CHAPTER XXI.

THAT NIGHT.

"Come, madness! come with me, senseless death! I cannot suffer this! Here, rocky wall, Scatter these brains, or dull them!"--DE MONTFORD.

About an hour before the storm burst upon the island, Edgar Courtney, the victim of his own diabolical passions, reached it unseen and unobserved. "You will await my return here," he said, as he was moving away. "I must be back in N---- before morning."

"Don't know 'bout that," said the boy who had taken him over; "there's an awful storm rising; but if you ain't afeared to venture, I ain't."

Mr. Courtney glanced at the dark, sullen sky, but what was the storm without compared with the storm within? Leave the island he must before morning, so he replied:

"I must go back, let it storm as it will. You can remain here sheltered under these rocks till I come back."

And wrapping his cloak around him, he moved swiftly away, and concealed himself behind some overhanging trees to await the result.

The spot where he stood commanded a view of the sea on all sides. And, therefore, when in the deepening gloom, some hours after, he saw a boat approach the isle, containing the form of a woman, he had not a single doubt as to who that woman was.

Oh, the demoniac look that his face wore at that instant! His face upturned to the bleak light was that of a fiend.

Blinded by his passions, he did not observe, as in a calmer moment he might have done, even in the gloom, the difference between this tall figure and that of his wife. He only saw a woman landing on the isle, springing up the rocks, and disappearing in the darkness, and who but Laura would have ventured to the isle that stormy night.

When the night fell in more than Egyptian darkness, accompanied by wind, and lightning, and rain, he made his way blindly through it all to the trysting-place; and, sheltered behind a friendly rock, he crouched down like a panther waiting for its prey.

"She will not come in this storm--she cannot; you will wait in vain," said the voice of Reason, faintly trying to make itself heard.

"She will come--she will!" said Jealousy. "She has braved the storm to come to the island; and, though fire should fall from heaven, she will keep her tryst. Wait! wait! and you will have your revenge."

And the demon voice conquered.

* * * * *

Meantime, how went the night in the widow's cottage?

When--wet, dripping, soaked through--Carl reached the cottage, his first care was to change his wet clothes, and seat himself at the table, where a smoking supper awaited him.

Mrs. Tom held up her hands in wonder and amazement when she heard that Sibyl had braved all that furious storm to come to the isle.

"The girl must be clean crazy," she ejaculated, "to venture on the stormy sea such a night! I do wonder, though, what brought Miss Sibyl here to-night?"

"Dunno," said Carl, speaking with his mouth full of griddle-cake. "She was talking sort o' crazy in the boat. 'Spect' she thought that Mr. Drummond was here."

Christie, whose white fingers were, as usual, flying busily, as she plied her needle, suddenly flushed to the temples, and then grew paler than before. She knew what had brought Sibyl to the island, though she had hardly fancied she would have ventured out in such a storm.

"Oh, I wish it had been clear to-night!" she thought, lifting her head, and listening anxiously to the howling tempest.

Lem, true to his promise, had faithfully delivered Drummond's note to Christie unobserved. But would he come in all this storm?

Some vague rumor had reached her ear that Miss Campbell, the beauty and heiress, was soon to be the bride of Willard Drummond. She did not believe it; it was too monstrous, too dreadful; the bare possibility of such a thing was maddening. But Sibyl loved him, and might cherish hopes that could never be realized; and Christie felt it her duty, despite her promise, to put an end to all these hopes, once and forever, by proclaiming their marriage. Therefore, she had seized the first opportunity, and sent the note before mentioned by Captain Campbell.

By this time Carl Henley had dispatched his supper; and laboring under a vague impression that some one would be in presently to carry him off by force, as Mr. Drummond had done on a previous occasion, he made a hasty exit up the ladder to bed, firmly resolving not to go out again, though Aunt Tom should pull every hair out of his head.

And when he was gone, Mrs. Tom, having secured the windows and doors, drew up her wheel, and sat down to spin. And Christie, with cheeks flushed, and eyes bright with anxiety and impatience, sewed on in silence, replying vaguely and at random to the stream of smalltalk kept up by Mrs. Tom.

There were many anxious thoughts passing through the mind of the young girl. Why had Willard been absent for so long a time?--why had he appointed this strange midnight meeting?--would he venture on the sea in night and storm; and, if he came, what could his visit and note portend? His manner had changed so of late, that, in spite of herself, the conviction that he already repented of his hasty marriage forced itself upon her with a pang like the bitterness of death.

"Oh, I might have known," was her inward cry, "that he, so rich, so handsome, possessing the love of one so beautiful as Sibyl Campbell, could never be content with poor little me! Oh, I might have known he would tire of me; but I was crazed, and believed all he told me. Something warned me it would, sooner or later, come to this; but now that it _has_ come, it does not make it any easier to bear."

"Well," said the voice of Mrs. Tom, at this instant breaking upon her reverie, as she stopped her wheel with a jerk and looked sharply into Christie's face--"I would like to know what's got into you to-night! Here I've asked you three blessed times to hand me that there gownd, an' you don't mind me any more than if I was the cat. S'pose it's the latest fashion not to answer your elders when they speak to you? What is the matter with the gal?"

"I didn't hear you," faltered Christie, turning scarlet; "my head aches. Please excuse me; I didn't mean to offend."

"Better go to bed, then, if you head aches. Time we was all in bed, for that matter. No use sittin' up a-wastin' of candles, when we can get up airly in the morning jist as well. Gemimi! how it blows!" said Mrs. Tom, as she slipped the bands off her wheel and carried it over to its accustomed corner.

Glad of the permission, Christie arose and began arranging her bed on the wooden settle in the kitchen, where she slept. And Mrs. Tom, who preferred sleeping by herself, sought her own couch, where, by the combined effects of a light heart and a clear conscience, she was soon in the land of dreams.

Relieved of the presence of the inquisitive old lady Christie wrapped herself in her mantle, tied on her hood, and softly opened the door. The storm was at its height, and the sudden entrance of a rush of wind and rain, sent all the loose articles lying about, whirling through the room.

It was awful to venture out in such a storm; but, had the tempest raged twice as wildly, the faithful, loving child-wife would have braved it all, to meet him, she loved.

Exerting all her strength, she closed the door after her without arousing the sleepers, and quitted the house she was never destined to enter more.

On--through the falling rain, the driving wind, the vivid lightning--she plunged, making her way blindly through it all. It was well she knew the road she was traversing, and could pursue her way as well at midnight as at noonday, or she would never have been able to follow that tortuous, rocky path.

But, shrinking, and blinded by the rain, at times she was forced to stop and cover her face in her mantle; and anon, at some more furious blast that would have whirled her away as though she had been a feather, she grasped some projecting rock or tree, to protect herself from being blown over the crags; but still she toiled on to her destination.

"Will he be there?" she said, wildly. "Oh, if after all he should not come! It seems madness, for me to expect him in such a storm; but, if he should, it would never do for me to be absent. Oh, saints in heaven! what lightning," she said, as pale with terror, she hid her face in her hands.

But there was no time to pause--even now, he might be waiting for her, on the beach; and still, on through night, and rain, and storm she pressed, until at last, drenched, dripping, and totally exhausted, she gained the wet, slippery beach.

Half dead, with cold and exhaustion, she sank on a rock, and cowered beneath the pitiless blast. The dull booming of the waves near sent a thrill of nameless awe and horror, into her very soul.

She could not long sit there, exposed to the peltings of the storm; so, wrapping her mantle still more closely around her, she rose with a shiver, and strove to pierce through the thick darkness, in search of that loved form.

In vain! The gloom of Hades could not be deeper than that which enveloped every object.

But, at that instant, there came a flash of lightning, illuminating, for a single moment, with a blue, unearthly glare, the bleak, slippery shingle, and revealing the black, heaving sea, with its foam-crested billows. Nothing more. As far as she could strain her eyes, no living thing but herself, stood on the shore.

"Oh, why does he not come?" was her heart's agonized cry. "Does he not know, in spite of storm and tempest, I am awaiting him here?"

Another flash of lightning, revealing the dark, deserted beach, the wildly shrieking ocean, and a pair of gleaming, serpent-like eyes, watching from behind a rock, revealing the slight, delicate form of a female standing alone on the shore.

"Oh, he will not come! I know it! Shall I stay here longer, or shall I go home!" thought Christie, in an agony of doubt.

Still another lurid blaze of flame! And now, looking up, she uttered a cry of joy; for the tall figure of a man, wrapped in a cloak, was seen descending the rocks, coming toward her.

"Oh, he is here! he is here!" was her joyful cry. "Dearest, dearest Willard! I knew you would come!" And springing forward she threw herself into his arms.

He did not speak--he did not move--only he drew a step back and folded his arms over his breast.

"Dearest Willard! I feared you would not come; but, oh! I am so glad you are with me once more!" And her encircling arms clasped him closer, while her sunny head sank on his breast.

With the storm within and the storm without, he heard not, heeded not the name of Willard. But another flash of heaven's fire showed him a slight, slender form, with the shining, golden hair of his faithless wife.

And now, for the first time, she noticed his strange silence; and lifted her sweet face in surprise, saying:

"What is the matter? Why do you not speak to me? What have I done? Oh, I am so sorry, if I have angered you. What, what have I done? Oh, indeed, I love you more than life!"

His teeth closed together with a galvanic snap, his eyes were like two living coals set in a ghastly skull, and his hand clutched something within the folds of his cloak with a convulsive grasp.

And still she clung to him, and still he maintained that strange silence.

"Tell me what I have done? Speak to me, or I shall die!" she cried out, in anguish and terror. "Oh, indeed, I love you better than any one in the world! I would die sooner than offend you!"

"Die, then!" fairly shrieked the maddened man; "die, since your own lips have proclaimed your guilt!" And clutching her fiercely by the throat, he plunged the hidden knife into her side.

One piercing, terrific shriek, and she sank writhing, quivering at his feet in mortal agony. And the wretched maniac above her unable to speak, or move, or think, with distending eyeballs, glazing eyes--his ghastly face like that of the dead--his trembling hands red with her life-blood--stood rooted to the ground, caring not, feeling not the furious storm now.

Was she dead? Would that wild, appalling shriek be repeated? He listened, palsied with horror. Naught met his ear but the shrieking of the warring elements.

Just at that instant there came a blaze of lightning, as though heaven and earth were on fire, and he beheld that little, child-like form lying stiff and rigid at his feet, the head fallen back; the blue lips parted, as if from them the quivering soul had taken its flight; the arms lying limp and lifeless by her side; the bright, golden hair, half shading, the cold, beautiful face, on which the pitiless rain wildly beat.

All his jealousy, his hatred, passed away with that pitiful sight; and the passionate love, the adoring worship his heart had first felt for her returned like a swelling flood. The memory of the time when she had left home, and friends, and all, to fly with him--when she had first been his loved and loving bride--bright, happy, and beautiful--came back in overwhelming force. And now she was dead--dead by his hand!

"Oh, Heaven! what have I done? Oh, my wife! my wife! my beautiful murdered Laura! Oh, what have I done? My love! speak--look up! live for me once more! Oh, she is dead! and I am her murderer!" And with a shriek of agony, the wretched man fell prone on his face beside her.

But now there came another sound more terrible than all else. Swollen by the heavy rain, the sea was rising on the island.

With the roar of a beast of prey, the furious waves, lashing themselves into foam, rushed upon the shore. It recalled the miserable assassin from his frenzy of despair; and with the instinct of self-preservation that never deserts us while life remains, he seized the cold, stark form, and fled wildly up the beach.

But just then--had the infernal regions yielded up their hosts to pursue him?--a human form, bearing tin figure of a woman, revealed by the quick flashes of lightning, came flying toward him, her uncovered hair streaming in the gale---her wild eyes glaring with the fires of madness.

Her eyes fell upon him and his bleeding burden at the same instant; and throwing up her arms, with a piercing cry of "Murder! murder!" that pealed high above the raging of the storm, she fled in the direction of Campbell's Lodge.

That appalling cry, that awful apparition, drove the last spark of reason from his maddening brain. With a perfect yell of terror, he flung his lifeless burden on the rocks, and fled from the spot as if pursued by the avenger of blood.