Victor's Triumph Part 31

She thanked the reverend gentleman, and held the letter unopened, wondering how Mrs. Wheatfield could have found out that she was in Richmond.

When the rector had taken his leave, she opened her letter and read:

"CHARLOTTESVILLE, July 15, 18--.

"MY DEAREST MARY:--We have not heard a word from you since you left us.

"All your friends here suffer the deepest anxiety on your account, fearing that you may be ill among strangers.

"Only on Sunday last, when I happened to speak to our minister, after the morning service, I got a slight clew to you; for he told me that you had asked him for a church letter to the Rector of St. John's Parish in Richmond.

"That information gives me the opportunity of writing to you, with some prospect of having my letter reach you, for I can inclose it to the Rector of St. John's, who will probably by this time know your address.

"And now, having explained how it is that I am enabled to write to you, I must tell you the news.

"The great nuisance of the Commencement is abated. It is all over; the students, the visitors and the vagrants have nearly all gone, and the town is empty and--peaceful.

"One set of visitors I lamented to lose. They went on Sat.u.r.day.

"I mean, of course, your friends from Blue Cliffs. They were all charming.

"I was very much interested in Miss Cavendish.

"And now, my dear child, although I am no gossip and no meddler, as you are well aware, I really must tell you what I would not tell to any other living being, and which I tell you only because I know you to be perfectly discreet, and also deeply interested in the parties of whom I shall take the liberty of writing.

"There are three marriages in prospect, my dear. I see it quite plainly. Our young people are the frankest and most innocent of human beings. They have no disguises.

"Who are to be married? you ask me.

"I will tell you who, I _think_, will be married.

"First, Mr. Alden Lytton and Miss Emma Cavendish.

"Not a prudent marriage for her, because she is a minor, with an immense fortune. And he is a young lawyer, with not a dollar of his own and his way yet to make in the world.

"But what can we do about it?

"With one guardian in her dotage and the other at the antipodes Miss Cavendish is practically, if not legally, her own mistress.

"The only comfort is that the young man in question is rich in _everything else_, if not in money.

"Well, the second prospective marriage pleases me better. The Rev. Mr. Lyle, a worthy young clergyman, is devoted to Miss Laura Lytton.

"The third approaching nuptials interest me least of all, in any manner. A dark, brigandish-looking Californian, of almost fabulous wealth, who is the friend and guest of Mr. Lyle, has evidently fallen in love at first sight with pretty little sparkling Electra Coroni.

"They have all gone down to Wendover together, and the Lyttons are to make a long visit at Blue Cliffs.

"I must not forget to tell you that worthy young man, Mr. Kyte, has been here inquiring after you with much anxiety. He went back to Wendover a day or two before our young people left.

"Now, my dearest Mary, let me hear that you are well, and believe me ever your devoted friend,

"MARIA WHEATFIELD."

CHAPTER XXIII.

A DIABOLICAL PLOT.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream; The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

--SHAKESPEARE'S _Julius Caesar_.

No language can adequately describe the mortification and rage that filled the bosom of Mary Grey as she read the foregoing letter.

Two of her once ardent worshipers--handsome Alden Lytton and eloquent Stephen Lyle--had forsaken her shrine and were offering up their devotion to other divinities.

They had wounded her vanity to the very quick.

And to wound Mary Grey's vanity was to incur Mary Grey's deadly hatred.

She was always a very dangerous woman, and under such an exasperation she could become a very desperate enemy.

She had felt so sure that no woman, however young and lovely, could ever become her rival, or even her successor, in any man's affections. So sure, also, that no man, however wise and strong, could ever resist her fascinations or escape from her thraldom.

And now that charming illusion was rudely dispelled! She saw herself even contemptuously abandoned by her subjects, who transferred their allegiance to a couple of "bread-and-b.u.t.ter school-girls," as she sneeringly designated Emma Cavendish and Laura Lytton.

She was consumed with jealousy--not the jealousy born of love, which is like the thorn of the rose, a defence of the rose--but the jealousy born of self-love, which is like the thorn of the thorn-apple, a deadly poison.

She sat on one of her trunks, with her elbows on her knees and her clutched fists supporting her chin. Her lips were drawn back from her clinched teeth and her black eyes gleamed like fire from the deathly whiteness of her face.

And so she sat and brooded and brooded over her mortification, and studied and studied how she might pull down ruin upon the heads of those hated young people who were loving each other and enjoying life at the cost of her humiliation.

And of course the foul fiend very soon entered into her counsels and a.s.sisted her.

"I have one devoted slave--one willing instrument left yet," she muttered to herself: "he would pay any price--yes, the price of his soul--for my love! He shall pay _my_ price down! He shall be the means of drawing destruction upon all their heads! Yes, Miss Cavendish, marry Alden Lytton, if you _will_, and afterward look honest men and women in the face if you _can_! Yes, Stephen Lyle, become the husband of Laura Lytton, and then hold up your head in the pulpit--if you dare! Ah, if my plot succeed! Ah, if my plot succeed, how terribly will I be avenged!

And it _shall_ succeed!" she hissed through her grinding teeth, with a grim hatred distorting her white features and transforming her beautiful face for an instant into demoniac hideousness.

She started up and commenced traversing the floor, as a furious tigress her den.

When she had raged herself into something like composure she opened her writing-case and wrote the following letter:

"RICHMOND, VA., Aug. --, 18--.

"TO CRAVEN KYTE, ESQ.