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

"Pardon my abrupt entrance, Captain Ernscliffe," he said; "I knocked several times without eliciting a reply, so I ventured to enter through the half-open door."

Captain Ernscliffe arose and shook his visitor's hand with a cordiality tempered by an indefinable restraint.

"Pray make no apologies, sir," he said. "They are quite unnecessary."

He placed a chair for the visitor, then resumed his own seat, gazing rather curiously at the pleasant-looking, kindly old gentleman, who reminded him so much of his wife's father.

What had brought him there, he wondered, with some slight nervousness at the thought.

Mr. Lyle looked a little nervous, too. He wiped the dew from his fine old forehead, and remarked that it was a warm day.

"I suppose so," assented the host in a tone that seemed to say he had not thought about it before.

"I have come on a thankless mission, Lawrence," Mr. Lyle said, with some slight embarrassment. "At least on an unsolicited one. I wish to speak to you of—of Queenie."

Captain Ernscliffe flushed crimson to the roots of his hair, and then grew deathly pale.

"I must refer you to my counsel, then," he answered, after a pause. "I have nothing to say about her myself."

"Lawrence!"

The gently rebuking tone in which the one word was uttered made the hearer start. He looked up quickly.

"Well, sir?"

"Do you know that you are treating my niece very unfairly in this matter. It is cruel to condemn her with her defense unheard."

"She condemned herself, Mr. Lyle, without a word from anyone else. Her guilt and shame were written all too legibly on her face the moment she looked upon Leon Vinton."

"Let us grant that she had reason to be ashamed of his acquaintance, Lawrence. Still may there not be some extenuation for her fault?"

"None, none! The more I think of it the blacker her dreadful sins appear. Oh, my God, to think of her with her face as lovely as an angel's, and her heart all black with sin! To think how I trusted and loved her, and how basely she repaid my confidence! How cruelly she deceived and betrayed me!" exclaimed the outraged husband, rising from his seat and pacing the floor excitedly.

"I cannot effect any compromise, then?" said Mr. Lyle, irresolutely. "You are bent on a divorce, I suppose. A separation would not content you?"

"Did she send you to ask this?" angrily exclaimed Captain Ernscliffe, pausing in his restless tramp to glare furiously at the would-be peacemaker.

"No, Lawrence, I told you I came on an unsolicited mission. Queenie knows nothing of my coming, and would not thank me for having asked that useless question. She asks no favors from you, but she means to defend her honor, and fight the divorce which would brand her with shame."

"My counsel and hers will settle that affair. In the meantime, why this useless dallying for long months on the pretence of illness? Why does she shirk appearing at court in answer to the summons? If not guilty, why does she not hasten to protest her innocence?"

"Queenie is ill, Captain Ernscliffe—has been ill for months. But we hope now that she may soon be able to appear at court and confront her accusers."

"Why does she not instruct her lawyer to manage the case without her if she is unable to be present herself? This suspense is unendurable. If this delay is continued much longer, I shall endeavor to push the matter without her. I am tired of this dilly-dallying!"

They looked at each other a moment in silence. Then the elder man said, with a repressed sigh:

"That is one thing I came to ask you, Lawrence. Grant us this much grace, my poor, unfortunate Queenie, and her fond, old uncle. Do not push the matter for a little while. Wait until she can come into court and tell her own story before her fiendish accusers."

"But, Mr. Lyle, I am growing too impatient to wait longer. I chafe at the bonds that bind me to that beautiful deceiver."

"They will not bind you much longer," Mr. Lyle answered, sadly. "Either death or the law will soon sever your hated fetters."

Captain Ernscliffe started and looked at the speaker wildly.

"Death," he said, with an uncontrollable shudder. "Why do you talk of death? What is this mysterious illness that has held her in its chains so long? She used to be strong and well. She never talked of weakness."

"I cannot tell what ails her, Lawrence," said Mr. Lyle, rising as if the conference were ended, "but I have the word of her physician to tell you that within a month she will either be able to appear in court, and do what is necessary to defend her rights, or she will be in her grave. In either case you will be free."

The words fell coldly on Lawrence Ernscliffe's hearing, chilling the hot and passionate tide of resentment that hurried through his heart.

He thought with an uncontrollable pang of all that bright, fair beauty he had loved so long and so fondly lying cold in the grave—those lips that had kissed him so tenderly sealed in death, the white lids shut forever over the heaven of love in those soft blue eyes.

"Will that content you, Lawrence?" asked the old man, wistfully, pausing with his hat in his hand. "A month is not so very long."

"That depends on the mood one is in," was the unsatisfactory reply.

"But you will wait?" Mr. Lyle said, almost pleadingly.

There was a minute's pause, and then the answer came, coldly:

"I will wait."

"Thanks—and farewell," said Mr. Lyle, passing silently out of the room.

The outraged husband was alone once more, the red glow of the sunset shining into the room and touching with its tender warmth his pallid, marble-like features.

He could not rest. Mr. Lyle's words re-echoed in his ears, turning his warm blood to an icy current that flowed sluggishly through his benumbed veins.

"In a month she may be in her grave—oh! the horror of that thought," he said, aloud.

Yes, it was horror. He thought he hated her—she had deceived him so bitterly—he thought he was anxious to sever the tie that bound them together; he thought he never wished to look upon her beautiful, false face again.

And yet, and yet those words of Mr. Lyle's staggered him. He reeled beneath the suddenness of the blow. He asked himself again as he had asked Mr. Lyle:

"What is this mysterious illness that holds her in its chains?"

He did not know, he did not dream of the truth. If he had known it, he must surely have forgiven her and taken her back. He could not have hated her longer, even though she had sinned and deceived him. For he had loved her very dearly, and she was his wife.

But he said to himself:

"Why should I care if she dies? She deceived me shamefully. She can never be anything to me again. In either case, as that old man said, I shall be free. What will it matter to me, then, if she be dead or alive; I shall never see her again!"

And then when he began to understand that she might die before her testimony was given before the court in her own defense, he became conscious of a vague feeling of disappointment. He knew now that he had been very anxious all along to hear what his wife would say when she stood face to face with her accuser. Perhaps, after all, she could vindicate herself. If not, why was she so anxious to make the attempt?

"Have I wronged her?" he asked himself, suddenly. "Should I have condemned her without hearing her version of that villain's story? Ah! he would not have dared deceive me!"

CHAPTER XL

Suddenly a serving-man entered with a card in his hand.

"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said.

Captain Ernscliffe took the bit of pasteboard in his hand and looked at it.

He started with surprise as he did so.

"C. M. Kidder," was the name he read.

It was the famous London detective whom he had employed to hunt down Sydney's dastardly murderer.

"What is he doing here in America—in this city?" thought Captain Ernscliffe, in surprise.

"Show the gentleman into this room," he said to the man.

Mr. Kidder came briskly in a moment after.

He was a shrewd-looking little man, well-dressed and gentlemanly.

"You are surprised to see me here," he said, after they had exchanged the usual greetings.

"Yes," admitted the host. "Do you bring news?"

The little man's black eyes sparkled.

"The best of news," he answered, blithely. "I have run the game down."

"That is indeed the best of news," said his employer, his face lighting up. "But I don't quite understand why you are here, in the United States."

"You don't?" said Mr. Kidder, with a good-natured laugh. "Well, I am here because my man is here. I have followed him across the seas."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the listener, with a start.

"Yes, it is true. I have had a weary hunt for him, but I have unearthed him at last, thanks to Elsie Gray."

"Elsie Gray! Ah, yes, I remember, she was my wife's maid who disappeared so strangely the night of the murder. You say she helped you. Where is she now?"

"She crossed the ocean with me. She is here in this city, and will be the chief witness in the prosecution. She witnessed the murder, and recognized the criminal at that moment as a former lover of your present wife. She pursued him, and was on his track when I found her."

"It has been almost a year since that dreadful night," said Captain Ernscliffe. "He must have been very clever to evade justice so long."

"He was a cunning, accomplished villain," said Mr. Kidder. "I followed him for weary months, but he managed to elude me every time when I began to think I had run him to earth. I lost him altogether for awhile, and then I discovered that he had left the country and sailed for the United States. I at once secured my witness, Elsie Gray, and followed him."

"But he may elude you here as he did in Europe," said Captain Ernscliffe, looking disappointed.

"It is not at all likely," said Mr. Kidder, laughing, "for I have already had him arrested and lodged in prison. No, do not thank me," he added, as his employer poured out a torrent of praises and thanks. "Rather thank Elsie Gray. But for her indefatigable exertions, and the valuable information she gave me, I might never have succeeded in my undertaking."

"She shall have my thanks, and something more substantial beside. The reward shall be doubled, and she shall share it equally."

"She has already promised to go shares with me," said the detective, so significantly and demurely that Captain Ernscliffe could not fail to understand his meaning.

"So she will marry you?" he said, smiling, and then, gazing curiously at the happy, little man, who was not more than thirty years old, he added: "Pardon me, but you are quite young, and Mrs. Ernscliffe's maid was quite middle-aged, was she not?"

"Oh, no, she was quite young and pretty," said the detective, laughing his happy, good-humored laugh.

"But surely–" began the listener.

"Mrs. Ernscliffe's maid was in disguise, both as to name and appearance," said Mr. Kidder, interrupting him. "Perhaps a bit of her history might interest you, sir, seeing that she has served you a good turn."

"I should like to hear it," said Captain Ernscliffe. "But wait a moment, Kidder, until I ring for lights. It is growing dark."

When the gas was lighted, and the curtains dropped over the windows, he turned back to his visitor and said:

"Go on, Kidder, let me hear Elsie Gray's history."

"Well, sir, Elsie Gray's true name is Jennie Thorn, and she is not more than twenty years old.

"She was a poor farmer's daughter when this man whom she has tracked to his doom deceived and ruined her under a pretense of marriage.

"The poor girl went home to her parents, but her honest father drove her away with curses when he discovered her condition and learned her sad story.

"Her mother secretly befriended her, and found her a place to stay in hiding until her child was born.

"Fortunately for the poor girl it was born dead, and then she set out upon a mission which she had sworn to accomplish—her revenge upon the man who had betrayed her.

"In the meanwhile her enraged father had shot the deceiver, and thinking him dead had fled the country.

"But the wicked deceiver was proof against his enemy's bullet. He was born to be hung, you see, sir, and he was proof against anything else.

"So he got well, and was clear out of the country before poor Jennie was on her feet again. She was sorely disappointed, but she bided her time."

Captain Ernscliffe began to look as if he took an interest in the history of the farmer's pretty daughter.

"She sought for him everywhere as far as her money would carry her," went on the detective, "but she never saw or heard of her enemy.

"At length her mother came to the city with her, and together they continued their unrelenting quest, for they both had sworn to take a terrible revenge upon the destroyer of innocence."

He paused a moment, and Captain Ernscliffe, half forgetful of his own troubles in this sorrowful story, exclaimed:

"Go on, Kidder. I am very much interested in Jennie Thorn's sad story."

"One night they went to the theater," continued the detective, "and there they saw upon the stage the beautiful lady that is now your wife."

"Ah!" exclaimed Captain Ernscliffe, with a start.

"Yes, sir; you begin to get an inkling of things now," said Kidder. "Well, to go on, Jennie Thorn recognized the lady. She had seen her before, and knew that the man who had wronged her was an enemy of Madame De Lisle. She knew that they hated each other, and that he had sworn to take a terrible revenge upon her. Well, sir, in that minute Jennie Thorn began to see what would be her own best chance to find her betrayer again."

Captain Ernscliffe was growing too excited to keep his seat. He rose and paced up and down the room, his arms folded over his broad breast, his burning gaze fixed on the detective's shrewd, intelligent face.

"She knew that the man would follow Madame De Lisle like her evil genius, and she determined to keep near the beautiful actress. The next day she disguised herself as an elderly woman, changed her name, and went into your wife's service as her maid."

Captain Ernscliffe gazed at him silently. He began to comprehend now.

"There's little more to tell, sir. Jennie left her mother in the United States and followed Madame De Lisle across the ocean.

"At first the actress had an old couple of actors with her—the same that adopted her and taught her their profession—but they both died.

"The old man sickened first and died, and his wife soon followed him to the grave.

"Then the actress grew attached to Jennie, and would not have parted with her for anything.

"Her middle-aged appearance was a protection to the young lady who was so beautiful and so lonely, and she never suspected that her elderly maid was other than what she seemed.

"Jennie was contented to remain with her; but though she followed her like a shadow she never saw her base betrayer until the night of the murder.

"That night a small boy came to the dressing-room with that fatal letter.

"It was so unusual an occurrence that Jennie stealthily followed him out and saw where he had gone.

"Hidden behind the curtains of a window, she watched the man outside the western door.

"Almost at the moment that she recognized him she saw him spring to the door.

"She parted the curtains and saw the steel flashing in his hand, to be buried the next moment in the heart of the woman coming up to him."

He paused a moment at Captain Ernscliffe's hollow groan; then continued:

"Jennie told me that the wild scream of anguish that rose the next moment nearly broke her heart.

"She thought it was her dear, kind mistress whom he had killed, and she was filled with the fury of the tigress.

"She sprang over the fallen body, and followed the murderer, who was hurrying away.

"She caught him by the arm, and fastened her teeth in his arm.

"He shook her off and ran away. She sprang after him.

"She followed him to a house, but he escaped from it, or eluded her somehow, and she took quarters in the vicinity, and was watching the place when I found her.

"With the information she gave me I succeeded in tracing him further, and finally we tracked him down.

"He is at this moment in prison, and if he gets his dues he will swing from the gallows right speedily. A blacker-hearted villain never walked upon the earth."

There was silence for a time, and then the detective added:

"When I landed herein this city, with Jennie in my charge, we found that her mother was dead.

"The poor girl has not a friend on earth, and she has promised to marry me to-day, and after the trial is over she will return to England with me.

"She is a good, sweet, true girl, and I don't bear any grudge against her because she has suffered from the arts of a villain through her too confiding innocence."

"You have my congratulations, my fine fellow," said Captain Ernscliffe, heartily. "But do you know that you have forgotten to tell me the name of the man who murdered my poor Sydney?"

"Why, really, have I neglected to mention his name? You must excuse me, Captain Ernscliffe, for it is one of the traits of my profession to be chary of mentioning names. The man belongs right here in this city, and is a notorious gambler and rogue. He is as handsome as a prince, as wicked as the devil, and his name is Leon Vinton."

CHAPTER XLI

"If there be any whom you have not yet forgiven; if there be any wrong you yet may right, let not the sun go down upon your wrath, my son, for verily, you must forgive as you would be forgiven. Upon no less terms than these can you win the pardon and absolution of Heaven."

It was the voice of the solemn, black-robed priest, and he stood in the gloomy cell of a convicted murderer, who, before the sunset of another day was to expiate his terrible sin by a felon's death.

Even now from the gloomy prison-yard outside could be heard the awful sound of the hammers driving the nails into his scaffold.

Upon the low, cot bed reclined the handsome demon whom we have known in our story as Leon Vinton.

Wasted and worn in his coarse prison garb and clanking fetters, there was still much of that princely beauty left that had lured youth and innocence to their deadly ruin.

But the reckless, Satanic smile was gone from his pallid, marble-like features now, and a glance of anguished terror and dread shone forth from his hollow, black eyes.

Like many another wretched sinner in his dying hour, Leon Vinton was afraid of the vengeance of that God whom he had despised and defied all his wicked life.

All day the priests had been with him, praying, chanting, exhorting, and now the chilly, gloomy December day was fading to its close, and the long, dreary night hurried on—his last night upon the beautiful earth, through which he had walked as a destroying demon, scattering the fire-brand of ruin and remorse along his evil pathway.

"And now he feels, and yet shall know,In realms where guilt shall end no gloom,The perils of inflicted woe,The anguish of the liar's doom!He hears a voice none else may hear,It bids his burning spirit pause;It bids thee, murderer! appearWhere angels plead the victim's cause!"

Almost a year had passed since the tragic death of unhappy Sydney Lyle. Now outraged justice was about to avenge her death.

Conviction had followed swiftly upon the murderer's arrest and imprisonment.

When he had left poor Jennie Thorn, his betrayed and ruined victim, fainting upon the floor, with his demoniacal words ringing in her ears, he had little dreamed how and when he should meet her again.

Perhaps he thought she would pass silently from his life as other wronged ones had done, and never be seen or heard of again.

Not the slightest premonition of evil had come to tell him that the hatred he had stirred to life in her once loving heart would pursue him to the scaffold.

Yet so it was, and Jennie Thorn had stood up in the witness-box and given, under oath, the testimony that had cost him his life—had given it gladly, triumphantly, without one thrill of pity or regard for the man she had once loved and trusted.

Well, it was all over now—the trial was a thing of the past—to-morrow the sentence of the law would be carried out and his neck would be broken upon the scaffold.

Many a time when he thought of it now with a sick and shuddering horror, he recalled the angry words that Queenie Lyle had spoken to him years ago:

"They cannot be drowned who are born to be hung."

His reckless, wicked career was over. He had cheated men of their substance at the gaming-table, he had robbed women of what was dearer, their peace and honor, without a thought of the retribution that would fall on him from the God he had offended.

But now when the priest came to him and told him solemnly and sadly what terrors awaited him if he died unrepentant, remorse and terror struck their terrible fangs into his guilty heart.

"I have done many wrongs that nothing can ever set right, father," he said humbly to the meek priest. "But there is one black falsehood hanging heavy on my heart, one sin I may in some little way atone for. Will you send Lawrence Ernscliffe to see me to-night? I will tell him how cruelly I wronged the lovely woman he married and how pure and innocent she was then and ever. And Jennie Thorn, father. Will you ask her to come and see me? I will beg her to forgive me."

"I will send Captain Ernscliffe to you, my son, if he will come, but Jennie Thorn—that is impossible!"

"Is she so bitter and unrelenting, then!" said the prisoner, sadly.

"Let us hope not," said the gentle priest. "But she is gone away, my son.

"Immediately after your trial and conviction she left the United States and returned to England as the wife of the detective who effected your arrest."

The prisoner sighed and bent his head.

The priest bowed over him a moment, murmured a benediction and passed out through the heavy iron door that shut Leon Vinton in forever from the busy, beautiful world.

CHAPTER XLII

A few hours later the heavy iron door was unlocked, then clanged together again, shutting Lawrence Ernscliffe in alone with the condemned prisoner.

They looked at each other in blank silence for a minute, then the visitor said coldly:

"You sent for me?"

"Yes, I sent for you," said the prisoner, eagerly. "I have wronged you and would make reparation before—before to-morrow."

The fire of rage and hatred that flared up in the listener's eyes was dreadful to behold.

"You lied to me—how dared you do it?" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Did I not say I would have your life if I found you out?"

"The few hours of life that remain to me are not worth your vengeance," was the quiet reply. "Sit down, Captain Ernscliffe, I would speak to you of your wife."

He pointed to a chair, but the visitor shook his head.

"No, I prefer standing. I can scarcely breathe the same air with you, Leon Vinton! Speak quickly."

"Do not look on me as your enemy now, Captain Ernscliffe," said the prisoner, deprecatingly. "I stand apart from my fellow-men as a condemned criminal about to be executed.

"Think of me as a wretched sinner trying to make peace with those whom I have wronged that I may plead for pardon before my offended God."

Captain Ernscliffe bowed silently, and the angry flash in his dark eyes faded out at the melancholy tone and air of the frightened and wretched criminal.

"I lied to you when I told you that I did not marry Queenie Lyle," said Leon Vinton, looking down and speaking in a low, hoarse voice.

"The day she ran away with me I married her, and the certificate was placed in her hands.

"She thought she was my wife, but the pretended minister who performed the ceremony was only a boon companion of mine who had served me before in such an accommodating manner.

"It was the merest farce, but Queenie thought she was my legal wife.

"She would not have gone with me else. She was as pure and innocent as an angel."

He paused a moment, but he did not look up. He could not bear to meet the tiger glare in the eyes of the man before him. Clearing his throat nervously, he continued:

"I lived with her a year, and then we mutually wearied of each other.