The Masked Bridal Part 22

"Yes," Dr. Arthur told him, "she is coming out of it, and if another does not follow, she will come around all right in time. If you could only find that housekeeper," he added, "she must have good care through the night."

"I will go for her again," said Mr. G.o.ddard, and he started downstairs upon his quest.

He met the woman on the second floor and just coming up the back stairs.

"Ah! Mrs. Weld, I am glad to find you. We have needed you sadly," he eagerly exclaimed.

"I am sorry," the woman replied, in a regretful tone. "I was unavoidably engaged and came just as soon as I was at liberty. What is this I hear?" she continued, gravely; "what is this story about the poor child being cheated into a real marriage with madam's brother? Is it true?"

"Hus.h.!.+ no one must hear such a version," said Mr. G.o.ddard, looking anxiously about him.

He then proceeded to explain something of the matter, for he saw that she knew too much to keep still, unless she was told more, and cautioned not to discuss the matter with the servants.

"I knew nothing of the plot until it was all over--I swear to you I did not," he said, when she began to express her indignation at the affair. "I never would have permitted anything of the kind to have been carried out in my house, if I had suspected it. It seems that Correlli has been growing fond of her ever since he came. She has refused him twice, but he swore that he would have her, in spite of everything, and it seems that he concocted this plot to accomplish his end."

"Well, sir, he is a dastardly villain, and, in my opinion, his sister is no better than himself," Mrs. Weld exclaimed, in tones of hot indignation, and then she swept past him and on up to Edith's room.

She opened the door and entered just as the poor girl heaved a long sigh and unclosed her eyes, looking about with complete consciousness for the first time since she fell to the floor in the parlor below.

The physician immediately administered a stimulant, for she was naturally weak and her pulses still feeble.

As this began to take effect, memory also resumed its torturing work.

Lifting her eyes to the housekeeper, who went at once to her side, a spasm of agony convulsed her beautiful features.

"Oh, Mrs. Weld!" she moaned, s.h.i.+vering from head to foot.

"Hush, child!" said the woman, bending over her and laying a gentle hand upon her head; "it will all come right, so just shut your eyes and try to go to sleep. I am going to stay with you to-night, and n.o.body else shall come near you. Don't talk before the servants," she added, in a swift whisper close to her ear.

An expression of intense relief swept over the fair sufferer's face at this friendly a.s.surance, and lifting a grateful look to the housekeeper's face, she settled herself contentedly upon her pillow.

Dr. Arthur then drew Mrs. Weld to the opposite side of the room, where he gave her directions for the night and what to do in case the fainting should return--which, however, he said he did not antic.i.p.ate, as the action of the heart had become normal and the circulation more natural.

A little later he took his leave, after which the housemaids were dismissed and Edith was alone with her friend.

When the door closed after them the girl stretched forth her hands in a gesture of helpless appeal to the woman.

"Oh, Mrs. Weld," she wailed, "must I be bound to that wretch during the remainder of my life? I cannot live and bear such a fate! Oh, what a shameful mockery it was! I felt, all the time, as if I were committing a sacrilege, and yet I never dreamed that I was being used so treacherously--"

The housekeeper sat down beside the excited girl, whose eyes were burning with a feverish light, and who showed symptoms of returning hysteria.

She removed her spectacles, and taking both of those trembling hands in hers, looked steadily into the troubled eyes.

"My child," she said, in a gentle, soothing tone, "you must not talk about it to-night--you must not even think about it. I have told you that it will all come out right; no man could hold you to such a marriage--no court would hold you bound when once it is understood how fraudulently you had been drawn into it."

"But who is going to be able to prove that it was fraudulent?"

questioned Edith with increasing anxiety. "Apparently I went to the altar with that man of my own free will; with all the semblance of sincerity I took those marriage vows upon me and then received the congratulations of all those guests as if I were a real wife. Oh, it was terrible! terrible! terrible!" and her voice arose almost to a shriek of agony as she concluded.

"Hus.h.!.+ not another word! Edith look at me!" commanded Mrs. Weld with gentle but impressive authority.

The young girl, awed to silence in spite of her grief and nervous excitement, looked wonderingly up into those magnetic eyes which almost seemed to betray a dual nature.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Weld, you do not seem at all like yourself," she gasped. "What--who are you?"

"I am your friend, my dear," was the soothing response, "and I am going to prove it, first by forbidding you to refer to this subject again until after you have had a nice, long sleep. Trust me and obey me, dear; I am going to stand by you as long as you need a friend, and I promise you that you shall never be a slave to the man who has so wronged you to-night. Now put it all out of your mind. I do not want to give you an opiate if I can avoid it, for you would not be so well to-morrow after taking it; but I shall have to if you keep up this excitement."

She continued to hold the girl's trembling hands in a strong, protecting clasp, while she still gazed steadily into her eyes, until, as if overcome by a will stronger than her own--her physical strength being well-nigh exhausted--the white lids gradually drooped, the rigid form relaxed, the lines smoothed themselves out of her brow, and she was soon sleeping quietly and restfully.

When her regular breathing a.s.sured the watcher beside her that oblivion had sealed her senses for the time, she bent over her, touched her lips softly to her forehead, and murmured:

"Dear heart, they shall never hold you to that wicked ceremony--to that unholy bond! If the law will not cancel it, if they have sprung the trap upon you so cunningly that the court cannot free you, they shall at least leave you in peace and virtually free, and you shall never want for a friend as long as--as--Gertrude Weld lives," she concluded, a peculiar smile wreathing her lips.

While this strange woman sat in that third-story room and watched her sleeping patient, the hours sped by on rapid wings to the merry dancers below, very few of whom concerned themselves about, or even knew of, the tragic ending of the marriage which they had witnessed earlier in the evening.

But oh, how heavily these hours dragged to one among that smiling throng!

Anna G.o.ddard could scarcely control her impatience for her guests to be gone--for the terrible farce to end.

How terrible it all was to her not one of the gay people around her could suspect, for she was obliged to fawn and smile as if she were in thorough sympathy with the scene, and to attend to her duties as hostess and to all the petty details required by so-called etiquette, in order to preserve the prestige which she had acquired for entertaining handsomely.

But there was a deadly fear at her heart--an agony of apprehension, a dread of a fate which, to her, would have been worse than death.

Her husband and brother had disappeared entirely from the ball-room, a circ.u.mstance which only added to her perplexity and distress.

When she saw signs of the ball breaking up she sent an imperative message to her husband to join her, for she knew that it would cause unpleasant remarks if the master of the house should fail to put in an appearance to "speed the parting guest."

But she almost wished, when he came to her side, that she had not sent for him, for he seemed like one who had lost his hold upon every hope in the world, and looked so coldly upon her that she would rather have had him plunge a dagger into her heart.

But the weary evening was over at length--the last guest from outside was gone--the last visitor in the house had retired.

Her husband also had watched his opportunity, when she was looking another way, and had slipped out of the room and upstairs to escape having any complaints or questions from her.

And so Anna G.o.ddard stood alone in her elegant drawing-room, a most miserable woman, in spite of the luxury that surrounded her.

She had everything that heart could wish of this world's goods--a beautiful home in the city, another in the country, horses, carriages, servants, fine raiment, costly jewels, and fared sumptuously every day.

But her heart was like a sepulcher, full of corruption that had tainted her whole life; and now, as she stood there beneath the glare of a hundred lights, so fair to look upon in her gleaming satins and flas.h.i.+ng jewels, it seemed to her that she would gladly exchange places with the humblest country-woman if thereby she could be at peace with herself and with G.o.d, and be the center of a loving and loyal family, happy in the performances of her simple duties as a wife and mother.

Finally, with a weary sigh, the unhappy woman went slowly upstairs, feeling as if, in spite of the smiles and compliments which she had that evening received, she had not a real friend in the world.

Going to her dressing-case, she began to remove her jewels.

The house was very still--so still that it almost seemed deserted, and this feeling only served to add to the sense of loneliness and desolation that was oppressing her.

Her face was full of pain, her beautiful lips quivered with suppressed emotion as she gathered up her costly treasures in both hands and stood looking at them a moment, thinking bitterly how much money they represented, and yet of how little real value they were to her as an essential element in her life.

She moved toward her casket to put her gems carefully away.