"I--I beg your pardon, miss," said the stranger, addressing Bernardine."I am a bit turned around in this labyrinth of corridors."
What was there in that voice that caused Bernardine to forget her ownsorrows for an instant, and with a gasp peer into the face looking upinto her own?
The effect of Bernardine's presence, as the girl turned her head and thelight of the hanging-lamp fell full upon it, was quite as electrifyingto the strange lady.
"Bernardine Moore!" she gasped in a high, shrill voice that was almosthysterical. "Do my eyes deceive me, or is this some strange coincidence,some chance resemblance, or are you Bernardine Moore, whom I havesearched the whole earth over to find?"
At the first word that fell from her excited lips, Bernardine recognizedMiss Rogers.
"Yes," she answered, mechanically, "I am Bernardine Moore, and you areMiss Rogers. But--but how came you here, and in such fine dress andmagnificent jewels? You, whom I knew to be as poor as ourselves, whenyou shared the humble tenement home with my father and me!"
Miss Rogers laughed very softly.
"I can well understand your bewilderment over such a Cinderella-likemystery. The solution of it is very plain, however. But before I answeryour question, my dear Bernardine, I must ask what _you_ are doingbeneath this roof?"
"I am Mrs. Gardiner's paid companion," responded Bernardine, huskily.
"And I am Mrs. Gardiner's guest, surprising as that may seem. But let usstep into some quiet nook where we can seat ourselves and talk withoutinterruption," said Miss Rogers. "I have much to ask you about, and muchto tell you."
"Will you come to my apartment?" asked Bernardine.
The little old lady nodded, the action of her head setting all herjewels to dancing like points of flame.
Bernardine led the way to the modestly furnished room almost oppositeMrs. Gardiner's, and drawing forward a chair for her companion, placedher in it with the same gentle kindness she had exhibited toward poor,old, friendless Miss Rogers in those other days.
"Before I say anything, my dear," began Miss Rogers, "I want to knowjust what took place from the moment you fled from your father's humblehome up to the present time. Did you--elope with any one?"
She saw the girl's fair face flush, then grow pale; but the dark, true,earnest eyes of Bernardine did not fall beneath her searching gaze.
"I am grieved that you wrong me to that extent, Miss Rogers," sheanswered, slowly. "No, I did not elope. I simply left the old tenementhouse because I could not bear my father's entreaties to hurry up theapproaching marriage between the man I hated--Jasper Wilde--and myself.The more I thought of it, the more repugnant it became to me.
"I made my way down to the river. I did not heed how cold and dark itwas. I--I took one leap, crying out to God to be merciful to me, andthen the dark waters, with the awful chill of death upon them, closedover me, and I went down--down--and I knew no more.
"But Heaven did not intend that I should die then. I still had moremisery to go through; for that was I saved. I was rescued halfdrowned--almost lifeless--and taken to an old nurse's home, where I laytwo weeks hovering between life and death.
"On the very day I regained consciousness, I learned about the terriblefire that had wiped out the tenement home which I had known since myearliest childhood, and that my poor, hapless father had perished in theflames.
"I did my best to discover your whereabouts, Miss Rogers, at firstfearing you had shared my poor father's fate; but this fear proved to bewithout foundation, for the neighbors remembered seeing you go out tomail a letter a short time before the fire broke out.
"I felt that some day we should meet again, but I never dreamed that itwould be like this."
"Have you told me _all_, Bernardine?" asked Miss Rogers, slowly. "Youare greatly changed, child. When you fled from your home, you were but aschool-girl, _now_ you are a woman. What has wrought so great a changein so short a time?"
"I can not tell you that, Miss Rogers," answered Bernardine,falteringly. "That is a secret I must keep carefully locked up in mybreast until the day I die!" she said, piteously.
"I am sorry you will not intrust your secret to me," replied MissRogers. "You shall never have reason to repent of any faith you place inme."
"There are some things that are better left untold," sobbed Bernardine."Some wounds where the cruel weapons that made them have not yet beenremoved. This is one of them."
"Is love, the sweetest boon e'er given to women, and yet the bitterestwoe to many, the rock on which you wrecked your life, child? Tell methat much."
"Yes," sobbed Bernardine. "I loved, and was--cruelly--deceived!"
"Oh, do not tell me that!" cried Miss Rogers. "I can not bear it. Oh,Heaven! that you, so sweet, and pure, and innocent, should fall a victimto a man's wiles! Oh, tell me, Bernardine, that I have not heardaright!"
Miss Rogers was so overcome by Bernardine's story, that she could notrefrain from burying her face in her hands and bursting into tears asthe girl's last words fell on her startled ear.
CHAPTER LII.
Tears were falling from Bernardine's eyes and sobs were trembling on thetender lips, she could restrain her feelings no longer, and, catching upthe thin, shriveled-up figure of the dear little old spinster in herarms, she strained her to her heart and wept.
"Ah, my dear girl. _You_ are the good angel who took me in and cared forme, believing me to be a pauper.
"And now know the truth, my darling Bernardine. I, your distantkinswoman, am very rich, far above your imagination. I have searched foryou since that fire, to make you my _heiress_--heiress to three millionsof money. Can you realize it?"
Bernardine was looking at her with startled eyes, her white lips partedin dismay.
"Now you can understand better why I am here as the guest of MargaretGardiner and her proud mother? The wealthy Miss Rogers, of New York, isbelieved to be a valuable acquisition to any social gathering. I lovedyour mother, my fair, sweet, gentle cousin. I should love you for hersake, did I not love you for your own."
"You will make the necessary arrangements to leave Mrs. Gardiner'semploy at the earliest moment, my dear, for I wish you to take yourplace in society at once as my heiress."
But much to Miss Rogers' surprise, Bernardine shook her head sadly.
"Oh, do not be angry with me, dear Miss Rogers," she sobbed, "but it cannever be. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindintentions, but it can never be. Heaven did not wish me to be a favoriteof fortune. There are those who are born to work for a living. I am oneof them. I have no place in the homes of aristocrats. One fell in lovewith me, but he soon tired of me and deserted me."
"He will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as myheiress," declared Miss Rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curlyhead.
"No, no!" cried Bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you arepoor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all thetrappings of wealth about you. I say again, I thank you with all myheart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but I can notaccept it at your hands, dear friend. Build churches, schools for littleones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind,hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. I am youngand strong. I can earn my bread for many a long year yet. Work is theonly panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."
"Nay, nay," replied Miss Rogers; "let me be a judge of that. I knowbest, my dear. It will be a happiness to me in my declining years tohave you do as I desire. The money will all go to you, and at the lastyou may divide it as you see fit. Do not refuse me, my child. I have setmy heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see yourobed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. I will not say moreupon the subject just now; we will discuss it--to-morrow. I shall godown and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that Ihave found you, Bernardine. Early to-morrow morning we will let Mrs.Gardiner and her daughter Margaret into our secret, and they will makeno objection to my taking you qu
ietly away with me--at once. Do not letwhat I have told you keep you awake to-night, child. I should feel sorryto see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright andcheerful."
With a kiss, she left Bernardine, and the girl stood looking after herlong afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not adream from which she would awaken presently.
The air of the room seemed to stifle Bernardine. Rising slowly, she madeher way through one of the long French windows out into the grounds, andtook a path which led in the direction of the brook around which thealders grew so thickly.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hardly noticed whichway her footsteps tended. All she realized was, that she was walking inthe sweet, rose-laden grounds, away--far away--from the revelers, withthe free, cool, pure air of Heaven blowing across her heated, feverishbrow.
"An heiress!" She said the words over and over again to herself, tryingto picture to herself what the life of an heiress would be.
If she had been an heiress, living in a luxurious, beautiful home, wouldJay Gardiner have deserted her in that cruel, bitterly cruel, heartlessfashion?
She never remembered to have heard or read of the lover of a wealthyheiress deserting her. It was always the lovers of poor girls who daredplay such tricks.
How shocked Jay Gardiner would be when he heard that she was--anheiress!
Would he regret the step he had taken? The very thought sent a strangechill through her heart.
The next instant she had recovered herself.
"No, no! There will be no regrets between us now," she sobbed, hidingher white face in her trembling hands. "For he is another's and cannever be anything more to me save a bitter-sweet memory. To-night I willgive my pent-up grief full vent. Then I will bury it deep--deep out ofthe world's sight, and no one shall ever know that my life has beenwrecked over--what might have been."
Slowly her trembling hands dropped from her face, and, with bowed head,Bernardine went slowly down the path, out of the sound of thedance-music and the laughing voices, down to where the crickets werechirping amid the long grasses, and the wind was moaning among the tallpines and the thick alders.
When she reached the brook she paused. It was very deep at thispoint--nearly ten feet, she had heard Miss Margaret say--and the bottomwas covered with sharp, jagged rocks. That was what caused the hoarse,deep murmur as the swift-flowing water struck them in its hurried flighttoward the sea.
Bernardine leaned heavily against one of the tall pines, and gave ventto her grief.
Why had God destined one young girl to have youth, beauty, wealth, andlove, while the other had known only life's hardships? Miss Rogers'offer of wealth had come to her too late. It could not buy that whichwas more to her than everything else in the world put together--JayGardiner's love.
The companionship of beautiful women, the homage of noble men, were asnothing to her. She would go through life with a dull, aching void inher breast. There would always be a longing cry in her heart that wouldrefuse to be stilled. No matter where she went, whom she met, the faceof Jay Gardiner, as she had seen it first--the laughing, dark-blue eyesand the bonny brown curls--would haunt her memory while her life lasted.
"Good-bye, my lost love! It is best that you and I should never meetagain!" she sobbed.
Suddenly she became aware that she was not standing there alone.Scarcely ten feet from her she beheld the figure of a man, and sherealized that he was regarding her intently.
CHAPTER LIII.
For a single instant Bernardine felt her terror mastering her; it wascertainly not an idle fear conjured up by her own excited brain.
The clock from an adjacent tower struck the hour of midnight as shestood there by the brookside, peering, with beating heart, among thedense shadow of the trees.
She gazed with dilated eyes. Surely it was her fancy. One of theshadows, which she had supposed to be a stunted tree, moved, creptnearer and nearer, until it took the form of a man moving stealthilytoward her.
Bernardine's first impulse was to turn and fly; but her limbs seemedpowerless to move.
Yes, it was a man. She saw that he was moving more quickly forward now,and in a moment of time he had reached her side, and halted directlybefore her.
"Ah!" he cried in a voice that had a very Frenchy accent. "I amdelighted to see you, my dear lady. Fate has certainly favored me, or,perhaps, my note reached you and you are come in search of me. Verykind--very considerate. They are having a fine time up at the mansionyonder in your honor, of course. Knowing your _penchant_ for lights,music, laughter, and admiration, I confess I am _very_ much surprised tosee that you have stolen a few minutes to devote to--me."
Bernardine realized at once that this stranger mistook her for some oneelse--some one who had expected to see him. She tried to wrench herselffree from the steel-like grasp of his fingers, that had closed like avise about her slender wrist; but not a muscle responded to her will,nor could she find voice to utter a single sound.
"Let us come to an understanding, my dear Mrs. Gardiner. I do not likethis new move on your part."
It was then, and not till then, that Bernardine found her voice.
"I am not Mrs. Gardiner!" she exclaimed, struggling to free herself fromthe man's detaining hold on her arm.
The effect of her words was like an electric shock to the man. He reeledback as though he had been suddenly shot.
"You--are--not--young Mrs. Gardiner?" he gasped, his teeth fairlychattering. "Then, by Heaven! you are a spy, sent here by her toincriminate me, to be a witness against me! It was a clever scheme, butshe shall see that it will fail signally."
"I am no spy!" replied Bernardine, indignantly, "No one sent me here,least of all, young Mrs. Gardiner!"
"I do not believe you!" retorted the man, bluntly. "At any rate, youknow too much of this affair to suit me. You must come along with me."
"You are mad!" cried Bernardine, haughtily. "I have, as you say,unwittingly stumbled across some secret in the life of yourself and onewho has won the love of a man any woman would have been proud to havecalled--husband!"
"So you are in love with the handsome, lordly Jay, eh?" sneered hercompanion. "It's a pity you had not captured the washing millionaire,instead of pretty, bewitching, coquettish Sally," he went on, with a fitof harsh laughter.
"Sir, unhand me and let me go!" cried Bernardine. "Your words are aninsult! Leave me at once, or I shall cry out for help!"
"I believe you would be fool-hardy enough to attempt it," responded hercompanion; "but I intend to nip any such design in the bud. You mustcome along with me, I say. If you are wise, you will come alongpeaceably. Attempt to make an outcry, and--well, I never yet felled awoman, but there's always the first time. You invite the blow by goingcontrary to my commands. My carriage is in waiting, fortunately, justoutside the thicket yonder."
Bernardine saw that the man she had to deal with was no ordinary person.He meant every word that he said. She tried to cry out to Heaven to helpher in this, her hour of need, but her white lips could form no word.
Suddenly she felt herself lifted in a pair of strong arms, a hand fellswiftly over her mouth, and she knew no more. Sky, trees, the dark,handsome, swarthy face above her and the earth beneath her seemed torock and reel.
Carrying his burden swiftly along a path almost covered by tangledunderbrush, the man struck at length into a little clearing at one sideof the main road. Here, as he had said, a horse and buggy were inwaiting.
A lighted lantern was in the bottom of the vehicle. He swung this intothe unconscious girl's face as he thrust her upon the seat. He hadexpected to see one of the servants of the mansion--a seamstress, or oneof the maids, perhaps--but he was totally unprepared for the vision ofgirlish loveliness that met his gaze.
While he had gazed with fascinated eyes at the faultlessly beautifulface of Bernardine, his heart had gone from him in one great, mad throbof passionate love.
"This lovely bird has walked directly into my drag-net," he
muttered."Why should she not be mine, whether she loves or _hates_ me?"
CHAPTER LIV.
On and on the dark-browed stranger urges the almost thoroughly exhaustedhorse, until after an hour's hard driving he comes upon a smallfarm-house standing in the midst of a clearing in the dense wood.
Here he drew rein, uttering a loud "Halloo!"
In answer to his summons, two men and a woman came hurrying forward,one of the men going toward the horse.
"Mercy on us!" exclaimed the woman, amazedly, "Victor Lament has broughtthe young woman with him."
"No comments!" exclaimed Lamont, harshly, as he lifted his unconsciousburden out of the buggy.
"And why not, pray?" demanded the woman, impudently. "Why should I notmake comments when my husband is your pal in all your schemes; that is,he does the work while you play the fine gentleman, and he doesn't gethalf of the money by a long shot?"
"But I insist upon knowing now," declared the woman. "Who is the girlyou are carrying in your arms, and why have you brought her here--of allplaces in the world?"
By this time they had reached the house, and Lamont strode in and laidhis unconscious burden upon a wooden settee, which was the only articleof furniture the apartment possessed.
"Why don't you answer, Victor Lamont?" cried the woman, shrilly. "Ten toone it's some girl whose puny, pretty face has fascinated you, andyou're in love with her."