CHAPTER XXIX.

DISCOVERED.

For a time the guests stood staring in utter consternation; then Van Van Alstyne started to his feet. The apparition had disappeared.

“My friends,” he began, trying to control his mad rage, “I pronounce this scene a bit of clap-trap and stage effect which is too ludicrous to be believed. I look upon the woman yonder,” pointing toward Lenore with such a look of hatred upon his face that he was absolutely repulsive--“as--as--”

He never finished. With one mad bound Cyril Fayne darted forward, but before he could lay his hands upon Van Alstyne the senator fell limply to the floor, stricken down by apoplexy.

* * * * *

Society rallied about Lenore, and did all in its power to make amends for what had occurred--all but Bessie Vernon, who refused stubbornly to acknowledge Lenore as an acquaintance. Rosamond Raleigh was very ill with brain fever, and in her delirium the burden of her cry was ever:

“Take her away--take her away! She is painting my ball-dress with her heart’s blood!”

And as time passed it began to be currently reported that the proud Miss Raleigh would never again recover the full use of her mental faculties. Old Arbuthnot appeared fairly infatuated, and hovered about the Raleigh mansion like an unquiet spirit. Presents of rare flowers, costly wines and dainty luxuries found their way daily to the Raleigh mansion, and were duly huddled into an anteroom out of Rosamond’s sight. It was a case of real affection upon the part of the railroad king, which brought tears of regret to Mrs. Raleigh’s eyes--regret because of the fear which possessed her that Rosamond would never be in a mental condition to accept Arbuthnot and his millions.

In the meantime Jack Lyndon did the coldly polite and courteous lover, calling once a day with punctilious courtesy to inquire after Rosamond’s health; but though he was told that in her delirium she called him to come to her, and although her mother hinted that a sight of him would please the sick girl, he made no effort to see her.

He looked as he felt--a disappointed man, a man who has risked all upon one venture and lost.

Lillian kept her own room continually; but she felt it her duty to offer to help nurse Rosamond, so it came about that she was installed there as assistant to Mrs. Raleigh.

One day that lady requested Lillian to go up to Richard’s room for a bottle of some particular lotion which had been placed there and forgotten.

“Run up there, please, Lillian,” urged the now quite urbane mother-in-law. “You will find the bottle in the closet in the corner of Rick’s room, near the fire-place. He is not there. The idea of your shrinking from entering your own husband’s room on an errand! Richard has gone to see Doctor Thompson. A consultation between a half dozen physicians is to be held over Rosamond to-morrow, and he has gone to appoint the hour. Make haste and get the lotion, Lillian; I must not neglect Rosamond for a moment.”

So Lillian left the room and went reluctantly to that which Richard Raleigh occupied. The door-bell had been muffled and all noises hushed on account of the sufferer; so Lillian did not hear the outer door open, and was not aware of Jack Lyndon’s presence in the house until she saw him coming swiftly, silently up the staircase straight to where she stood. It was too late to retreat, so she stood her ground, greeting him with a cool nod, and answering his questions as to Rosamond’s state with swift conciseness.

“Jack Lyndon did not murder your father, and he loves you as he loves his own soul!”

She remembered the words, and her heart almost broke with its burden of anguish. She turned away, but Jack caught her hand in his own.

“Stay! Just a moment, Lillian--Mrs. Raleigh!” he corrected himself. “I have never had an opportunity to speak with you before since the late unpleasant events. Lillian, tell me, why do you hate me so?”

Her eyes met his with a look of terror.

“Hate you? I do not. I never can,” she faltered, and before he could recover from his surprise she flitted past him, down the long hall to the room which was occupied by Richard Raleigh. For just a moment she hesitated before the door, a feeling of intense repugnance creeping over her. Then she remembered Mrs. Raleigh’s peremptory order; she laid her hand upon the knob, and opened the door softly, slowly.

The room was vacant. A strange sensation crept over the girl’s heart; a feeling that something was about to happen.

“What is the matter with me?” she exclaimed, impatiently. “I feel like a detective on the track of a criminal, and who has nearly hunted him down!”

Just then her eyes fell upon an object which lay upon Richard’s desk--a large, roomy escritoire which stood beside a window. It was a pencil, an odd-looking affair of gold, in a long, flat shape, which terminated in a snake’s head, with two tiny rubies for eyes.

“Papa’s pencil!” she panted, in a low, horror-stricken voice. “Papa’s gold pencil, the one that he carried for so many years, and that he used to say he meant me to have. How came it here? How came it in Richard Raleigh’s possession?”

She turned it slowly over in her trembling fingers, then she returned it to the desk.

“He must explain how that pencil came into his possession,” she said, resolutely. “I will know!”

She moved slowly across the room to the closed door beside the fire-place and opened it swiftly. Her face was pale with excitement, and her heart beat fast.

One glance into the interior revealed a large closet in the wall, with a row of shelves at the back. There was no sign of the bottle for which she had been sent, and Lillian turned to the shelves and began to search for it there. Still no sign of its whereabouts. Only a box remained to be searched--a large box which stood below the row of shelves. Though much against her will, Lillian at last lifted the lid and began to glance over the contents.

A suit of men’s clothing rolled into a bundle. Half consciously she turned it over. It was a plain, dark business suit, but stained with mud and water, as though the clothing had fallen into a gutter, and, rolled up inside the bundle, a book, the sight of which made Lillian cry aloud with mad horror and despair.

“Papa’s book!” she panted, brokenly, “the book for which he went back to the office that night and never returned--only his dead body all bruised and blackened from a murderer’s clutches. What does this mean?”

She opened the book swiftly, eagerly. A note fell from its pages--a note in Richard Raleigh’s handwriting, and signed by his name, begging Gilbert Leigh not to expose him to the world; acknowledging himself as a forger and embezzler; but adding that if the truth were known, and the house of Raleigh & Raleigh should cast him off, he would be ruined beyond redemption. How came that book in his possession? The awful question struck to her heart like a blow.

She staggered to her feet, still grasping the book in one trembling hand; and turning swiftly about, she stood face to face with Richard Raleigh.

Silence--the dead, unbroken silence of the grave. He stood like one turned to stone, his dark eyes blazing with a lurid light.

“Richard Raleigh!” her low voice was full of wordless horror, “your bad, black secret has come to light at last. I am going now to denounce you. False villain, your hour has come!”

She left the room, carrying the book in her hand. Still Richard Raleigh never spoke, never moved. When she was gone he started suddenly, like one aroused from a bad dream. Going over to the door of the room, he locked it securely.