CHAPTER XXIV.

GONE TO HER DOOM.

Richard Raleigh had sent a message by a servant to Lillian, requesting her to come down to the drawing-room for a few moments. He had made up his mind that she must be his wife at once. There were reasons--grave and imperative reasons--why the marriage should take place immediately.

Grafton Raleigh, writhing under the burden of conscious guilt which he carried ever with him, awaited Lillian’s appearance with as much feverish impatience as Richard himself.

Up and down the great library paced Grafton Raleigh, his hands folded behind his back, his pale face full of moody light as he paced to and fro, listening intently for some sound from the drawing-room which would tell him that Lillian had obeyed the summons.

But there was no light footstep upon the staircase, no low, sweet voice was heard, no sign of Lillian’s coming. Grafton Raleigh halted at the door of the library, which stood slightly ajar, and bent his head to listen. Down the stairs at last came the echo of footsteps, slow and measured; a moment more and the servant who had been sent to summon Lillian paused before Richard, who had hastened into the entrance hall to meet him.

“Well, what was Miss Leigh’s answer,” he demanded, hurriedly; “is she coming?”

He was too eager and anxious to appear his usual cold, stately self. The man’s stolid face wore a look of surprise.

“If you please, Mr. Richard,” he returned, obsequiously, “the young lady is not there!”

“Not there! What do you mean?” cried Richard, harshly.

At sound of his angry voice Grafton Raleigh stepped out into the hall. The man bowed deprecatingly.

“Miss Leigh is not in her room, sir, I assure you,” he said. “I rapped at the door several times, but received no answer, and then I asked Felice to go in and look. She rapped, and still no answer. She then ventured to open the door, which was not locked, and she reported to me that Miss Leigh was not in her room. The fire is out, and no trace of Miss Leigh, so Felice reported; and then I came down at once to you, Mr. Richard.”

Richard’s face was as pale as death. He dismissed the servant and followed his father into the library. Once alone in the room, the two men stood staring at each other with eyes full of blank bewilderment and horror too deep for words.

“She has gone away to escape me!” panted Richard, angrily. “The girl must be mad! Or, father, some one may have told her--all!”

Grafton Raleigh shook his head slowly.

“Hardly. Who would tell her--even granted that any one _knows_? And no one knows but you and I, Rick; for even if Bess Vernon suspects, she really knows nothing certain. Besides that, she has not seen or had access to Lillian since she was here this morning. Richard, the girl has not gone far, and you must find her!”

Richard started.

“You are right!” he said. “And if I find her I will bring her back to this house my wife!”

Grafton Raleigh nodded.

“Do so by fair means or foul!” he panted, hoarsely. “She must marry you! There is no loop-hole of escape for us save through your marriage with Lillian Leigh. To this end I have partially consented to Rosamond’s foolish affair with Lyndon. Richard, does it strike you that Jack Lyndon does not care for Rosamond? I am certain that he does not, and that he has sought her in marriage either because he expects to marry a fortune with Rosamond Raleigh or he ‘has an ax of his own to grind.’”

Richard’s face grew dark.

“I know nothing concerning Mr. Lyndon’s affairs,” he said, stiffly, “and I care less! My business at present is to find Lillian, and bring her home my wife! She _must_ consent! We must succeed in this scheme, father, or we shall be utterly ruined. I am going now to search for her. Living or dead, I shall find her!”

He left the house, pale and anxious, his eyes full of an ominous light, his lips compressed sternly under the shadow of his silky mustache.

“Living or dead, I will find her!” he muttered, as he hastened down the long street.

Where was poor Lillian? The anguish and suffering which she had endured since her reluctant consent to a marriage which Richard Raleigh had wrung from her unwilling lips could not be overestimated. Utterly alone, forsaken, friendless, her whole heart clung to the memory of Jack Lyndon with all the strength of its pure devotion. Yet he, the man she loved, had been accused by Richard Raleigh of being her father’s murderer. Could it be possible? The more that Lillian reflected upon the dreadful question, the more convinced was she that before binding herself to Richard Raleigh by the ties of marriage it was but right and proper, and only justice to Jack, to confront him with the question, “Are you guilty or not guilty?”

The more the poor girl studied this problem, the more clear and plain did her course appear to her. She walked the floor of her room for hours, suffering intensely while she reflected upon the matter.

“Why not go to Jack and ask him?” she panted, wildly, at last; “why not see him alone and accuse him, and mark the effect of my accusation, and at least give him an opportunity to prove his innocence?”

And so at last she decided. She dressed herself hurriedly, the deep mourning-garments making her look pitifully pale and fragile, and at last she left her room and went softly down the servants’ stairs and out of the house unnoticed. Once in the street, she turned in the direction of the office of the “Thunderer.” But by the time she had reached the imposing building her heart failed her, her courage ebbed away, and she dared not enter. After all, it was an awful thing to do--to seek a man in his private office and accuse him of the crime of murder--the man who had only a few days before told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. She thought of that, and then of his present engagement to Rosamond Raleigh, and the small hands clinched themselves tightly together, and the white teeth sunk sharply into her under lip with fierce intensity as she hurried away from the vicinity.

She passed most of the day wandering through the most unfrequented quarter of the city, not caring to return to the Raleigh mansion and the man for whom she felt only aversion, yet whose promised wife she was. At last, after much indecision, when the afternoon was far spent, she found herself ascending the long flight of stairs which led to the office of the “Thunderer,” determined to know the worst.

“Come in!” called a well-known voice, in response to the timid tap upon the great oaken door which shut out the editorial sanctum from view. The door swung slowly open and Lillian crossed the threshold. Jack Lyndon sat at a huge desk covered with papers, briskly engaged in getting ready a leader for the next issue. He turned, and as his eyes fell upon the pale, pitiful face he threw down his pen and started to his feet.

“Lillian--Miss Leigh!”--in an agitated voice--“do you--wish--to--to--”

“To speak with you for a few moments upon matters of importance,” she supplemented. “Yes, Mr. Lyndon.” Then a pause. “Jack! Jack! tell me that you are not guilty! I had rather die a thousand deaths than believe you guilty.”

All the pride of Jack Lyndon’s honest nature was up in arms in a moment. His face flushed crimson and then grew as pale as death. He put out his hand instinctively and clutched at the desk beside him for support.

“I deny your right to arraign me, Miss Leigh,” he was beginning, haughtily. “The crime of which I am guilty--”

The door was thrown open at that very instant, cutting his speech in twain. He had been about to say: “The crime of which I am guilty is loving you too well.”

The interruption was disastrous to Jack, for it was Richard Raleigh who stepped into the room.

“Lillian! Lillian!”--eagerly, anxiously--“I have sought you everywhere! Mother is very ill, and Rosamond absent. We need you at home. Come.”

He drew her hand passively through his arm, and without another word led her away. Once outside in the street, Richard turned and faced Lillian with eager, burning eyes.

“Lillian, listen!” he said. “I have a strange request to make of you. I want to make you my wife--now--within the hour. There is a church just around the corner; the clergyman, an old friend of mine, is there this moment. Let us go there and be married at once. Will you consent, Lillian?”

She thought of Jack’s words just spoken, and her wan face grew white with despair.

“As you will,” she answered, faintly.

They passed on and entered the church together.