CHAPTER VII.

ROSAMOND SPEAKS HER MIND.

Full of blank, wordless horror, Rosamond stood staring into the startled face of her companion, too terrified to move from the spot and shut out the awful scene.

And still the girlish figure at the window of the round room bent over its never-ending task; still the shadowy fingers wielded the brush, and the scarlet poppies and graceful vine tendrils grew beneath that ghostly touch upon the amber satin--grew and blossomed into artistic beauty, but never done--never to be done.

Shivering all over, like one with an ague, Rosamond Raleigh clutched the arm of her waiting-maid.

“Lillian!”--her teeth chattering like castanets as she attempted to speak--“it is Noisette, the girl who--who--died in this room two weeks ago! It is she; there is no mistake about it; no freak of the imagination, no fancy. It is Noisette Duval, the little French girl whom I took from the orphan asylum and treated like a sister. We gave her a home--a good home, only receiving in return her services as my maid, and stipulating that she should spend her spare time in painting little things--fans, sashes, dress panels, and such trifles. I was always kind to her, as kind as any one could be!”

Miss Raleigh came to a halt. It seemed to her as those words--those false, wicked words--passed her lips that a hand was laid upon her shoulder--a firm, detaining hand--which gripped the soft white flesh with a merciless clutch. Trembling violently, she burst into a flood of hysterical tears, sinking down upon the velvet-covered floor, with her white face buried in her cold, shaking hands.

“Oh, Lillian, I am haunted! I am haunted!” she sobbed, brokenly, at last. “I know it, I feel it! Whenever I enter this room I see her--see her sitting there at the window painting, painting away, with that dejected look upon her face so thin and wan and so unearthly white. Oh, Lillian! what shall I do?”

A strange courage, born of desperation, seemed to take possession of Lillian Leigh’s heart. She glanced fearfully in at the open door of the round room, then with a swift movement she crossed its threshold and entered the room.

Straight up to the window, looking neither to the right nor to the left, went Lillian. Her heart beat wildly, throbbing like a sledge-hammer in her frightened ears; but she went calmly over to where the apparition still was visible, and stooping, peered into the still, calm, unearthly face. Instantly there was a low sob, a faint moaning sound which fell upon the silence with a strange, despairing echo, and then the vision faded away--the apparition was gone! And nothing was left to tell the two terrified witnesses that there had been a ghostly visitant within the room--nothing, save the memory of that which they could not forget, which they would never forget as long as they both should live.

With a shudder Lillian went back to the other room, to the graceful figure in shimmering silk crouching upon the carpet, wringing white jeweled hands in wildest terror, while shudders like convulsions passed over her frame.

“Come, Miss Raleigh,” urged Lillian, venturing to lay her hand upon the bowed head, “let me help you to undress and put on a wrapper, and then I will brush out your hair, and try to help you to forget this thing. Oh, Miss Rosamond, there is nothing there! You can see for yourself. It is all dark now in the round room. There is nothing to fear--it is gone. Come, sit in this easy-chair, and try to be calm and brave.”

Trembling like an aspen, Rosamond lifted her head.

“I am afraid!” she whimpered, feebly, sobbing like a child who awakes in his sleep frightened and alarmed, full of shadowy fears of he knows not what.

She sat gazing about her for a brief space, then she staggered to her feet.

“Is it really gone?” she faltered. “Then I will--Oh, heavens! what is that?” with a shrill shriek which resounded throughout the silent house, as a sharp rap was heard upon the door of the room.

That was the last drop in the bucket; Rosamond’s self-control--such as it was--gave way, and shriek after shriek rent the silence, while poor Lillian stood like a statue, too terrified to move, not knowing what to do; afraid to open the door lest Rosamond’s shrieks should redouble in violence, yet to stand there and do nothing--good heavens! it was maddening!

“Rosamond,” called a voice through the key-hole, “for mercy’s sake, what is the matter? Open the door at once, I say! Are you being murdered in there?”

The shrieks were cut short in a twinkling. Rosamond started up, pale and breathless.

“It is mamma,” she panted, in a tone of relief, as she threw herself into an easy-chair, with clasped hands and a face so full of terror that it was a sight to behold.

Lillian flew to the door and unlocked it. Upon the threshold, in awful dignity and a flannel dressing-gown, stood Mrs. Raleigh.

“What--what is the matter?” she gasped, feebly. “I heard such a disturbance in here that I began to think the house was on fire, or some other awful calamity had occurred, so I left my bed, threw on a wrapper, and came here at once. Rosamond,” turning to her weeping daughter with a face full of alarm, “what has happened?”

And then, amid sobs and tears, and wild terror unsuppressed, Rosamond sobbed forth the story of the ghostly apparition. Her mother listened with undisguised contempt.

“A ghost? Bah! Rosamond Raleigh, I gave you credit for a little common sense! If ever I hear anything of this nonsense again, I shall tell your father. He will send you off somewhere into the country”--Rosamond shivered with disgust--“or to some place of retirement, and place you under a physician’s care, and we will see if your nerves will give way at every little strain. Rosamond Raleigh, you are a fool!”

She was a real Job’s comforter, Lillian thought; but perhaps it was the proper course to take. At all events, she knew the nature with which she had to deal. Rosamond dried her tears and leaned her head against the soft cushions of the chair, listening, with half-closed eyes, to her mother’s lecture.

Mrs. Raleigh went over to the door of the round room and threw it open. One glance and she turned away with a disdainful sniff. Darkness there, and nothing more.

“It was all a delusion--a foolish fancy!” she exclaimed, harshly.

“It was not, indeed, Mrs. Raleigh. I beg your pardon for contradicting you, but I saw it myself.”

Lillian could not refrain from this outburst of explanation. Mrs. Raleigh turned coldly upon her and transfixed her with a Gorgon stare.

“Did I address _you_, girl?” she demanded, severely. “We never permit servants to speak their minds in that way. You will have to learn your place if you remain in Miss Raleigh’s employ.”

“I do not know that I shall remain in Miss Raleigh’s employ,” returned Lillian, quietly. “I was engaged as companion, but find myself reduced to the position of waiting-maid. The position is not an agreeable one, and I was not educated and trained for a servant, Mrs. Raleigh.”

“Mamma,” sobbed Rosamond, beginning to turn on the water-works once more, “that girl will go away and will tell everybody that this house is haunted; and she will make Mr. Lyndon think me a horrible creature, and--”

“Mr. Lyndon, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Raleigh, with a look of disgust too deep for words to express. “And pray, who is Mr. Lyndon, that he should be of such importance, and his opinion so highly prized by Grafton Raleigh’s only daughter? Rosamond, I think you forget yourself! Jack Lyndon is only a poor newspaper _attaché_--a mere nobody, with neither money nor position--only a handsome face and a sharp tongue to call his own. He is the last man in the world to whom your father would be willing to give his daughter. You must be mad to think seriously of Jack Lyndon. Put it out of your mind at once and forever. He is a villain to try to win your heart.”

Rosamond started to her feet, pale and wrathful, overcome by anger which for a time was too deep for expression. Twice she opened her lips to speak before the words which she was striving to utter were suddenly hissed forth, sharp and shrill:

“Hush! Don’t say another word, mamma, for I will not listen. A villain! Jack Lyndon is the best and noblest man in the round world. And poor, without position though he may be, he is the only man for whom I have ever really cared, and--mamma, you may as well know it now as later--I intend to marry him.”

A low cry fell from Lillian’s lips. She could not forget his words to her so short a time before; his tender tone and the look upon his handsome face when he begged her to let him stand between her and the storms of life. And yet he must have said something which made Rosamond Raleigh believe that he cared for her, or she would never have spoken in that way. Mrs. Raleigh flashed about at the sound of that low cry, and her hard, cold eyes swept Lillian from head to foot.

“So you are in love with him too, are you?” she sneered.

Rosamond turned her steely eyes upon the shrinking girl.

“You must be mad,” she hissed, “if you imagine for a moment that Mr. Lyndon has ever thought seriously of you. He is kind to everybody, and treats all women alike. With the woman he loves, of course, it is different,” she went on, icily. “If he has ever spoken kindly to you, or noticed you in any way, it is because of the chivalry and deference of his nature, but anything further is absurd.”

And then memory reminded her with a cruel little stab of Jack Lyndon’s words to her that very evening. He had begged for a private interview with Lillian Leigh on the following morning, and the look in his eyes when he made the request of Rosamond revealed the secret of his heart. He loved a woman dearly, but it was not Rosamond Raleigh! And as Miss Raleigh remembered, her thin lips shut themselves closely together, and the small, cold hands clinched each other fiercely, while low under her breath she muttered, with angry emphasis:

“He shall not see her! He must not! I will manage it some way, and I shall get rid of her as soon as possible.”

So she turned to Lillian with a peremptory gesture.

“Go to bed!” she commanded, sternly. “Last night when I wished you to remain with me you made a great fuss; to-night you seem inclined to remain up till morning. Go to your own room. I shall not need you to-night, and I wish to talk with mamma.”

Thus summarily dismissed, Lillian said good-night briefly and took her departure, sore-hearted and sad in mind and body. What did it all mean? She had begun to trust Jack Lyndon implicitly, and to find out his treachery was a fearful blow. She closed the door of her room behind her and stirred the fire into a cheery blaze. Her eyes fell upon a card lying upon the table; she picked it up and read these words penciled upon it:

“If Lillian Leigh would gain a clew to the murderer of her father, let her be in the grounds by the east gate to-morrow night at nine precisely.”

Trembling like a leaf, Lillian read these words.

“A clew!” she panted, at last. “Can it be possible? What would I not do to gain possession of it? Oh, to find out the name of the dastardly wretch who took my father’s life I would be willing to lie down and die.”

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in Rosamond’s room, Mrs. Raleigh was talking away in a low, eager tone.

“You are right, Rosamond,” she said, excitedly, “Lenore Van Alstyne has a secret--a bad secret, I am certain. And _he_ does not know it--does not dream it--that pompous man who has bought her with his gold! She hates him, but he does not know why. Here, I found this in the dressing-room after the guests left last night. I saw it drop from Lenore’s pocket. Read it, Rosamond, and tell me what you think.”

She thrust a scrap of paper into Rosamond’s hand. Her face flushed with unholy triumph.