CHAPTER XXI.
IN AMBUSH.
“Come up to your room, Rosamond. See! I have given you one across the hall from mine. Our guests will arrive shortly, and Arnold is down in the drawing-room, waiting with as much patience as a man usually bestows upon his wife. Make haste, dear, and get off your wraps, while I run down and pacify him.”
And Bessie Vernon, just arrived at the handsome home which claimed her as its mistress, flitted from the room.
Rosamond laid aside her hat and wrap, and seated herself before the cheerful fire in the pretty blue-and-gold chamber--a triumph of modern art and æsthetic taste.
“Jack will be surprised,” she said to herself, as she leaned her head against the puffy blue satin chair-back and closed her eyes languidly. “But he will call to-night to join our party bound for the Van Alstyne dinner. And after that--” She arose slowly to her feet, and moved over to the window, her face full of triumph, and her eyes shining with malice--the malice of a woman who hates another with all her heart, and sees a way open to vent her cruel spite upon her. “Ah! Lenore Van Alstyne,” she hissed, bleakly, “you have had your day--my turn is coming now. You have queened it over me in the past, it is my hour of triumph now. I hate her--the cold, proud, grand lady, who makes us all feel our inferiority; but I shall be even with her yet. I see the way open before me.”
She hated Lenore with all the hatred of which her narrow mind was capable. Her nature was cruel and vindictive, and she would leave no stone unturned to humiliate the woman so much her superior. A rap at the door of her room made her turn swiftly.
“Let me in, Rosamond!” called Mrs. Vernon’s voice through the key-hole. “I want to tell you something.”
A little later Rosamond and her hostess were sitting before the fire, while Bessie chattered volubly away.
“He is coming here to-night, after the Van Alstyne dinner--Mr. Arbuthnot, I mean, Rosamond--and, dear me, you incorrigible girl! you pretend not to understand; but I mean--here it is in plain English--I mean that you shall marry him!”
“Bessie!”
“I mean that you shall become Mrs. Arbuthnot before many months are past,” repeated Mrs. Vernon, impressively. “Your coming here is just providential. I had been wanting you here for Mr. Arbuthnot’s visit, and fate has decreed that you should come.”
“But, Bessie, I--”
“Oh, yes! I suppose it is quite in order for you to respectfully decline, etc., but all the same I will wager that you will marry Mr. Arbuthnot. True, he is old, but money, like charity, covers a multitude of sins and short-comings. And, besides, you will stand a chance of being a rich widow some day--a real queen--living in royal state. In which case you will not forget your old friend Bess. Eh, Rosamond?”
Rosamond laughed uneasily.
“You are speaking of impossibilities,” she returned, coldly. “I may as well tell you now as later. My affections are already engaged. I love one of the noblest men in the world,” she added, with a tragical air.
Mrs. Vernon arose to her feet, and with both white jeweled hands uplifted in dumb surprise, turned slowly around upon one foot, like a revolving automaton, and gazed full into Rosamond’s anxious face. Then she burst into a peal of silvery laughter.
“Rosamond, you are the funniest girl--just too awfully funny for anything. Your affections! Who in the world said anything about affections? I was speaking of marriage. You love the noblest man, and so on. Dear, dear! you’ll be the death of me, Rosamond! And, come what may, I still adhere to my opinion that you will win old Arbuthnot, the railroad king. He is already interested in you. He saw you with me one day, when we were driving in the park, and he asked me afterward who you were. Said that he had never seen a more queenly lady, and that there was something about you which reminded him of the late Mrs. Arbuthnot.”
Rosamond shuddered.
“Don’t, Bessie!” she cried, angrily. “I will tell you plainly that I--I care more for Mr. Lyndon than for any man in the universe.”
Bessie shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of mock surprise.
“The end of the world is at hand,” she exclaimed, laughingly. “Now, Rosamond, you know as well as I that you will never marry that newspaper scribbler--never! No, not though you go to your grave unwedded, which I am certain is an act of which you will never be guilty. Why, it is perfectly laughable. The idea of you, only daughter of Grafton Raleigh, millionaire, to think seriously for one moment of a poor newspaper scribbler! Of course I understand; it is merely a jest of yours, Rosie. And now I am going to ring for refreshments. We will have a cozy lunch together, after which it will be time to dress for the affair at Van Alstyne’s.”
* * * * *
The great dining-hall of the Van Alstyne mansion was brilliantly illuminated. The sheen of light fell athwart the long table with its glittering array of gold and silver, and brought out into strong relief the gorgeous uniforms of the foreign officers and the rich toilets of the ladies.
At the head of the table sat Lenore, in a robe of rich black lace, through which her snowy arms and shoulders gleamed like polished marble. Inky black was the entire costume, lighted up by the shimmering topaz ornaments that she wore--yellow and uncanny. Her face was as pale as death, save for a round red spot which looked like the hectic flush of fever. Her eyes were calm and proud as they swept the glittering assemblage, her red lips slightly curling as though with utter scorn. Rosamond and Mrs. Vernon watched her with furtive eyes. Rosamond in pale-blue silk and white lace, Bessie in a bewildering combination of scarlet and gold. Mr. Arbuthnot had been duly presented to Rosamond, who saw before her a red-faced, rather pompous-looking old man who seemed to feel the dignity of his own position; and also he seemed to be really attracted by Miss Raleigh’s charms. At last the banquet was at an end, and the guests filed back to the drawing-room. The clocks all over the great house struck the hour of ten.
* * * * *
“Cyril, I am here.”
“Lenore! Oh, I feared that something was wrong, that all had been discovered and our flight prevented. For it is better for you that we go away quietly. But, Heaven be praised, you have come at last! My darling, I have waited not so very long when the time is computed by moments, but counted by the suffering of suspense which I have endured, it has been an eternity. Lenore, are you ready to go at once? Thornton’s yacht is down in the harbor and the boat is waiting to take us thither. You leave no regrets behind, Lenore?”
She laughed, a low, scornful laugh.
“Regrets? Good heavens! This is the real beginning of my life! Cyril, I have taken nothing which that man ever gave me. I have left my jewels, my wardrobe--all; this plain merino dress was purchased with money of my own, which I earned before I ever saw Van Van Alstyne. Nothing of his goes with me. Come, I am ready. The air of this place--his possessions--stifle me. You have written the letter, Cyril?”
“I have written the letter. Senator Van Alstyne will find it in his room whenever he sees fit to enter it. And then he will learn the whole truth, and he will know that I am only claiming my own--that there is no sin--no crime in the step which we are taking. Lenore, love of my life, let us go!”
In the shrubbery close beside them three dark forms were crouching, watching the scene in perfect silence--Bessie Vernon, Rosamond Raleigh, and Senator Van Alstyne.