the truth, but your a.s.sumption of my love for that old dotard forces me to vindicate the choice of my heart! Oh! Lance, do you not know, can you not see what I am ashamed to put in these plain words, that it is _you_ whom I love and no other?"

If a bombsh.e.l.l had exploded at Lancelot Darling's feet he could not have been more surprised and actually alarmed than he was at this avowal of love from the woman whom he had honestly admired and reverenced as one among the gentlest and loveliest of her s.e.x. He sprang up and stood looking down at her while a blush of honest shame for her burnt on his cheek.

"Oh, no," he stammered, finding breath after a long, embarra.s.sed pause.

"You cannot mean what you say!"

She arose at his words, and drawing near him laid a fluttering hand on his coat-sleeve. Her dark eyes still drooped before his, and her shamed yet imploring posture was the embodiment of grace.

"Do not be angry," she pleaded. "I do mean it; how could I help it when you are the only living creature that is kind to me? Oh, forgive me, Lance, for my wild words, and let me love you a little."

"Mrs. Vance, it is a shame for a woman to love unsought," said he, in a low, rebuking tone.

"Oh, do not say so!" she answered, wildly. "You men are too hard upon us women. You tie us down and restrict us in everything, and if we let our poor, clinging hearts go out to you ever so little before you give us leave, then you cry out shame upon us. Oh, Lance, is it so strange that I should love you? You have been kind to me, you are dangerously handsome and winning, and a woman's heart must cling to something. I have not a true friend on earth, Lance; I have no one to love and no one to love me. I am lonely and wretched beyond expression. Let me love you and say that you will love me in return."

Her forlornness moved his generous heart to pity and sorrow for her. He stood still as if rooted to the spot, listening to the wild torrent of words she poured forth so eagerly.

"Why should you be angry because a woman's heart lies at your feet, Lance, to trample on or to cherish as you please? Am I not young, beautiful, accomplished? If you chose me for your own before the world what could any one say against me, save that I could bring you no wealth but myself?"

Still no word from the appalled listener.

She raised her eyes beseechingly to him and drew a step nearer.

"Lance, do speak to me--do tell me that I am not wasting the wealth of my woman's heart in vain!"

He gently removed her clinging hands and seated her in a low arm-chair, standing beside her and looking down with visible embarra.s.sment, yet with a steady purpose.

"Mrs. Vance," he said, gently, "words would fail me if I tried to express the unutterable regret I feel for the revelation you have made.

You must know how hopeless your affection is, remembering all that I have said on that subject this afternoon. There is no woman living, no matter what her attractions may be, who could take the place of Lily Lawrence in my heart."

"But she did not love you--she died by her own hand rather than wed you."

"Perhaps so--we cannot tell. Be that as it may, I shall keep her image in my heart forever, and no other woman shall come between us,"

earnestly answered Lily's loyal lover.

"Then there is no hope for me," she moaned, faintly.

"None, Mrs. Vance--absolutely none. Pardon me that I have been forced to wound you thus, and forget this madness if you can. No one shall ever know of it from me," said he, gently, as he turned to go.

"Are you going?" she asked, rising.

"Yes," he asked, pausing reluctantly.

"One word, Lance. I have been mad and blind in allowing my feelings to find vent as I have done. I beg your pardon, and ask you as a priceless boon to forgive and forget my madness. Will you try and do it?"

"Gladly," he answered, with a sigh of relief.

"And one thing more. You will not suffer this act of mine to alter your pleasant relations with the household here. You will come and go as usual that they may not suspect anything has occurred. I promise you that I will not obtrude my company upon you," said she, humbly.

"It were better that I should remain away," he said, hesitatingly.

"But you will come sometimes," she said, and he did not answer nay, but only said: "Good-bye."

CHAPTER XXI.

Mr. Shelton, the famous detective, was slowly but surely gaining ground in his mysterious and interesting case.

For a long time it had puzzled him and baffled his investigations, but having at last obtained a single clew, he began to push on, slowly, to be sure, but certainly, to eventual success.

He had discovered, after patient and almost incredible labors, that Doctor Pratt was the man who had bribed the s.e.xton and obtained the key of the Lawrence vault the night of Lily's interment there. He had also learned that Harold Colville wore the missing half of the broken locket found in Mr. Lawrence's hall the night on which the specter of the banker's daughter had appeared to the a.s.sembled family. As yet he had not thought of linking these separate facts together, but the day was not far away when he would do so.