The Bride of the Tomb, and Queenie's Terrible Secret

"She lies!" cried Haidee and Peter, simultaneously.

"Silence, wretches!" thundered Dr. Pratt, furiously, reading guilt in their very faces. "Let the lady tell her story, then deny it if you can."

"It is the wine that has got into her head," whined Peter, abjectly.

"Silence, fellow! Now, go on with your story, Miss Lawrence," said the physician, impatiently.

Thus encouraged, Lily related every word of the frightful conversation that was indelibly stamped on her memory. There was no discrediting her assertions. The truth was unmistakable.

"She was just opening the door," concluded Lily, "when your loud knocking frightened her away. My relief from the pressure of over-wrought feeling was so great that I fainted when I attempted to stand up again!"

Dr. Pratt was foaming at the mouth with such furious rage that he could not speak. Colville, pale, trembling, with chattering teeth and staring eyes, found his voice first.

"Wretches! Devils!" he shouted, in a voice hoarse with passion, as he pointed to the door. "Go hide yourselves from my sight before I rend you limb from limb!"

The craven wretches slunk away and locked themselves into their room in wild fear lest the two infuriated men should put their threat into execution. Colville came forward and stood by the bedside of the young girl who had fallen back panting from weariness after her denunciation of the would-be murderers.

"Lily," he said abjectly, "I am so unnerved by the thought of the horrible fate you have just escaped that I can scarcely speak: but, believe me, my dearest girl, I thought you perfectly safe in this place, I never dreamed of such perfidy in these hired servants of my will."

"This is no time for apologies," interrupted the doctor abruptly. "Make them hereafter when you have more leisure and better command of your feelings. At present the most important thing is to remove Miss Lawrence from this house immediately, and place her in a safer retreat."

He drew Colville aside one moment.

"I know of a place a few miles from here," he whispered, "to which I have the entree. The place is a private mad-house, and is kept by a doctor who is a very particular friend of mine. I know of no better retreat at present for our fair little friend. He will receive her with pleasure, and you can represent her as insane if it pleases you."

"Let us take her there then," answered Colville.

Doctor Pratt took down a dark cloak with a hood attached which hung against the wall.

"Miss Lawrence," he said, quite courteously, "my carriage is at the gate and I find it necessary to remove you at once from the perils that environ you here. Put on this cloak and let us go. I will find means afterward to punish these wretches for their perfidy."

Lily obeyed in silence, and was led down between them to the waiting carriage.

The Leverets did not appear again, nor did the hound offer to molest them.

Placing their prisoner in the carriage the two confederates drove rapidly away over the country road.

CHAPTER XXIX

The inquest that was held over the dead bodies of Peter and Haidee Leveret developed no information that could lead to the conviction of their destroyer.

An expert examined the bodies and declared that the cause of their death was strychnine poison.

Large quantities of this baneful drug was found in the tea pot and in the partly emptied cups of the victims.

Mr. Shelton testified to the accidental finding of the bodies, and to his extinguishing the flames which had been lighted for their funeral pyre—also to the finding of the chained prisoner in the gloomy dungeon. His evidence threw no light on the subject.

Fanny Colville testified to the names and general bad character of the deceased, but knew nothing which was calculated to enlighten the jury as to the mystery of their death.

She had not seen Peter for two years. Haidee had been in the habit of bringing her some bread and water once a week, but had neglected to return the last time, and nine days had elapsed since Fanny had seen her, two of which days she was entirely without food.

She supposed that the old witch was putting into execution her often-reiterated threat of starving her to death.

This was all they learned of Fanny. She had given her evidence with many pauses and turns of faintness. At length she became so ill and exhausted that it seemed cruel to weaken her with farther questioning, and it was decided to defer it until she became stronger and better.

The jury, in accordance with the facts elicited, rendered a verdict that the pair had come to their death by strychnine poisoning at the hands of some person unknown.

Search was made for the hidden treasure the misers were supposed to have concealed about the house, but nothing of value was found, and the bodies of the iniquitous pair were committed to burial at the expense of the city. They had lived their evil life, and the world being rid of them was better off.

Mrs. Colville was removed to the home of Mrs. Mason, and the kind soul was shocked at the spectacle of human misery thus presented to her view.

She gave the poor creature a warm bath, clothed her skeleton limbs in soft and comfortable apparel, and shingled her long, inextricably tangled hair close to her head.

This done she proceeded to put her to bed and feed her with warm and nourishing food.

The poor, starved woman could scarcely realize her good fortune.

She lay looking about her at the pleasant little room with its neat carpet and curtains, its comfortable bed and cheery fire, and feared it was all a dream from which she would awaken to the horrors of her lonely, fireless dungeon.

But the gentle voice of her hostess soothed away her fears and lulled her into profound and restful sleep.

For several days the most of her time was spent in eating and sleeping.

The warm room and nourishing food seemed to induce slumber, and she began to improve very slowly, but still so perceptibly that when the detective came to see her after the lapse of a week he was delighted at the change.

"Mrs. Mason, you must be a capital nurse," said he, smiling. "Your patient looks very well, and begins to improve at a rate I hardly dared hope for; I should scarcely have known her."

"And, but for your timely help I should have been dead ere this," said the invalid, giving him a grateful look from her large, hollow, dark eyes. "I owe you my life. I do not know how to thank you."

"Do not try," answered the detective, feeling shy under the gratitude that was about to be showered upon him. "The revelation you made me when I found you fully repays the debt."

"Ah! that dear girl," sighed Fanny. "Have you learned anything further about her, Mr. Shelton?"

He shook his head sadly.

"I am sorry to say I have not. The wretches have eluded me in some way, and managed to remove her without my knowledge. But I do not despair of catching up with them yet, and restoring the unfortunate young creature to her friends."

"God grant you may," she murmured, fervently.

"There is one thing I wish to ask you," said he, suddenly. "When you were telling me your story that day in the dungeon, you made an assertion that threw a new light on the subject of Miss Lawrence's supposed death."

"Ah! what was that?" she inquired.

"You know, or, perhaps, you do not know," said he, "that the jury's verdict was suicide. Yet you made the assertion that she was murdered by a jealous woman."

"Miss Lawrence was my informant, sir," answered Mrs. Colville. "Perhaps she knew all the circumstances better than the jury."

"No doubt she did," he answered, smiling at her demure tone. "And the woman?"

"Was a beautiful widow who lives under the Lawrence roof, and is dependent on the banker for the very means of existence. I cannot recall her name, for I have a peculiar faculty for forgetting names, but perhaps you have heard it."

"I have," he answered, gravely. "And indeed it amazes me. It passes belief that she should have struck a blow so terrible at the heart of Mr. Lawrence, to whom she owes nothing but gratitude."

"She was maddened by jealousy, sir. She loved the young man whom Lily Lawrence was on the point of marrying. I heard this from the young girl's own lips. She told me she had long before suspected her love, and pitied her sincerely, without a thought of the cruel vengeance she was about to take."

"Cruel! It was fiendish," said Mr. Shelton.

"Yes, sir, it was fiendish. She crept into the room while Miss Lawrence was trying on her wedding-dress, caught up a dagger from the table, and exclaimed, as she plunged it into her victim's heart: 'Girl, you shall die because Lancelot Darling loves you!'"

"Horrible!" exclaimed the detective.

"Miss Lawrence became immediately unconscious," continued Mrs. Colville, "and does not know how the woman left the room after locking her door on the inside, but thinks it probable she slid down the long vine that runs up to her chamber window."

"It is very probable she did," said Mr. Shelton. "Heavens! what a tissue of crime and villany has been woven about the innocent life of that beautiful girl! But I will see her righted, I swear it by all that I hold most sacred. And then let Mrs. Vance and Pratt and Colville look to themselves. I hold the evidences of their crime in my hands now. They only bide my time to see the inside of a prison cell!"

Mrs. Mason, sitting with her knitting, had been an interested listener to the above conversation. The detective turned to her now, saying kindly:

"We have been discussing secrets very freely in your presence, my kind hostess, but I suppose you know how to keep silence regarding them."

"Wild horses should not drag a word from me, sir, without permission," replied she, earnestly.

"I fully believe it," answered Mr. Shelton. "Therefore I shall commission Mrs. Colville to take you fully into our confidence after I leave here. You will thereby hear a very romantic story regarding the young lady whom you so nobly befriended some time ago."

"Bless her sweet face! I never shall forget her," said Mrs. Mason, on whom indeed that little incident had made a deep and lasting impression.

"I hope you may yet have the pleasure of meeting her under more favorable auspices," said the detective, strong in the faith that he should yet rescue Lily from her cruel and unrelenting captors.

"Mr. Shelton," said the invalid, abruptly, "I have been thinking of sending for my poor old mother from the country. I must tell you that I ran away from home to marry that villain, Colville. I have never seen my poor old mother since, but I sent her my marriage certificate to keep for me, and to assure her that I was an honorable wife. I have never seen or heard from her since. I would like to see her very much."

"Well?" he said, as she paused, looking wistfully at him.

"Would you advise me to send for her?" asked Fanny.

Mr. Shelton took down a little mirror hanging over the small toilet table and held it before her face.

"Is it possible your mother would recognize you?" he inquired, gently.

Poor Fanny did not know how sadly she was changed before. She looked at herself and shuddered.

"Oh! no, sir!" said she, mournfully; "I was a black-eyed, rosy-cheeked young girl when I left home. I am a gray-headed skeleton now."

"Then take my advice and wait a little while. In the meantime, let Mrs. Mason feed you and nurse you until you get some flesh on your limbs, and some color in your ghostly face. Then as soon as you get strong enough to travel, I myself will take you home to your mother."

"Oh! thank you, thank you; that will be best," she murmured, gratefully.

"No thanks," he answered, and bidding them adieu, he went hurriedly away.

CHAPTER XXX

Lily Lawrence leaned back in the physician's carriage and wept silently as she was whirled onward to her new prison.

Her companions were very taciturn. Doctor Pratt was driving and gave the most of his attention to his task. Beyond one or two questions as to her comfort he did not address either Lily or Colville. The latter sat entirely silent opposite the young girl through the whole time.

At length, after several miles of rapid driving the carriage came to a pause, and the young girl was lifted out in front of a large, frowning brick edifice which loomed up gloomily in the darkness of the chilly night. She was led up a flight of stone steps and Doctor Pratt rang the bell.

The summons was quickly answered by a small dark man, who showed surprise at the visit, but welcomed Doctor Pratt with the cordiality of an old friend.

"Doctor Heath, this is Mr. Colville, a friend of mine," said Doctor Pratt as they stepped into the hall. "We have brought you a patient in the person of this young lady."

"Indeed!" said the host, bowing gracefully to these two new acquaintances, and ushering them into a small reception-room on the right. "Pray take seats, my friends, and draw near the fire. The night is raw and chilly."

Mr. Colville placed a comfortable chair near the fire for Lily, and she sat down and held out her numbed hands to the cheerful blaze that burned on the hearth.

Doctor Heath took a seat near her regarding her with looks of surprise and admiration. Her colorless beauty shone out like a lily indeed from the dark hood over her head.

"She looks very ill," said he in an undertone to his colleague, and unseen by Lily, he tapped his forehead significantly.

Doctor Pratt gave a shy affirmative nod.

"She has been very ill," he answered, "and has had a tiresome drive to-night in addition. Perhaps it would be better to let her have some refreshments and retire at once. I wish to have a private conversation with you."

Doctor Heath retired to give the necessary order. Lily's blue eyes turned upon her captors with a look of dread in their soft depths.

"Doctor Pratt," said she, "what new trials am I about to experience here?"

"None at all, I hope," said he, smoothly. "Your health is visibly declining, Miss Lawrence, and I have concluded to place you under the constant care of my friend, Doctor Heath. I think you will find this a more comfortable place than old Haidee Leveret's and you will have kinder treatment; I shall leave orders for a rather more generous diet than has been lately allowed you, for I fear your constitution may be ruined by your recent course of starvation. Yet I must say your own obstinacy brought it upon you. One kind word from your lips to Mr. Colville would have placed every luxury at your command."

"And I would die rather than speak that word!" said Lily, with a scornful curl of her beautiful lip.

"You will change your mind, doubtless, before you have remained long in this place," said Mr. Colville, in a tone so significant that she stared and looked at him keenly, as if trying to fathom its hidden meaning, but she could not read the expression on his face, and dropped her eyes with a weary sigh.

Doctor Heath came in, followed by a neat young woman with a large and apparently very strong frame. She came in and stood behind Lily's chair.

"This young woman will attend you to your room," said Doctor Heath, with a polite bow. "I dare say you are tired and would like to seek repose."

Mr. Colville approached Lily and bent down to say, softly:

"I may not see you again for several weeks, Lily; but if you should change your mind and wish to recall me sooner, you need only signify it to Doctor Heath, and he will communicate with me at once."

"I am not likely to change my mind," she answered, coldly, turning from him and following the strong-limbed young woman out of the room.

Her guide led her up a stairway and along a wide hall, with a number of closed doors on each side. At length she paused and threw open the door, saying, politely:

"This will be your room for the present, miss."

Thus addressed, Lily stepped reluctantly across the threshold and looked around her.

She found herself in a small and neatly-furnished room. The floor was covered with a bright, warm carpet, a nicely-cushioned chair was drawn before a comfortable fire, and a tray containing refreshments was placed on a little stand in front of it.

The attendant entered behind her and closed the door.

"Allow me to assist you," said she, removing Lily's cloak, and seating her in the easy-chair before the fire.

Lily's lip quivered slightly at the gentle kindness of the woman's tone. Poor girl! harshness and coldness and threatening had become the only familiar sounds to her ears. This woman, though she looked young herself, assumed a motherly tone like one talking to a sick child.

"You would like a cup of tea, I reckon," said she, pouring out the fragrant beverage, and putting in cream and sugar, "and a bit of this toast and cold chicken? You look very cold and tired, my dear."

"Thank you," answered Lily, taking the tea and drinking it thirstily.

After her long fast upon bread and water the food tasted simply delicious to her. She did not know how much its quality was sweetened by the kind looks of her attendant, who sat by and watched her with a good-natured smile on her round and rosy face.

"Perhaps you would like me to help you to bed before I take away the tray," said she, as Lily finished her tea and leaned back wearily in her chair.

"Thanks; presently I will avail myself of your kindness, but now I wish to ask you some questions," said Lily, quietly.

"Yes, miss," said the woman, kindly, but she looked at Lily with a great deal of surprise at her tone.

"What is your name?" inquired the young prisoner.

"Mary Brown, if you please, miss," answered the woman in her kind, soothing tone.

"You live here, I suppose, Mary?" pursued the young girl.

"Yes, miss."

"Then, Mary, I wish you would tell me what kind of a house this is. I have been fancying that it must be a hospital, as there seems to be a resident physician. Am I right?"

"Oh! yes, miss, certainly, this is a hospital. We have a number of sick people here," said the woman, like one humoring an inquisitive child. "But don't you wish to retire now, miss? It's about midnight I should think."

"In a minute, Mary. Tell me first, is it a public hospital?"

"Oh! no, miss. It's perfectly private, and very select indeed. We receive none but first-class people here—we don't indeed."

She was turning down the covers of the bed as she spoke, and now she said, persuasively:

"Come, now, let me help you to bed, miss, I want to tuck you up warm and comfortable before I leave you."

Lily submitted patiently, but as she laid her tired head on the pillow, she asked, suddenly:

"Is Dr. Heath a good man, Mary?"

"La, now, miss, you must judge of that yourself. You will see him often enough before you get well," said Mary Brown.

Lily was about to open her lips to refute the charge of her illness, when she was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a wild and piercing shriek which seemed to come from the room that was next her own. In her alarm she sprang up and caught Mary Brown's arms in both hers, shuddering with surprise and terror.

"Oh! what is it?" she cried, as the wild shriek was repeated again and again, mingled with frenzied shouts and peal after peal of frightful, demoniacal laughter.

"It's only one of the sick ones, miss," said Mary Brown, uneasily. "Don't fret yourself, my dear. Lie down again. He will soon be quiet, and then you can go to sleep."

A horrible suspicion flashed into Lily's mind.

"Mary Brown, you have been deceiving me with your kind face and friendly talk. This is not a hospital for the sick. It is a private mad-house—is it not?"

"Well, it is for people who are sick in their heads," admitted Mary.

"You mean for people who are insane," said she, holding tightly to the woman's arm.

Mary Brown nodded acquiescence.

Lily was silent a moment, lost in painful thought. At length she said, sadly:

"I hope you do not think that I am insane, Mary Brown?"

"Oh! dear, no, miss," said Mary, in her placid tone. "Of course not."

"But you do believe it. I can see that plainly," cried Lily, in an anguished tone. "You have been humoring and petting me, taking me for some insane creature. But I assure you I am not. I am perfectly sane, though I have suffered cruelty and injustice enough to have driven me mad long ago. I have been brought here by two wicked men to be made a prisoner because I will not marry a man whom I hate."

"You poor, injured dear," said the good nurse, affecting to believe the young girl's story, though in her heart she set it down simply as one of the vagaries of madness.

"You do not believe me," cried Lily, passionately. "Oh! God, is this crowning insult to be added to my sufferings? Must they represent me as mad, and thus drive me into insanity indeed?"

The attendant began to think that her beautiful and gentle patient was becoming violent. She gently but forcibly released her arms from Lily's clasp, and laid the moaning girl back on her pillow.

"My dear," she said, "you must not excite yourself. You look too ill to stand agitation. I must go now and help Doctor Heath to manage that poor shrieking maniac in the next room. Try and go to sleep, my pretty dear."

She drew the warm covers up carefully over the patient, brushed back the disordered golden hair with a coarse but kindly hand, extinguished the light, and, taking up the tray of dishes, went out, carefully locking the door after her.

In the hall she encountered Doctor Heath about entering the room of the shrieking patient. He paused at sight of her.

"How is your new patient?" he inquired, abruptly.

"A little excited at present, sir. She appeared very quiet and sensible at first, but after the violent patient began his shrieks she became violent and wild, sir!"

"Did she tell you her name?" he inquired.

Mary Brown replied in the negative.

"Her case is rather peculiar," said Doctor Heath. "She is the victim of a strange hallucination. A wealthy young lady of New York committed suicide last summer under very romantic circumstances. This young person imagines herself to be the identical young lady who killed herself, and asserts that she was resurrected by a physician and his friend, who detain her in durance vile because the latter wishes to marry her. She will tell you her story, of course. Do not contradict her, but gently humor her. She will not give you much trouble, I think, as it is a mere case of melancholy madness. The young lady she personates was named Miss Lawrence. Be particular and call her by that name, Mary."

"I will, sir," said Mary, passing on.

CHAPTER XXXI

Mrs. Vance read in the daily papers an account on the inquest that had been held over the dead bodies of her two victims.

She was surprised and troubled at first because her scheme for burning the house down and destroying the bodies had failed, but as she saw that no clew to the perpetrator of the poisoning had been discovered, her courage rose in proportion.

"I am free now," she thought, with a guilty thrill of triumph. "The two old harpies who preyed upon me are dead, and their secret with them. No one will ever discover my agency in their death. Suspicion would never dream of fastening upon me. Who would believe that these white hands could be stained with crime?"

She held them up, admiring their delicate whiteness and the costly rings that glittered upon them, then went to the mirror and looked at her handsome reflection.

"I am beautiful," she said to herself with a proud smile. "There is no reason why I should not win Lancelot Darling. A woman can marry whom she will when she is gifted with beauty and grace like mine. And I will yet be Lancelot Darling's wife. I solemnly swear that I will!"

In the exuberance of her triumph and her pride in herself, she ordered the carriage and went out to spend the money she had rescued from Peter and Haidee in some new feminine adornment wherewith to deck her beauty for the eyes of the obdurate young millionaire.

Time flew past and brought the cold and freezing days of November. The latter part of it was exceedingly cold, and snow covered the ground with a thick, white crust.

Lancelot Darling came into the drawing-room one day where Ada and the beautiful widow sat by the glowing fire, Mrs. Vance busy as usual with some trifle of fancy work, and Ada yawning over the latest novel. They welcomed him without surprise or formality, for he had fallen into a habit of dropping in familiarly and with the freedom of a brother. Mrs. Vance, after the first few weeks of affected shyness and prudence, had resumed her old frank relations with Lance, though but feebly seconded by that young man, who had not recovered from the shock of her unwomanly avowal of love for himself.