The Baronet's Bride Part 56

"He has been tried and condemned, and----"

He could not finish the sentence, out of pity for that death-like face.

But she understood him, and a scream rang through the house which those who heard it might never forget.

"Oh, my G.o.d! he is condemned to be hanged!"

"He is," said Mr. Parmalee; "but we'll stop 'em. Now, don't you go and excite yourself, my lady, because you'll need all your strength and presence of mind in this here emergency. There's a steamer for Liverpool to-morrow. I secured our pa.s.sage before I ever came here."

"May the great G.o.d grant we be in time! Oh, my love! my darling! my husband! I never thought of this. Let me but save you, and I am ready to die!"

"Only hear her!" cried the electrified artist, "talking like that about the man she thinks stabbed her. I do believe she loves him yet."

"With my whole heart. I would die this instant to save him. I love him as dearly as when I stood beside him at the altar a blessed bride."

"Well, I'll be darned," burst out Mr. Parmalee, "if this don't beat all creation! Now, then, what would you give to know it was not Sir Everard who stabbed you that night?"

"Not Sir Everard? But I saw him; I heard him speak. He did it in a moment of madness, Mr. Parmalee, and Heaven only knows what anguish and remorse he has suffered since."

"I hope so," said Mr. Parmalee. "I hope he's gone through piles of agony, for I don't like a bone in his body, if it comes to that. But, I repeat, it was not your husband who stabbed you on the stone terrace that dismal night. It was--it was Sybilla Silver!"

"What?"

"Yes, ma'am--sounds incredible, but it's a fact. She rigged out in a suit of Sir Everard's clothes, mimicked his voice, and did the deed. I saw her face when she pitched you over the rail as plain as I see your'n this minute, and I'm ready to swear to it through all the courts in Christendom. She hated you like pisen, and the baronet, too, and she thinks she's put an end to you both; but if we don't give her an eye-opener pretty soon, my name ain't Parmalee."

She sunk on her knees and held up her clasped hands.

"Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d!"

Next day they sailed for England. The pa.s.sage was all that could be desired, even by the impatience of Harriet.

They arrived in Liverpool. Mr. Parmalee and his companion posted full speed down to Devons.h.i.+re. In the luminous dusk of the soft May evening they reached Worrel, Harriet's thick veil hiding her from every eye.

"We'll go to Mr. Bryson's first," said Parmalee, Bryson being Sir Everard's lawyer. "We're in the very nick of time; to-morrow morning at day-dawn is fixed for----"

"Oh, hus.h.!.+" in a voice of agony; "not that fearful word!"

They reached the house of Mr. Bryson. He sat over his eight-o'clock cup of tea, with a very gloomy face. He had known Sir Everard all his life--he had known his beautiful bride, so pa.s.sionately beloved. He had bidden the doomed baronet a last farewell that afternoon.

"He never did it," said he to himself. "There is a horrible mystery somewhere. He never did it--I could stake my life on his innocence--and he is to die to-morrow, poor fellow! That missing man, Parmalee, did it, and that fierce young woman with the big black eyes and deceitful tongue was his aider and abettor. If I could only find that man!"

A servant entered with a card, "G. W. Parmalee." The lawyer rose with a cry.

"Good Heaven above! It can't be! It's too good to be true! He never would rush into the lion's den in this way. John Thomas, who gave you this?"

"Which the gentleman is in the droring-room, sir," responded John Thomas, "as likewise the lady."

Mr. Bryson rushed for the drawing-room, flung wide the door, and confronted Mr. Parmalee.

"Good-evening, squire," said the American.

"You here!" gasped the Sawyer--"the man for whom we have been scouring the kingdom!"

"You'd oughter scoured the Atlantic," replied the artist, with infinite calm. "I've been home to see my folks. I suppose you wanted me to throw a little light on that 'ere horrid murder?"

"I suspect you know more of that murder than any other man alive!" said the lawyer.

"Do tell! Well, now, I ain't a-going to deny it--I do know all about it, squire."

"What?"

"Precisely! Yes, sir. I saw the deed done."

"You did? Good heavens!"

"Don't swear, squire. Yes, I saw the stab given, with that 'ere long knife; and it wasn't the baronet did it, either, though you're going to hang him for it to-morrow."

"In Heaven's name, man, who did the deed?"

"Sybilla Silver!"

"I knew it--I thought it--I said it! The she-devil! Poor, poor Lady Kingsland!"

"Ma'am," said the American, turning to his veiled companion, "perhaps it will relieve Mr. Bryson's gus.h.i.+ng bosom to behold your face. Jest lift that 'ere veil."

"All-merciful Heaven! the dead alive! Lady Kingsland!"

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

HIGHLY SENSATIONAL.

Sybilla Silver went straight from the prison cell of Sir Everard to the sick-room of his mother. It was almost eleven when she reached the Court, but they watched the night through in that house of mourning.

Leaving the fly before the front entrance, Sybilla stole round to that side door she had used the memorable night of March tenth. She admitted herself without difficulty, and proceeded at once to Lady Kingsland's sick-room.

She tapped lightly at the door. It was opened instantly, and the pale face of Mildred looked out.

"You here! How dare you, you cruel, wicked, merciless woman!" she indignantly cried.

"Hard words, Miss Kingsland. Let me in, if you please--I wish to see your mother."

"You shall not come in! The sight of you will kill her! Was it not enough to swear away the life of her only son? Do you want to blast her dying hours with the sight of your base, treacherous face?"

With a look of scornful contempt, Sybilla took her by the shoulder and drew her out of the room.