CHAPTER IX.

DECEIVED.

“LENORE,--Must see you. Failing in that, I will write you to-morrow.

CYRIL.”

Those were the words written upon the scrap of paper which Mrs. Raleigh eagerly displayed to her daughter. Rosamond glanced the note over, and, crumpling it fiercely in her hand, she lifted her eyes to her mother’s face.

“Well, it is evident that she has a secret with a vengeance!” sneered Rosamond, “for there is something behind all this, I am sure. And it is no ordinary flirtation or escapade, for Lenore never flirts, and is scrupulously exact in her behavior. Mamma, this is a clew to the mystery which hangs around Lenore Van Alstyne; I am sure of it! Let me keep this paper. I will watch her closely and wait in patience, and if I am not greatly mistaken there will be developments before long. I never did fancy Lenore’s reticence in regard to the early part of her life. You know she lived in Europe with a relative of her father’s, who afterward died, leaving her alone and dependent upon us. But she never speaks of her girlhood’s days or her life in Europe. If I chance to refer to that time she changes the subject as hastily as possible; and I have seen her grow pale and shudder perceptibly when I happened to mention the subject. I should say that whatever her secret may be, it must have occurred some time early in her life, about her sixteenth or seventeenth year.”

Mrs. Raleigh nodded.

“I believe you are right,” she said; “and now, Rosamond, you had better retire. These continued late hours are wearing upon you, and you are beginning to look jaded and--and--old! I will stay with you to-night; you are lonely and afraid.”

“Do,” in a tone of relief. And so at last Rosamond Raleigh’s head rested upon her pillow, but the wide-open eyes staring into the darkness found no sleep. They saw ever before them that pathetic little figure, the shadowy hands working ever on, so patient--so piteously patient--even like the fates weaving away at their never-to-be-completed web. The memory of the vision in the round room haunted Rosamond Raleigh sleeping or waking, and when morning came she arose pale and unrefreshed, feeling as though life were a veritable burden. As soon as breakfast was over she summoned Lillian.

“I want you to go down-town on an errand for me, Lillian,” she began. “Here is a note to Madame Dupont, my milliner. She has removed to a place quite out of the world, I should say. Take the note and bring me a reply. If she is not in wait for her return.”

Lillian was more than willing to go. It was a crisp, wintery morning, and a walk--even so long a walk--would do her good. So she hurriedly prepared herself and was soon in the street, her face turned in the direction indicated. She had not been gone a quarter of an hour when the door-bell rang and Jack Lyndon made his appearance. Although his call was intended for Lillian, prudence warned him that it would be more discreet to inquire for Miss Raleigh. He was shown into the pretty red-and-gold reception-room, and a little later he was holding Miss Raleigh’s hand in his, gazing down into a pair of frank, innocent blue eyes; just as frank and innocent as though she had not sent Lillian away purposely, and as though she were not playing a game--a desperate game--which must either be won or lost.

“Oh, Mr. Lyndon, I’m so glad to see you!” lifting the frank blue eyes for an instant to his, then letting the gold-brown lashes droop over them once more. “I was feeling really blue and lonely, and wishing that my good fairy would send some congenial spirit to me; and, lo! you have come.”

She looked fair and sweet as a picture, in a dainty house-dress of pale-blue surah shrouded in white lace, fastened at the throat with a quaint pearl brooch. But Jack was full of the object which had brought him thither, and felt possessed with the spirit of unrest. Rosamond talked on gayly, cheerily, trying to divert his mind from the subject with which it was engaged. At last:

“Miss Raleigh, I have called this morning hoping to obtain an interview with Miss Leigh. I have something of real importance to say to her, and trust that you will permit me to infringe upon her time for a brief space.”

Rosamond’s face was like a marble mask. She arose and rang the bell. A servant appeared.

“Send my maid to me, Williams,” she commanded.

The man looked blank.

“If you please, Miss Rosamond, she’s gone out. She left word with me that if you wanted her, to say that she has gone up-town on an errand of her own, which you gave her permission to attend to to-day. You see, Miss Rosamond, you had not yet left your room, and Miss Leigh did not wish to disturb you.”

“Very well, Williams,” she returned. “You may go.”

And as the door closed behind him, Miss Raleigh added, with apparent frankness:

“Dear me! I wonder what Lillian’s particular business up-town can be? I told her that you were coming here this morning to see her in regard to a matter of importance. She looked confused, but she said nothing. Now, Jack--Mr. Lyndon, do not look so disappointed! Can not I act as a substitute for my maid?”

The tone of sarcasm in her voice had its own effect. Jack colored slightly.

“I--I beg your pardon, Miss Raleigh,” he said, hastily. “I am aware that my conduct is very unusual. I beg that you will be lenient with me, and try to believe that I mean nothing wrong. And now I will bid you good-morning.”

The look of disappointment which clouded her face was genuine.

“Why need you leave me so soon?” she pleaded. But Jack, disappointed and chagrined, was not to be beguiled.

He made his adieu and was soon out in the street, wandering he scarcely knew whither. He was off duty for a few hours, and the sense of freedom was sweet. He wandered aimlessly down-town, away to the lower part of the city, where the city parks lay basking in the wintery sunlight, nearly deserted now by their usual occupants.

All at once Jack lifted his head, and his eyes fell upon a slight, graceful figure in deep black, seated upon a bench in Douglas Park, her fair, pure face uplifted, while the beautiful dark eyes watched the fleecy clouds overhead with a dreamy, abstracted air. Why had Rosamond Raleigh told him that Lillian had gone up-town, when in truth she had taken the opposite direction? He drew near the slight form.

“Waiting for the clouds to roll by, Miss Leigh?” he asked, mischievously.

Lillian started, and a swift wave of color flamed into her cheek as Jack came forward and seated himself at her side.

“Why did you run away?” he asked, plaintively.

She laughed.

“Run away? From what--or whom?”

“From me!” he replied, venturing to take her hand in his own. “I called upon you just now, but Miss Raleigh informed me that you had gone up-town, or rather her servant said so. I was in despair, so I wandered on without aim; to-day is a holiday, and I seldom get one; but at last fate led me straight to your side. Lillian, fate is kind. My darling, say that you are glad to see me!”

The frank brown eyes met his, and there was no dissimulation in their depths.

“I am glad,” she murmured, softly. “Oh, so glad to see you! I was thinking of you just now!”

He lifted her hand to his lips. They were almost as much alone in the bleak, deserted park as Adam and Eve in Eden; and indeed it was Eden to them.

Alas! and alas! there is no Eden without a serpent!

“Lillian, I love you!” The words burst from Jack’s lips in a torrent of passionate yearning. “Darling, let me take you away from that house where you are so unhappy! Where you are ill-treated and insulted. Be my wife, Lillian, and I swear before Heaven to do all in my power to make you happy! And I will help you to find your father’s murderer! I know that you will never forget the vow that you took that awful night beside his body. Let me help you, darling, in your efforts to bring Gilbert Leigh’s murderer to justice! You do care for me, Lillian, darling?”

“With all my heart!” she answered, simply.

“Then you will be my wife some day?”

The shy, brown eyes drooped before his eager gaze, and sweet and low came the answer, “Yes.”

* * * * *

“Ah, good-evening, Mr. Lyndon. How glad I am that you have come! My truant maid did not return until--oh, a short time ago. And I have something to tell you, a love secret that I have surprised. What do you think? Lillian is in love!”

Jack started, and his face grew deathly pale. Then he remembered that she was his betrothed wife, and he smiled.

“In love? Oh, yes, why not?” he faltered; “and I wish to say to you to-night, Miss Raleigh, that I--”

“Hush!” smiling archly into his face, “I have surprised a tender secret. Come with me, Mr. Lyndon; I want to show you a pretty scene!”

She opened a side door which led into the grounds, and, quite bewildered, Jack followed the graceful figure in black velvet and pearls, with a crimson shawl wrapped about her shoulders. On to the furthest extremity of the grounds, to the east gate. Rosamond halted, and motioned Jack to be silent. In the clear moonlight everything was visible, and this is what Jack Lyndon saw: The girl who only that morning had promised to be his wife--Lillian Leigh--clasped close in the arms of a man. And the pale radiance of the moonlight glinting down upon the pair revealed to Jack’s agonized eyes--the form and face of Richard Raleigh!