CHAPTER IV.

APRES!

Some one lighted the gas in a moment, and its yellow rays revealed a pale-faced, terrified group. Lillian, who had been sent to bring Mrs. Raleigh a fan, was standing in the open door of the library, pale as marble, one hand clutching the white satin fan with its delicate spray of wild roses, the handiwork of the girl who had gone to her long rest such a short time before; the other hand, cold and trembling, pressed tightly over her wildly throbbing heart; her big, dark eyes, dilated with horror, fixed blankly before her. Richard Raleigh crouched in a corner, glaring about him like a wild beast suddenly brought to bay, and prone upon the velvet-carpeted floor Lenore Van Alstyne lay in a dead swoon, and the old woman--fortune-teller or whatever she might be--had disappeared.

For a few moments everybody stood staring helplessly about them, too overcome by the shock of the surprise--the audacity of the affair--to collect their scattered faculties.

With a muttered execration, Richard Raleigh strode over to the door and caught Lillian by the arm.

“You are responsible for all this jugglery!” he hissed, his angry black eyes devouring the pale face of the shrinking girl. “You are to blame, Lillian Leigh, and rest assured that you shall suffer for it!”

The stately little head was crested proudly, and the dark, flashing eyes gave him back scorn for scorn.

“Take your hand from my arm, Mr. Raleigh!” the low, level voice commanded, calmly. “How dare you touch me? And as for your insulting words, you shall answer for them! My father--”

Good heavens! what had she been about to say? It came home to her, with a sharp, keen pang of bitter memory, that she who had never before been separated from her father, her protector and defender, was all alone. She had no father now--never any more! She had been so accustomed to look to him for help, for love, for protection, that for a brief moment she had lost sight of the cruel truth. Her heart turned to her father as the sunflower turns to the sun--and--she had no father now! With one swift, lightning stroke of memory the poor girl came back to the consciousness of her loss--that bitter, irretrievable loss--and she saw the blank, empty future stretched out before her eyes--without her father! Ah! cruel, cruel fate! To be bereft of his tender care--his loving words of counsel--his kindly guidance!

For just a moment the orphan girl forgot even Richard Raleigh’s dreaded presence, as the full knowledge of her desolation rushed over her heart like a swirling flood. But still Richard Raleigh gazed with bold eyes into her face, and still the stern, dark hand, crowned with a glittering diamond, clutched the girl’s white arm.

“Let go my arm, sir!” she commanded once more, in a low, scornful tone. “How dare you insult me?”

“Mr. Raleigh will be good enough to obey this lady’s command!” said a cool, low voice close by, and Lillian, turning swiftly, saw Jack Lyndon at her side. Not another word; but Raleigh’s grasp relaxed, and he loosened his hold; then, with a sneer, he turned upon his heel and left the room.

There was a great deal of excitement over Lenore, and, therefore, this scene had been almost unobserved. Senator Van Alstyne bustled forward, and lifting his wife’s graceful form as though she had been an infant, placed her carefully upon a sofa, while a group of pale, excited people gathered around, and restoratives were brought. But one pair of eyes had watched the scene between Lillian and Jack Lyndon--one pair of steely orbs, glinting now with anger too deep for words--and a white-robed figure, which hovered ever in the vicinity of Jack Lyndon, was trembling with excitement and jealous wrath.

“I will send that girl away to-morrow as surely as I live,” muttered Rosamond, low under her breath. “I will not be tormented by the sight of her any longer. And yet,” with a strange sinking of the heart, or “the muscular viscus” which did duty for that organ with Miss Rosamond Raleigh--“it would be just my luck to have Jack Lyndon fall desperately in love with her and marry her if I were to send her away--cast her adrift without a home. Oh, dear! was any woman ever so tormented before? First, I must lose my waiting-maid--ugh! I can’t get Noisette out of my mind!--and now Lillian gives me trouble. First one maid and then the other. One thing certain, and upon that point I shall be adamant hereafter: Lillian Leigh shall not be allowed to show herself among my guests. What evil genius sent her here at this particular juncture? Oh, yes!” catching sight of the white satin toy in the girl’s trembling hand, “mamma’s fan! It is the very last fan that Noisette painted. Ugh! there it is again. I can not forget for a moment. And now I think that Mr. Lyndon has had quite enough to say to my servant. I intend to put a stop to it.”

She glided swiftly over to the retired corner near the door where Lillian stood, while Jack Lyndon bent his handsome head and spoke in low, eager tones. He was learning the reason for her sudden and unexpected appearance at the Raleigh mansion.

“It is no place for you, Miss Leigh,” he said, gravely; “we must try to find you more suitable employment; and--and (pardon me, but I can not refrain from a few words of warning) it is better for you not to remain longer under the same roof with--”

“Lillian!” Miss Raleigh’s sharp, cutting voice broke in upon his low-spoken words with a suddenness that made her start. “What are you doing here? Don’t you see that mamma is suffering--absolutely suffering--for a fan? Go give it to her; and then,” in a low tone, “go up to my room and stay there!”

Lillian bowed. Well, of course Miss Raleigh was right. It was not Lillian’s place to stand among Miss Raleigh’s select and fashionable guests; she--a hired companion--waiting-maid--upper servant!

With a grateful “I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Lyndon,” Lillian glided away, leaving Rosamond, nothing loath, to take the place at Jack Lyndon’s side which she had just vacated.

“How annoying and unpleasant it is, Mr. Lyndon, to be troubled with servants who are above their stations, and who, in common parlance, ‘have seen better days.’ Now that girl really knows nothing of the duties and proprieties of her position here; and I want to be kind and gentle with her, yet I must be firm, and I fear that I have a disagreeable task before me. For it is so difficult to train such people without wounding their sensibilities; and when they once imagine themselves slighted or insulted, there is no hope of doing anything with them. And so,” with a pretty deprecatory gesture of the small gloved hands, “you see how it is.”

It was a slightly ambiguous speech, but it had its own effect. Jack’s conscience gave a queer little twinge of remorse.

He had been too hard in thought upon Miss Raleigh--too hard and stern, after all. She meant well--she did the best that she knew. And hers had been but a superficial and artificial education, a life without aim or object, an empty fashionable career, with only the false lights of pleasure and worldly amusements to lure her on.

How vapid and unsatisfying it must be. And he little dreamed--this grave young knight of the quill--that that same life of fashionable dissipation was Rosamond Raleigh’s highest ideal, filled every vacant corner of her heart, was, in fact, the only existence for which she cared, or which it was possible for her to know and be content. His grave eyes met her appealing glance kindly, and his voice took on a gentler tone as he returned:

“You have my sympathy in your grievous trials, my dear Miss Raleigh!”

A low cry resounded through the room and startled the two. Lenore had opened her eyes and returned to consciousness. She was struggling and panting and gasping for breath, her eyes--beautiful dreamy dark eyes--were dilated with horror; the small, cold hands were tearing wildly at the frosty white lace upon her breast, and she looked like one distraught.

“Take me away! take me away!” she panted, feebly. “Oh, Van!” burying her pale face upon the black coat-sleeve of the pompous senator--“has--has he gone?”

Van Alstyne bent his head and gazed into his wife’s frightened face with eyes full of undisguised wonder. He was coarse and red faced and hard featured, with small, ferret-like eyes and iron-gray hair and beard.

“Lenore!” in a deprecatory tone, “whom do you mean, dear? Don’t you remember you were frightened by an old woman--witch--beldame--whom your cousin Rosamond saw fit to introduce among her select guests. By Jove!” with a fierce assumption of dignity, “it has come to a pretty pass indeed if a man is compelled to meet such trash at the very first houses! Lenore, try to be calm. There is nothing to fear, you have had a fright--a foolish fright--followed by a fainting fit, which latter I must say does not surprise me. My dear, I never knew you to faint before but once,” he added, briefly, with a significant glance which brought the red blood to her pale cheek.

Ah, yes! she remembered that other swoon. Heaven knows she had reason to remember it. It had occurred at her own marriage. In memory she saw it all--went through the same scene once more. The brilliantly lighted church; the gay, glittering crowd; the bridal procession, with the bride, whiter than death itself, leaning upon the arm of the pompous bridegroom, while they made their triumphal exit from the sacred edifice, out to the long line of waiting carriages drawn up beside the curb; the crowd in the street without surging, swaying to and fro; and above all others one face--a face which appeared amid the throng, gazing upon her with great dark eyes full of mute reproach. One swift instant their eyes had met, and like one suddenly stricken dead, the bride fell to the pavement.

It all came back to her now in a swift, hurried flash; then there was a sudden transformation scene. Lenore Van Alstyne started to her feet. She looked like a galvanized corpse, but the pale lips shut themselves down closely, and the white hands clinched and unclinched each other fiercely; and then a light silvery laugh rang out, and she turned to the watching, lynx-eyed man at her side.

“Come, let us dance! Rosamond said that we should have the lancers, and now is as good a time as any. Waltz, did you say, Captain Burnham?” as a tall, soldierly man bowed before her with a few low, eager words. “Ah, pray excuse me from that. I am not very strong. My foolish nerves have played me a sad trick, and I do not feel equal to a waltz. But the lancers--I shall be delighted. Rosamond, _ma cousine_, where is the music?” turning as she spoke with a light laugh to meet Rosamond’s astonished gaze, as she still conversed with Jack Lyndon.

“Surely you are not able to dance, Lenore,” she was beginning; but Mrs. Van Alstyne cut the remonstrance short.

“Nonsense!” she cried, lightly.

And then Jack Lyndon found himself offering his arm to Miss Raleigh, and the business of dancing the lancers was begun.

But everything comes to an end sooner or later, and at last the reception was over; and Jack Lyndon, feeling very much as though he were awaking from an unusually fanciful dream, found himself on his way home, holding in his memory the half-whispered words of the heiress, Miss Raleigh:

“Don’t forget the opera to-morrow night! Call early, Jack--I beg your pardon--Mr. Lyndon,” a swift crimson tingeing her cheek.

After which he could not fail to catch a glimmer of the light of truth, and open his sleepy eyes to the suspicion that the cold, statuesque Miss Raleigh was really becoming interested in the poor journalist.

“Poor little Lillian!” was all that he said--and that certainly seems a strange remark to make, when we consider that Miss Raleigh was the object of his thoughts.

And at that very hour, in the Van Alstynes’ spacious mansion, Lenore was pacing up and down her own room, its door securely locked against intruders, her face pale as marble, all assumed gayety vanished, one hand clutching at her heart, as she murmured, brokenly:

“It must be--it must be true. It was his voice--I would know it anywhere. Oh! may Heaven have pity and let me die, for I am the most miserable woman in the whole world!”