The heiress of Glen Gower, or, The hidden crime

Front matter

V i

OR,

THE HIDDEN CRIME.

Chapter II. Born In Storm And Mystery

An instant after the overthrow the carriage door was wrenched violently open from within, and a man crawled out from the ruins. He stood on his feet and shook himself, to make sure he was not hurt. A blinding blaze of lightning showed the tall, graceful figure, the handsome, aquiline nose, and bright, dark eyes of the young man who had snubbed Mr. Hollis.

“No bones broken, thank fortune!” he muttered. “ The gods that specially watch over fools and scapegraces must have had me in charge this time. Am I the only one left alive in this howling wilderness to tell the tale? No, by all that's lucky, here’s another!”

It was the driver, who scrambled up with a very rueful vis¬ age and very sore bones.

“ Misfortinit, sir, ain’t it?” said the driver. “ Right here in the very heart of the woods, too, and in this awful storm !

Ain’t the other gents got ont yet, sir? And the lady — you’re the gent as come with the lady, ain’t you?”

“ Help! Halloo, there! help us out, confound you!” cried the scifled voice of Hollis. “ Be quick, I say! I’m afraid the lady’s killed!”

The driver uttered a cry and sprung forward.

For a second the young man stood, aud the blue gleam of the lightning showed his pale face lighted up with a sudden flash of triumph.

“So!” he said, under his breath; “ this friendly overthrow cuts the Gordian knot and puts an end to all my difficulties. By Jove, the storm has done me good service to-night!”

He came forward and energetically assisted the driver to drag out the prostrate forms from under the broken coach. Hollis had escaped with a few bruises, but Harding was severely injured, and with difficulty could stand. As for the lady, they drew her prostrate figure out at last — cold and life¬ less, without sense or motion. It was her companion who re¬ ceived her rigid form in his arms.

“ Is she dead?” Hollis asked, in an awe-struck whisper.

The lightning blazed out with the words, and for a second or two lighted up the desolate scene with its ghastly glare. The young man stood in their midst, holding the light, slen¬ der form in his arms. The veil had been torn ofi, and a young face whiter than marble lay against his breast. Then an awful crash of thunder shook heaven and earth, and pitch darkness and pouring rain wrapped them like a shroud.

“ She is not dead,” the young man replied, his voice sound¬ ing strangely cold and passionless. “ She has fainted. But she will die, and we all stand a chance to follow if we linger here in this pitiless storm.”

“ What are we to do?” said Hollis. “We are in the very heart of the woodland. We must shelter the lady. But for ourselves — Harding, my poor fellow, what will become of you?”

“ Hold on!” cried the driver. “We can do better than standing here in the thundering rain all night, or 1 miss my guess. Let’s see a minute.”

The friendly lightning blazed once more, and lighted up the black woods and dismal forest path for fully twenty sec¬ onds. Then thunder and darkness and a deluge of rain.

“ I knew it!” said the driver. “ Hooray! Larkins’s ain’t half a mile off. I’ve traveled this here road too often to be took in. Half a mile furder on, this here path branches off into three cross-roads. At the junction of them three cross-

THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER.

roads there’s a house. That house is Larkins’s, and Mrs< Larkins is a woman worth her weight in diamonds. We can stay there all night, and she’ll fix up this young woman as right as a trivet afore morning.”

“ Are you sure?” asked Hollis, doubtfully.

“ Am I sure my name is Bob Watson?” returned the stage-driver, contemptuously. “ I know every turn of these yer woods, as you chaps know the twistings of your native towns. Don’t stand there giving jaw, but help us rig up a shutter for the lady, and let’s make off at once!”

He laid hold of the coach door as he spoke, to wrest it from its hinges. Hollis assisted him as well as he could for the blinding darkness and rushing rain. In ten minutes the rigid form of the young girl was laid upon it, wrapped in her cloak, and covered as well as they could cover her from the raging storm. The four men mounted it upon their shoulders and set off through the blackness and the tempest along the slippery, dangerous road. Almost incessant flashing of the lightning lighted up the ghastly path, the backwoods, and their own pale faces.

“ Are we almost there, driver?” asked Harding, at length. “ 1 feel as if 1 should drop, and my head is reeling like a drunken man’s.”

“ ’Most there,” responded the driver, cheerily. “ The next flash will show you the cross-roads.”

The next flash came as he spoke. The men paused simul¬ taneously to breathe. Yes, there were the three cross-roads, and yonder, beneath the trees, the dark outline of a log cabin.

“ All right, my hearties!” Bob Watson cried, cheerily. ‘ 4 Five minutes more, and we’ll be able to snap our fingers at the lightning and rain. On, with a will!”

They stumbled blindly forward in the direction of the house. Ho light was visible; hours and hours ago the in¬ mates were sound asleep.

Bob Watson found the door, and thundered against it with both clinched fists. The knocking awoke sundry big dogs in the background, who set up a furious barking. The uproar might have awakened the dead.

“Halloo, within there!” yelled the driver. “Halloo! halloo! halloo!”

An upper window was cautiously raised an inch or two, and a woman’s voice came down:

“ Who are you? What do you want?”

“ Halloo, Mrs. Larkins! I thought we’d rout you out It’s me — Bob Watson, the stage-driver. The coach upset in

THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER.

the storm half a mile off, and here we are a passel of drowned rats. We’ve got a woman with ns that’s dead, or next door to it! So hurry and let us in, for the sake of the Lord above!”

44 I’ll be there in half a minute,” replied the woman’s voice, promptly; and the window shut sharply down and a light appeared behind the blind.

They waited in the rain and the darkness — the pitiless rain and the cruel darkness — drenched to the skin. The woman’s half minute seemed very long, but the light came gleaming down-stairs at last, the bolts were witndrawn, and the friendly door held open.

“ Come in,” said the woman’s voice. “ May the good Lord pity any poor creatures out such a night as this!”

Behind the woman, who held aloft a flaming tallow candle, stood two stalwart young men and a strapping damsel, all full of pity and curiosity, and all in scanty drapery. The coachwrecked voyagers came in, pitiable objects surely — dripping wet, more or less bruised, splashed with mud, and bearing a lifeless woman in their midst.

44 Is she dead?” asked the woman, with a cry.

44 Fainted,” sententiously answered the young man, who came foremost. “ If you will show me where your bedroom regions are, I will take her there at once. ”

He lifted her in his arms with the air of one having the right. The light of the flaming tallow candle fell full upon her face, and they all saw it was the face of a girl in her first youth, colorless as death, and marvelously beautiful.

“ Light another candle, Jane Ann,” said the woman, 44 and quick about it. Fetch these men into the kitchen, and stir up the fire, and set on the kettle to bile. You, sir, come this way.”

She turned up the steep, rude stair-way, light in hand, and the young man followed with his burden. There were two rooms — rough, unplastered attic rooms — here, and into the one on the right the woman led the way.

44 This is my bedroom and my daughter’s, and the best we’ve got. Lay the young lady on the bed, sir, and take off that soaking cloak.”

The young man hesitated an instant, then complied. As the cloak was removed, and the woman stooped over the motion¬ less figure, she recoiled with a cry of surprise.

44 1 thought she was a child! Why, good Lor’ a massy — ” she stopped short, looking the young man full in the face. But he turned away, avoiding her keen gaze®

THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER.

“I’ll go down and join the rest now,” he said, e‘ When you restore her to consciousness let me know.”

He turned on his heel and quitted the room as he spoke, The woman stood gazing on the beautiful, rigid face with a gaze of unutterable womanly pity.

“ Poor young creeter!” she said. 44 So young and so pretty! Ought to be playing with her dolls for two years to come instead of — IPs my opinion she’ll never live to see morning.”

Down-stairs the strapping damsel, otherwise Jane Ann, had rekindled the covered embers, and the friendly fire burned brightly. The kitchen was a long, low room, sparsely and poorly furnished, but the leaping fire made amends for all shortcomings. Around it the four men gathered, steaming in their wet garments until the kitchen was blind with vapor. The kettle already sung on the blaze, and one of the young farmers was dressing the contusions of Mr. Harding. With¬ out the September storm still raged with unabated fury.

Hollis, Harding, the driver, and the farmers talked away sociably, forgetting their mishaps in the luxurious warmth and the promise of speedy breakfast. But the young man with the aquiline nose and black eyes sat moodily silent, star¬ ing steadfastly at the tire. He was very handsome, now that the disguising coat and cap were removed, with thick, clus¬ tering black hair curling over a white forehead, a thick black mustache, and hands white and shapely as a woman’s. Very handsome, and buxom Jane Ann cast sidelong glances at him over her work; and yet something suspiciously like an angry scowl darkened that perfect beauty, and grew blacker every instant.

An hour had passed, breakfast was quite ready, and the men had risen to gather round the table, when Mrs. Larkins appeared in their midst. Her glance singled out the hand¬ some owner of the dark eyes at once.

“ Will you step this way, sir?” she said. “ 1 want to ask you a question. ”

The young man followed her out into the passage. The log cabin comprised but the three rooms altogether. The woman held the candle in her hand, and now she raised it until its light fell full upon the darkly handsome face. Her resolute gray eyes were fixed upon him, as though she would read his inmost heart.

“ That unfortunate young girl upstairs is your wife, sir, is Bhe not?” she abruptly demanded.

The young man smiled — a most peculiar and inexplicable smile. He had been smoking a cigar when the woman sum¬ moned him away, and he did not take the trouble to remove it from his lips.

“ Has she told you so?” he asked.

“ She has told me nothing. I don’t think she will ever speak to any one again in this world, poor soul! 1 don\ think she will ever live to see another sun rise and set. K was madness for her to attempt this journey at all.”

The handsome face into which she looked as she spoke was moveless as a stone mask.

“ Poor little girl!” he said; “ but she would come. You will do all you can for her, my good Mrs. Larkins, and as far as money can reward you, you shall be rewarded. 1 suj)pose a doctor is a wild impossibility in this waste and howling wil¬ derness.”

“ There is no doctor nearer than Lymeford, and all the doc¬ tors on earth can not conquer death.”

“ Very true; nevertheless, 1 must endeavor to reach Lyme¬ ford some time to-day, and send a physician from there. We must make an effort, you know.”

“ You have not answered my question, sir,” the woman said, sharply. “ Is she your wife?”

“ My good soul, that is beside the question, isn’t it? What does it matter to you whether she is my wife, or any one’s wife, so that you are well paid?”

“ It matters this, sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Larkins, with flash¬ ing eyes, “ that I’m an honest woman and the mother of a daughter, and that I don’t keep open house for — ”

The young man’s white fingers covered her lips.

“ Don’t say it,” he said — “ don’t! You would be sorry fcr it after, I assure you you would. Besides, what can you do? You can’t turn her out into the storm to die. Take care of her while she lives — take care of her until she dies, if die she must. I repeat, you shall be amply rewarded. And now, if you will excuse me. I’ll return to breakfast, for I shall really need that meal if I’m to travel to Lymeford in the storm.”

He left her abruptly as he spoke, and the woman looked after him with angry eyes.

“ He’s got the face of an angel and the heart of a devil!” she said, indignantly. “ It’s the old story, I suppose— a pretty little innocent creature, a handsome scoundrel, a home deserted, and hearts broken. Ah! dear me, it’s a wicked world! Poor little suffering soul! I’ll do what I can for her — her blood will not be on my head.”

She ascended to the chamber above, and the young man

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went back to his breakfast. But he had very little appetite for that meal; he drank a cup of Jane Ann's tea, swallowed a mouthful of bread as though it had been a pill, and rose abruptly from the table.

“ The storm is subsiding," he said; “ driver, I’ll ride with you to Lymeford.’’

“ All right, sir; Tom and ine’s off for the horses. I’ll mount one, you can have t’other. But you’d be a sight more comfortable waiting here.’’

The stage-driver and one of the young farmers set off for the scene of the disaster. Morning had broken, rainy and yaw, but the storm had expended its fury; the lightning had eeased, and the rain fell softly. Hollis and his friend drew close to the fire and lighted their pipes, but the moody stranger stood solitary by the window, staring out at the dull dawn. Not once did he move; he stood there, a tall, dark ghost, until the return of the two men with the horses. Then, without one word of farewell, he donned hat and coat, left the house, mounted one of the jaded steeds, and rode away.

“ It’s like the Marble Guest in 4 Hon Giovanni/ ” said Hol¬ lis, with a shrug. “ His anxiety about that pretty little thing upstairs won’t wear him into the grave. I suppose he’s gone for a doctor.’’

Yes, he had gone for a doctor. Five hours after, when Bob Watson clattered up to the house with fresh horses and vehicle, a young man in spectacles sprung out and announced himself as Doctor Phelps. Mrs. Larkins met him, and ushered him upstairs at once.

“ Where’s he — the young gentleman?’’ she asked.

“ Waiting at Lymeford. But he’s fee’d me handsomely, Mrs. Larkins, and he sent you this to reward you, and bury her if she dies — to reward you and provide for all present necessities if she lives.’’

He showed her a roll of notes — one hundred dollars in all.

“ Who is he?’’ Mrs. Larkins asked.

“ Never set eyes on him before — don’t know him from Adam.’’

44 And he didn’t tell you his name, nor hers?’’

44 Not he, although I asked him. He told me my business was to bring her round if I could, and not to ask unnecessary questions. He’s to wait at Lymeford until 1 return, and hear the result.’’

Yes, the young man was waiting at Lymeford — waiting in a fever of impatience that kept him pacing up and down his hotel room like a caged tiger»

THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER.

“ Will she live — will she die?” So rang the one constant refrain. “ Am I to be free, or are two lives to drag me down instead of one? Oh, fool, fool, fool that I have been! to risk all for love of a pretty face, and think the world well lost!”

The dismal day wore on, the more dismal evening settled down over the dull little country town. Just as the dusk deepened into darkness, Dr. Phelps's gig rattled up to the hotel, and the doctor, wet and tired, strode into the little par¬ lor.

The two men stood face to face in the gloom, but out of that gloom one face shone white as marble.

“ Well,” he asked, in a breathless whisper, * 4 is it life or is it death?”

“ It is death!”

Slowly and solemnly that answer came. The young man staggered back a pace and put his hand before his face.

44 The child may live — she will die.”

“ The child — girl or boy?”

“ A girl. The mother will hardly see morning.”

“ You may go,” said the young man, hoarsely. “ I wish to be alone.”

The doctor left. The gig had hardly rolled out of sight in the darkness when the parlor bell rang.

“ Is there a train for Jersey City to-night?” the voice spoke out of the darkness.

4 ‘ Yes, sir; in half an hour the cars pass through Lymef ord. ' '

44 1 must catch that train. Order a conveyance at once to take me to the station.”

Half an hour later the handsome young man with the aqui¬ line nose and dark, bright eyes was leaving dreary Lymeford far behind him, and leaving no clew to the mystery that en¬ shrouded him. Who he was, where he came from, what that dying girl was or had been to him, were among the impene¬ trable secrets locked in his own dark soul.

And far away in that wretched log hut in the woods, while the dark and rainy night shut down, that forsaken young girl lay, watched over by strangers, whiter and colder than win¬ ter's snow. And in good Mrs. Larkins's lap slumbered the new-born baby, as unconscious of the strangely checkered life before it as the nurse was of the dark mystery that wrapped its dying mother.

CHAPTER 111.

SHOT DEAD!

The October afternoon was slowly darkening into a chill and windy night. It was very near the close of the month, and there was an icy breath of winter in the shrill gale sigh¬ ing through the woods and over the sandy Jersey plains. It was late in October, and the yellow leaves whirled away in melancholy drifts, and black, jagged clouds, prescient of com¬ ing storm, sailed slowly up the low-lying sky.

Mrs. Larkins’s best bedroom, bare and forlorn enough at its best, looked doubly bare and forlorn in the gray light of this bleak October afternoon. Down-stairs the fire burned brightly, and buxom Jane Ann sung blithely over her work; but there where Mrs. Larkins’s patient sat, with her baby on her knee, looking blankly out at the dying day, the view within and without was desolation itself.

The young girl — she could not have been quite eighteen — sat quite alone, her hands folded, her great dark eyes looking straight before her with a look of heavy, hopeless despair. A strange face for that log hut in the woods — a beautiful, high¬ bred face, with somber, fathomless eyes, and heavy waves of rich black hair.

For, despite Dr. Phelps, despite Mrs. Larkins, despite the opinion of all who saw her, the dying girl left to her fate in the lone house in the forest had not died. Very slowly — so slowly that for days and weeks the fluttering spirit hovered in the Valley of the Shadow — but surely, life won the victory. The large dark eyes opened, with life and reason burning dimly in their depths, and a faint voice asked for “ Gerald,” “ Eleanor,” “ papa,” and then sleep took her, and life beat more strongly than ever when she awoke.

September passed, October came, and, pale as a spirit, she rose from that sick-bed. But the mystery that had wrapped her from the first was the same impenetrable mystery now. Good Mrs. Larkins’s burning curiosity burned as hopelessly as ever still.

After those first feebly murmured names, she had asked no questions for more than a week. Then one night, as Mrs. Larkins sat alone by her bedside, the dark eyes turned full upon her, and the low voice asked a question:

“ Where is Gerald?’’

“ The young man who left you here? Oh, he's gone long *go.”

“ Gone!"

“ Yes, and good riddance; for if ever there was a heartless scoundrel on the face of the earth, he's that scoundrel! He left you here dying, as he thought, and much he cared!"

The white face never changed — the dark eyes never left the grim countenance of the nurse.

“ Where am 1? Who are you? How do I come to be here?"

Mrs. Larkins briefly related the mishap to the stage-coach, and what had followed.

“ And I never thought to sit and talk to you like this, for of all the miracles ever 1 heard of, your life being spared is the greatest. Tell me, my dear, are you that bad man's wife?"

The white face darkened suddenly — darkened with such deadly hatred that good Mrs. Larkins recoiled.

“There! there!" she exclaimed; “for the Lord's sake, don’t look like that! I won't ask any more questions. Look at the baby — pretty little sleeping pet!"

She held it up, but the young mother put out one wasted hand and thrust it away with a gesture of fierce repulsion.

“ Take it out of my sight!" she cried. “ I hate the sight of it! Viper and spawn of a viper! I would strangle it if I dared!"

“ The Lord forgive you, you wicked mother!" Mrs. Lar¬ kins said, unutterably shocked. “ You are as bad at heart as that bad man."

The young girl sat suddenly upright in bed, and stared Mrs. Larkins full in the face with blazing black eyes.

“ Bad? Yes, there is a demon incarnate in my heart when I think of that villain and my wrongs! I loved him — 1 left all for him — and this is my reward! But let him beware, for, by the Heaven above me, I'll have such vengeance upon him as woman never had on man before!"

She fell back on her pillow, turned her face to the wall, and from that moment fell into a sullen silence nothing ever in¬ duced her to break.

This bleak October evening she had taken her child in her arms for the first time. It was the tiniest mite of babyhood, with two solemn black eyes and a waxen-white face — a pretty baby, with regular features and dead-black hair. There was little love in the young mother's fate as *he gazed on the tiny, helpless mite. Mrs. Larkins, entering suddenly, stood gazing in some alarm.

THE HEIRESS OF GLEH GOWER.

“ There is no need of your wearing that frightened face* Mrs. Larkins," the girl said, with a bitter smile. “ I have little reason to love it, but 1 won't kill it. It is like him— don’t you think so?"

44 Yes," said Mrs. Larkins, ‘ 4 it is like him."

“ And will grow up to be like him in heart as well as in face, no doubt. Mrs. Larkins, in all this wide earth there is no such villain as that man. I loved him once — oh, my God, so passionately, so madly! But I hate him now! 1 hate him! 1 hate him! I hate him!"

“Hush, for pity's sake! Don't think of him! Don't speak of him! It frightens me to hear you! Talk of baby instead. Do you know it is time she was baptized? Tell me what you want her called."

The young mother’s answer was to snatch the baby off her lap and fling it roughly into that of her companion.

“ What do I care? Call her what you please! What is it to me? Call her Maldetta. It is a fitting name. Maldetta, the Accursed!"

The white hands clinched, the dark eyes blazed, the teeth locked together convulsively. Mrs. Larkins got up in silent despair and left the room.

She sat by the window while the chill evening darkened down, her face rigid as marble, her eyes staring blankly into the darkness. But when the family had retired to rest and all was still, she rose, took down her cloak and bonnet from the peg where they hung, and noiselessly stole out of the house. The October moon had risen, and by its light she waited for the stage to Lymeford to pass. Without one word to tell whither she was going or when she would return, she turned her back upon her child and disappeared, with the im¬ penetrable mystery of her life and her name the same im¬ penetrable mystery still.

It was Marion Goldham's wedding-night. Marion Goldham, heiress, beauty and belle, was to-night to bless for life one of her innumerable adorers. All Fifth Avenue was on the qui vive, for it is not every day that the heiress of fabulous wealth, the possessor of fabulous beauty, rejects a dozen mill¬ ionaires for the handsome face and romantic devotion of a pen¬ niless artist. Yres, it was a love-match, pure and simple, and beautiful Marion, in the midst of her dear five hundred friends, becomes to-night Mrs. Gerald Rosslyn.

Look at her as she stands in her dressing-room, in the midst of a bevy of sparkling bride-maids — a dazzling vision surely.

THE HEIRESS OF GLEET GOWER. 1$

The exquisite, drooping face, the tall, willowy figure in bil lows of translucent silk and lace, frosted with seed pearls. That magnificent Parisian veil of priceless lace drapes her lik^ palpable mist from head to foot, and the perfect arms and neck gleam through its silvery glitter like marbie. A bright glory of amber hair crowns that radiant face, and from her veiled head to her sandaled foot the silver, shining vision is complete.

“How exquisite! how radiant!” is the universal cry. 46 Oh, Marion! You never looked half so lovely as you do to-night!”

The magnificent mansion is all ablaze. The long drawing¬ room on the first floor is one brilliant vista of splendor with alabaster lamps, and hot-house flowers, and superbly dressed ladies a-glitter with diamonds. And everything is ready, and the clergyman is waiting, and the bridegroom has arrived, and the guests are in breathless expectation, and the bride's heart is fluttering like a frightened bird — but not with fear. Oh, no! Words are poor and weak to tell how passionately she worships her handsome lover — how unutterably blessed she is to-night.

Outside the December wind wails and the fluttering snow falls. There is no moon, no stars in the black night sky, and the trees around the stately mansion rattle their gaunt arms like dead bones, and the fluttering figure that creeps stealthily in and cowers under those lighted windows may well wear that ghastly, death- white face. The window under which that shrouded, creeping figure crouches is wide open, for the thronged drawing-room is oppresisvely warm, and the blazing eyes in that livid face can see all that goes on within.

The bride comes out of her “ maiden bower ” with her bevy of snow-white nymphs, and Gerald Eosslyn, with the face of a Greek god, radiant with triumph and happiness, draws the fairy hand within his arm.

“ My life! my love! my darling!” he whispers, passionately. 44 My own forever! My beautiful bride! Oh, Marion! Iam the happiest man in all the wide earth to-night!”

She does not speak. The blue eyes lift with one eloquent glance, then flutter down, for there are joys on earth too in¬ tense for words or smiles.

They enter the drawing-room — they stand before the clergy¬ man. There is a murmur and a flutter of irrepressible ad¬ miration throughout the high-bred assembly, for surely man and woman more perfectly beautiful never yet stood before Christian minister to be made husband and wife. Outside a

THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER.

cowering figure springs erect, and the eyes in the darkness blaze like the eyes of a tiger.

The ceremony begins — it ends. The ring slips over the slender finger, and Marion Gold ham is Marion Rosslyn for life. The radiant bridegroom bends down to kiss the lovely blushing face, and at that instant the sharp report of a pistol rings through the room. Without word or cry the bridegroom goes crashing down headlong, and the bride's white dress is splashed with blood.

There are wild shrieks — women run frantically about— men stand paralyzed. For a moment every one is so stunned that nothing is done — nothing is said. Then some one lifts up the prostrate man, looks in his face an instant, and speaks.