CHAPTER IV.
Rutley had found time during the frantic appearance of Constance atthe "fete," to threaten Virginia with public exposure if she failed tokeep their secret. It was that threat that induced her to pause in amomentary conceived intention to demand an explanation from herbrother. The passionate earnestness--the uncontrollable fury shediscovered in her brother--produced an awe, and aroused her to a senseof some terrible mistake, and of the far-reaching effect herconspiracy with Rutley was likely to have. Each moment, instead ofexultation, increased her sorrow at the course she had pursued.
Between fear of publicity of the part she had played, coupled with herhatred of Corway, and consequent satisfaction in her triumph at hisdiscomfiture--at the same time alarmed at her brother's imminent dangerin a probably tragic affair--all contributed to indecision, and sherealized to her dismay that she had placed herself in the power of aman who had proved himself a master "Iago."
Her intuition caused her to shrink from him. He comprehended andpressed closer. Despite her powerful will and keen perception, andpossession of those womanly attributes of sympathy and kindness tosuffering humanity, she felt herself incapable, just then, of defyinghim.
The cry of Constance that Dorothy was in the water scattered thequarreling party, which rushed to the river's edge.
Virginia and Mrs. Harris remained with Constance, but Rutley made ithis business to keep his eyes on her and under pretense of searchingthe grounds, remained near by, in order to restrain her fromapproaching her brother.
Her opportunity to undo all, which under a more prompt determinationwould have succeeded--was lost, simply because it had taken her sometime to care for Constance, and also to arrive at a fixed conclusion,irrespective of the threats or cajoling of Rutley--and then John Thorpedisappeared. Two days she diligently searched for him, surmising thathe was searching for Dorothy, but all her efforts to locate him werefruitless. She had just returned from a stubborn search of the hotels,when she heard the frenzied cry of, "A passage to my darling beyond."She recognized the voice and stole through the doorway, just in timeto see Constance pass upstairs.
As Virginia entered the room, she passed the table on which lay thedivorce paper. The printed word attracted her attention, and at oncearrested her onward course. She picked it up. "John Thorpe, from hiswife, Constance." Horror and dismay swept across her face withlightning rapidity. Here, then, was the key to Rutley's horriblerevenge. Now she knew that Constance was made to stand for Hazel.
The document dropped from her nerveless hand, and with wildly beatingheart she flew up the stairs after Constance. Noiselessly she openedthe door. Before her--on her knees, with bowed head, the phial oflaudanum between her clasped hands, was the woman who had received theterrible blow intended for Corway.
Virginia's heart seemed to still its beating. Her blood seemed to becongealing to ice as she stood incapable of motion, and listened tothe piteous appeal from that pure, broken heart.
In a moment she understood it all--the intent--the arresting hand offate--the startled submission of a meek and contrite spirit to theDivine will, and below--the divorce paper.
Satisfied that Constance would not again attempt an act ofself-destruction, and unequal, in her present frame of mind, to thetask of ministering comfort to the woman whose grief must be partiallylaid to her door--for it must be remembered that Virginia had not inany manner contributed to the abduction of Dorothy, and was as much ata loss to account for the child's disappearance as her mother--shewithdrew, her mission unfilled--her atonement inconceivably harder toaccomplish. She seemed overcome with a suffocating sensation. She musthave air. Out of the house she mechanically passed. Down the steps andaround the grounds--under the silent falling vine and russet andgolden-colored leaves she hurried, neither looking to the right nor tothe left.
Born on her father's Willamette Valley farm, yet this city home, ofher childhood and of her womanhood, now so enchantingly beautiful inits Autumn glory, its fragrant coying whisper had no charm to impedeher onward flight, no power to lift her bowed head.
She was thinking of the one within. "And it is all my fault. I feelsure of that, for it would have been impossible for Rutley to haveangered John so much with any other name. I must have been mad ever tohave confided in him that it was Constance's ring.
"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? God forgive me!" she moaned, asshe sought solace under a maple. But there was no rest for her. Shereturned to the house. Mechanically she opened the door and with onelonging heartsore purpose--to seek the seclusion of her apartment--tothrow herself on the couch and bury her face in her hands in a vainhope to get relief in tears. But there, just inside the door, on thehall table, she saw through moist-swollen eyes, something white.
She picked it up. It was a letter addressed to her, in a coarsescrawl. She fled to her room, there she sat on a chair near the windowand opened the letter. The characters were bold, but slovenly written,and almost illegible, and then somehow the light did not appear strongor bright as it should be. She bent over close to the window--nobetter, save that she could make out the word "Virginia."
Becoming more interested, she turned on the electric light, and eventhen her eyes seemed weak, and the letters so run together as toappear blurred. She took up a magnifying glass that lay on the table,and by its aid was at last able to decipher the note.
Virginia, ther party as sends er this kin tell yer somethink about er party yer wud lie ter knows, perwiden yer meets me nere the top of the long steps at or eleven ternight--alone, mind yer--alone in ther city park. Yerl be safe if alone.
She was at once convinced that the note had a deep significance. Sheturned it over and over and read and re-read it again and again.
It was clearly meant for a clandestine meeting--with whom? Ha!
The handwriting was evidently disguised, for it was quite differentfrom that on the envelop, and the illiteracy plainly intended todeceive. Nevertheless the information might be of inestimablevalue--perhaps John, maybe of Dorothy.
Her mind was almost in a state of frenzy at her impotent efforts toundo the mischief she had wrought, and even this "straw" gave acertain measure of relief, by offering work for solution.
"I will go!" she said aloud. Having made up her mind to take the risk,her spirits lightened perceptibly.
As the envelop bore no postmark, she at once plied the housemaid withquestions. Who delivered the letter? How had it come on the halltable? The questions were put in a quiet, indifferent manner, so asnot to excite curiosity.
At the usual time the maid had taken it from the private mail box,which was of iron and old-fashioned, and fastened to the porchbuttress, and she guessed that the mail carrier had brought it withthe other mail. Virginia spoke kindly to the girl, and after casuallycommenting on the beautiful sunshine, returned to her room andprepared for the adventure. She utterly disregarded in her mind thatthe mail carrier had brought the letter. Since it was not postmarked,it could not have passed through the postoffice.
Some one had sneaked in some time during the night or early in themorning and placed it in the box. That was her decision.