The Castle Of The Shadows Part 3

Roger, who had been gazing out over the sea, turned a surprised look upon Virginia.

"No! He was not innocent," he said quickly. "Everything proved his guilt.

It is impossible that he should have been innocent."

"His sister believed in him."

"Yes, his sister. What does that prove? The father thought him guilty, and killed himself. As for the mother--who knows? At all events, she died--broken-hearted. Every penny the family possessed, after their great losses, went for Maxime's defense; but, except that his life was saved, it was in vain."

"You knew him--he was your friend--yet you believed in his guilt?"

"I hardly knew him well enough to call myself a friend. I admired him, certainly Max Dalahaide was the handsomest, wittiest, most fascinating fellow I ever met. Neither man nor woman could resist him, if he set out to conquer. Loria and he were like brothers; yet Loria thought with the rest of the world. He can't be blamed for disloyalty, either, for really there was nothing else to think, if one used one's reason."

"If he had been _my_ friend, I would not have used my reason!" exclaimed Virginia. "What is the use of reason, when one has instinct?--and that is never wrong. But it is good of you to defend the Marchese, for I know you don't like him."

"Don't I?" echoed Roger. "If I don't, I'm afraid it is because you _do_.

You won't have me, dear; you've told me that, and I don't mean to bother you again; but I'm weak enough to be jealous when I think there's danger of your saying 'Yes' to anybody else."

"I don't know that there is any such danger in this case," said Virginia.

"But the Marchese is very handsome, and rather romantic, and he sings like an angel. Oh, yes, I am almost in love with him when he sings--or I was till yesterday. And how he dances! It's poetry. When I am waltzing with the Marchese Loria I invariably make up my mind that I will accept him next time he asks. Then, afterward, something holds me back. To-day, in that valley of shadows, he affected me quite differently. It was as if--as if the shadows had shut down between us. I saw him in the shadow, his features changed--repellent. As the French say, he 'made me horror.'

Yet I didn't know why. Now I begin to understand. It was my precious instinct warning me, saying: 'This man is disloyal. Don't trust him.'"

"You are unjust," said Roger. "I should like to let you misjudge him, but I can't be a bounder, you know. He really behaved extremely well in the Dalahaide affair. The man couldn't believe, against a mountain of evidence; nevertheless, he did what he could for his friend, guilty as he thought him. All this happened four years ago, when you were a demure little schoolgirl--if you ever _could_ have been demure!--in your own Virginia, not allowed even to hear of, much less read, the great newspaper scandals of the moment. I can't remember every detail of the affair, but it was said to be largely through Loria's efforts that Max was saved from capital punishment for his crime."

"You haven't told me yet what that crime was."

"Yes. I have said it was murder."

"Ah! but that is only a crude statement. I ask for the story."

"You won't have it from me, my child," answered Roger coolly. "I'm not a sensation-monger. It was a horrid affair, and one doesn't talk of such things to little girls. You know all from me that you will know. Buy your chateau, if you choose. You've money enough to squander on twenty such toys and not miss it. No doubt poor Madeleine Dalahaide will be benefited by the exchange--her castle for your money. Fortunate for her, perhaps, that she is the last of the French Dalahaides, and has the right to sell the chateau."

"You will tell me nothing more?"

"Nothing."

"Then I will tell _you_ one thing. I believe that the man was innocent. I have seen his portrait. I have seen his sister. That is enough for me.

But what you will not tell me I shall learn for myself, and then--and then--you shall see what you shall see."

Virginia slept restlessly that night. In her dreams she was always in the Valley of the Shadow, striving to find her way out into the sunlight; and sometimes the valley seemed but the entrance to that bottomless pit of shame where Maxime Dalahaide was entombed. She awoke from a dream forgotten, in a spasm of cold fear, before it was dawn, and switching on the electric light near the bed, she drew her watch from under the pillow. It was just six o'clock; and for a few moments Virginia lay still, thinking over the events of yesterday. After all, what did they mean for her? Nothing, said Reason; everything, said a Voice to which she could give no name.

Suddenly her heart began to beat quickly with the excitement of a strange thought that seemed to spring out of herself, and then turn to face her.

It pushed the girl from her bed, and she rose, s.h.i.+vering; for even here at Cap Martin it was cold in the early morning before the vivid sun had warmed the air.

She was used to lying in bed until a fire of fragrant pine cones and olive wood crackled on the hearth, and her own maid had filled the bath in the bathroom adjoining. But now she bathed in the cold, dressing herself in her riding-habit, and even arranging her hair without help. By seven her toilet was made, and, turning off the electric light, she found that the sky was pink and golden with the winter sunrise.

The girl rang for coffee, and ordered her horse to be ready. She and Kate Gardiner never met before ten o'clock, at earliest; thus three hours would pa.s.s before any one save her maid would begin to wonder where she was; and for the maid she would leave a line of explanation, mentioning that she had gone out on business, and that nothing was to be said unless Lady Gardiner inquired.

Virginia had a ride of nearly two hours before she could reach the destination she had planned; but neither the fresh air, the beauty of the scene, nor the exercise which she loved, could calm the fever in her blood. It was as if some power stronger than herself pushed her on; and though she had always been too healthy in mind and body to suffer from superst.i.tion, she now believed, half fearfully, that such an influence had possession of her.

"What is the matter with me?" she asked. "I am no longer myself. It is as if I were only an instrument in hands that use me as they will. Why do I go this morning to the Chateau de la Roche? I don't know. I don't know what I shall say to excuse myself when I am there. Yet, somehow, the words will come to me--I feel it."

For it was to the chateau above the Valley of the Shadow that she was going.

When she reached the gates, half-way up the slope of the wooded hill which the whole party had climbed together yesterday, suddenly the nervous exaltation that had carried her courageously so far, broke like a violin string too tightly drawn. She was horrified at her own boldness.

She half turned back; then, setting her lips together, she slipped down from her saddle and opened the gate.

This morning no slim, black-clad figure moved among the wilderness of neglected flowers. Virginia tethered her mare, ascended the two or three stone steps, and struck the mailed glove of iron which formed the knocker on the oak of the door. Its echoes went reverberating through wide, empty s.p.a.ces, and for some moments she stood trembling at her audacity. She said to herself that she could not knock again. If no one answered the last summons she would take it as a sign that she ought not to have come, and she would steal away. But just as the limit of time she mentally set had pa.s.sed, and she was in the act of turning from the door, it opened.

The servant who had guided Virginia and her friends through the house the day before appeared, his pale, dignified old face showing such evident signs of surprise that the American girl, who had never flinched before any one or anything, stammered and blushed as she asked for Mademoiselle Dalahaide.

The old man politely ushered her in, but he was unable to hide his embarra.s.sment. Mademoiselle should be informed at once, if she were at home, but, in fact, it was possible---- He hesitated, and Virginia saw well that he prepared a way of escape for his young mistress in case she wished to avoid the unexpected caller.

"Pray tell mademoiselle that--that----" Virginia began. She had meant to finish by saying that her business was urgent. But--supposing when she found herself face to face with the girl in black, the fugitive desires which had dragged her here refused to be clothed in coherent words?

As the servant waited respectfully for the end of the message, a door which Virginia remembered as leading into the family chapel suddenly opened. Mademoiselle Dalahaide came slowly out, her head bent, her long black dress sweeping the stone floor of the hall in sombre folds. She did not see the stranger at first; but a faint e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from the lips of the old Frenchman caused the dark head to be quickly raised.

The eyes of the two girls met. Mademoiselle Dalahaide drew back a little, her tragically arresting face unlighted by a smile. She looked the question that she did not speak; but she gave the American no greeting, and there was something of displeasure or distrust in her level, searching look.

The moment which Virginia had dreaded, yet sought for, had come. All self-consciousness left her. She went to meet the other in an eager, almost childlike way.

"Do forgive me," she said in English. "I had to come. I could not sleep last night. I got up before any one else was awake, because I--because I wanted so much to see you, that I couldn't wait: and I wanted to come to you alone."

Madeleine Dalahaide's faint frown relaxed. Virginia in that mood was irresistible, even to a woman. Still the girl in black did not smile. She had almost forgotten that it was necessary and polite to force a smile for strangers. She had been so much alone, she and sorrow had grown so intimate, that she had become almost primitively sincere. The ordinary, pleasant little hypocrisies of the society in which she had once lived during what now seemed another state of existence, no longer existed for her.

Nevertheless, she was not discourteous. "You are kind to have taken this trouble," she said. "It is something about the chateau, no doubt--some questions which perhaps you forgot to ask yesterday?"

The old man, who understood not a word of English, had discreetly and noiselessly retired, now that fate had taken the management of the situation from his hands. The two girls were alone in the great hall, the chapel door still open behind Madeleine Dalahaide, giving her a background of red and purple light from a stained-gla.s.s window.

"No," Virginia answered. "If I said that business about the chateau brought me, it would be merely an excuse. It would make things easier for me in beginning, but--I wish to say to you only things that are really true. I came because--because I want to help you."

The white oval of the other's face was suddenly suffused with scarlet.

The dark head was lifted on the slender throat.

"Thank you," she said coldly. "But I am not in need of help. If that is your reason for thinking of buying this house, I beg----"

"But it is not my reason. What can I say that you won't misunderstand?

There is one whom you love. Just now you were praying for him in that chapel. I know it. You were praying to G.o.d to help him, weren't you? What if I should be an instrument sent you to be used for that purpose?"

The tragic eyes stared at the eager, beautiful face, dazed and astonished.

Virginia went on, not seeming to choose her words, but letting them flow as they would.

"I know how you have suffered. It is only a little while that I have known, but it seems long, very long. I have seen _his_ portrait, and partly I came up to tell you this morning that I believe in his innocence; partly that, but most of all I came to say that he must be saved."

"Saved?" echoed Madeleine Dalahaide. "But that is not possible. Only death can save him now."