CHAPTER XXI.

IF IT COSTS MY HEART’S BLOOD.

He heard her passionate, protesting cry, but he did not turn back for it, only stalked on the faster to his own room to spend a sleepless night, tormented by despair at Gipsy’s loss, disgusted and angered at Lelia’s acting.

“Faugh, what an actress!” he muttered impatiently. “But she cannot impose on me! Her mother has tutored her to this, fearful that in losing me she has sacrificed half of Aunt Cyrilla’s money. She is welcome to it all; I would not accept it on any terms if I had to take my ill-tempered cousin with it! How she will hate me now for refusing the olive branch! But I do not care for either her love or hate; I am no longer her meek, cringing slave; I glory in my freedom!”

He fondly believed that this ended the episode with his spoiled cousin. He did not know her very well yet, despite their long acquaintance.

Lelia determined to win by strategy what she could not compass by her charms.

Humbled by his open scorn, furious over her failure to subdue his heart as of old with a glance or word, she retired to her chamber to sulk alone and to brood over plans for his subjugation.

And, meanwhile, the mistress of The Crags lay still as death upon her bed, deserted by all but the trained nurse, Mrs. Goodwill. The other two had only remained for its effect upon Laurie. On his retirement, they had also gone to their rooms to muse, angrily, over their defeat.

Laurie, wakeful and restless, took a lamp at last and went to explore Gipsy’s room, with a strange, yearning thrill as if it might bring him nearer to the loved and lost.

The door yielded to his touch, and with a throbbing heart, he entered and stood alone in that chamber of horrors.

In the illness of the mistress, and with the superstitions of servants, the room had been left untouched, unentered, since the first day of the discovery of Gipsy’s tragic disappearance.

Laurie set the lamp upon the table, turned the flame up high, and stood surveying the scene of his parting with Gipsy Darke, barely three days ago.

The window was still wide open, the bloody curtains, of which Crawford had told him, flapped limply back and forth in the damp night air, the overturned chair with the bloody white draperies lay upon the floor, the heavy paper-weight, the instrument of destruction, was on the window-sill, the dead roses in the vase emitted a sickly, decaying odor. All was dismal and desolate where, such a little while ago, a beautiful, gracious presence had lent its nameless charm to the simple little room.

He stood and stared about the lonely space, with horror in his eyes and despair in his heart, groaning:

“Oh, Gipsy, my darling, my darling, would I had been by your side to defend you from the assassin’s deadly blow, or to receive it in my own person!”

He looked about him for some little souvenir to keep, in memory of his dear, dead love, but everything was stainlessly neat and prim, with no trifles lying about, for Mrs. Goodwill had kept it so as best suited to a sick-room. There was, indeed, a little case of books on which her dark eyes must have lingered often, but the key was locked and taken away.

Something small and sparkling on the floor near the chair drew his attention. He picked it up.

It was the larger side of a gold link cuff-button, set with a small diamond. It had broken loose from its shank, half of which dangled from it, caught in a wisp of dark hair.

“It was hers, poor girl. It was broken off in the struggle for her life!” he groaned, and, kissing the tangle of dark, silken hair, he hid the precious souvenir against his heart.

Then he knelt down by the flapping curtains, pressed his lips on the dark blood-stains, lifted his pale, convulsed face to the silent heavens, and murmured, passionately:

“Gipsy, my darling, my lost love, whom I hoped to call my wife, lean down from heaven, love, and hear me! I swear, love, that I will bring home your murder to the vile criminal who struck you down in your youthful bloom, and bereaved me of hope and happiness. I will bring him to justice if it costs every dollar of my fortune and every drop of my heart’s blood, so help me Heaven!”

Rising, then, he passed silently from the room, back to his own, and flung himself down in a chair by the open window to resolve that ere to-morrow’s sun set he would put in motion the forces that would track the murderer to his lair.

The night waned and grew old. Weariness crept upon him like an armed man; he slept.

Dawn broke in glimmering streaks, a chorus of song-birds announced the new day. With their music blent the sound of loud, excited rapping on the door.

Sunk in weary slumber, he heeded nothing; lying back in his chair with shut eyes and pallid face, his curling locks damp with the night dews.

The door opened violently; Mrs. Ritchie rushed in and shook him with fierce hands.

“Wake up, wake up, Laurie Willoughby!” she cried, between anger and entreaty--then, as he opened his dark, dazed eyes, “How can you slumber here and let my poor Lelia die?”

He only stared at her stupidly, but half-awake.

She shook him again wildly, impatiently:

“Will you never wake up? Will you sleep on here and let my poor child die?”

He struggled to his feet, pushing her off, coldly.

“Why are you so rude? What is the matter?”

“Listen, Laurie, you must come with me to Lelia! She has taken poison to kill herself!” sobbing wildly, and wringing her hands.

He was on the alert in a minute.

“Have you called a doctor to the foolish girl?”

“Yes, yes--he is here! But he cannot do any good. Lelia refuses to take an antidote!”

“But why?”

“Don’t you understand, you foolish boy? She has poisoned herself for love of you, Laurie! She will not live without your love!” she screamed.

“She did not prize it when she had it!” he bitterly retorted.

“But that is all altered now. She knows its worth too late!”

She flung herself wildly on her knees:

“Oh, Laurie, has your heart turned to stone? Pity a mother’s despair and save my child! On but one condition will Lelia take the antidote--from your hand, and on the renewal of your promise of marriage. She swears it! And she is suffering all the agonies of the deadly poison. Come, come, if you are not a fiend at heart; save my darling’s life.”