CHAPTER XVIII.

“BEWARE!”

The clocks throughout the Raleigh mansion were just striking twelve the day after that exciting scene within its stately walls when the door bell rang, and Rosamond heard the sound of Bessie Vernon’s voice in the hall. She had given orders to the footman to show Mrs. Vernon up to her own room; so a few moments later that lady, in all the glory of a stylish brown velvet street suit, a big plumed hat shading her arch, piquant face, entered Miss Raleigh’s presence and sunk wearily into a seat.

“Oh, dear, I am tired to death!” she cried, when the greetings were over; “the demands of society are fearful upon a weak, delicate woman like me! You know, Rosamond, how we leaders of society are overworked. Why, we are perfect martyrs. I have attended five balls this week, the opera and theater, a flower show and a matinée. To-night is the Van Alstyne dinner, and to-morrow night I have promised to hear ‘Il Trovatore’ with Vernon’s old uncle, the rich Californian. Awful bore, and I know the opera by heart; but Charlie Stuart will be there, and I imagine I shall be able to pull through the evening. You did not appear at the Van Alstyne’s reception, Rosamond? I forgot to ask you why last night when I called, on my way to the reception, you know. I thought then that I had something to tell you--but, dear me! I went straight to the discovery of developments of a startling nature. I wish you had been there, Rosamond.”

Rosamond looked bored. She was out of temper this morning, that was plain to be seen.

“Mamma and I had a previous engagement,” she said, coldly, “and were compelled to decline. But tell me, Bessie, what it is that you have discovered? I am just dying to know. Something about Lenore--I think you intimated.”

Mrs. Vernon’s face assumed a look of awful solemnity.

“I shrink from telling you, Rosamond!” she said, in a stage whisper. “After all, Lenore is your own cousin, and it may have an influence upon your social standing.”

“What do you mean, Bessie Vernon?” Rosamond started to her feet, pale with anger. “Explain yourself!” she commanded imperiously.

Bessie laughed aloud, a clear, ringing, half-mocking laugh.

“Dear, dear! High tragedy and all that sort of thing! Beats Janauschek completely! Now, Rosamond, just be calm, and sit down quietly and listen to me. What I said, I meant; but you will understand me better later on when I have told my story. First, let me ask you a question: Have you ever heard of a Mr. Fayne--Mr. Cyril Fayne?”

Rosamond started uneasily.

“I have heard the name, I believe,” she returned, evasively.

“Well, then, possibly you may be better informed than I, and perhaps be able to account for the strange--the _remarkable_ intimacy between Mr. Cyril Fayne and Mrs. Lenore Van Alstyne.”

“Bessie!”

“Mrs. Lenore Van Alstyne!” repeated Bessie, laconically. “Rosamond, we are on the track at last of your cousin’s secret. We have long been convinced--you and I--that she had a secret, and I have found it out. That secret is her love--her guilty love--for Cyril Fayne!”

A slow, cruel smile crept over Rosamond’s fair face; her eyes flashed with a look which was neither sorrow nor regret; one small, pearly hand clinched itself involuntarily.

“Go on,” she said, slowly.

Bessie nodded.

“I was going on. I am prepared to tell the whole story--just what I know and saw and heard. I know that Lenore Van Alstyne wears Cyril Fayne’s portrait in a medallion--the chain riveted about her neck. I saw them alone together in the conservatory at Van Alstyne’s; she was in his arms, and he was kissing her for all he was worth! And lastly, I heard them lay a plot to elope to-night! There! What do you think of that?”

For a moment Rosamond Raleigh sat staring her visitor in the face, in blank horror too deep for expression.

At last:

“Bessie, this is--it must be--a practical joke of your own. And I think it very small in you, and decidedly bad form, knowing as you do how proud the Raleighs are.”

Bessie’s face flushed angrily.

“It is no practical joke, I assure you, Rosamond Raleigh!” she retorted. “And if you doubt me I can easily prove the truth of my words. You will be at the Van Alstyne dinner to-night, I suppose. It is the dinner for the foreign embassadors. I would not miss it for the world.”

Rosamond nodded.

“Of course we will have to attend, since we were not at the reception. And what is your plan, Bessie?”

Mrs. Vernon bent her head close to Rosamond’s ear and began to speak in low, cautious tones. When her story was done she rose to her feet.

“And now I really must go. I’ve some shopping to do, and time is flying. What do you think of my plan, Rosamond? Don’t you think it will be a grand _exposé_? Ah! I have waited and longed for this for many a long day. My time has come at last. There was never any love lost between Lenore Van Alstyne and myself, and I imagine that you know how to appreciate the situation also; for if I am not mistaken, you never loved her!”

“I hate her!” cried Rosamond, excitedly. “I have hated her always, and of late her cold, calm superiority has driven me nearly wild. I would give something to put down her pride and humble her as she deserves. All right, Bessie. We will be at the Van Alstynes’ to-night, and then the curtain will rise upon the overthrow--the everlasting disgrace and utter ruin of Lenore Van Alstyne.”

As the words left her lips she turned swiftly about. Something like a chill seemed creeping slowly over her, and a strange, subtle instinct warned her of another presence in the room. _What was it?_

She caught her breath with a gasp of horror, then shriek after shriek burst from her lips. For there before her--for bolts nor bars have no power over spirits--stood the apparition which had so persistently haunted her, and of which she had fondly persuaded herself she was rid forever--Noisette!

She held the amber satin panel in one shadowy hand; the other was uplifted with a warning gesture; upon the wan, white, shadowy face a look of angry menace. Slowly the pale lips opened and--oh, it was horrible to witness--the apparition spoke.

“_Lenore!_” it said, in a hollow voice. Then, after a moment’s pause, one more word broke the awful silence. That one word was: “_Beware!_”