The Lost Lady of Lone Part 34

"'_Before I see the Duke of Hereward again_.' Ah, what is it? What is it?" murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to Margaret. "Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once."

Once more the girl obediently left the room.

The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with dread of--she knew not what!

A few minutes pa.s.sed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared, ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.

Salome looked up.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CLOUD FALLS.

When Rose Cameron's emissary entered the bride's chamber, the young d.u.c.h.ess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again, overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her bridal day.

And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her nervous and sensitive organization.

She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet, shawl, and gown. No very alarming intruder to contemplate.

The woman, on her part, instead of the proud and insolent beauty she had expected to see, in all the pomp and pride of her bridal day and her new rank, beheld a fair and gentle girl, still clothed in the deepest mourning for her murdered father.

And her heart, which had been hardened against the supposed triumphant rival of the poor peasant girl, now melted with sympathy.

And she, who had persistently forced her way into the bride's chamber, with the grim determination to spring the news upon her without hesitation or compa.s.sion, now cast about in her simple mind how to break such a terrible shock with tenderness and discretion.

"You look very much fatigued. Pray sit down there and rest yourself, while you talk to me," said the young d.u.c.h.ess, gently, and pointing to a chair near her own.

"Ay, I am tired enough in mind and body, my lady, along of not having slept a wink all last night on account of--what I'll tell you soon, my lady. So I'll even take you at your kind word, my lady, and presume to sit down in your ladys.h.i.+p's presence," sighed the woman, slowly sinking into the indicated seat, and then adding: "I know as ladys.h.i.+p is not exactly the right way to speak to a duke's lady as is a d.u.c.h.ess; but I don't know as I know what is."

"You must say 'your grace' in speaking to the d.u.c.h.ess," volunteered Margaret, in a low tone.

"Never mind, never mind," said the bride, with a slight smile. "I am quite ready to hear whatever you may have to say to me. What can I do for you?"

The visitor hesitated and moaned. All her eager desire to overwhelm Rose Cameron's rival with the shameful news of her bridegroom's previous marriage and living wife had evaporated, leaving only deep sympathy and compa.s.sion for the sweet young girl, who looked so kindly, and spoke so gentle. Yet deeply she felt that, even for this gentle girl's sake, she must reveal the fatal secret! It was dreadful enough and humiliating enough to have had the marriage ceremony read over herself and an already married man, the husband of a living woman; but it would be infinitely worse, it would be horrible and shameful, to let her go off in ignorance, believing herself to be that man's wife--to travel with him over Europe.

All this, the honest woman from Westminster Road knew and felt, yet she had not the courage now to shock that gentle girl's heart by telling the news which must stop her journey.

"Please excuse me; but I must really beg you to be quick in telling me what I can do to serve you. My time is limited. Within an hour we have to catch the tidal train to Dover. And--I have much to do in the interim,"

said the young d.u.c.h.ess, speaking with gentle courtesy to this poor, shabby woman in the rusty widow's weeds.

"Ah, my lady--grace, I mean! there is no need of being quick! When you hear all I have to tell you--to my sorrow as well as yours, my grace!--your hurry will all be over; and you will not care about catching the tidal train--not if you are the lady as I take my--_your_ grace to be!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Salome, in low, tremulous tones.

"My lady--grace, I mean! will you send your maid away? What I have to tell you, must be told to you alone," whispered the visitor.

"Margaret, you may retire. I will ring when I want you," said the young d.u.c.h.ess.

And her maid, disgusted, for her curiosity had been strongly aroused, left the room and closed the door. And, as Margaret had too much self-respect to listen at the key-hole, she remained in ignorance of what pa.s.sed between the young d.u.c.h.ess and the uncanny visitor.

"Your strange words trouble me," said Salome, as soon as she found herself alone with her visitor.

"Ay, my lady, your grace, I know it. And I am sorry for it. But I cannot help it. And, indeed, I'm very much afeared as I shall trouble you more afore I am done."

"Then pray proceed. Tell me at once all you have to tell. And permit me to remind you that my time is limited," urged the young d.u.c.h.ess.

"Ay, madam, my lady--grace, I mean. But grant me your pardon if I repeat that there is indeed no hurry. You will not take the tidal train to Dover. Not if you be the Christian lady as I take you for," gravely replied the visitor.

"I must really insist upon your speaking out plainly and at once," said Salome, with more of firmness than she had as yet exhibited, although her pale cheeks grew a shade paler.

"My lady--your grace, I should say--when I started to come here this morning, to bring you the news I have to tell, my heart was _that_ full of anger against him and you, for the deep wrongs done to one I know and love, that I did not care how suddenly I told it, or how awfully it might shock you. But now that I see you, dear lady--grace, I mean--I do hate myself for having of such a tale to tell. But, for all that--for your sake as well as for hers, I must tell it," said the woman, solemnly.

"For Heaven's sake, go on! What is it you have to tell me?" inquired the bride, in a fainting voice.

"Well, then, your lady, my grace--Oh, dear! I know that ain't the right way to speak, but--"

"No matter! no matter! Only tell me what you have to tell and have done with it!" said Salome, impatiently at last.

"Well, then--I beg ten thousand pardons, my lady, but did your ladys.h.i.+p ever hear tell, up your way in Scotland, of a very handsome young woman of the lower orders, by the name of Rose Cameron?"

"Yes, I have heard of such a girl," answered the bride, in a low tone, averting her face.

"I thought your ladys.h.i.+p must have heard of her. And now--I beg a million of pardons, my lady--but did your ladys.h.i.+p ever happen to hear of a certain person's name mentioned alongside of hers?"

"I decline to answer a question so improper. What can such a question have to do with your present business?" inquired the bride, with more of gentle dignity than we have ever known her to a.s.sume.

"It has a great deal to do with it, your ladys.h.i.+p. It has everything to do with it, as I shall soon prove to your grace. Take no offence, dear lady. I won't use any name to trouble you. And I won't say anything but what I can prove. Will you let me go on on them terms, your ladys.h.i.+p?"

humbly inquired the messenger.

"Yes, yes, if you only WILL be quick. I _wish_ you to go on. I believe you to mean well, though I do not exactly know what you really _do_ mean," said Salome, nervously.

"Well, then, my lady, if you ever heard of this handsome Highland peasant girl, called Rose Cameron, you must have heard that she lived long of her old father, a shepherd, dwelling at the foot of Ben Lone, near by where--a--a certain person had his shooting-lodge. My dear lady, it is the same wicked old story as we hear over and over again, and a many times too often. Well, the young man--a certain person, I mean--while at his shooting-box, foot of Ben Lone, happened to see this handsome la.s.s, and fell in love with her at first sight, as certain persons sometimes do with young peasant girls as they oughtn't to marry. But mayhap your ladys.h.i.+p have heard all this before."

Salome had heard it all before; and now, in silence and sadness, she was wondering what she had to hear more; but certainly not expecting to hear the degrading revelation her visitor had still to make.

"Well, my lady," resumed the visitor, "a certain person courted handsome Rose Cameron a long time, trying to coax her to accept of his heart without his hand, after the manner of certain persons, to poor and pretty young girls. But the handsome peasant was as proud as a princess, and so she was. And she would see him hanged first, and so she would, before she would degrade herself for him, especially as she wasn't overmuch in love with him herself, but only pleased with his preference, and proud to show him off. She didn't wors.h.i.+p him at all. She wors.h.i.+ped herself, my lady.

And she could take care of herself and keep him in his place, even while she sort of encouraged his attentions. That was the secret of her power over him, my lady. She would neither take him on his terms nor let him go. And the more she resisted him the more he fell down and wors.h.i.+ped her, until, at length, he was ready to give up everything for her sake, and offer her marriage. That was what she really wanted to fetch him to, for she was ambitious as well as honest--that she was! Are you listening to me, my lady?"

"I am listening," breathed the bride, in a faint voice.

She had turned her chair around, so that her weary head could rest upon the corner of the dressing-table, where she now leaned, face downward, on her spread hands.

"Well, my lady, when she had fetched him to that pa.s.s as to offer her marriage, she took him at his word, and he brought her up to London. And they were married, sure enough, in the old church at St. Margaret's near by where I live, in Westminster."