Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 3) (1881 02 08)
The text was read from the page scans by machine (OCR), so it has mistakes and its columns may run together. See the pages · About this title · At the Internet Archive
Page 1
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 2
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 3
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 4
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 5
tions aroused had had one good effect. It had taken his peouente for a time from himself. He no longer wished to die. He would go abroad eee and forget in another country the anguish and misery that had come to him and others in this. Disposing of his horse he reached his hotel just in time to meet in the main hall a little group re- turning from the opera, the central figure of which was Miss Seacroft, the singer—which instantly, so to speak, absorbed him and he ascended the stairs with them. He would have excused himself and gone to his rooms, but the lady would not permit it. “You are looking®. go greatly improved, Mr. Al- ine,’ she asserted, “that I am quite sure your : ealth will not suffer by being kept up half an hour onger. e was cordially welcomed by the grandfather, a sprightly old man of about seventy, with a boyish face, with the whitest of white hair, and florid com- plexion, indicative of an out-door life and a sea cli- mate. The others of the party were their atten- dants—an elderly lady with features strongly sugges- tive of an undertaker’s assistant, and her son, a marked contrast of seventeen, with countenance like a full moon, addicted to science as found in Jules Verne’s works and in Robinson Crusoe. “You see, sir,” said the old man, shaking young Alpine heartily by. the hand, ‘‘ you have no resource except to come with us. My darling commands the fleet, and whether we will or no we must obey. In case of running awayit becomes my duty to bring you in,” And, laughing at what he was pleased to consider his own facetiousness, he clung to Alpine’s arm and they followed Miss Seacroft and her attendants to her rooms. There was a piano in the apartment and the young lady, throwing aside her babe giao) went to the in- strument and seated herself, while the boyish old gentleman talked with a friendly warmth and earn- estness that made Alpine feel, in spite of his preoc- ag thoughts, and his fear of intrusion, complete- ly at case. Seen in the full light of the brilliant chandelier, and vivacious with the excitement of artistic triumph and well-earned plaudits—strengthened perhaps by a@ growing interest in the young man—Grace Sea- croft presented a charming picture. There was a subdued mellowness in the dark glances of her eyes as she looked at Alpine—a musi- cal cadence in her tone—a willowy grace in every movement of the lithe figure—an air of self-com- mand and control in every turn of the well-poised head that, to a young man not engrossed by thoughts of another, might have attracted him, heart and oon and carried his best affections captive forth- with. But Edward Alpine was not thus free. The dark mystery in which he was enshrouded that had culminated in his rejection of the gentle and lovely Iola, left him but little thought to give to Miss Seacroft. But the boyish old man, her grandfather, was not slow to notice and appreciate her charms of voice and manner. To him ino his guileless boyishness these were ever a new joy. His gaze was fixed i se her in rapt attention oat told the great love that was bound up with her e. She sung. But what she sung is unnecessary to record, and although Edward Alpine sought to do so he could not afterward remember. It may have been some airy nothing of the French school, or more solid music of German —— or soft Italian airs that comprehended both. But the whole was vocal and instrumental harmony such as Alpine had never previously heard. It ceased, however, as all things good or indifferent must, and the young lady arose from the piano and turned—smilingly triumphant, at the knowledge of Saphi given an innocent pleasure—toward her guest. The young man expressed his plimentary words that had the double merit of be- ing brief and sincere, and were doubtless all the more appreciated, while the boyish grandfather ex- claimed, with as much enthusiasm as if it were the first time he had ever seen or heard her, with much be tie of hands: = coe my darling—you are glorious to- night.” ‘ After a brief interchange of thought on unim- portant topics, the young man rose from his seat to withdraw to his own apartments. ““ To-morrow we shall be out of town,” said Miss Seacroft, as she gave him herhand. ‘Grandpa is interested in an old place on the Jersey coast, known by the unromantic name of The House on the Marsh. It has been terribly out of repair and in a dilapi- dated state for years, but we have ordered it made inhabitable and propose o down there to-mor- row to see what progress has been made. If you take an interest in the ancient history of New ork a trip with us might give you an insight into Some of its byways. One of the old Dutch Governors is said to have once lived there, and more recently it has been one of the irregular haunts of the pirates of Barnegat. So you see,” concluded Miss Seacroft, with a musical laugh, “‘ we are enabled to offer you first-class inducements to visit it. Will you come?” Only too happy to do so,” responded pines forced out of his gloomy abstraction by her deter- mined kindness and cordial interest. Thanks for the promise, I will send you word at what hour we shall start.”’ : dina more hopeful mood the young man said 800d-night, and went to his rooms. ** ¢ re 2 ry atification in com- ic. | ital ties CHAPTER VII. AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW. Tue enterprise and ene of the New York morn- ing papers, which makes them a map of each day’s life and its vast concerns, is so well known, that their promptness in publishing the following item of in- correct news in their early editions need excite no comment. ; ‘* MASKED Buratars AGAIN.—At a late hour last night, the daughter of one of our well known citi- zens, Mr, Frazier Alpine, residing at Washington Heights, was found insensible in a disused wing of the mansion. The dwellinghad been ransacked, in part, by burglars, some of the valuables belonging to the house having been dropped at the door where the young lady was found, together with a mask and some burglar’s tools. lady was returning from the garden, where she had been for a walk, whea she suddenly encountered the rogues bearing off their plunder, and, to silence her, a cloth ready steeped in chloroform was thrown over her head. Though the best medical skill is in attendance, the shock was of such severity that she still continues unconscious, and there is even yet a possibility of a fatal result. The boldness of the outrage is more apparent when we consider that the other side of the house was occupied at the time, and it is only another evidence, to which we have so often called attention, of the necessity of an addi- | tion of brains to our already large police force.” This item was read by Edward Alpine as he was finishing his breakfast in his room, and reminded him with terrible force of what he had been persist- ently ene to put from him—the events of yester- day and the consequences of his own act. ke Shocked, insensible, still unconscious, and may prove fatal.” He glared at the paper as it lay where it had fall- en from his trembling fingers, as he repeated the words, while a sensation of despair stole over him.” Oh, that he had been with her to guard and_pro- tect, instead of appearing in the light of a villain, phone word no man or woman could henceforth rust. ‘What should he now do?” he asked himself. ‘** Should he visit his father’s house? No! He knew toc well that father’s stern, uncompromising sense of justice, not to feel that he would be afar more unweleome intruder now than even masked burg- lars. No; he would not fo there, but he would see Mr. Bookout, that grim old lawyer, who had forever been standing -likea sentry in his way. He would see him and obtain from him particulars of the mes- sage that he had yesterday sent him. He would de- mand the proofs. It might be that, yet—” He broke off suddenly in his reflections, and rising made some hasty changes in his dress, and leaving word he would be absent for an hour or more, started forth on his errand. Half an hour afterward he was knocking at the door of Mr. Bookout’s suit of rooms, and in answer to the response, ‘‘Come in,” he entered and found himself in the presence of Mr. Bookout. The lawyer was sitting at his desk in his custom- ary easy-chair, but rose on the appearance of his visitor. ‘** Ah,” he said, in a tone of some surprise.’ ‘It is you, Ned! I hardly expected this honor to-day,” and he waved him to a seat near the door. Young Alpine dropped into it. He had never been a match, it dimly occurred to him, for his father’s legal man of business, and he did not waste words in apologies or compliments, but sought to concentrate his powers on the business in hand. “You have seen the paper this morning?’’ ques- tioned Mr. Bookout taking up one on a side-table as he paused beside it and immediately laying it down again. ‘‘You know what happened last night at home to Iola?” Alpine bowed. “And have come to me regarding it?’’ continued Mr. Bookout. ‘A sad affair following so close on the heels of the—of the other’’—he added the last words slowly. ‘‘ You do not, of course, purpose go- ing there?” is searching eyes were fixed for an instant on the a man’s face. ‘“‘No,” he responded, gravely. ‘‘Not unless mat- ters can be placed in a different light.” ‘““An unnecessary proviso,” interrupted the law- yer. “I do not see,” he continued, with rather more sternness in his manner, ‘‘ how they can be placed in a different light. The situation is one of your own creating.” ; The young man interrupted him impatiently: “T admit all that, and more; but what I wish are proofs—proofs that the situation is as you have stated it, in your communication yesterday. What evidence have you that the woman is, as you de- clare, still living?” “The very best,’’ said Mr, Bookout, with his cus- tomary calm, “the very best. Proofs? they are far too easy! You seem to forget the situation, One, I repeat, of your own creati Let me, without prejudice, recall it to you. ward Alpine, I can see as you have grown older you have grown wiser! But nine years ago—”’ “Let me say at once, Mr. Bookout,” interrupted young Alpine, “I was not a youthful moralist.” “Nine years ago,” repeated the lawyer as if Al- pine had not spoken, “‘ you were in the habit of fre- quenting haunts you would have done better to have avoided—low concert-rooms, dance-halls and the like—I seek no excuse for this—you need make none,”’ as the young man moved with restless impa- tience. ‘On such an occasion you met: a certain pots Frenchwoman, an attache of the place—shall name her?” ; ; “No, it is unnecessary,’ said Alpine, as if defian Panes s = ¥ It is supposed the young | — of the worst, and speaking rapidly; ‘ I met her thus, and in three days 1 married her, and in three weeks thereafter she fled from me with another man; and. in three months more she was dead, as I heard and believed.”’ Mr. Bookout nodded. P ‘“‘The whole story,” continued the young man, “‘is a hideous dream, and seems to me like the distem- ; pered imaginings of a fevered existence.” “Knowing this, Edward Alpine,” resumed the old lawyer, “‘as have done all these years—conscious _ of your boyish weakness in it, as well as of your suf- fering by it—can you question my motives in at last athe gent your involving yourself still deeper? hen I found that that woman was not dead, can you wonder that I stood between you and the gentle girl whom you were about to marry, and whose heart you would have broken?” “No, no,” interrupted Alpine earnestly; ‘not to save my life would I willful y cause her a pang.” “ And I have stood between you and your father —that proud and chivalrous old man, the pride of whose life is in his unsullied family name. Not for the world would I have made known to him your early faults; and had you remained abroad till I could have communicated with you, the bitter cul- mination of last night might have been spared him—spared us all. No, Ned,’’ continued the old lawyer in a milder tone, “‘I have simply endeavored to do my duty as I have understood it, and while you doubtless would regret the vie bie 2 of your wife being alive, I was em to know of it, if such was the fact, in time. soon.” Ned shuddered. ‘“‘ But the proofs, Mr. Bookout—the proofs!” The lawyer slightly elevated his heavy eyebrows. “You do not doubt my word,”’ he said. No, no, but ina matter like this is there not a. ossibility of a mistake? Are you sure of the evi- ence? That—” There was some impatience in the lawyer’s man- ner, as he interrupted him. ‘* Positive!’ he declared. ‘“‘If you wish the con- firmation of the truth by your eyesight you cam. have it.” “How?” questioned the young man. “By seeing her!’’ CHAPTER IX. THE VAILED WOMAN. Epwarp Auprine fell back in his chair. For a moment he was speechless. “Tt is true,” said Mr. Bookout slowly, watching the effect of his words as he spoke,—‘‘ that we might. invoke the law in your behalf.” “T thought of that, and it might be considered were it not for one thing,’”’ commented Alpine, after a minute’s silence. ‘** And what is that?’’ questioned the lawyer. “The fear that she—that Iola would not marry a divorced man, for of course she would have to be told all the details of that wretched and unfortu- mayer iodied ingl e lawyer nodded approvingly. Those brains of yours are clearer than they were, Ned,” he said; ‘and there is still another difficulty: the probability of the legal proceedings, that must necessarially expose the whole business of your youthful folly, becoming known to Big! father.” “T could brave that, anything, all things—rather than have Iola despise the man she once loved.” “That sentiment is not objectionable,’ admitted the lawyer, “‘in one of your age; and I should ex- es no less from your father’s son—my friend of alf a century;"’ and as if to emphasize the words he gave the young man his hand. “Teannot attempt to advise you, Ned, under the peculiar and tty Ed circumstances,”’ he con- tinued with some degree of frankness. ‘It appears to me, however, that your project of again going abroad is wise.’ Time will exert its healing influ- ence, and— Hah! there’s a knock—and, now I re- member, it is possibly your father; he spoke of see- ing me shortly. Under the circumstances you had better not see him.”’ “No,” said Ned, who had already risen. es, into my parlor adjoining, then; you will not be detained long.” As Alpine seg. arrrhin Mr. Bookout promptly opened the door, but the look of expectation on his features gave place to his customary official air as ee his visitor enter, and resumed his seat at his esk. It was a*woman closely vailed who ‘entered, and with an air of brisk and ready assurance ap- proached him. The lawyer looked at her with evident recogni- tion, but no apparent pleasure at seeing her. “¥ did not expect you, madam,” he said, coolly. The woman pushed back her vail, partly exposin her features, which were of the brunette type, Sian and r ar, and indicating a woman of possibly thirty, though she would as easily have passed for one older or younger than that. There was a restlessness about the full dark eyes —a nervousness in voice and manner—that seemed peculiar to her, and something about the corners of the mouth in the down-drawn lines that would pre- vent persons of ordinary caution from making her a confidant of important secrets. She rested a rather well-rounded arm on the law- yer’s desk and whipped the fingers of one hand with the fingers of the empty glove which she carried in the other. _ Something in the movement suggestive of vehe- mence and passion, the lawyer who was observant of this had thought, for he had noticed the same thing before. But he was not now thinking of it. He was thinking of Ned, as he looked at her and was- e knowledge did not come too _
Page 6
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 7
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 8
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 9
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 10
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 11
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 12
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 13
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 14
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 15
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.
Page 16
This page's text is still being fetched. See the page, or reload in a moment.